Garlandsburg - The Lodge

The Lodge

    Stepping out of the warm lodge onto the porch, Mrs. Shields glanced about. “Andrew,” she called to her son, “have you seen your father and Willie?”
    Looking over the back of his pony, Andrew nodded. “They went fishing some time ago. Want me to ride Sugar and go find them?”
    With a shake of her head, Mrs. Shields pulled her shawl about her shoulders and replied, “They’ll be home by supper time. By the way,” she called over her shoulder just before she stepped inside, “I’m afraid you’ll either have to get your snowman to come sweep the kitchen after supper or bring the broom in. We can’t have a dirty floor for Christmas Day.”
    Andrew grinned and led his pony to the shed. “I wish that snowman could sweep the floor.” He chuckled at the thought. “Wouldn’t that be a funny sight, Sugar? Poor Mr. Snowman would melt if he stepped into Mom’s kitchen. I’m sure she and the girls are still busy baking.” As he talked, he rubbed his pony down and fed him. “You did so well pulling those sleds, Sugar,” Andrew went on, talking to the pony. “Maybe next year I’ll get a real sleigh you can pull. Wouldn’t the kids all like that?”
    As though she understood, Sugar nickered and nudged Andrew’s shoulder.
    With a final pat, Andrew left the shed and trudged across the yard through the snow. Standing beside the snowman he and his brothers had made, he gazed out across the valley where most of Garlandsburg lay. The hill on the other side rose in the gathering dusk, and the light from the lighthouse shone brightly. “I wonder if Mr. Donovan’s ship will come in for Christmas?” he thought. “It sure would make an exciting day if it did, what with the wedding in the evening and it being Christmas Day and all.”
    A door shut behind him, and Andrew turned to see his sister, Ashley, hurrying down the steps. “Andrew, Mama said we are to go to the bookstore and get Whitney. She’s been gone all afternoon and it’s going to be dark very soon.” The girl had pulled on her mittens as she spoke.
    “Is Jeanette coming too?”
    Ashley shook her head. “No, she said she’d stay and help Mama, and Willie’s with Papa. If John wasn’t working, he could go with us. But he is.”
    “If I had a sleigh built, Sugar could take us,” Andrew said, looking over at his pony. “We could fit the three of us in a small sleigh.”
    “Well, maybe we can catch a ride in the stage, if it’s not too full,” Ashley suggested. “I love riding with Mr. Stathem, he tells such wonderful stories.” Then she added, “If we can get Whitney away from the books before the stage leaves.”
    Andrew laughed. Their youngest sister was never happier than when she had a book in her hand. “Let’s hurry then. I’m getting hungry and can’t wait till supper.”
    “And the Christmas Eve service,” Ashley added.

Stay tuned for another visit to Garlandsburg

Because of a Christmas Tree - Part 2

Happy First Friday in December!
Have you been staying busy getting ready for Christmas? I have. But I've also found some time to just read. I do so love to read Christmas stories! Perhaps that's why I enjoy writing them.

Tomorrow my best friend and I are heading to the Carthage Library for an "Authors for the Holidays" book signing event. Hopefully there will be a good turn out. I wish you all could come, but I know it's a bit of a distance for many of you. ;) We'll see how many of my books sell. I'll have all 13 of them there. It should be fun anyway as there will be at least 23 authors.

Tonight the kids are coming over and we're going to finish decorating the tree and make cookies. Making cookies with all the kids is bound to be interesting. Ti-Kay is going to want to do it too, but she's a little young being only 10 months old. But Little Me is going to be fun to watch. Ah, the joys of little ones at Christmas time!

I won't keep you from your story now. Here's part 2 of our story. (If you didn't read Part 1, go to the post below this.)

Because of a Christmas Tree

Part 2

    The meal in the shack was quiet. Both the old man and the boy were too hungry to do much talking. But once the simple meal was over, and the dishes had been cleared away, Sonny sat down with the dirty boots and began the long task of cleaning them. It was only then that he began to talk again.
    “Uncle Marley, did you know it is almost Christmas? Mr. Soper told me so when he brought the meat over. What did you do for Christmas when you were my age?”
    “I don’t recall exactly, Sonny. That were a heap of a time ago.”
    Sonny looked up. “Can’t you think of one thing you did that you enjoyed most of all?” he coaxed.
    “W-e-ll.” Old Marley leaned back against the wall, propped his feet up on the table before the stove, and thought. “I reckon the thing I most remember is the tree. Yep, them trees were purty nice.”
    Sonny gave a slight sigh. “I like the trees best too.” His hands continued cleaning the boots but he had a far away look in his eyes, as though he was seeing a different time and a different place. “Yes, the trees were best,” he said again after some time. “I like to think that a Christmas tree stood outside the stable and that the Baby Jesus looked at it when he was awake. Papa said they didn’t have that kind of tree in Bethlehem, but I think Baby Jesus would have liked it, they smell so nice.” Again there was a long pause and a look in Sonny’s eyes which Old Marley didn’t quite understand.
    At last Sonny finished cleaning the last boot and set it down. “Uncle Marley, let’s have a Christmas tree this year.”
    Old Marley looked down at the boy and a smile crossed his face. “So we will, Sonny, so we will.” If a tree was what Sonny needed to make Christmas right for his first Christmas in the mining town, they would have a tree. He didn’t care that most of the other men said it was foolish to try and have a Christmas for the boy.

    The sun did come out the next day, and together Old Marley and Sonny set off in search of the perfect Christmas tree. It was harder than either of them had figured for there weren’t many pine or spruce trees in the area.
    “They’re either too big or such little things we’d have to have four of them to make a real tree,” Sonny remarked, stopping before yet another pine of the wrong size.
    “Well, we ain’t goin’ to give up yet,” Old Marley replied between coughs. “It jest may take us a might longer to locate the right one.”
    “But we’ll find it,” Sonny agreed, slipping his hand into the rough, work hardened one of his companion.
    “Yep, we’ll find it, but I reckon we ought to build ourselves a fire and eat a bite or two before we circle ‘round that ridge an’ head back to the shack.”
    To this Sonny was agreeable and helped gather some branches and small sticks, saying as he did so, “Perhaps the tree is over there.”
    But it wasn’t. The two searchers reached their cold, dark shack just as the sun was going down and the wind turning cold again. A fire was soon going in the stove and supper was made. Old Marley mixed up some biscuits while Sonny fried bacon. Neither one spoke much that evening. Both were tired and Old Marley’s cough seemed worse.
    Before bed, Sonny took his Bible out of Old Marley’s chest, as he had every night since he had come to live there, and read a little of it aloud. Then, kneeling down beside his rough bed, he prayed and ended with, “And please, Dear Lord, bless Mama, Papa, and dear Uncle Marley. And let us find the right Christmas tree. Amen.”
    Old Marley remained where he was beside the warm stove until he heard the boy’s steady, even breathing. Then he too retired, coughing.

    When morning dawned, it found Old Marley still in bed. The shack was cold for the fire had gone out in the stove some hours before. This state of things startled Sonny who sat up in bed and looked quickly at the old man. “Uncle Marley. Uncle Marley!”
    There was no answer save a hoarse cough and a moan.
    Sonny shivered and hugged himself, but whether from cold or fright, it was hard to tell. Quickly he pulled on his clothes and slipped his feet into his boots. They were cold. Stumbling over to the stove, the young boy opened it and stirred the ashes. Not a single glow remained. His hands shook as he placed kindling in the stove and struck a light. Right then he was thankful Uncle Marley had taught him how to make a fire. “He probably just didn’t want to get up when it was so cold,” he thought, glancing over at the form in the bed. “I’ll warm it up and then wake him.”
    Carefully he added a few larger sticks and soon a good fire was burning. After adding some larger pieces of wood, Sonny held his hands to the blaze and shivered with delight as the delicious warmth crept up his arms and raced down his spine. After a few minutes, he stood up. “Uncle Marley,” he called softly. “Uncle Marley, wake up. I have the stove going and it’s getting warmer. And Uncle Marley, the sun is shining again! Maybe we can find our Christmas tree today.”
    The old man didn’t stir.
    Growing alarmed, Sonny crept up to the bed and placed a hand on the man’s face. The heat of it startled the boy and he stepped back. After a quick glance at the stove to see that all was in order, the boy snatched up his coat and slipped outside.
    Hesitating for only a moment, Sonny ran up the still muddy street past two shacks, before stopping before a third one. Breathless, he rapped on the door.
    Seconds later it was opened and a rough looking young man in his shirt sleeves stared in astonishment at the boy before him. “Why, Sonny, what’s goin’ on? What’s wrong? Come in out of the cold, boy!” Almost pulling the lad inside, the man shut the door behind him with a thud, and picking up a warm flannel shirt, put it on. “Now what’s wrong?” His fingers were rapidly moving down his front, fastening the buttons.
    “Oh, Mr. Soper!” Sonny had caught his breath with a gulp and his words tumbled over themselves in his hurry. “He’s burning up and I got the fire going, ‘cause it was so cold, but he didn’t wake up and he coughs and . . .” The boy gripped the unfastened ends of his coat until his knuckles turned white.
    Stuffing his feet into his boots, Mr. Soper didn’t need to be told who “he” was. He knew it was Old Marley. Quickly he snatched up his own coat and said, “Let’s go, Sonny.”
    Down the street the two hurried, Sonny taking three steps to the one stride of Mr. Soper. In the shack they found all just as Sonny had left it, only the room had warmed from the fire in the stove.

Have you ever woken to a cold room because the heat wasn't on?

Have you made Christmas cookies yet?

Come back on Monday for . . .

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?