Because of a Christmas Tree - Part 1

Here is the first part of this story. Check back soon for part 2

Because of a Christmas Tree

Part 1

    There was a chill in the air, not a bitter cold one which would freeze a person quite through if they ventured outdoors, but a biting nip that speaks of colder weather coming, the kind which causes coats to be pulled closer, shoulders to shiver and breaths to create little clouds in the air. It was also raining. Not a steady, gentle rain, but a miserable, dreary, unending drizzle which was almost sleet, but not quite. It would almost have been a relief if it had been sleet or snow.
    The steps of the lone figure, hunched in an old coat, trudging down the muddy street, if it could be called by such a lofty name, were slow and weary. Each step seemed harder to take than the last one, and it well might be, for each time a booted foot sank down into the miry, sticky mud, it acquired a new layer of the miserable muck, thus making the boot a little heavier and the wearer work a little harder to take yet another one.
    “Fiddlesticks!” the man muttered half-aloud. “That boy’s goin’ to have a Christmas if’n I have to hike clear ‘cross the mountains to get it. Humph! They ain’t got the boy livin’ with ‘em, else . . .”
    He gave another snort which turned into a cough, yet he didn’t pause but struggled on through the thick mud until at last he reached a small shack set back in the woods and somewhat apart from the others in the small, ramshackle mining camp. Most who lived there had some pride and called their living place a “town.” However the actual look of the settlement was so far removed from what most folks would think of as a town, that I hesitate to call it one. The shacks where the miners lived were simple, one room affairs, drafty and bare. Only a dozen or so such shelters could be found in the area and not one of them had a Christmas tree, though that special day was rapidly approaching; nor was there any sign of Christmas festivities. No where could be seen the touch which bespoke of a woman’s hand, for there were no women. Not one of the men in that mining camp would have considered bringing his wife, daughter, sister or sweetheart to share such a rough and dangerous life.
    When Old Marley, as the other miners called him, opened the door and stepped into his shack, a small boy of about nine years of age, with light brown locks of curling hair and golden brown eyes which sparkled with delight, hurried over to greet him.
    “Oh, Uncle Marley, you’re back! I’ve been waiting for you. Just think, Mr. Soper has just brought us part of a deer he shot yesterday. I put it in a pot and tonight we can have stew! I think it’ll be ready in a little while.” As the boy talked, he had pulled the older man over near the hot stove and was trying to take off his coat. “Sit down, Uncle Marley, and take your boots off. They are covered in mud again. Maybe the sun will come out tomorrow and the mud will dry. Do you think it might?”
    Sinking down onto the three-legged stool, Old Marley coughed before he struggled to remove his boots. “Well, now, I ain’t fer sure, but it don’t look like the sun’s goin’ to remember we’re here ‘till new year, Sonny.”
    At that the boy laughed a merry laugh while he assisted in removing the mud covered boots. “Of course the sun remembers us, Uncle Marley,” he smiled. “The sun is always shining, my papa used to tell me.” His young face grew sober but he went on steadily. “It’s just that the clouds get in the way of our seeing it. And there have been a lot of clouds.” This last was almost to himself, but the older man heard.
    There were several long minutes of silence in the little shack as the old man and the young boy sat together before the fire in the stove. The wind picked up outside and shook the stove pipe, thereby sending small bits of soot into the small house. A branch knocked against the one window with a gentle tapping, and a soft pattering of rain was heard on the roof.
    At last the old man roused himself and got to his feet stiffly. Lifting the lid of the pot on the stove, he sniffed the simmering stew and nodded. “Sure’ll taste good tonight,” was all the remark he made as he set the lid back on, shuffled over to a small cabinet and brought out two tin bowls and mugs.
    Instantly the boy was also on his feet and hurried over to help set the small, rough hewn slab of wood they called their table.
    “One of these days we’ll make us a real table, Sonny,” Old Marley often said, but there never seemed to be time, for gold hunting and game hunting took up most of the daylight hours, and there were stories to be told in the evening or visiting with the other men.
    After bringing over the two stools, the boy asked, “Uncle Marley, do you think we’ll have snow tomorrow?”
    Old Marley turned around. “I thought you said it was goin’ to be sunny, boy?”
    The boy laughed again. “So it will, but perhaps snow clouds will get in the way and send us something besides rain. Wouldn’t the woods and hills look pretty with a blanket of snow, Uncle Marley? I think they would. And then your boots wouldn’t be so heavy because the mud would all be frozen. I’ll clean them for you just as soon as we finish eating.”
    Old Marley carried the two bowls full of the steaming stew over and set them on the table. Then he poured himself a cup of strong tea. Most of the other men in the nearby shacks preferred coffee to tea, but Old Marley was different. No one knew how old he really was, for, though his hair was heavily sprinkled with grey,in the warmer months he was almost as spry as the young men. It was only during the cold of winter that he seemed older, though he tried not to show it, especially now that the boy was living with him.
    The boy’s full name was Michael Edwin McCormick, it said so in the small Bible which had been discovered in the saddle bag and I’m sure it was right, but everyone called him Sonny. The name just seemed to fit the small boy, for he was almost always smiling and laughing. He took delight in all the little things he or the men found in the woods, and when one of the men found a bit of gold, Sonny was as excited as though he himself had discovered it.
    Since it was Old Marley who had first discovered the boy, he seemed to feel it was up to him to take care of Sonny. At least until some kin folk came to claim him. That had been several months ago and Old Marley often wondered how hard it would be to give him up.

Would you like living in a mining camp?

Thanksgiving Makeover - Part 3

Happy Day-After-Thanksgiving FFFs!
Yeah, I know, I could have said "happy Black Friday" but I didn't want to. :) This morning I woke up to the sound of rain pattering on the roof. Usually I just turn over and go back to sleep until the alarm goes off. But this morning my brain was so busy already that real sound sleep was impossible. I was thinking off all the things I needed to tell you, new decorating ideas for the house, my list of "to-do" projects, projects that I think would be so much fun, things I need to clean up, deadlines for other things, what was going on today . . . and the list went on. So, on that note, I'm going to start my list of what I needed to tell you.

• I posted about a sale of books on Read Another Page, so go check it out. And no, sorry, I don't have my books listed on there this year.

• Since December starts next week, you might want to keep checking this blog because you never know just when I'll post something. And I have plans . . . :)

• If you were hoping for a Black Friday sale of my books, sorry, I didn't get one ready, but December is coming. I'm planning on on some sales and giveaways either here or on my Read Another Page blog between now and Christmas, so stay tuned.

• Perhaps you don't want to wait for a sale, well, I have a special offer for you from Amazon. If you'd like to get a paperback copy of any of my books (or any other books) here is a 30% off any book code.

• My new book "Through the Tunnel" is now published. You can  use that 30% off to get it if you just can't wait any longer. :)

Well, I think that was all the list I had to tell you. I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving! Enjoy the last part of

Thanksgiving Makeover

Part 3

    “Hey, Brad,” one of the boys asked, “what are we going to do next? I mean, we’ve already had the big game and the parade.”
    “Well, when it gets dark we are going to have a bonfire–”
    “And roast s’mores!” Cherry put in eagerly.
    “But until then,” Brad shrugged. “We could always play some games like monopoly, or freeze tag, or capture the flag.”
    “Hey, yeah, let’s play capture the flag! We could use the whole neighborhood and the yards, and maybe some of the older ones would play too!” the boy’s enthusiasm was catching.
    With a grin, Brad stood up and picked up his paper plate. “I’ll check with Dad, but I think that’d be fun.”
    Mr. Miller had no objection and, after checking with the other adults, gave permission, provided there was to be no going in and out of houses. “And no one is allowed to cross any street but this one. Understood?”
    “Yes, sir,” Brad replied, and hurried off to see if Sgt. Crawford and Mr. Hunter would join them. Much to Brad and the other children’s delight, both agreed to play after everything was cleared off the street. Never had a Thanksgiving feast been cleared away so quickly. Trash bags were filled with paper plates, utensils, cups and napkins. The extra food was divided up and taken to houses, tables were wiped off and then folded and returned to houses, though some ended up in the wrong place and had to be switched a day or so later. All the chairs were also put away, and before long the street was back to normal.
    It was a lively game that followed. The street was declared “no man’s land,” and the only safe place to cross into “enemy territory” without being certain you were seen, was the empty lot where the parade had been organized. Many were the prisoners caught, the daring prison breaks, and the mad rushes back for the safety of your own side. It was growing dark before Sgt. Crawford, with a few select team members, Brad included, managed to slip across the street one at a time under cover of a diversion farther down the street. Once over, they hid for a little while before creeping stealthily around the houses. The flag was found, but before they could hope to get it, they would have to elude the vigil of the two guards who paced the yard three feet from the swing set where the flag rested in the baby swing.
    “If we all rush them together,” Brad whispered, “They’ll just call for help. I think we should try to get closer and then just have two of us appear and try to lead them away.”
    “Good plan,” Sgt. Crawford nodded. “Who volunteers?”
    Brad and two others did. When he wasn’t chosen, Brad was secretly relieved. He wanted to be in on snatching the flag and taking it to victory.
    Before motioning the decoys to leave, Sgt. Crawford gave a few other whispered instructions.
    Moments later, the “guards” were drawn farther from the swing set. Not too far, but far enough to give Sgt. Crawford and his companion time to rush for the flag. Tingling with excitement, Brad remained where he was, motionless, hoping that the growing darkness would hide him from the sharp eyes of any opposing team members.
    Shouts came from the two guards and Brad wished he dared steal a peek around the corner of the air conditioning unit behind which he crouched. Heavy footsteps were coming closer. Was it–? Brad fairly held his breath until a white cloth dropped almost in his lap and the footsteps turned and darted away. More shouts and footsteps. Brad hid the cloth behind his bent knees and watched as two figures from the other side raced past his place of concealment. When the shouts grew distant, he ventured to lean out and glance about. All was still, even the guards had left their post to chase the two who they thought had their flag. Springing to his feet, Brad raced as quickly as he could towards the street, the white flag clutched firmly in his hand. If he could only make it to the street without being seen, he stood a good chance of winning the game. Just before he ventured from between the two houses, he paused. No one was close. With a burst of speed he dashed for the street waving the white flag and shouting “Victory!”
    From everywhere members from both teams seemed to appear, but there was really no contest, for Brad had a head start and crossed the street to safety well ahead of the fastest runner.
    There was much laughter, a few groans, and one or two complaints, but no one paid attention to the latter.

    By six o’clock darkness had settled over the neighborhood. The promised bonfire had been started and everyone was gathered around. Most of the younger ones begged for hot dogs to roast, for they had run off most of their dinner. After the biggest appetites were satisfied, the s’mores were brought out, and soon sticky fingers and chocolate-adorned mouths, gave proof of their enjoyment.
    It was a perfect evening to sit around a fire with friends and family. Mr. Miller started the final event of the day by naming three things he was thankful for. “The Lord Jesus Christ, a wonderful wife and kids, and a neighborhood to enjoy a day with.”
    From his seat beside Trenton, Brad looked up at the sky as one by one each person named three things he or she was thankful for. Without the streetlights on, the stars seemed brighter, closer. The moon, a crescent, shone with unusual luster, and there seemed to be a new hush over the homes and yards all around them. This was a Thanksgiving Brad would never forget. He half wished that next year the power would be out again. “But nothing would quite equal this year,” he mused, watching the sparks shooting up as a few more logs were placed on the fire.

Do you like playing Capture the Flag?

What was your favorite part about Thanksgiving this year?

Will you be hanging around in December?

Thanksgiving Makeover - Part 2

Good morning!
In some ways it feels like it should be Friday because it seems like quite a while ago since I posted last. But on the other hand, it doesn't seem possible that it could be Friday the 20th! Does anyone else feel like the days are going by much too quickly?

It's been a good writing week for me. I have not written this much in one week since the beginning of April! Yeah. Crazy. If I can write tonight and tomorrow night I may set a new record. Perhaps I'll even get ten thousand words written. I've never written that many in one week before. It sure would be fun. And if I did, I would hope that would mean I could finally get this Christmas story finished. It's already 13 parts long. And now I have an idea for another Christmas story. Though I really hope this one will be shorter. :P

Update on Through the Tunnel:
I only have one more person, my sister, who has to finish reading this book. But she can't get to it until Sunday as she's way too busy sewing. I got the cover fixed and uploaded last night. Hopefully it will be right this time. I'm going to work on making corrections on the interior hopefully today or tomorrow. And there is a chance that the book will be available on Amazon by next Friday. Anyone excited?

And now I'll let you get to your story. Enjoy!

Thanksgiving Makeover

Part 2

    Brad was frowning. “I don’t know. He’s supposed to be in a sleigh on top of a house, but . . .” Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “The dog house! If we could put it on wheels of some sort, we could cut a cardboard box so it kind of looks like a sleigh and the whole thing can be pulled or pushed.”
    It was an ingenious idea. Brad raced home to ask his dad for a little help in getting the dog house to the lot. One of their neighbors, who had been talking with Mr. Miller when Brad arrived, offered the use of his small gator and flat trailer to put the doghouse and such on. “You can use it if Hunter’ll drive it,” Mr. Johnson agreed. “I don’t want any youngster accidentally running into the next float or dumping Santa Claus into the street.”

    It was almost noon before the “Neighborhood Macy’s Parade” was ready to begin. From all around the neighborhood families and friends gathered in the front yards along the side of the street. The end of the street had been blocked off with bright orange cones, so there was no fear of traffic to interrupt the parade.
    Loud were the cheers when the “floats” began to appear. There was one with pilgrims and Indians. Who cared that the Indian’s feathers were bright blue and pink, or that the pilgrim father’s paper hat blew off and he had to chase it. Next came the “band” consisting of a pot beaten enthusiastically, a kazoo, and a trumpet.
    The onlookers roared with laughter when they beheld Cherry leading on a string an enormous “turkey” who seemed strangely tall considering that its face appeared to be that of Trenton wearing a beak and red floppy comb under his chin. It took only a look at the boots under the yellow paper “feet,” however, to realize that Sgt. Crawford, home from the Marines for several months, was the lower part of the bird. “He’s probably got couch cushions or his pack on his back covered with a cloth,” whispered one lady to her husband amid the laughter.
    “Yep, and I reckon it’s supposed to be one of those balloon things.”
    The “Macy’s” float came next, with a large sign, and a wagon full of stuffed animals, and dolls all sporting fashionable clothes.
    Three bicycle riders came next, followed by a few more ingenious “floats,” but the crowning moment came when “Santa Claus came to town.” No one minded or even commented on the fact that Santa’s legs stuck out the bottom of his sleigh and the toes of his boots were hooked on the edge of the roof so that he wouldn’t fall out. His outfit was splendid, and he sported a beard of white batting which made him sneeze several times as he was carried slowly down the street waving to the people and shouting, “Come to Macy’s and buy your Christmas presents!” This last bit brought down the house, and even the sound of the gator’s engine was drowned out.

    Pulling off the itchy beard, Brad asked, “When is the game, Dad?”
    Mr. Miller chuckled. “Not yet. You’ve got to give everyone a little time to recover from the parade. And besides, aren’t you all hungry yet?”
    “I am!” Rosa exclaimed. “But we can’t eat a Thanksgiving dinner, can we?”
    “Well, not like we usually do, but we’ll eat a feast later in the afternoon. We’ve got three turkeys roasting in roaster ovens powered by a generator Mr. Leeks had. Between all the families, I imagine we’ll have enough to at least taste a bit of turkey. If they don’t get done, or if anyone is still hungry after we eat, they can roast hot dogs.”

    At two o’clock everyone gathered in the “Neighborhood Bowl” behind Mr. Merrik’s house for the big foot ball game. All the players had been divided into two opposing teams: Panthers vs. Cowboys. All around the field chairs had been set up, a few trucks had been parked and more chairs set up in their beds. “To give the impression of stands,” Mr. Miller had told his wife. Since no one had real padding, the game was tag football, but no one minded. One of the men used to work as a referee and he had pulled out his black and white shirt and hung his whistle around his neck.
    At half time the score was 3-1 in favor of the Panthers. Most of the ladies left the game then, as did a few of the men who weren’t playing. The ones who remained, however, cheered every play and shouted encouragement to the younger players until they were hoarse.
    When the game finally ended the Cowboys had managed to win the game by one point at the very end. Brad came off the field rather winded and hot. He found his sisters and brothers waiting for him in the back of their dad’s truck. “Well, I thought we were going to win,” he remarked, reaching for the water bottle Rosa held out to him.
    “But it was a really close game,” Rosa said, waving to a friend who had been sitting on the other side of the field. “Now you have to go get cleaned up so we can eat.”

    Everyone agreed it was a most unusual place for a Thanksgiving dinner, but the middle of their quiet, blocked off street seemed to be the perfect place to put tables and chairs. “Of course, anyone is welcome to sit in the grass or on their porch, if they’d rather,” Mrs. Miller told everyone as they all gathered.
    It wasn’t the traditional Thanksgiving meal most families in America would be partaking of, but it was a feast. The three turkeys had been roasted to perfection and, with the use of three grills, two gas stoves, and two dutch ovens, the ladies had managed to prepare potatoes, both mashed and baked, stuffing, corn, cranberry sauce, and a few other dishes, not to mention the pies which had been baked ahead of time. As for rolls, Mr. Henthorn, who worked at a bakery, had brought home dozens of rolls the evening before, when he had learned of the intended feast. Though there wasn’t enough turkey for everyone to have as much as they might have wanted, no one was hungry by the time the meal was over.
    Brad leaned back in his chair and looked down the length of the street. “It sure is funny to be eating our Thanksgiving meal in the middle of a street.”
    Rosa nodded. “But we wouldn’t have fit anywhere else very well, except for the empty lots, and that would have been a long way to carry all the tables and things.”

Have you ever eaten in the middle of a street before?

Do you like playing football?

Are you excited about "Through the Tunnel"?

Thanksgiving Makeover - Part 1

Hello FFFs,
What's the weather like at your place? It's chilly here right now. But it was warmer this week and on Wednesday we thought we might blow away because the wind was so strong and it blew nearly all day from the south. After dark it switched around and blew from the north dropping the temperature quite a bit. Right now the sun is coming up and it's pretty calm and still outside. Most of the leaves still on the trees blew off in the wind and the ground is now thickly spread with a crunchy carpet.

Last night my grandpa and I went to a concert. It was lovely except that for some reason they were running the air conditioning! Everyone was freezing most of the first half. We listened to a violin, clarinet and piano trio. The violin was a Stradivarius! I forgot what year she said it was, but the tone was incredible!

I have been writing. Some. On Monday and Tuesday. I was gone to work in the nursery at church Wednesday night and last night was the concert and tonight I'm going to babysit my youngest niece and nephews. So . . . Maybe tomorrow night.

I don't have any update on "Through the Tunnel." I'm still waiting for the proof copy to arrive. Perhaps it will come today. I was hoping for yesterday but forgot the mail didn't run on Wednesday.

If you haven't read my blog post on Read Another Page, you might want to check it out. Especially if you have never read my book "Home Fires of the Great War." If you have read it and you haven't left a review on Amazon, I'd love to read what you think of the book.

And now I will give you the first part of this Thanksgiving story. It's a different kind of story. I can't decide if I like it or not. I'll leave that up for you to decide.

Thanksgiving Makeover

Part 1

    The early pre-dawn light was just beginning to spread across the eastern sky, giving a hint to a beautiful Thanksgiving day. The neighborhood was still shrouded in darkness. Not a light shone in any window, giving the impression that no one was awake or that everyone had left town for the holiday. However, the eerily dark streetlights hinted that something more than late sleepers was causing the darkness.
    Inside the Miller home, eleven-year-old Brad shut his Bible and placed it back on the shelf before snapping off his flashlight. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, but when they did, he slipped from his small room and knocked softly on the door across the hall.
    It opened in a minute and his sister appeared.
    “Are you ready?” Brad whispered.
    “Yep.” There was excitement in Rosa’s voice as she turned off her light and tucked it into her pocket.
    Together the siblings hurried down the hall to the stairs. A faint light glimmered from the living room, and Brad and Rosa headed towards it.
    Looking up from his Bible as the children entered, Mr. Miller smiled. “Is it time already?”
    “Yeah, it’s just after six.”
    “Is Mom awake yet?” Rosa asked.
    Mr. Miller nodded. “Yes. She’s going to let the younger ones sleep as late as they want because I don’t think anyone except Molly is going to take a nap today.” As he spoke, Mr. Miller had risen, set his Bible on the table and picked up a camping lantern. “All right, let’s get coats and get to work. Brad, get the posters, Rosa, the papers.”
    The air was brisk as the three figures stepped outside. The soft twitter of a single bird was the only sound to be heard.
    “It sure is quiet without the hum of that streetlight,” Brad whispered.
    “And dark,” Rosa added, shivering.
    The Millers worked quickly, tucking a paper announcing the unusual day’s events, into the front door of each family who was in town. Posters were stapled to light posts. Across the top of these was written in large letters: “Neighborhood Thanksgiving Festival.” Below was a list of events and where they would take place. Though most of the families already knew about the day, the time and place of most of the events hadn’t been announced.
    As they returned to their own home, Brad could hardly wait for everyone to get up. He didn’t even think about the sudden power outage which had knocked out all their original plans for a “normal” Thanksgiving; he was just eager for the fun he knew would be coming.

    Breakfast was hardly over before the excitement and work began. Arrivals at the front door seemed incessant, and Brad and Rosa were kept busy answering questions or directing people to the kitchen to talk with their mom, as she fed baby Molly, or to the back yard where Dad was working.
    At nine o’clock Mr. Miller came inside. “Brad,” he called.
    “Yeah?”
    “I think it might be a good idea to head up to the empty lot and start getting ready for the ‘Macy’s Parade.’ It’s going to take quite a while to get everything ready, I imagine.”
    Brad pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! Come on, Rosa!” he shouted.
    Instantly Cherry and Trenton began to beg to go, and Ryan started crying, “Me too! Me too!”
    Turning in despair to his mom, Brad exclaimed, “Mom, I can’t watch the little ones and get a parade ready!”
    Mrs. Miller smiled as she stepped over Molly’s scattered toys. “I know you can’t. Miss Elise and Mr. Hunter said they’d come help when the time came. The younger ones can stay with Miss Elise while you and Mr. Hunter get everything ready and organized.”
    A flurry of jackets were pulled on, and five Miller children raced out the door and up the street to the empty lot which marked the end of their housing development. From nearby homes other children spilled from doors, some dragging wagons or hopping on bikes, others carrying bags or boxes from which trailed fabric of all sorts.
    Everything in the lot was mass confusion for several minutes until Mr. Hunter, a college age young man who was respected by every child in the neighborhood, got everyone’s attention. After that, Brad was able to assign numbers to the various “floats,” and the work of decorating them and dressing up began. There was much laughter over some of the floats, much borrowing of garments, a seemingly constant request for safety pins, and much running back to houses to get thing forgotten or needed.
    “Mr. Hunter,” Brad asked, when everyone was busy, “since this is supposed to be a ‘Macy’s Parade,’ and they always end theirs with a Santa Claus, do you think we can too?”
    With a laugh, Mr. Hunter shrugged. “We can try. We’d have to find a red coat though, unless someone has a Santa suit.”
    “I don’t know of anyone who does. But I’ll ask the kids.” And Brad ran off. He didn’t believe in Santa and knew most of the other kids didn’t either, but the big parade they were copying always had a Santa at the end, and it just wouldn’t be the same without one. There were no Santa suits, but he learned he could get a pair of red snow pants, a red hoodie and a Santa hat. “I still need a black belt, white gloves and black boots,” he panted, running back to Mr. Hunter who had three-year-old Ryan on his shoulders.
    “I can get a black belt for you and you should be able to find some black boots.” He turned to his sister. “Hey, Elise, do you have any white gloves Santa can wear?”
    “Sure. If you’ll keep Trenton with you, Cherry and I’ll run and get them.”
    “And grab my black belt from the closet, will you? Oh, and see if you can locate any black boots,” Mr. Hunter called after her. Then he turned to Brad. “What is Santa going to ride in?”

What would you make "Santa" ride in?

Have you ever made a parade?

Have you ever had a holiday without electricity?

Through the Tunnel - Part 2

Hello FFFs,
Yes, I'm back and bringing you the next part of "Through the Tunnel." Don't blame me for where it ends. I just pulled out the next thousand words for you today. :P
And now there is good and bad news. The bad news is: You won't be getting any more parts of this book here on my blog. (Unless I decide to do a page with the first chapter like I have for most of my other novels.) The good news is: I ordered my proof copy this morning! Now that doesn't mean the book will be published by next week. It still has to go through the final round of edits and have the corrections made before I can upload the final copy. But it's coming along. :) I spent nearly all afternoon yesterday finishing the layout, uploading that, and then getting the cover completed and uploaded.

On another note, I do have a Thanksgiving story written. That will be starting next week. I have hopes of writing a Christmas story or two, but right now I have no ideas for any. Perhaps that's because I've been too focused on "Through the Tunnel."

Now I'm wondering, how many of you just skipped the top part of this post and went directly to the story first. Anyone? :)

Through the Tunnel

Part 2

    Raising his eyebrows slightly, Leigh stole a quick glance behind them before pulling his gloved hand from his pocket. Sometimes his sister had the strangest ideas, and he wasn’t sure where she got them. He didn’t mind holding hands with her, if no one was watching, but they were fourteen and it wasn’t exactly the thing to do when others were around.
    Lissa didn’t seem to notice her brother’s hesitation, but seized his hand and straightened her shoulders. “Are you ready?” she breathed.
    Leigh nodded, and in perfect silence, except for their footsteps, the twins entered the small arch in the stone bridge. The snow wasn’t as deep and the very center had only a thin dusting where snow had been blown in. The hand holding his own trembled as they neared the snowy world beyond the bridge, and Leigh squeezed it.
    Feeling the pressure, Lissa tightened her grip, and a tingling feeling of excitement and anticipation raced up her spine and then shot to the very tips of her fingers and toes. They were almost there; almost to the end of the tunnel and into their new world, their new life. In spite of the fact that the rational part of her mind was telling her that it was all her imagination, and the world they were about to enter was the same snowy one they had left on the other side of the bridge, Lissa refused to listen to anything rational.
    Stepping out into the white wonderland, Lissa and Leigh gazed about them a moment before their eyes met.
    Lissa nodded. “We are here. This, Leigh, is a new world.” She made a gesture with her hand. “See, there are no footprints. Everything is fresh and new.” Her eyes left her brother’s face and swept over the landscape once more until her gaze locked on the towering pine tree that was missing its top. Somehow, she wasn’t quite sure how, she felt that she was that tree,  stunted and suppressed. “I won’t stay that way,” she said half aloud.
    “What? You won’t stay what way?” Leigh asked.
    Tearing her eyes away from the tree, Lissa shook her head. “Nothing.” There were some things hard to talk about, even to her twin. As she put her hand in her pocket, she felt the orange Leigh had given her. Now was the perfect time to eat it. “Here,” she said, pulling it out. “Let’s eat the first food in our new world.”
    She took one glove off and tried to dig her nail into the thick skin, but she couldn’t get it started.
    “Let me try.” Taking the fruit, Leigh pulled a small pocket knife from his coat pocket and soon had the skin off and the orange divided into two parts. “Here.”
    Lissa took one half but said, “You eat the other half.”
    “No. I had lunch. You eat it,” and he set the second half on top of the first.
    For a moment Lissa hesitated. She was hungry, yet her desire to continue to pretend was stronger still. “We must both eat if we want our new life in this world to be better than the last.” She held a half out, pleading with her eyes for her twin to take it.
    “I’ll eat one piece,” Leigh agreed, peeling a small wedge from the juicy orange. “You have to eat the rest of it.”
    Lissa knew from his tones that he wouldn’t budge from his statement. Most of the time she liked the feeling of being taken care of by her brother, but sometimes she wished he wasn’t quite so protective. Giving in, Lissa nodded. “Let’s walk while I eat,” she suggested, popping a piece of orange into her mouth and savoring its sweet flavor.
    Neither twin said a word as they slowly strolled forward along the snowy path in companionable silence. Each was lost in their own thoughts. Finally, after Lissa had finished her orange, pulled her glove back on, and stuck her hand in her pocket, Leigh asked, “Why did you leave the cabin?”
    “To get away from everything. I was tired of the constant complaining, arguing, and shouting. There hasn’t been a moment of silence since we arrived. Even at night there are snores, or loud voices from those who don’t go to bed. I just couldn’t stand it any more.”
    “Yeah, it’s pretty bad. I’ll be glad to get back to school.”
    “Leigh,” Lissa looked up at her brother, “do you think we could ask Mrs. Harrel if she has a different home for us?”
    For a moment Leigh was silent. “I don’t know. We might end up in a worse place. The Grose family aren’t too bad back home, are they?”
    “N-o-o-o, I guess not.” Lissa had never liked living with the Groses. It wasn’t that they were mean to her, but no one really got along, the children, all middle school and younger in age, treated her like their personal slave, and when she didn’t comply with their demands soon enough, they would cry and carry on until Mr. or Mrs. Grose scolded her for causing such a fuss.
    With Leigh it was different. He was gone much of the time to one sports practice or event or another and when he was home, he wasn’t at the beck and call of the younger ones.
    “Perhaps I should have joined a sports team,” she muttered.
    “You? Ha!” Leigh chuckled. “You know you hate playing sports.”
    Lissa knew that well. She had been made to join a sports team when they lived with another foster family, and she had been miserable.
    A few flakes of snow began to drift down from the white sky. Tilting her head back, Lissa squinted up and tried to catch one on her tongue.
    “Lissa, perhaps we should be heading back now.”
    Slowly Lissa readjusted her scarf, glanced back the way they had come, and shook her head. A sudden fit of independence or recklessness had come over her, and she folded her arms. “I’m not going back yet. They’ll only scold us for going out anyway and, if that’s the case, we might as well take our time.”
    Leigh’s eyes widened. He’d never heard his usually compliant and eager-to-please sister talk in this fashion. “Lissa, what’s gotten into you?” he asked. “Do you just want to make Mrs. Grose worry? Come on,” he placed a hand on her arm. “The snow is coming down a little harder. We don’t want to be caught out here in a storm.”

Are you ready to buy the book?

Do you wish it was out now?

Will you be back to read the Thanksgiving story?

Through the Tunnel - Part 1

Good morning Faithful Friday Fiction Fans,
I imagine many of you are just here to read the first part of my new book. :) That's okay. I don't mind, really. I'm just glad the cover was appealing. Since it was the first "real" book cover I've done, I wasn't sure if it would catch attention. I'm happy to know it does.
Creating that cover was quite an experience for me, but it was really fun. I had to learn how to crop someone out so that it didn't look strange and to change the color of the eyes. :) I still have to finish the back of the book once I get the interior layout finalized. (And I can't do that until I have the rest of my snowflakes.)

Anyway, it's been a crazy week. My brother and sis-in-law signed a contract on a rental house last Saturday and my mom, sis and I spend two afternoons over there cleaning it. Today we'll probably be watching at least some of the kids while the others work on starting to move. Tomorrow is the big moving day. Everyone is eager to get into their new house. :)

Okay, I'll cut this short and let you get on with the story. :)

Through the Tunnel

Part 1

    It was all so quiet and still. Lissa drew in a long breath of the cold winter air and relaxed. The beauty of nature surrounded her. The awe inspiring slope of the rugged mountain in front, almost hidden behind clouds, seemed nearly close enough to walk to. Below the clouds, wearing their winter coats of snow, stood the towering pines and smaller, shorter deciduous trees. One tree in particular caught Lissa’s attention. It was a pine, tall and straight like the others, and holding heavy loads of wet snow, but its top was missing. There it stood, as grand as the others, yet it wore a scar which no other tree nearby bore.
    “Probably snapped off in some storm,” Lissa mused, gazing at the tree for some minutes before dropping her eyes to the stone bridge below it.
    The bridge, when one first glanced at it, appeared to be just another stone bridge spanning an icy river, but a second look showed three arches; the larger and most noticeable one was across the water, while smaller ones on either side, not as obvious, formed tunnels over the walking paths. Piled up on the walls of the bridge were layers of snow, mounded and white. Lissa smiled as she noticed that something or someone had knocked the snow off in a few places, and she wondered who had done it. Had it been knocked into the river, or had someone picked it up to eat? Shrugging, her gaze shifted.
    The soft, almost musical melody of the river drifting its slow way between banks of snow was the only sound to be heard, and Lissa’s head, still pounding with the almost constant noise, clatter, and raised voices of a cabin full of people, felt relief, and the throbbing subsided to a dull ache. Along the bank before her, she could see ice had formed along the water’s edge. Rocks, each wearing a cap like the top of a cupcake piled with sugar crystals, dotted the bank and even stuck up through the ice of the river itself, as though the sugar piles were sitting on a silvery tray just waiting to be served.
    A rumble sounded in the still air and Lissa glanced around before realizing the sound had been her stomach. “Those rocks are making me hungry,” she giggled to herself. Reaching down, she scooped up a handful of the pure, mountain snow and took a bite. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation of the powdery crystals melting into ice cold water in her mouth.
    With a glance back the way she had come, Lissa hesitated, then, lifting her chin just a little, she resolutely continued on toward that alluring bridge before her. She knew she wasn’t yet ready to face the turmoil of the cabin again, and she didn’t think anyone would even miss her until supper time. Leigh might realize I am gone. The thought of her twin brother made her look back once more. Perhaps she should have told him she was going out. He might have liked to come along.
    But then someone else would have heard, and before I could say anything, they’d either all be coming out and disturbing the quietness or someone would have forbidden me to go out. A slight frown came over her young face. For the seven hundredth time she wondered what life would have been like had she and Leigh not lost their parents when they were two. Bouncing around from one foster family to another for twelve years had been very difficult.
    Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back and continued trudging through the snow toward that tunnel under the bridge.
    “Lis–sa!”
    The call rang out loud and clear in the stillness of the snowy mountains. Lissa recognized her brother’s voice at once and paused, sighing inwardly. She wasn’t ready to go back and face a lecture from Mrs. Grose nor the constant commotion of the cabins. Life had been better before the Grose family had decided to have a family reunion in the mountains. Now seven adults, five teenagers, and half a dozen noisy, crazy kids were sharing two cabins for a long three day weekend. Why couldn’t she and Leigh have been allowed to remain behind? After all, they weren’t a part of the Grose family. Not really.
    The soft squeak of snow-boots stepping through the blanket of cold whiteness came closer. “There you are. Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”
    Lissa looked up at her brother. Though they were twins, Leigh was nearly three inches taller than she was and had the build of an athlete. “I would have,” she said, “but you were talking with Tony, and I was afraid of letting anyone else know I was going out.”
    “You missed lunch.” It was all Leigh said as he shoved his hands in his pockets and started slowly forward.
    “Didn’t anyone miss me? Except you, I mean.”
    “Nope. At least no one said anything. Here, I brought you an orange.” Leigh pulled out a golden ball and handed it to his sister.
    “Thanks.” Taking the fruit, Lissa slipped it into her pocket. She would eat it a little later.
    “Where are you going?”
    “I don’t know. To the bridge first. I want to see the tunnel.”
    The quiet of the winter afternoon was only broken by the soft sound of the twins’ footsteps in the snow as they neared the old stone bridge. Suddenly grabbing Leigh’s arm, Lissa whispered, “This is a tunnel to a new world. The entrance lies before us, and beyond–anything is possible. But we must enter holding hands and not speak a word from the moment we step foot inside this special passageway until we are out on the other side.”
    Raising his eyebrows slightly, Leigh stole a quick glance behind them before pulling his gloved hand from his pocket. Sometimes his sister had the strangest ideas, and he wasn’t sure where she got them.

So, what did you think?

You want a little more next week?

How did I guess?

The Rescue - Part 3

Hello FFFs!
Glad you decided to come back. I hope you had a good week.

Yesterday was full, fun and fallish. How else could it be when you mix 6 kids, parents, aunts, grandparents, great-grandparents, leaves, ladders, dead tree branches, swings, rakes, huge leaf piles, truck beds, lunch, dessert, a new ball, lego, saws, energy, supper, more dessert, darkness, games and more? Yep, it was fun. The truck bed of Papa's truck because a Coast Guard rescue boat. The ladder tied on the top of the ladder rack became a spaceship, the leaf covered yard was a perfect place to rake paths and roads and the 2 /12 year old greatly enjoyed following the paths and seeing where they led.

Here's a quick news flash. Check out Read Another Page on Tuesday and you'll get to see the cover and read the synopsis (finally) for my new book. It's not published yet, but you can find out more about that on Tuesday. So don't forget to come back. :)

And now, even though this is short, I'll let you get on to reading the last part of:

The Rescue

    “Don’t think about it,” quickly interrupted Jared. The last thing he wanted was Holly getting sick again. “See, look, they’re putting the ladder out. It won’t be long now.”
    Beside them Gene remained silent, sitting cross-legged and staring down at his dead phone.
    The minutes seemed like hours to the three soaked and waiting teens. The water was climbing higher and higher on the car and soon it would go under. Would help never reach them? A cry of dismay broke from their throats when they saw a large branch crash down and stop the progress of the ladder.
    “We’ll never be rescued,” Holly moaned, while tears mingled with the rain and ran down her face.
    “Yes, we will,” Jared assured, though he didn’t feel too hopeful at the moment. “Guys, we’ve got to pray again. God heard our first prayer and sent those men sooner than I thought was possible.”
    Gene didn’t reply, but Holly nodded. “Yes, we do.”
    As he prayed for their rescuers, Jared didn’t close his eyes or take them away from the efforts being made to save them.
    At last the branch was out of the way, and the ladder stretched farther out. But it was too short. Jared bit back a groan as he saw the ladder retracted, the fireman on it steadily moving backwards. Now what?
    Gene spoke for the first time since they had lost contact with the 9-1-1 dispatcher. “Uh, look at the water.”
    Holly screamed, moved and slipped. She screamed again as the boys grabbed her arms and pulled her back to the top. She was shaking. The water had almost reached the top of the car. Only another inch and they would be sitting in the water just waiting to be swept away.
    “Stand up,” Jared ordered. “There’s a branch above us. We’ll hang on to that until help arrives. Gene, you’re taller, grab it and pull it down just a little. That’s it. Now Holly, get a good grip and no matter what happens, hang on!” Jared had pulled Holly to her feet and held onto her arm until she was clinging tightly to their last hope of safety.
    “Help!”
    “Gene, save your strength! They’re going to get us.”
    As the three teenagers held on to the branch, the water crept up, covering their feet and lapping about their legs. Then suddenly they heard a crash and felt a shock run up their legs. The car below them shifted, turned and disappeared, leaving them hanging to the branch, their bodies pushed about by the torrent of water.
    How long would they have to hold on? Jared could feel his legs growing numb, and his hands and arms screamed from the tight grip he held on the branch. Would it be better to let go and pray that the water would take him closer to shore?
    “Hang on! We’re almost there.” The voice, strong, firm and commanding, seemed to infuse new energy into the exhausted muscles of the trio. A boat with two rescuers was nearing them.
    “All right, Lane, grab that branch. Hold us steady for just a minute. Now, you’re first, young lady. I’ve got you. Just let go and–that’s right.”
    Jared watched as Holly was safely pulled into the inflatable boat. It was Gene’s turn next. Then he felt hands on him. The last bit of strength seemed to flee from his body as he dropped exhausted into the boat between Gene and Holly. “Thank you!” The words didn’t seem adequate, but it was all he could say.
    The man gave a nod.
    Jared closed his eyes a moment and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. As the raft made its way towards the safety of the shore, Jared promised himself that he would never again allow anyone to drive through a flooded road if he was in the vehicle. He didn’t care if he had to forcefully take the key from the ignition. Nor would he mind the laughter of the guys when he made a right choice. He had learned his lesson.

###

    Bret gave another shove with his paddle. He could see the flashing lights of Ladder Truck 7 as well as those of the police and an ambulance up on land. That was good. The teens were going to need to get warm quickly or they’d all end up in the hospital. Jumping from the raft into the shallower water, he seized the rope and towed it toward shore. Quickly Charlie, Frank and Drew hurried to help and soon had it pulled farther up to the edge of the water.
    “All right.” Bret nodded to the three bedraggled and shivering teens. The boys didn’t need help as they rose and climbed from the boat, but the girl, still shaking and pale, accepted Bret’s offered hand. He watched a moment as the three had blankets put about them.
    It felt good to see that all three were safe and would soon be warm and dry. Reporters were everywhere, and someone tried to shove a microphone in his face, but Bret turned away. They had work to do. This rescue had been in the line of duty, it had gone well, and everyone was safe. There wasn’t more to be said, except . . .

    “Well, Bret,” Charlie remarked, as Ladder Truck 7 with its crew was once more back on the streets, “that’s our first three for the evening.”
    “And you were right,” Drew put in. “They were there because one of them was stupid enough to try driving through the flooded road. Why don’t kids like that think before they head into water?”
    “He was a teenage boy and had a girl with him,” Lane remarked, “what else would you expect?”
    “Better sense,” was Bret’s quiet answer, “because it may not turn out with the same results next time.”

Would you let a friend drive through a flooded road?

Are you excited to see the cover of my new book?

Post for next week?

Come back and you'll see!