First Christmas in America - Part 1

Happy Day-After-Thanksgiving FFFs,
I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and didn't eat too much. :) We had our Thanksgiving feast on Wednesday so that my brother and his family could have Thanksgiving on Thursday with his wife's family. So we had leftovers for lunch yesterday, and turkey sandwiches for supper.

I don't know about your week, but mine felt rather crazy.
Last Friday––I got my illustrations for TCR-4, but didn't have time to do anything with them. Instead I cleaned the house and quilted and worked on other things.

Saturday––My mind seems to be drawing a blank for Saturday. Hmm. Oh, I did spend two hours quilting and took care of several other things I needed to do, like sending as much of the TCR-4 cover pieces to my best friend so she could put it all together in her spare time. I wrote 3,260 words of a new Christmas story. :)

Sunday––I was asked if I wanted to be a part of the church's string group for a Christmas song. I said yes, and then got the music. Wow! It is really fun, but I have to practice it. :) I also wrote some.

Monday––I finally got chapters titles for TCR-4 figured out. I don't know why it is so hard to come up with titles for the chapters. I also had to listen to four stories for my audio book to see if they were all right or if they needed any corrections made. I quilted too.

Tuesday––After much rewriting and help from my mom, I got the synopsis for TCR-4 written and sent to my friend. She got the back cover to me that evening. Another story needed listened to. I worked on the layout of TCR-4, and that evening I mixed up my roll dough.

Wednesday––It was our Thanksgiving Day. My grandparents came down and my brother and his family came over. Thanks to my mom's planning, we had most of the food ready ahead of time. We ate, played games, took fun pictures, and ate again.

Thursday––It was a quiet day yesterday. My grandparents spent the morning here and ate lunch with us before heading back home. The exciting thing yesterday was that I was able to finish the layout for TCR-4 and upload it!

Today––I'm going to order my proof copy this morning, if I ever get this post finished and posted. :P My mom, S and I are also planning on going to JoAnn later this morning to get a few things. Then I'll be heading over to my brother's house with Mom to help pull orders for his Black Friday sale. Crazy! And I want to get started on decorating the house!

During the month of December, I'm going to post on Friday like usual, but I am also planning on posting now and then during the weeks, so you might want to keep checking my blog for new posts. I may have another story that I post, or book reviews, or who knows what. So I hope you'll be back more often.

This Christmas story is based loosely on a real story. Names have been changed and I had to add much since the real story was only a paragraph long. I hope you enjoy it.

First Christmas in America

Part 1

    It was only a few days before Christmas and outside the small town snow lay everywhere. A pale sun was trying to shine, but its feeble efforts did nothing to diminish the bitter cold of the wind, and not a might of snow was melted because of its rays. The trees, standing dark against the white blanket of snow, waved their bare branches. Were they welcoming the newcomers or trying to make them turn back?
    In the taxi, eight-year-old Klara Ivanski couldn’t decide as she pressed her face against the cold window and stared out at the strange surroundings. This was not like the old country and it certainly was not like the big cities they had traveled through on the train. What was this new life in America going to be like, she wondered?
    “Move your head, Klara,” Kristina urged, pulling on her sister’s coat. Kristina was only eleven months younger than Klara and many people mistook them for twins. “I want to see out too.”
    Reluctantly Klara settled back in her seat again. It was rather cramped sharing the back seat of the taxi with four of her sisters, but Klara didn’t mind. She only wished Mama and the other four Ivanski children were with them. It was when they were stopping for a few days with an uncle that Lidiya and Yury became sick. They were not dangerously sick, but the doctor had said they must not travel until they were better. Uncle had urged Papa to stay there, but he couldn’t.
    “I vould love to stay here, Peter, but if I do not go now, the house it might be sold and I maybe lose my new job too. Already I have stayed maybe too long. No, Peter, I must go.”
    “But the other children,” Uncle urged. “What about them?”
    Papa had looked around the room. It seemed teeming with children, for Uncle Peter and Aunt Anna had almost as large a family as did their newly arrived relatives. “It vould not be right to leave all my children here. Marta, she can stay vith the sick vuns, and Sofia must remain.”
    “But Viktor,” Aunt Anna protested. “Surely you will not leave Marta to travel all that way alone with two young ones and Lidiya in her condition! Could you not go, secure the house and then return? It is nearly Christmas. Families should be together for Christmas.”
    Pressed between the taxi door and her nearly twin sister Kristina, Klara remembered Papa’s answer. It had been quiet, but decisive. “Yah, Anna, Christmas is a time to be together, but if I miss this job, how vill ve stay together at all? No, I must go. I vill leave Viktor to come later vith Marta, Lidiya and the younger ones. He is a man now. Anastasiya vill help me with the others.” Papa had put his arm around his eldest daughter’s shoulders. “The house, she vill be ready vhen the others come, yah?”
    “Yes, Papa,” Ana had replied. Klara could still see how proud her sixteen-year-old sister was at Papa’s words.
    And so it had happened. Papa had started for their new home in America with Anastasiya, Polina, Klara, Kristina, Nikolay and Marina. The trip had been full of delays, but at last they had reached the small town. Klara remembered how the lines on Papa’s face had disappeared when he learned the house was still waiting for them and his job would start after Christmas.
    “All vill be vell,” he had remarked quietly.
    Then all their bundles had been loaded into a taxi and the children somehow managed to squeeze in too and away they had driven. Soon, the driver had told them, they would reach their home. All the children were anxious to catch the first glimpse of the house, but so far they had seen only a few farm houses scattered far apart in the midst of the snowy landscape. How long would they continue to drive? Where in that snowy wilderness would their house be?
    “Well, there she is, mister,” the driver said, pointing to a farmhouse set a short distance from the road. “Since no one knew you were comin’ today, I don’t reckon the house is all that clean.”
    “It matters not,” Papa said. “Ve can clean it.”
    Stopping the automobile on the road, the driver remarked, “Well, with five girls and one boy I reckon you can do the job, an’ keep the walk shoveled. It ain’t been done since the first snowfall.”
    “No,” corrected Papa gently, “I have two more sons and three more daughters. They are coming later vith the Mama.”
    At that bit of news, the driver turned half around in his seat, looked at all the girls crowded in the back and then remarked, “I reckon that house’ll be a might small.”
    Klara hadn’t taken her eyes off the house. Small? To her it seemed like a mansion, for it had two stories! She could hardly believe they were going to be living in such a place.
    Papa’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Come children, ve must gather our things and go to our house.”
    Quickly the children tumbled out. What was a little snow to them? They were used to snow in the Old Country. They didn’t have many belongings so it didn’t take long to collect them. Then Papa lifted Marina, who was only four, onto his shoulders, picked up the largest bundle and set forth into the unmarked snow towards the house. The taxi driver offered to help, but Papa assured him they would be just fine.
    “Come now,” Papa called, “follow my steps and ve shall soon be there.”
    First Anastasiya, who tried to make the steps a little bigger and closer together, then Nikolay and the other three girls. Klara came last, for she wanted to see in every direction at once. She wondered what kind of trees were growing near the house and what animals lived in the woods nearby. In what direction were their nearest neighbors and would they have a garden in the summer?

Do you like the start of this story?

Will you be back next week?

Too Busy?

Hello Fabulous Friday Fiction Fans,
I hope your week has been good. Mind has been and it's been busy. :)

Friday and Saturday––Usual things. Don't really remember anything different or unusual about them.
Sunday––We got snow! Not just a dusting either. This was actually real snow. Great big, fat, fluffy flakes came down, and it snowed, and it snowed all mornings. We ended up with at least 2 inches of snow. And, if that weren't enough excitement, after church we had all the families from our old church come over for lunch and fellowship. It was such a delight to see everyone again.
Monday––I had received the pictures for "The Graham Quartet" on Sunday and was able to put them in the book, and then upload the file.
Tuesday––I spend about two hours working on cataloging the church library on an online place. Most of the rest of the day I spent checking "The Graham Quartet." I corrected the four mistakes I saw, and then uploaded the corrected file.
Wednesday––Approved of "The Graham Quartet and the Mysterious Strangers." It is now published!!!! Check out my Rebekah's Books page for more detail. Or click here.

Thursday––I wrote some in the morning and then in the afternoon, my niece and youngest two nephews came over. They took naps or rests and then we headed out to a political dinner.

And now it is Friday once again. I now have the illustrations for TCR-4. I have to put it all together, make corrections, upload the files, order the proof, get it read and make more corrections, upload new files and then approve and publish it. You can pray it all goes smoothly.
I also am expecting to get some files of "Pirates of Rocky Crag Bay and Other Stories" to listen to an check this weekend. My audio producer is trying very hard to get this book finished by the first of December.
And I have been working on Christmas stories. :) Pray for inspiration though as the one I'm working on now is going rather slowly.

So, now you have a glimpse of my week and the excitement of it. :)

This story was written for a friend's Sunday School class. She had a point she wanted to get across to her students and so she asked me to write this story. I'll leave you to see if you can find the analogy in the story. :)

Too Busy?

    Jessie McDonald opened the mailbox and pulled out the mail. Eagerly she flipped through it. “Oh, there’s a letter here from Cindy!” she exclaimed in delight. “I wonder what she has to say today.”
    Quickly entering the house, Jessie dropped the rest of the mail on the table and tore open her letter. Cindy was such a good friend, always ready to listen to Jessie’s problems and help in many ways. She offered good advice, had wonderful stories to tell, and Jessie knew she could always count on her friend’s wisdom.
    After quickly reading the letter, Jessie sighed. “She’s such a good writer,” she thought, carrying her letter to her room where she dropped it on her desk and promptly forgot about it as the phone rang.

    The following day brought another letter from Cindy, but Jessie was in a hurry and only had time to rip open the envelope and glance at a few lines. “I’ll read the rest as soon as I get home,” she promised herself. This letter, stuffed carelessly back in its envelope, was tossed onto the couch before she left the house.
    But when she returned home later in the day, she was tired, and the thought of reading Cindy’s letter didn’t sound as much fun as reading a mystery book. So the letter remained unread on the couch and eventually slipped between the cushions.

    “If I didn’t have to clean the house,” Jessie said when another letter arrived from her friend, “I’d read Cindy’s letter. Oh, well. I can read it later.” But later never seemed to arrive that day, for Jessie was busy with one thing or another and the letter lay unopened on her desk.

    There was no letter over the weekend and when the mailman delivered the mail on Monday, Jessie hurried out to get it. Inside the mailbox, a lovely red envelope caught her eye. It had an intricate design embossed around the edges and her name was written in a flowing, swirling font. “Oh,” breathed Jessie, realizing that it was from Cindy. “This is so lovely, it would be a shame to mess it up.” Gently she ran her fingers over the edges and then turned the envelope over in her hand. “I won’t open it yet,” she decided. “I’ll enjoy the lovely envelope a while longer.” Carrying it inside and into her room, Jessie set the red envelope in a prominent place on her desk and stood for several minutes admiring it. “I just love the color red. Some friends are coming over this afternoon, won’t they be jealous when they see this!” She knew that Cindy also wrote to several other friends, and a desire to have them see what a lovely envelope she had received came over her. Picking up the treasured bit of paper, she carried it out and propped it up on an end table in the living room where it would be sure to catch the eyes of her coming visitors. So delighted was she with the cover of the letter,that never once since she had come inside had she thought of wondering what Cindy had written inside the lovely envelope.
    The envelope brought several comments from Jessie’s friends as she knew it would. The talk for some time was about Cindy and what she was doing and what she had said. Jessie, because she hadn’t taken time to read the letters which she had received, could only listen and comment. At first this embarrassed her, but then she shrugged it off. She shouldn’t be expected to know as much as some of the others. After all, she assured herself, no one else was as busy as she was.

    The letter stood on the end table for several days, drawing admiring glances from Jessie and her friends who stopped by. Each day she dusted around it, but she never opened it.

    When the next letter arrived, Jessie noticed it wasn’t such a bright envelope and, thinking about the other unread letters, she ripped it open before going inside. She could tell this new letter would take a while to read as there were many pages and the writing was small. “I will put it by my bed,” she decided. “That way I can read it tonight.”
    Jessie’s intentions were good, but after a busy day, all she wanted to do was crawl between her sheets and sleep. In the morning a stack of books were placed on the nightstand, and Cindy’s letter was mistakenly covered up.
    And so things went for several weeks. Jessie had good intentions about reading her friend’s letters, but she was busy and forgot later, or she lost them. One time she fell asleep reading one at night and crumpled up the sheets so badly that she decided never again would she read the letters at night.

    One day, as Jessie sat on the porch steps waiting for the mailman, a friend’s car stopped in front of her house. “Hi, Joey. Hi, Nicole,” she called. “What are you two doing here?”
    “Just wanted to make sure you were all right,” Nicole answered, coming up the walk with Joey.
    “Yeah,” Joey added, “when you weren’t there we thought you must be sick.” He stopped before her.
    Jessie looked as confused as she felt. “What are you talking about? I’m not sick. Where should I have been?”
    Her friends looked at each other. Then Joey asked, “Didn’t you read Cindy’s letters?”
    And Nicole added, “She’s talked about her visit for quite some time now. Today was the day and she planned a party for us all.”
    “It was a great time! I wish you could have made it,” Joey put in.
    For several minutes Jessie sat in silence staring at her friends. “Cindy here, in town,” she gasped, “and I missed out on seeing her!” She swallowed hard and blinked back tears. “It was because I almost never made the time to read her letters. I didn’t know she was coming.”

    After Nicole and Joey left, Jessie sat in thoughtful silence on the porch steps. “I couldn’t  know what Cindy planned because I never cared enough to read her letters? Never again will I make the same mistake. As soon as her letter arrives, I’m going to take the time right then to read it.”
    So diligent has Jessie become in reading Cindy’s letters, that there is no danger of her ever missing any event Cindy plans again and their friendship grew. In fact, Jessie soon was so well acquainted with what Cindy was doing and what she thought about different things, that even Nicole and Joey started to ask Jessie for news of their friend.

Did you see the analogy?

Can you relate to Jessie?

Next week will start a Christmas story.

Don't miss it!

Travels of Tracy––Autumn - Part 2

Good Morning Friday Fiction Fans!
I was forgetting it was Friday morning and I needed to get this post up. :P But I'm working on it now. :)

I don't know about you, but we've have major climate change this week. On Monday it was in the 70's and my best friend and I went for a walk in the evening with no jackets and were even a little warm. But on Tuesday it was cold! The past two days I don't think it's even been above freezing! And, if that weren't enough, there is a chance of snow this weekend! We almost never have snow before Thanksgiving! In fact, I don't remember ever getting any before then. Sometimes we'll have snow before Christmas, but usually we have to wait until January before we get snow. Such strange weather we have. :) But I love living in a place that has the changing of seasons. What about you?

This week I've been writing. I got inspired with an idea for a Christmas story, and have been working on that. But last night I was having a terrible time making anything sound right. I'd write something and think, "That's blah. Don't want that." Or, "This part is not even interesting! I'll just delete this part." It wasn't until I was in bed that I had an idea. Right now I'm mulling it over in my mind, but the more I do, the better I like it. So, if we don't babysit this evening, I think I'll be cutting, changing and working on the Christmas story. I'd appreciate some prayers. :)

But here is the end of Travels of Tracy. I would love to hear what you think of it. And if you haven't read the rest of the stories about Tracy, check on my Short Stories page to find and enjoy them. :)

Travels of Tracy––Autumn

Part 2

    When the park ranger, having seen her fall from a window, reached her, Tracy was sitting in the sand rubbing her ankle with one hand while holding her cat with the other. “Do you need some help, Miss?” the ranger asked.
    Tracy sighed dismally and looked up. “I could use some,” she admitted. “My car is stuck in the sand back there, the beads from my shoes are scattered everywhere, and I don’t think I can walk very far with this ankle.”
    “I see,” the ranger replied, looking from the direction of the unseen car to the girl and cat before him. “I’ll help you into the center and then we’ll see about your ankle and car.”
    “Oh, please, can’t we gather these beads up? I don’t want to litter such a beautiful park as this, even if these are wood,  and I might be able to sew them back on my shoes. Lyn, stop putting your tail in my mouth, please,” she begged, shifting her cat in her arm.
    The ranger felt in his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and, after tying some knots in it, offered it as a place to put the beads. Several minutes were spent gathering the refractory objects which delighted in hiding in the sand and under the brown grass. Then Ranger Jones, putting the handkerchief with it’s unusual collection in his pocket, held out his hand. “Let me help you up. And I would strongly suggest that you carry instead of wear your shoes.”

    Once Tracy was settled on a chair in the office of the nature center, Lyn curled up in a contented, purring heap in her lap, she asked, “Is there a phone I can use?”
    “Yep.” and Ranger Jones moved a phone across the desk. “Help yourself.”
    “Thank you.” Tracy dialed a number and then waited. “Tad? It’s me, Tracy . . . Um, I sort of got stuck here at the state park . . . Mmm hmm. That’s the one . . . The car was spinning its wheels and then, well, I’m here at the Nature Center, and I can’t drive very well tonight, what with the car and then . . .” There was a long pause. “Yes, I have Lyn.” Another pause. “Oh, Tad, would you? . . . Of course I’ll wait. I can’t exactly go anywhere now . . . All right. Good-bye, Tad.”
    Giving a vast sigh of relief, Tracy hung up the phone and leaned back in her chair. “Tad’s coming for me.”
    “Your brother?” asked Ranger Jones.
    Tracy shook her head. “No, fiancee. We got engaged just before school started again. He’s graduated, but I still have one more year. Then we’ll get married.” She looked down at the ring on her finger and smiled.

***

    It was later that night. Tad and Tracy had arrived at his parent’s house, and Tracy’s things had been deposited in the guest room where she had often stayed. Her blue car had been pulled from the sand and was now parked in the driveway, none the worse for its delay at the state park.
    Now Tad and Tracy sat on the couch together in the living room before a crackling fire while his parents did the dishes. Tad had his arm around Tracy’s shoulders and her turned ankle was resting on a soft footstool.
    “Tracy, I’m not going to wait until June,” Tad stated firmly. “We’re going to get married at Thanksgiving.”
    Tracy looked astonished. “Why, Tad!” she exclaimed. In her amazement she pulled away from his arm to sit up straight and stare into his face. “I won’t be done with college yet, and Thanksgiving is only six weeks away!”
    “Exactly,” Tad nodded, pulling her back. “If you had a longer break before then, I’d move the date up.” Lyn jumped into Tracy’s lap and rubbed her head against Tracy’s chin. The rumble of her purr was loud, and Tad chuckled. “Madelyn agrees with me.”
    Pushing back one of her loose, tawny curls, Tracy’s hand felt Tad’s and she held on to it. “Why the sudden change of plans,” she asked.
    “Because I can’t stand the worry any longer. Why, Tracy, every time you set off to travel anywhere by yourself, you run into problems. You’ve had a flat tire, had engine trouble, been swept off the road and almost caught in a tornado, gotten lost, and now you have twisted your ankle after getting your car stuck in the sand. It’s a wonder my hair isn’t white,” he teased. “You shouldn’t have any reason to drive any distance before Thanksgiving, and then we’ll be married and I’ll be with you on all your trips.”
    “But—“
    “No, buts.” Tad put his finger over Tracy’s lips and shook his head though he grinned. “From now on I’m not going to let you drive anywhere outside the city alone. I want to make sure that should trouble arise, you will be able to get help right away. Besides,” he couldn’t resist adding with a twinkle in his eyes, “this way will save us a lot of money.”
    “How so?”
    “It will save the cost of buying you new pairs of shoes to replace all of your favorite ones which you have ruined in your travels.”
    In the end Tracy agreed to the plan. She always did agree when Tad really wanted something. And so, on a cold, blustery day near the end of November, Tracy and Tad were married. Thus the travels of Tracy Linnet with her cat, Madelyn, in the little blue Road Runner were ended.

There, these stories are over!

How did you like the ending?
Was it what you were expecting?

Travels of Tracy––Autumn - Part 1

Good Morning FFFs,
I can't believe it is Friday already! That's probably because I feel like I missed a few days. I was working as an election judge on Tuesday and didn't get home until 9:30 PM after leaving the house at 5:15 AM. It was a long day. We had a total of 277 voters come to my polling place to vote. That's not very good when there are 1,667 or so registered voters in the area who can vote.
And then I didn't end up having writing classes on Wednesday so that sort of messed up my schedule. :) So . . .
But the calender says it is Friday so I suppose I will post. :) I did get a short story written. It's two parts so I have a little longer to get something else written. :)

I would have posted this a bit sooner but I had to reply to my illustrator so she could get to work on the pictures for TCR-4. :)

Speaking of writing, if any of you read and enjoyed "The Graham Quartet and the Mysterious Strangers" I need your help! In getting the book ready to publish (the front cover is done!), I realized that I had no reviews from anyone who had read the story. What I'm looking for is 1-3 sentences of what you thought of the story. Did you like it? Was it interesting? Would you recommend it? How would you describe it? Anything really. You can leave the "reviews" in a comment or send them directly to me using the "contact author" form on the side. Please be sure to include your first name and your age. If you want to put what state or province you are from, that would be an added bit of fun. But I will need these as soon as you can. Thanks!

Now enjoy this first part of another Travels of Tracy. :)

Travels of Tracy––Autumn 
Part 1

    The sky was slightly overcast and the sun was setting in the west. The ocean, stretching out until it met the distant sky, was a deep grey except for the foamy waves washing up on the sandy beach. A brisk breeze blew in through the open windows of the small, blue Road Runner, tossing the tawny curls of the driver about in mad confusion.
    “Oh, Lyn,” Tracy Linnet sighed, “why didn’t you tell me to keep my eyes on the road instead of the ocean? Now the car is stuck in the sand. Are you going to pull it out?” She turned to look at her companion who was sitting in the next seat on an old sweater washing her face.
    “You’re no help,” Tracy scolded, lifting her cat and setting her in her lap.
    Madalyn, the long haired, yellow tabby purred, placed a front paw on Tracy’s arm, and gently kneaded it with her claws.
    “Oh, you think you can push it out?” But Lyn just yawned and Tracy gave another sigh. “Well, we’ve got to do something, Lyn.”
    “Meow,” was the only thing Lyn had to say about the situation.

    Opening the car door, Tracy stepped out into the sand, her cat held in her arms. “At least I have these shoes on and not ones with heels,” she remarked, catching a glimpse of her shoes. They were wooden clogs at least two inches high with a heavily beaded strap across the foot. “I’m sure the sand must be cold on such a cloudy day in autumn. I should probably put on socks and boots or something, but I love these shoes and won’t get to wear them much longer.”
    After placing her cat on the hood of the blue Road Runner, Tracy slowly walked around it looking at the tires which were imbedded in the sand. They had only spun when she had tried to drive out, and Tracy was at a loss as to how to get traction. “I guess we are stuck.”
    Eagerly scanning the land in all directions, Tracy was at last able to make out a distant building down the shore a ways. It was a large, white building, and Tracy wondered if it could be the State Park nature center. “There must be someone there who can help me,” she mused. “If they haven’t closed and gone home. Come along, Lyn.” She picked up her cat and started across the sloping sandy shore.
    The sand looked easy to walk on, but Tracy soon discovered that what appeared to be firm ground was really shifting sand, and her shoes, with almost no tread, slid with each step. The brushy scrubs and grasses reached out brown twigs and snagged at her dress and scratched her legs with their rough edges. It took great effort to continue walking and not twist an ankle or fall completely. Suddenly a soft snap was heard and Tracy glanced down.
    “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “My shoe!”
    Something had caught in the beaded work of the right shoe and snapped the string holding the beads. Brightly colored orbs rolled off and scattered into the sand. In a frantic effort to save them, hoping she could repair the damage, Tracy dropped down and tried to pick them up. But in her hurry she only managed to hide some of them forever in the sand while sending the last few remaining beads on the shoe onto the ground. It was a difficult task, trying to pick up beads of all sizes on the sandy shore with one hand while holding her cat in her other arm.
    Tracy had read that pets were not allowed loose in state parks, and she was afraid something would happen to her beloved cat if she were to be set down even for a moment. Some wild animal might appear from nowhere and snatch her away, so she hung on tightly.
    At last, her hand full of beads, Tracy stood up. She was sure she didn’t have them all, but it was the best she could do. “And I don’t even have a pocket to put them in,” she bemoaned to Lyn.
    Lyn simply sniffed the brightly colored objects before climbing up onto Tracy’s shoulder and brushing her soft, fluffy tail across Tracy’s eyes. “Meow.”
    “I agree. We should keep moving before it grows much darker or it begins to rain.” Tracy shivered in the cool breeze. Starting forward once more, clinging to her cat and clutching her beads, Tracy slipped her way in the direction of the buildings, for, now that she was closer, she could see more than one.
    Nearing the first white building, Tracy felt something jab her left foot and then heard another snap. She let out a groan and halted. Somehow though this snap was different, and what had scratched her foot? Hardly having the courage to look, Tracy glanced down. “Oh, dear!” she wailed. Not only had the string snapped, but a larger stick had caught on the strap of her clog and pulled it loose from the wooden base.
    “I can’t walk in broken shoes.”
    She eyed the distance to the door of the building, which she could see was a nature center with a light still on inside. Gathering up part of her skirt into a sort of pouch, Tracy placed her beads inside and bent to begin to gather any more she could save from her left shoe.
    Lyn highly disapproved of Tracy’s actions and, an indignant “meow,” jumped down onto the sand where she stalked forward, her tail sticking straight up like a flag.
    “Lyn!” Tracy exclaimed, forgetting all about her shoes and the beads, and springing after her beloved pet. Alas for Tracy, her left foot, no longer secure in the clog, twisted as the shoe tipped in the shifting sand, and Tracy found herself flat on her face on the beach.

What do you think happens?

Will you be back next week?

The Arrival of Ria

Good Morning FFFs,
Can you believe it is the last Friday of October already? Where has the year been going? I'm not ready for 2015 yet, but I can't find the brakes. :)

How was your week? Mine was good, busy, not very productive as far as writing goes, but I did get something written for next week. *sigh of relief*
Our weather has turned cold. Tonight we're supposed to get our first frost. Does this mean we are really into fall? Some of the days this past week have felt like spring. I expect the trees will be dropping their leaves very soon. Some in the neighborhood already have, but our trees are still covered.

Well, I was trying to figure out what in the world I was going to post this week. I had thought of telling you all I was going to take a vacation, but I was afraid I'd lose my loyal readers if I tried that. :) Besides, I would ruin my record. I've been posting every Friday for several years now except for one time when I re-posted about a dozen parts of "The Unexpected Request" (known then as Meleah's Western) the story or poem has been new. With that kind of record, I decided not to break it.
The only thing is, I'm not sure if I like this story. This would have been the very first story in "Ria and the Gang." I do hope you will tell me if you like it or not. Of course, if you haven't read "Home Fires of the Great War" you might get confused with all the names. Sorry. I guess you'll have to read the book. :)

The Arrival of Ria

        The dining room was crowded. Nearly all of the family was gathered about the two tables. Lawrence Foster, known to the younger generation as Grandpa, leaned back in his chair with a sigh of pleasure. He always enjoyed having his children all under one roof again. Well, not everyone was there. Carrie had married a year ago and was living in Massachusetts now. The only other ones missing from the noisy group were Emma and her husband Mitch.
        The sudden harsh honking of a car horn outside alerted those at the tables that someone else had arrived.
        “That sounds like Uncle Philip,” Edmund remarked laying his napkin down and pushing back his chair.
        “Daddy, did he bring Phil?” Pete asked.
        Edmund laughed. “I’ll see. Don’t bother getting up, Mama,” he added as she was about to rise. “If it’s Uncle Philip, he’ll come in.”
        That was true, for Uncle Philip Vincent Bartholomew Wallace III, the youngest brother of Helen Foster, adored his big sister and didn’t need an excuse to stop by and see her.
        Edmund only had time to open the front door before Uncle Philip, with eight-year-old Phil right behind him, came in stomping his wet boots on the mat.
        “Ah, Edmund, it is indeed a momentous day, is it not?” Uncle Philip exclaimed, shaking him heartily by the hand.
        Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Edmund hardly had time to blink before the new arrivals were in the dining room.
        A chorus of greetings rose from the tables and Phil quickly joined his second cousins.
        “Ah, lief sister,” Uncle Philip exclaimed, bending down to drop a kiss on Grandma’s cheek, “you must be extremely proud of your daughter.”
        “Which one, Philip?” Grandma asked laughing, “I do have several.”
        “Why, is it possible that . . . methought the news must surely have flown here on wings. Surely there was a pigeon which could have brought the news, but I am fain to be the bearer of such magnificent tidings.”
        “Philip,” Grandpa Lawrence broke in. “Are you talking about Emma or Carrie? They being the only daughters who are not here.”
        “I speak of Emma. Having essayed once more, she has at last triumphed and a petit jeune fille is now a demeurer of the Mitchell castle!”
        Silence and blank faces met this announcement. What in the world was he talking about? It was Phil who clarified his father’s words by saying disgustedly, “Emma has a girl baby.”
        “A girl!” shrieked Evie springing from her chair and clapping her hands ecstatically.
        “A girl!” Grandma breathed in delight, her face aglow with joy at the thought.
        All around the room came exclamations of delight and surprise. Seven years and fourteen grandsons later, a girl had at last arrived among the Foster grandchildren.
        “Eddy,” Uncle David asked, looking across the table at the eldest grandson, Emma and Mitch’s seven-year old son, “what do you think of this?”
        Eddy’s arms were crossed, and he scowled. “What’s Mom want with a girl?”
        “What’s a girl?” Jimmy demanded.
        “Philip,” Grandma was asking, “what is her name?”
        “Her name?” Philip scratched his head. “How perfunctory of me, I cannot recall in this babble of noise. Fain would I tell, could I but gather my perspicacity and bring to mind Jennie’s words. Ah, one moment--” He held up his hand and silence fell on the room.
        “What’s a girl?” Jimmy demanded loudly into the silence.
        Amused glances were exchanged and Rosalie attempted to answer his question. “It’s like me,”
        “And me,” Kirsten added.
        “And me,” burst in Evie, giving him an exuberant kiss.
        Jimmy looked at his twin brother and Johnny looked back at him soberly. Both little boys, were thinking. At last, with almost five-year-old wisdom Johnny declared, “We don’t need it.”
        And Jimmy added, “Grandma can have the girl.”
        “I want the girl,” Albert called out. He was only about two months older than the twins, but he decided a girl must be a good thing because everyone had gotten so excited over the announcement.
        Uncle Edmund laughed. “Somehow I don’t think Emma is going to part with this girl, so Eddy, Jimmy, Johnny and little Chris are going to have to get used to her.”
        Before more could be said on the subject, Uncle Philip smacked his fist into his other hand as he exclaimed, “Eureka! I have at last recalled to my scattered memory the name of this first, and hopefully not last granddaughter.” Everyone looked at him expectantly as he paused for a breath. “Her name is Maria Helen Mitchell.”
        A chorus of exclamations followed this announcement and Karl remarked, “I figured if Emma ever had a girl her name would be Maria.”
        Laughing, Edmund agreed. “Ever since I can remember it’s been ‘Maria this and Maria that.’ Though I must say we did have a great time up in Nova Scotia.”
        “Grandpa!” Peter’s high voice carried the length of the long table.
        “Yes?” Grandpa looked about to see which of his fourteen grandsons had called him.
        Peter stood up on his chair, trying to make himself able to see over his uncles and aunts. “What can Eddy and Jimmy and Johnny and Chris do with a sister?”
        “Now there’s a good question, Dad,” George chuckled, glancing at his own sisters.
        Evie made a face at him and the elder members of the Foster family laughed.
        “I think,” Grandpa replied with a smile, “that you should ask your daddy that question.”
        Upon being asked, Edmund suggested that they all disperse to the porch and he would offer his advice. This the young boys were delighted to do and, leaving the ladies to the task of clearing away the remains of the lunch, the male contingent trooped out to the porch. It was raining lightly and now and then the wind would blow a fine mist onto anyone sitting near or on the railing.
        “Daddy,” Peter began again, “what can they do with a sister?”
        “Well, for one,” Edmund began pulling Davy and Chris onto his lap, “they can love her. Then, no sister can get along without a bit of teasing from her brothers, so . . .”
        “I think Kirsten got along just fine,” Karl remarked.
        “Yep,” Edmund answered with a grin. “That’s because she got teased a bit. And,” he added before Karl could argue the point, “sisters have to be protected.”
        “From what?” Phil wanted to know. He was an only child with only boys to play with.
        “From snakes and bugs that might crawl on her.”
        “Spiders? Tommy asked, remembering how his dad had knocked a spider off his mom’s apron one time and she had called him her hero.
        Edmund nodded. “Also from those who might be mean to her.”
        “What else can we do, Uncle Edmund?” little Edmund asked. Maybe a sister wasn’t such a bad thing after all, not if it meant fighting and squishing bugs.
        “Well, she is just a baby right now, but you can try to keep her happy and can share with her.”
        “Aw,” Eddy grumbled, not sure now that a girl was worth the effort, “I have to share with the boys. Why doesn’t some one share with me?”

        A few days later, the three Mitchell boys were brought back home from their Uncle Edmund’s and were introduced to their new sister. All were hesitant at first, but on seeing how small she was, something inside of them seemed to wake, some protective instinct which God has placed inside of each person, especially the boys and men, for anything helpless and tender. Eddy yielded first to little Maria’s charms and soon the twins followed. Two-year-old Chris didn’t care if there was a girl baby in the house as long as his teddy bear didn’t have to be given to her.
        One day, a few weeks after Maria’s arrival, Emma was down in the kitchen preparing supper when Chris heard his sister crying in her crib. Trotting down the hall he hollered, “Mama, that Ria crying!”
        Emma turned. She had been thinking of something else, so she asked, “What did you say, Chris?”
        “That Ria crying,” Chris repeated.
        “Ria,” Emma murmured softly to herself as she cuddled her baby daughter in her arms. “I like that. What do you think, Little Ria? Do you like the new name your brother gave you?”
        For answer, Maria Helen Mitchell, the first  daughter, granddaughter and girl cousin of the Foster relations, smiled sleepily and yawned.
        It wasn’t long before everyone was calling her Ria and as she grew older she seldom heard the name “Maria,” except from her teachers or when she was in trouble.

So, what did you think?

Was it terrible?

The "Gang" - Part 2

Hello FFFs,
I hope your week has been good. Mine has.

Saturday––I stayed home! I could have gone to walk in a parade, but I'd been gone two Saturdays and I just wanted to stay home. So I did. :)
Sunday––There was a fellowship lunch and a church baby shower after church so we got to visit longer with people. And some home missionaries were there.
Monday––It was finishing day. :) I finished the baby afghan I was working on for my married best friend's baby. I also finished TCR-4. Or at least I reached the end of the book. Now I have to edit it. I also finished grading papers from writing class.
Tuesday––I worked on editing TCR-4 and did some other things. In the evening my grandpa drove down from KC so we could attend a concert together. We got to hear the Escher String Quartet. They were good. They played Bach, Shostakovich and Beethoven. The last was my favorite.
Wednesday––More editing, taught writing classes in the afternoon and then went down the alley to visit with my best friends and hold Baby Asa.
Thursday––Set up my quilt frame and worked on getting a quilt on it for a friend of my grandma. I didn't do much editing. I wanted to just read something, so I did. Around 5:15 the kiddos came over. I read stories and then after supper they played dress-up and, since they were studying the American Revolution, they played it. :) They were pretty cute, but we sure laughed at them. "Martha Washington" chased "George Washington" across the "field" telling him to "Git, George!" And Doodle Bug informed me that he was going to have a "British birthday 'cause he wanted to burn the houses." :P (Be careful what you let a 3-year-old see.)
Today––Obviously I haven't done much yet, but we'll clean house and then I hope to work on some more editing and finish getting that quilt ready to quilt.

Now I hope you all enjoy this last part of last weeks story. :) It is a little longer than the usual 1,000 words, so I hope you won't mind.

The "Gang"

Part 2

    Five-year-old Ria Mitchell, pushed her hands into her pockets and trudged down the side walk. “There’s just too many boys,” she muttered in disgust. “I’m tired of all them boys. They don’t want to play with little girls like me ‘less I play tag with them.” Sighing, the little girl walked on. “Wish I could find a girl to play with me.” Rubbing her eyes with her dirty fist, she sniffed. “Don’t like to play tag no more.”
    The noise of the boyish voices grew fainter and still Ria tramped on. She didn’t really have any place she wanted to go just to get away from the boys.
    Suddenly, up ahead she spied someone sitting on a porch in a rocking chair. Coming closer, Ria saw it was a grandmotherly person with silver hair. Perhaps, oh perhaps she would like to play with her! Quickening her tired feet, Ria ran down the sidewalk, and scampered up the porch steps to halt before the astonished eyes of the little lady.
    “Does you like to play with little girls?” demanded Ria.
    A smile crept across the lady’s face at the little sprite before her and her strange question. “Yes, I do like to play with little girls, Dear. Why do you ask?”
    Giving a relieved sigh, Ria climbed up on a chair and said, swinging her feet and trying to push her hair off her hot face, “‘Cause I need someone to play with me. The boys all want me to play with them, but I want to play with me!”
    “Oh, I see. And how many boys are there?” inquired the lady kindly.
    Ria wrinkled up her forehead in thought. “Oh, five, six, nine, ‘leven, twenty-eight, seven, forty. An’ they’re all bigger’n me.”
    “How can I play with you if I don’t know your name?” was the next question and Ria was eager to answer it.
    “Ria. My brother named me that. What’s yours?”
    The small woman smiled. “Mrs. Lainingsburg.”
    Puzzled eyes looked out of the child’s flushed face. For a moment she sat still, even her feet stopped swinging. Then, with a bright smile and slipping off the chair, she leaned against her new friend. “Hello Mrs. Ladybug.”
    A silvery laugh rippled across the air and Ria felt herself enveloped in a warm hug. “What a sweet child. What would you like to play, Ria?” And another little chuckle fell on Ria’s ears as Mrs. “Ladybug” rose.
    Ria liked laughter and most of all, she liked this new friend who liked to play with little girls. So, giving a happy little skip she replied, “Somethin’ that little girls like to play.”
    Mrs. Lainingsburg smiled. “How about we play paper dolls?”
    Clasping her hands in ecstasy, Ria gave a squeal of delight. “Oh, yes, yes!”
    “Very well, then,” and the small lady moved towards the door. “We will just go in and get them and then we can come play with them here on the porch, won’t that be nice?” She wasn’t sure where Ria lived, and thought it best to keep the child out where she could be seen by anyone looking for her.

    To Ria, the minutes that slipped by were full of one delight after another. Not only were there lovely dolls to dress and undress, but her new friend brought out her scrap bag and helped her made new dresses and hats for the dolls. The constant chatter Ria kept up was of great amusement to Mrs. “Ladybug”, as Ria kept calling her.
    It was while Ria was in the middle of making a fine dress for one of the dolls that a loud shout made her look up. There were Johnny and Jack coming towards the porch!
    “Ria!” Johnny exclaimed, “What are you doing? Mama was looking for you.”
    And Jack added. “We had to stop our game of tag to look for you.”
    Ria remained where she was sitting. “You can go tell Mama I’m playing with Mrs. Ladybug. She likes to play with little girls.” With a wave of her hand she dismissed them, but they refused to leave.
    “You have to come home with us, Ria,” Johnny said, climbing onto the porch. “Sorry she bothered you, Ma’am.”
    “She was no bother at all. In fact she helped cheer my day. But,” she added, looking first at Johnny and then at Jack, “are you her brothers?”
    “He is,” Jack nodded at his cousin. “I’m one of her cousins.”
    Mrs. Ladybug nodded. “I see.”
    “I’m goin’ to go tell Phil we found her,” Jack declared, eager to get back to the game, for he had been ‘it’.
    “Come on, Ria.”
    “No,” her dark pigtails swished back and forth as she shook her head. “I don’t like playing with all you boys. I’m goin’ to play with me an’ Mrs. Ladybug. Go away, Johnny.”
    From the look on his sister’s face, Johnny knew he wouldn’t be able to bring her home by himself.
    “Johnny,” Mrs. Ladybug asked, “just how many boys are there that Ria is referring to?”
    “Fifteen.” The answer was prompt. “And we’re all cousins,” he added proudly.
    “My goodness!” Mrs. Ladybug leaned back in her chair. “Are there no girl cousins?” She found this to be quite a fascinating family.
    Leaning against a pillar on the porch, Johnny shook his head. “Just Ria. And there are eight boys younger than her too.”
    Mrs. Ladybug was too astonished to speak and sat watching Ria.
    A shrill whistle sounded and Johnny turned. “Come on Ria,” he ordered, “Phil is calling us.”
    Ria didn’t move. She was not going to go home to play with all those boys again. She liked playing paper dolls much better. So it was that she didn’t see Johnny run down the sidewalk and talk to Phil a moment before dashing off for home with the other boys, leaving Phil to come up to the porch.
    “Good afternoon, Ma’am,” Phil said brightly. “I’m Phil, Ria’s cousin. I guess Ria likes playing girl things better than she does rowdy games with us boys.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Phil,” was the cheerful answer. “I’m Mrs. Lainingsburg—”
    “But I call her Mrs. Ladybug,” Ria interrupted without looking up.
    The little woman laughed her silvery laugh as she told Phil he had a charming little cousin.

    Before very long, Emma Mitchell arrived looking much relieved to find her daughter safe and quite happy.
    “I’m so sorry if she bothered you.”
    “She didn’t. Don’t you worry about that. She has such winning ways and never once asked for anything. She has brightened my day and I hope you will let her come back to visit again.”
    Before her mother could reply, Ria skipped over to say, leaning against Mrs. Lainingsburg’s knee, “I’ll come back, Mrs. Ladybug. When I want to play with me, an’ you want to play with little girls.”
    Giving Ria a hug, Mrs. Lainingsburg said, “Bring your mama with you next time, Dear.”
    “All right,” Ria agreed.
    “Now, we must go home, Ria,” Mrs. Mitchell held out her hand. “The rest of the gang want to finish their game of tag before they have to go home.”
    As Mrs. Mitchell, Ria and Phil started down the walk, Phil turned to Emma who really was his first cousin, “So we’re a gang now, are we, Aunt Emma?”
    Emma Mitchell laughed. Since Phil was only a few months older than her oldest son, he had begun calling her “Aunt” as the other boys did, and she enjoyed it. “That is what Edmund called you all,” she replied and clasped her small daughter’s hand. “A gang of boys and one little girl.”

Did you like it?

Would you enjoy reading more stories of Ria?

Will you be back next week for . . .

I don't know what I'm going to post. :)

The "Gang" - Part 1

Good Morning FFFs,
How was your week? Mine was good, busy, fun, difficult, enjoyable, tiring and noisy. :)
We babysat all 5 of my niece and nephews from Wed. morning until last night. We were glad the weather was so nice because that meant we could let them play outside. They roller skated in the parking lot across the alley from us (were we used to skate, ride bikes, play soccer and other things), play on the tree house, swing, kick balls around the yard and use up some energy. It was fun to have them over, but I didn't get any writing done while they were here.

I've been trying to get TCR-4 finished. But I got stuck. First it was on the name of a puppy. But that's figured out now. Then one thing wasn't working and I was trying something else and that wasn't right either. What I was writing was dull and boring and I needed something different. I came up with the idea Wednesday morning, but haven't had a chance to write it. I'm looking forward to later today when I can actually sit down and start putting the action on NEO. :) Prayers would be appreciated. :)
 
Last night about 9:00, panic began to set in. My breathing became rapid, my tired brain refused to focus and I turned to my sister in distress. "What am I going to post tomorrow?!" Yep, I had forgotten that today was Friday and I had to post something. But what? I don't have any more parts of Dr. Morgan written. The short stories I was going to have written so I could post them have not been written because I've been focused on TCR-4. I was even too tired to write a poem last night. But then I remembered. I do have a story or two that I had written for "Ria and the Gang" which you haven't read. I'll give you one of them. Or, at least I'll give you a part of one of the stories. I hope you enjoy it!

The Gang

Part-1

Summer - 1933
    Emma Mitchell hummed a happy tune as she swept the floor of the living room. The noise of many children’s voices came through the open windows and now and then the sweeper would pause to listen. “I wonder what Ria is doing with all the boys here?” Emma mused. “It isn’t often I have them all over at once.” She gave a little laugh as she thought about the expression on her twin brother’s face when he brought his own sons over and discovered the rest of the boys.
    “You’re asking for trouble, Sis,” he grinned, though he shook his head. “That is quite a gang when they’re all together.”
    “I know,” Emma had told him, “but I like it. And it keeps my own lads occupied and there are plenty of people to keep an eye on Ria for me.”

    Putting the broom away in the closet, Mrs. Mitchell decided to go check on the children, not that she was worried, for Eddy was twelve now and Phil was thirteen and they were the undisputed leaders of “the gang” as Edmund had called them.
    “As long as they are a good gang,” Emma murmured, pausing beside the sink to get a drink before heading to the back door.
    The back yard, though large when compared with most other yards in Codell, didn’t seem large enough for the swarm of boys racing about it, intent upon a very lively and noisy game of tag. They seemed to be everywhere at once and Emma stood on the back step trying to count them. It was difficult and at last she gave up, deciding that looking for her little daughter would be easier. Quickly she scanned the yard, eyes searching for a small child in a yellow playsuit with two dark ponytails. Not finding her, she looked about a little more closely. Once she thought she spied her, but discovered after a second glance that it was little Walt hiding in the bush. Where was Ria? She had never disappeared before.
    “She is probably here, but I’d feel better if I knew for sure,” she told herself. Then, catching the arm of the tallest lad, she leaned down and spoke to him. “Phil, can you get everyone’s attention, please?”
    Hardly pausing to catch his breath, Philip Vincent Bartholomew Wallace IV put his fingers to his lips and gave a whistle. There was almost instant silence and Phil’s shouted, “Freeze!” was hardly needed. “Wow!” he exclaimed, “Why didn’t I think of doing that when I was ‘it’? I could have tagged them all that way.”
    A chorus of protests came from across the yard.
    Mrs. Mitchell laughed. “Thanks, Phil,” she told her young cousin. “I just want to count heads,” Aunt Emma told the upturned faces before her, “but you all move so quickly that at one count there are twenty of you and in another thirty. “I was afraid if I counted for a third time you would have multiplied to forty or even fifty!”
    “We’re not rabbits, Mom,” Ed, as he was starting to be called by his cousins, called out from the farthest corner of the yard.
    His mother merely smiled as her eyes moved from one head to another. At last she spoke. “Well, you boys are all here, but where is Ria?”
    A hush fell as the boys looked at one another. It only lasted a moment before they began to talk.
    “I thought I just saw her.”
    “I know I tagged her when I was ‘it,’” insisted one of them.
    “What was she wearing, Aunt Emma?”
    “She was in red.”
    “No, it was green.”
    The boys started to mingle, arguing about what color Ria was wearing and had they tagged her or not. Only Ed and Phil were quiet. Ed jogged over to the porch steps and stood beside Phil. “Is she inside?” he asked?”
    Mrs. Mitchell shrugged. “I was cleaning, but I didn’t see her,” she replied, not too worried, for what five-year-old girl could hide long from fifteen lads if they started looking for her?
    “Divide and conquer,” Phil suggested.
    “Yeah, lets get a detail to search the house and one to search the yard,” Ed agreed. “I’ll take the house.”
    Again Phil’s whistle brought quiet to the yard. “We are going to split into two details. Everyone in your usual group. Hurry now.”
    So accustomed were the boys to being split up into two groups, whether it was to play ball or to do any number of things, that in no time at all the house and yard were undergoing thorough searches while Emma sat down on the steps and waited.
    A quarter of an hour passed before Phil and Ed came back with the rest of the “gang” and told her they had found no sign of Ria.
    Emma frowned thoughtfully. This was the first time her daughter had ever disappeared. “Where could she be?” she wondered half aloud. Then she turned to her eldest, “Are you sure you searched everywhere in the house, Eddy?”
    Ed nodded solemnly. “We checked every room, every closet and even under beds and behind the couch.”
    “And we looked all over the yard, Mama,” Johnny added. “Even under the porch.”
    “I suppose she could have gone for a walk,” Mrs. Mitchell mused, not quite believing such a thing was possible but anxious to leave nothing to chance. Looking about her at the sober faces of the boys, she knew she had to think of something. “I’m going to have you boys go around the neighborhood and look for her. Phil, keep Dave with you. Ed, you take Chris and Tom, Walt is your charge. If any of you find Ria, let Phil or Ed know so they can whistle and alert the rest.”
    “Then we all come back here?” Pete wanted to know.
    His aunt nodded and then let them go.
    Knowing she had to remain behind, in case Ria had been hiding someplace and been overlooked, or came home by herself, Emma rose and moved to the front porch where her eyes followed the boyish figures down the street. She stood there, leaning on the railing and waited. The grandfather clock in the living room ticked away ten minutes. Then fifteen, . . . twenty . . . Would they ever find her? They were making a thorough search of it for she could still hear their voices.

What do you think of this part?

Do you think you know where Ria is?

Will you be back next week to find out what happens?