Author: Lisa R. Howeler

Welcome to my blog! I am a wife and mom from Pennsylvania who also happens to write. I have been writing for 25 years, fourteen of those for smalltown newspapers in rural Pennsylvania and upstate New York. I'm a homeschool mom, a cozy mystery writer, a photographer, a wife, and a mom of two. I blog a little bit about a lot of things here on the blog. You can also find me on Instagram.

Fiction Friday: The Farmer’s Daughter Chapter 1

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, Fiction Friday10 Comments

I have shared a little of this story in the past, but have been working on it over time and will be working on it again as it goes on. As with other stories, this is mainly unedited so typos and left out words are definitely a possibility.

To find more of this story click HERE.

I also shared part of a novella I am working on yesterday.

A New Beginning will be accessible for a little longer on the blog since I don’t know when I’ll have reliable internet to upload it to Kindle. Quarantined, the short story I wrote, is also available in full at the top of the page.



Chapter 1

“You have got to be kidding me!”

Molly Tanner’s life was stuck in proverbial cow poop in the same way she was standing knee-deep in literal cow poop.

She had imagined so much more for her life but here she was pulling hard on a rope connected to the harness of a Jersey cow, trying to convince the animal to move the 300 yards from the cow pasture to the barn, when she could have been traveling the world or exploring all life had to offer while working an exciting job somewhere exotic.

This battle of the wills, which so far the cow named Cinnamon was winning, had been going on for fifteen minutes and Molly had had enough.

She lowered her head and looked Cinnamon directly in the cow’s right eye. “Listen here, girl, it’s time to get in that barn. I’m tired. It’s been a long day of milking and cleaning out all that mess you and your friends make. And I’m not done yet. I still have to help Mom bake cakes for the church rummage sale next week. You know how much I hate that bake sale, so come on, give me a break, okay?”

Across the field, at the top of the hill, Alex Stone, the Tanner’s farmhand, casually leaned back against the door of the barn, chewing on a piece of sweet grass and watching Molly struggle.

“Whatdya think she’s doing down there?” he asked, nodding in Molly’s direction, arms folded across his chest.

Molly’s brother Jason spoke from inside the barn. “Looks like she’s arguing with Cinnamon again.” He poured a bucket full of slop for the pigs into their trough, then set the bucket down and walked over to stand next to Alex.

“Should we help her?” Alex asked.

“Probably.”

Jason leaned against the door next to Alex and accepted the piece of sweet grass Alex handed him. The men chewed together and continued to watch with amused expressions, neither making a move to help.

If Cinnamon felt any remorse for her actions, she wasn’t showing it. She chewed her cud and turned her head toward the empty field behind her, then swished a fly off her backside with a flick of her tail. Molly groaned and tightened her grip on the rope.

“You are going into that barn for milking,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “I will not be defeated.”

In the same moment Molly pulled, Cinnamon jerked her head back and with that movement ripped the rope from Molly’s hands, sending her staggering, off-balance, to one side before she tripped over a pile of manure and fell, face down in the cow pasture. A scream of frustration gurgled out of Molly as she pushed herself to her hands and knees and sat back in the mud, glaring at the cow.

Well, if this isn’t apropos of where my life has ended up in the last few years, I don’t know what is, she thought bitterly.

Jason shook his head. “Good grief,” he said, tossing the sweet grass to the ground and turning to walk back into the barn. “She’s a mess. You’d better go rescue her.”

Alex grinned, his gaze drifting over the mud clinging to Molly’s figure, glad Jason didn’t know he was admiring the view. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. She is pretty pathetic right now.”

He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey!” he shouted. “What’s going on down there? We’re ready to start the milking! You gonna get that cow up here or what?”

Alex’s voice booming across the cow pasture brought a curse word to Molly’s mind, which she immediately felt guilty about. Though it wasn’t the worst curse word she could have said, it wasn’t in her usual verbal repertoire. She’d been used to one annoying older brother her entire life, but five years ago Jason had invited his college roommate Alex to come work on the family farm and now it was like she had two annoying older brothers, always ready to harass her.

She stood, trying to wipe the mud from her clothes, and grabbed the rope again. “If you’re so impatient then you get this stubborn cow moving!” she shouted back up the hill.

She turned and tugged on the rope again, silently pleading for Cinnamon to move.

Boots thumped heavy in the mud behind her as she pulled. Alex reached over her shoulder, taking the rope and Molly watched in disbelief as Cinnamon dutifully dropped her head and walked forward.

“Are you kidding me?! I’ve been trying to get her to move for 20 minutes! What did you do differently?”

Alex looked over his shoulder and smirked. “I guess the ladies just like me.”

“You wish,” Molly grumbled loud enough for him to hear, even though she knew what Alex had said was more than true. She’d watched more than one woman in town follow him down the street like a cow looking for her feed. He certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes, but his obnoxious personality left a lot to be desired.

Mud and manure squished under Molly’s feet and slid off her clothes as she plodded toward the barn, frustration seething through her.

“Molly, why don’t you just head in and get cleaned off?” Robert Tanner said to his daughter as she stumbled through the barn doorway. “You can start helping your mom with those cakes. Alex, Jason and I can finish up the milking.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” Molly said. “Maybe I can even manage a shower before bed for once.”

Jason’s face scrunched in disgust as he leaned close to Molly and sniffed. “That would definitely be a good thing. You smell like the pigs.”

Molly shot a glare at her brother and turned to walk back toward the house.

“And you smell like the gas that comes out of their behinds!” she shouted over her shoulder.

“Always have to have the last word, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

“Whatever!”

“Whatever back at you!”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Robert said. “Now the last word is mine.”

Walking back toward the house, trying to wipe dirt from her face, but instead only wiping more onto it, Molly paused to look out the fields of the farm. The green of the corn was starting to peek up from the soil and soon they’d be harvesting it, if the rain would ever stop. It would be the third year of harvesting without her grandfather, the first since he’d passed away.

Molly had been sure that by now, eight years after graduating high school, she’d be out on her own, with her own career, her own life. Instead, she was still living on her parents’ farm in rural Pennsylvania, still sleeping in her old room, her mother still cooking her meals and washing her clothes. Working on a farm was all she’d ever known and all she’d ever wanted, at least until a few months ago when she’d started to wonder what else the world might have to offer a 26-year old with no college degree and little knowledge of the world other than how to milk a cow and sell produce at her parent’s small farm store.

She walked into the chicken coop to look for eggs she knew her mom needed for the cakes.

The eggs retrieved, she paused outside the chicken coup and watched the sun begin to slip behind the hills hugging the Tanner’s 250-acre farm. The sunset, a mix of orange with a streak of pink, made the fields of the farm look almost mystical. She knew she’d never get sick of this view, of these sunsets at the end of a long day.

Her mom’s laughter startled her and she turned to see her mom standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

“Good grief, what happened to you?” Annie Tanner asked her daughter.

Wearing faded blue jeans anda red and white checkered button up top with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, Annie looked much younger than her actual age of 47.

Molly sighed and looked down at her own mud and manure covered clothes. “Cinnamon happened to me, I guess you would say.”

“Being stubborn again?” Annie asked.

“Of course.”

“Well, are you going to stand there all day or are you going to bring those eggs into the house and head up for a shower?”

Molly sighed. “Sorry. I was just admiring the sunset.”

“It’s beautiful,” Annie agreed. “But I need to get those cakes started. A sunset will wait. Mavis Porter won’t.”

Molly inwardly cringed at the mention of Mavis, the woman who had overseen the Spencer Valley Methodist Church rummage sale for 20-years straight. Mavis had a knack for making anyone feel less than, her thin face pursed into a permanent look of disapproval. Molly hoped she wouldn’t be roped into manning the baked goods table again this year. Mavis seemed to think it was ironic to have the fat girl guarding the cakes and cookies at the annual rummage and bake sale.

“I can’t believe there are any cakes left,” a middle school-aged boy said one year during the bake sale, looking Molly up and down from across the church basement while his friends laughed.

“There were probably even more before she came in,” another boy said, as they all snickered.

She pretended she didn’t hear them as she counted the change in the money box.

Molly handed the basket of eggs to her mother and headed into the house.

Molly wasn’t proud of the weight she’d gained over the years, but no matter what she did she couldn’t seem to get back down to her high school weight. She missed when she was in junior high school, thin and limber and not the butt of little boy’s jokes.

With long, reddish-brown curls that fell to the middle of her back and plenty of curves, she possessed a clearly feminine shape. She was not what some might call grotesquely obese. Still, she wasn’t happy with the extra cushion to her belly, backside, and thighs. She wished she’d never heard the term “saddlebags” beyond what was hooked to the actual saddle of a horse. Drying off in front of the bathroom mirror she kept her eyes downcast, hoping to avoid a full view of what her body had become over the years. She’d heard more than one sermon over the years about God loving her no matter what but there were days she struggled to love herself, at least when it came to her appearance.

Three more cakes were baked and cooling on the dining room table, ready to be added to the six other cakes Molly and Annie has baked the day before, when Molly heard her father’s truck pulling into the driveway of the house.

Her father’s red Ford needed to be replaced. The old truck was Robert Tanner’s pride and joy and a gift from his father when Robert had taken over the majority of the farm operations 20 years ago. Annie kept urging him to invest in a new one, but each time she did he responded with: “It gets me where I need to go and when it won’t no more then I’ll get a new one.”

Molly watched as her dad climbed out of the driver side, more gingerly than he had even a year ago. He’d been up since 4 a.m., overseeing the milking of the cows, the shoveling of the manure, the preparations to mow the field. She knew the last few years had been as physically rough on her dad as it had been emotionally.

Alex, the Tanner’s farmhand, slid out of the passenger side easily and walked toward the house. He wore the same style of faded blue jeans and brown work boots he did every day. A white t-shirt was dirt-stained under a blue button-up, shirt sleeve plaid shirt. His brown hair was ruffled but in a good way, as if it had been styled that way somehow. Molly couldn’t deny Alex’s rugged good looks quickened her pulse, but he was four years older than her, obnoxious and preferred the bar when she preferred solitude with her journal and Bible.

Jason pulled up in his own truck, spitting at the ground as he climbed out. Gross, Molly thought to herself. He is so gross. I don’t even know how Ellie stands him.

 But Jason could also be sweet, at times, cared deeply for her and the rest of his family and was proud to work on the farm and help put food on tables across the country. He lumbered across the yard like an ox and he was as big as one too, at least around the shoulders and neck. It wasn’t all fat either. Jason lifted heavy hay bails and worked hard on the farm every day but he also spent every morning after milking at the gym for a 90-minute hour workout. Molly knew his determination to keep in shape was left over from playing football during high school and college.

His coaches urged him to pursue a professional career and two NFL teams had courted him, but Jason had never wanted a career in football. He’d wanted to come home to the farm, to his cows and his corn and to Ellie, who he’d been dating since his senior year of high school. When he’d graduated college with a degree in agriculture engineering and economics, he did just that — came home and a couple years later he convinced Alex to come with him.

When Alex had first arrived Annie would ask if he’d like to come to dinner. Now Alex came without an invitation because to the Tanners he’d become part of the family. Annie often told him she felt like she had gained another son when he’d moved with Jason into the house she’d grown up in. Her parents had moved out of the house when they had decided to retire from farming and move into a retirement community in town.

“Good day in the fields?” Annie asked after the prayers had been said and the food was on the plates.

“The John Deere finally broke down,” Robert said, breaking a piece off a chicken breast.

“Will John come and look at it?” Annie asked.

Robert nodded toward Jason. “Jason and I can take care of it in the morning after milking. It will make a late start, but I hate to spend the money if I know we can fix it here.”

Jason grinned. “Dad forgets I’m not good with the tractors, just the trucks, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“I have faith in both of you,” Annie said with a smile. She winked at Alex. “And in Alex. He’s learned a thing or two about tractors over the years.”

Alex laughed softly and shook his head. “Just enough to keep my job but not enough to give me too much work because we all know I couldn’t handle that.”

Molly knew that wasn’t true. Jason liked to rib his friend about his laziness and Alex playfully agreed, but Alex was a hard worker and knew almost as much about how to operate the farm as her dad and brother did, even if he had been born a city slicker.

Quiet settled over the dining room. The clanking of forks against plates was soon the only sound. Molly felt the tension in the air like someone wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Her dad finally cleared his throat and she felt apprehension curl in her stomach.

“We got a letter from the co-op today,” he said.

“How bad are the numbers?” Annie asked, spooning more potatoes onto Alex’s plate.

“Worse I’ve seen in five years.” Robert was somber. “It’s going to hurt a lot of farmers. Even with the organic market, I think it may even hurt us. There were also more farms that went out of business this year.”

Molly felt sick at the thought of even more of their friends being forced to sell their farms. She had attended too many auctions last year, hugged too many farmers’ wives, watched too many farm families weep as their lives were sold to the highest bidder. Thinking about driving past even more empty fields that had once been full of corn and hay left a dull ache in her chest.

“I don’t understand how the buyers can keep getting away with this,” Jason said, shaking his head. “It’s like the harder we work, the more we get punished. We make the milk, they raise the prices and barely pass anything on to us.”

Molly pushed her potatoes around her plate as silence settled over the small group. Alex coughed against his hand and took a sip of his tea. He wished he could say something to make it all better for this family who had taken him in as their own, but he knew he couldn’t.

“We just have to give this over to God,” Robert said softly. “It’s all I know how to do anymore. Keep plugging ahead somehow and pray God shows us which direction to take. We’ve got the store, we are offering organic meats and products, something many people seem interested in now. It’s all we can do.”

The small family nodded but they all felt the dread and worry hanging heavy on their shoulders. Each one knew what the other one was thinking: how much longer would they be able to live this dream of owning and running their own family business?

Jason finished his meal first, crumpled his napkin and tossed it onto the plate. “I’m going to head up for a shower. Elsie and I have tickets for a movie tonight.”

Jason had been dating Elsie for three years now. Molly wondered if her brother would ever get the nerve up to ask her to marry him. At the age of 30, neither of them were getting any younger. She could tell he loved Elsie and she knew Elsie adored Jason, though it was hard for her to understand anyone swooning over her obnoxious brother. Sometimes Molly wondered if it was the uncertainty of the farm’s future that held Jason back. Sometimes she wondered if it was that same uncertainty that had left her considering a life outside of farming.

There had to be something better than dragging herself out of bed at 4:30 every morning to milk the cows and collapsing in bed at 9 every night, so overwhelmed with exhaustion she could barely have a life off the farm. There had to be something better than putting all this hard work in and seeing little return, in so many ways, not just profit.

There simply had to be more to life. Molly sighed as she cleared her plate and carried it to the dishwasher, deep in thought, overwhelmed with a sudden determination to find out what more there was to life off the farm.

She didn’t know Alex was watching her from his seat at the table, wondering what thoughts had her so consumed that they had turned her captivating smile into a concerned frown. She also didn’t know this wasn’t the first time he had watched her and wondered what went on inside that beautiful head of hers.

Fiction Thursday: Fully Alive. Chapter 1

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, Fiction Thursday14 Comments

Struggling today with some deep depression. Half my house is in moving van, another quarter is at my parents in boxes in a shed, and a few items are in my echoing house. Things took a bizarre turn three days from closing when our mortgage company dropped us in a massive dump of loans they’d already approved. Worse yet, the mortgage broker never told us what was happening and it took repeated phone calls to get answers but I’m sure that’s just because of all the craziness going on in the world.

Anyhow, our life is in limbo but we are still trying to move out of this house and may need to stay with my parents for a couple of weeks, which could cause them to be exposed to the virus going around, but I hope not.

I need a distraction from life right now and I’m sure some of you do too. I couldn’t decide which story I’m working on to share, honestly. I have one that’s important to me but I’m not working on the way I should. I thought that sharing here might motivate me to actually finish it so I decided to share the first part of the story today. Tomorrow I’m sharing the first part of a different story.

I’ve shared a little bit of both these stories on this blog in the past. They are being updated, rewritten and revised and will be again before I publish them anywhere. With all that said, here is the first chapter of Fully Alive.

Copy of UntitledJosefa felt weighed down, unable to lift her arms or legs.

Her mind was racing and she tried to remember why she was on her cot in the middle of the day. She remembered the dizziness, the weakness, feeling so warm, falling to the ground.

Her father had placed her here on the cot, calling for their servant, Josiah.

“Stay here,” he told Josiah. “Come for me if anything changes.”

His voice sounded so far away. Why was he so far away? She wasn’t sure how much time passed before the voices of her family faded into silence, darkness enveloped her and seconds later a blinding light fell over her.

Blurred shapes, faces of people she didn’t recognize, were slowly coming into focus before her

“Josefa? Josefa?”

The voice was soft and familiar. Her grandmother was standing before her, smiling, hands outstretched.

“Josefa, my darling. Come! Come! I have someone I want you to meet! Oh, so many I want you to meet! Your brother, Jacob, the one your mother lost before you. Your father’s brother, your uncle Malaichi, who died before you were born. Come!”

The village around her was beautiful, bright, bathed in a glow much like sunlight but even brighter, even more brilliant. People followed her as she walked with her hand in her grandmother’s, crowding around her, pushing against her. Josefa felt lighter than the wind. She could see her arms and legs, but she couldn’t feel them, certain somehow she didn’t need them to move in this mysterious new place.

“Welcome, Josefa,” they said, over and over, one by one, a dizzying mix of joy.

A small boy looked up at her with bright brown eyes and her father’s smile. She stared at him in confusion which quickly dissipated into realization. This was Jacob, the baby her mom lost in childbirth two years before her own birth.

“Jacob…” she whispered, feeling warm tears in her eyes.

She kneeled and pulled the small boy to her, breathing in the sweet smell of his hair, the warmth of his body against hers. She looked up to see a man with a long brown beard, streaked with gray, standing above her.

“Uncle Joseph?”

“Oh, Josefa. Why are you here with us already?” he asked. “What has happened, my child?”

“I – I don’t know, Uncle Joseph. I had been so weak and so tired and . . . I don’t know what happened.”

Her uncle reached out to touch her face, but slowly his face began to blur, then drift away. She reached out for him, but his hand slipped through her fingers. When the darkness came again Josefa gulped air sharply into her lungs and bolted upright into a sitting position, her entire body vibrating. The world around her came into focus. She looked at her hands and arms, realizing she could feel them again. She focused on the intense buzz sliding through her limbs. She felt as if she had been struck by lightning.

The tingling rushed from the soles of her feet to the top of her head as she stood quickly and looked around the room, dazed. Three men stood on one side of the room, looking at her in disbelief. One burst into laughter, seeming to be delighted at the sight of her. Another had his hands and face raised upward, his lips moving but no sound coming out. The third was kneeling down, stroking his beard and watching her while shaking his head.

A fourth man was standing before her, a peaceful expression on his face.

Suddenly her parents were clutching her to them, both taking turns to kiss her and cry. Their voices were loud, unabashedly loud, sounds she’d never heard from them before. They were usually reserved, quiet, certain to look proper to the community around them.

What had happened? Why did she suddenly have so much energy when she could remember feeling so weak only moments before?

Josefa heard a voice, soft, gentle, yet firm.

“Do you not see? Your daughter is alive. Get her food, drink. She will need her strength.”

How could someone speak with such authority yet also with such love?

“Yes, of course, Rabbi.”

The voice of her mother was reverent, trembling with emotion. Josefa sat on her bed again, trying to take it all in, decipher what was happening.

The water against her lips was cool as voices spoke excitedly around her and she drank, suddenly thirstier than she’d ever been.

“Praise be to God!” one of the men cried.

The man who had told her parents to bring her food sat next to her, placing his hands on each side of her face. His eyes were full of kindness, compassion, of life. When she looked at him it seemed as they were the only people in the room. She could hear only his voice, see only his eyes.

“Josefa, your life has been returned to you. Go forth and live it fully.”

His hands were warm as he cupped her face in them. He kissed her forehead then gently lifted her face to look into his eyes.

“Do you understand?”

She nodded meekly, not sure she truly did understand, but knowing she wanted to.

The man her father had called Rabbi stood and turned to the other men in the room.

“Kefa, Ya’akov, Yochanan, we must leave. There are others who need us.”

Her parents took his hand, kissed it and then each cheek.

“Teacher, how can we ever –“

His voice interrupted them. He gently shook his head, raised his hand.

“This is a gift. Treasure it. Tell no one what has happened here. This gift is for your family alone.”

Josefa could hear members of the crowd outside calling to him as he left.

“Yeshua! Yeshua! Are you who they say you are?”

“Tell us, Yeshua! Are you truly the Messiah?”

“Yeshua, your followers say you call yourself the Son of God. Who do you say you are?”

 

*****

Josefa closed her eyes against the growing brightness of the rising sun.

Each day her memories grew stronger of the day she’d come back from the dead.

The sobs, first in grief, then in joy.

The declarations of praise.

The laughs of disbelief.

The gasps of amazement.

There was only so much she had been able to remember from the day the man they called Yeshua brought her back to life.

The rabbi, the teacher, the man who people in the city said was performing miracles, had performed one in her.

She had been dead, no heartbeat and pale, cold to the touch.

But at his word she was warm again, breathing, heart racing in her chest.

That first breath was like breathing for the first time. The air had never felt so fresh, so crisp, so new. She wished she could remember the words he had said when he brought her back or had even heard them. Her father told her days later what Yeshua had spoken.

“ Talita kumi! Little girl, I say to you, get up!”

Josefa still could not understand how it had all happened. She asked her father question after question that night when everyone had gone home.

The lamp had been extinguished. Only the moonlight lit the small home. Her mother had drifted to sleep, next to her, holding her close, afraid if she let her go, Josefa would be gone again. One of her brothers, Efron, was asleep on his mat in one corner of the room. The other brother had gone home with his family, vowing to return in the morning to see her, make sure she was doing well. He had visited each day for two weeks with his family, as if he couldn’t believe Josefa was still with them, cupping her chin in his hand, kissing her cheek and telling her how happy he was she was well.

“How, father? How did he bring breath back to me?”

Jairus paused as he pondered his daughter’s questions. He hesitated, but he knew what he was beginning to believe in his heart, even as his mind rejected it.

“I believe it is possible that he is as he has said,” her father whispered as he answered her questions. “He may, truly be the Messiah.”

He couldn’t imagine what the others at the synagogue would think if they could hear him.

“He is the son of the most high God,” her mother, Myriam said, half asleep. “I never would have believed it until he brought you back to us. Just a teacher can not do these things. A simple man does not have this power. He is the Messiah, Josefa. The one the prophets spoke of. We must believe now and live our life as He would.”

How would Yeshua want her to live her life now that it had been given back to her? She didn’t know. Should she pack her things and follow him? Maybe she could learn more about how to be like him. She was scared. Now that she had been given a second chance what would she do with it? It was the uncertainty that scared her. Yet something in her had been ignited. She felt a rush of anticipation as she pondered her future days.

Whatever she did with her life it had to be something meaningful, something magnificent, maybe even spiritual, something worthy of the Son of God taking time out of his teaching to bring her from the darkness of death to life again.

The whole world looked different in the days after he’d come.

Colors were more vivid.

Sounds were more beautiful- all sounds – even the sounds that once drove her to the brink of insanity- people passing in the street, donkeys braying, men arguing in the market, women gossiping, children laughing when they should be working.

Smells and tastes were different.

Oh, the tastes of all the spices and the softness of her mama’s bread against the inside of her cheek. She savored food now, held it against the roof of her mouth, and soaked in the flavor with her eyes closed.

Always now she let her sounds of pleasure at life escape her and while her parents once chided her for what they called her exploits they now smiled and laughed, simply overjoyed she was still here for them to love and be loved by.

“Josefa, come with me to the market.” Her mother was gathering baskets to carry any fish or fruit they might buy.

The market was crowded but Josefa didn’t mind. It was exciting to see the different fabrics, smell the food, hear the laughter of those trading and bargaining.

“Did you hear about the man Yeshua healed?” She heard a man behind her talking and tilted her head so she could hear better.

“I heard he spit on him,” laughed the other man. “Are we to really believe this man is the son of God? Spitting on people to bring healing?

Both men were laughing now.

“I don’t know about his ways, but many are speaking about his miracles. Who am I to say he is not who he says he is?”

“But if he is, then we should be gathering an army, Isaac. An army to finally overthrow the Roman rule.”

“I don’t know if he is here to lead us out of being ruled,” the first man said. “He said in the temple we should give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.”

The other man snorted. “What does that even mean? This Yeshua speaks in riddles. He’s not even a real leader or teacher or he would speak plainly. Why do people follow him? We need a warrior, not a storyteller.”

“Josefa!”

Her mother’s voice startled her.

“Josefa, hand me that basket for the fish. We have to get back soon for supper. Pay attention.”

“Yes, mama.”

She handed her mother the basket and turned to see if the men were still there, but they had blended into the crowds.

Josefa followed her mother back to their home, deep in thought, kicking at the dust with the tip of her foot.

“Josefa, come,” her mother reached behind her and waved her hand at her daughter.

Myriam smiled as Josefa looked up, startled out of a daydream. She’d always been a daydreamer and while it had once frustrated Myriam to no end, she now welcomed it, simply glad to still have Josefa still with them.

Josefa was her second to youngest, her only girl and she was the girl Myriam never thought she’d have. She’d lost Jacob to a fever long before Josefa was born. After Josiah she didn’t think she’d have anymore. Josefa had been a pleasant surprise to her and Jairus both.

“A blessing from Adonai,” Jairus had said when she told him, his smile broad.

“You’re not upset?” she had asked, worry and concern etched on her face.

“Why? Why would I be upset?”

“It’s another mouth to feed.”

“And if Adonai gives us another mouth to feed he’ll give us a way to feed this child and all our children.”

Jairus had pulled her close, pressing his lips softly against her forehead. Seven months later his smile had been even wider when the midwife had held the baby up and they had seen their blessing was a girl. She had been the light of the family since, always laughing and telling stories, ready for an adventure. Her brothers had protected her and delighted in her. The day she had first become ill a dark cloud fell across the family and when she had died as Jairus sought the man so many were calling a prophet, the family had felt as if their life had been shattered.

Myriam smiled as Josefa came into step with her. Where there had been darkness there was now light again. Josefa was still with them and they had the man named Yeshua to thank for her life. So many felt  Yeshua was another false messiah but Myriam knew he was the true Son of God, the one who had been prophesied to lead the Jewish people out of bondage. She knew that only the Son of God could have brought her child back from Sheol, where all who die go to spend eternity. Like her, Jairus now believed Yeshua was who he said he was, but she knew he couldn’t share his belief with anyone within the synagogue because the other rabbis believed Yeshua was a trouble maker and spoke blasphemy.

Myriam wondered if one day even the rabbis and other Jewish officials, even the P’rushim, would one day believe the way she and Jairus did – that Yeshua would deliver them from all their hardships in the world, that he would save the Jewish people from the rule of the Romans.

Faithfully Thinking: How can God give you peace when you’re turning to others for it?

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn Faithfully Thinking16 Comments

Many of us are running to our phones or computers every morning, looking for some good news.

“God, just let there be some good news out there right now,” I find myself saying.

Yes, I’m asking God to make the national news media give me good news.

How backward is that? Very it turns out.

One thing I have learned is that I can not receive the peace of God if I am filling my mind and my thoughts with other voices.

I can’t run to the national media, looking for their reassurance and their peace because they don’t have it for me. They don’t want me to have it. Their business thrives on turmoil and fear. Tragedy and anger and fear and scandal sells. Period. It’s sad, but it’s true.

Don’t look to entertainers, to television personalities or news channels or even pastors to bring you comfort or to allay your fears.

Only God can do that.

Only God can calm our fears.

I heard a sermon one time where the pastor talked about how many of us are looking at the news and social media all day and feeling more and more stressed and then we turn to God and say “Lord, give me peace.” Then, while waiting for that peace, we grab the phone and keep scrolling, as if we are going to find it there.

How can God give you/us peace when you are going other places for it?

Pastor Steven Furtick said in his sermon two weeks ago:

“You feed yourself fear and then pray for more faith. God says stop!!”

He was talking about us scrolling through news sites, pouring over current events, filling our minds with horror stories and what-ifs and projections and fear-filled stories all day long and then having the audacity to ask God where our peace is.

I can tell you (and me) one thing. Our peace is not on Fox News, CNN, or any other national news site. It isn’t on any news site.

Our peace is in God’s word.

Our peace is in God’s voice which speaks like a whisper to our hearts throughout the day and we can’t hear that whisper if we don’t take the time to be still and listen to it.

Yes, we need to have an idea of what is going on in the world around us. We need to check in from time to time, but staying glued to the news, soaking our brains with stories that don’t always provide us with the full story is not healthy for our minds, for our hearts, and definitely not for our spirits.

Being still is hard for many of us to do. Maybe you can’t simply sit in a quiet room somewhere with candles around you, especially now if everyone is home with you. But maybe you can focus your attention on God and his promises for us by sitting down somewhere and putting some headphones in and listening to encouraging, God-centered music or a Bible-based sermon to remind you that you are not alone, that he is for us, not against us and that he has you in his hands no matter what happens in the world around us.

The leader for my online Bible study shared this song Sunday when we met for prayer and praise. I want to share it with you and encourage you (and remind myself) to listen to it and remember God gives you peace, not the world, not the national media, not doctors with models or projections, or political leaders. I will share a link to it at the bottom of this post, along with the lyrics.

And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:7

This verse means we will have peace that essentially makes no sense. When the world is spinning around us we will feel peace. It isn’t a peace that will come naturally. It is a peace we will have to ask for repeatedly, each day, each morning, each night and maybe several times throughout the day. But it will be a peace that will settle over us and envelop us like a warm blanket.

I am writing this post to myself as much as to anyone who might read it today. I haven’t been letting God’s peace fill me and I have a feeling there are many more who haven’t been doing this and don’t even know how. Feeling his peace doesn’t mean we can’t feel frightened or uncertain. It means we refuse to let that fear or uncertainty consume us to the point we forget whose hand we are in, who holds our future.

When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come to pass: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” Where, O death is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” 1 Corinthians 15:55

Remind me, Lord, that nothing can separate us from you. Nothing. Not a virus that threatens death, not death itself. It’s so hard for me to remember at this time. So hard when death is something I fear even when I know I shouldn’t.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,  neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39


I don’t want to be afraid

Every time I face the waves

I don’t want to be afraid

I don’t want to be afraid

I don’t want to fear the storm

Just because I hear it roar

I don’t want to fear the storm

I don’t want to fear the storm

Peace be still

Say the word and I will Set my feet upon the sea

Till I’m dancing in the deep Peace be still

You are here so it is well

Even when my eyes can’t see I will trust the voice that speaks

I’m not gonna be afraid ‘Cause these waves are only waves

I’m not gonna be afraid

No I’m not gonna be afraid

And I’m not gonna fear the storm

You are greater than it’s roar

Oh I’m not gonna fear the storm

No I’m not gonna fear at all

Peace be still

Say the word and I will Set my feet upon the sea

Till I’m dancing in the deep

Peace be still You are here so it is well

Even when my eyes can’t see

I will trust the voice that speaks Peace, peace over me

You speak peace

Let faith rise up O heart believe

Let faith rise up in me

Let faith rise up O heart believe

Let faith rise up in me Let faith rise up O heart believe

Let faith rise up in me Oh let faith rise up O heart believe

Let faith rise up in me

Peace be still Say the word and I will Set my feet upon the sea Till I’m dancing in the deep

oh Peace be still You are here so it is well

Even when my eyes can’t see I will trust the voice that speaks

Peace, peace over me I hear You speaking

Peace, peace over me Oh peace Over me You speak peace

You speak peace

Over me

You speak peace

You speak peace

You speak peace

Memories of a house in photos

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings15 Comments

I was looking through an old folder on the computer for photos of my son when he was two and bumped into a slew of photos of the kids and our pets at this house – of memories made at the house or around it. I thought I’d share some of those on the blog today for a break from all the rambling I usually do. I believe all of these photos were taken with my Nikon d750, with a variety of different lenses I have owned over the years.

Having a bad day? Just Ask Alice.

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings9 Comments

We live in a small area, with small, family-owned grocery stores and weekly community newspapers. I’ve been reading the small community paper where my husband now works since I was a child. Actually, I also wrote for the newspaper in my senior year and then later after I graduated college.

The Rocket-Courier comes out once a week, every Thursday, and it’s one of the most avidly read newspapers in the region, not only because it’s chocked full of local news, but because it features news and cozy, fun, small town features like Just Ask Alice (a fictional advice column where questions are answered by a somewhat sad, somewhat grumpy-looking old lady) and Jester Hill, a fictional town with hilarious fictional characters. Once upon a time it also offered some pretty interesting views and stories from the editor/publisher in a column called The Way I See It, but he’s retired the column as he prepares to retire as well.

The newspaper has been owned by the same family for about 150 years. In this day and age, full of negativity and meanness and selfishness, it is refreshing to read Jester Hill and Just Ask Alice, which I have found myself gravitating toward every Thursday when I pull the newspaper out of the mailbox.

This is Alice, by the way:

Her photo appears on the masthead of her column and also on coffee mugs and t-shirts. Who really writes her column? Well, Alice, of course. Who else?

I thought I’d offer a couple of excerpts from the two columns to my blog readers, since most of you probably won’t read it anywhere else and probably wouldn’t subscribe to the newspaper unless you have a personal interest in the area.

From Jester Hill this week:

Sunday Services at Jester Hill Community Church were no open to the public but were available to view online thanks to the effort of Justin Floop, who is president of the Jester Hill High School Audio Visual Club.
Halfway through Reverand Thaddeus Bump's sermon, the feed accidentally switched to the movie, "Bikini Chain Gang." Five minutes of the film ran before Justin realized what was happening and corrected the situation.
Bump was embarrassed by the incident until he found out that the online collection plate broke an all-time record.
New week's sermon will including a showing preview of "Bikini Royale."

***

Able Davis was picking up a prescription at this drug store Friday when he noticed a man going down an aisle with a shopping cart filled to the brim with toilet paper, sanitizers and bread.
Incensed at the thought of all the hoarding going on, able proceeded to dress the man down, calling him selfish and inconsiderate of the elderly and other people who need those items.
"If you're done," the man responded. "I have to get back to stocking the shelves."

***

Madame Elesha, a Binghamton fortune teller, was the entertainment at Saturday’s annual Jester Hill Grange banquet.
After her stint, Madame Elesha was talking to Fred Sturzenegger over coffee.
She asked Fred if he ever had premonitions.
Fred replied that he never had, but his grandfather knew the exact year, month, day and time of his death five years before it happened.
“That’s impressive,” Elesha observed.
“Not really,” Fred said. “The judge told him.”
***
Omar Dwight has long resisted going to a chiropractor, thinking one wouldn’t help him with the numerous aches and pains.
Finally, he decided to give one a try after dealing with a sore back for a month.
After just one treatment, he felt 100 percent better.
After the appointment, he was telling the gang at Bierney’s Tavern about it.
Sam Stedge, the proprietor, who had heard Omar comment for years about his lack of faith in chiropractors, asked him if he had changed his tune.
“I stand corrected,” Omar said.

Alice answers a variety of questions, some related to the virus everyone is talking about and a couple about the government in general.

DEAR ALICE: You may have been asked this question before, but can you tell me why it takes our federal government so long to accomplish anything? — WAITING IN WYSOX

DEAR WAITING: It takes government so long to make things happen because they have to carefully deliberate every decision to make certain that if it’s the wrong decision, the other party will get blamed for it. — Alice.

***

DEAR ALICE: Have you found any other benefits from social distancing other than it helps curb the spread of the Coronavirus?

—HEALTHY IN HERRICK

DEAR HEAL: Yes, it’s a great excuse for not spending time with people and at places that I don’t care for.

—ALICE

***

DEAR ALICE: Is there anything we can do to improve cell phone service at our house? We only have a signal strength of one signal bar, and we have to go outside to make or receive calls.

—NO CELL, NEW ALBANY

DEAR NO: You probably wouldn’t want to do this, but my niece Stephanie says that ever since she had that metal ring stuck through her eyebrow and a gold pin in her nose she can talk on her cell phone in places where others have no service at all.

—ALICE

***

DEAR ALICE: I can’t get married to the man I love because there is a law against it. But I hate not being his wife. What should I do? (I’m enclosing a picture of my man so you can see why I love him so much).

—SINGLE IN SYLVANIA

DEAR SING: You shouldn’t have sent the photo, and pardon me for saying this, but the Halloween pumpkin I had on my porch last October had more teeth than your uncle. Get a life, get a job and get out of the relationship with a blood relative.

—ALICE

How about you? Do you have any funny columns or features in your hometown paper? Or are you in a larger city with larger newspapers? Let me know in the comments (if you want).

Quarantined: A Short Story Part Six

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, short stories4 Comments

This is the final part of Quarantined. Thank you to those who followed along. I also finished A New Beginning on Saturday. I will be sharing some new fiction either this Friday or next, depending on how things go with moving to a new house and internet hookup when we get there.

To find the other parts of Quarantine:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

It was yet another morning since the quarantine had started that Liam woke up disoriented, but this time there was a woman in his bed and he was relieved to see that the woman was his wife.

After gently sliding himself away from Maddie, making sure her head shifted softly onto the pillow, he sat up, rubbing his hands over his face. Glancing behind him he looked at Maddie still asleep, her hair splayed out around her on the pillow, somewhat like a halo. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he watched her sleep. They may not have been in love like they used to be, but she was still beautiful.

The ringtone from his phone startled him and he snatched it up quickly so it wouldn’t wake Maddie. He walked into the living room before answering it.

“Mr. Grant?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry to call so early, but this is Dr. Robinson from St. Joseph’s and I wanted to call you personally to let you know that your test for the virus came up negative. You were positive for it’s cousin, I guess you would say: the common cold.”

“So, I’m clear?” Liam asked.

“Clear from the virus everyone is worried about,” the doctor said. “But it’s possible you could still develop symptoms of a cold or give that cold to someone else.”

“So, I’m free from quarantine?”

The doctor laughed. “Well, since the government is shutting down everything and restricting travel, you’re as free as your particular city or state will allow you to be.”

After thanking the doctor and saying goodbye, Liam pumped his fist in the air and tossed his phone to the couch.

He was free. To do what he wasn’t sure since the rest of his brother’s staff, and even his brother, were still in quarantine, still awaiting test results. Not too mention Congress and most of Washington was shut down. He needed coffee before he could decide what his next step would be. And he should probably tell Maddie.

He started the coffee and walked quietly to the spare room to see if she was still sleeping. The bed was empty and he could hear the shower running in the bathroom at the end of the hall. He looked at the empty bed again, an ache in the center of his chest as he remembered the feel of her against him the night before.

Back in the kitchen he started breakfast and poured himself a cup of coffee. He was plating the eggs and bacon and putting another slice of toast in the toaster for Maddie when he heard the bathroom door open and her bare feet in the hallway. Leaning back against the counter he sipped his coffee and thought about how much he would miss the sound of Maddie’s feet in the hallway when the divorce was final.

He noticed a tremble in his hand as he set the mug on the counter. His heart was pounding faster, his breath quickening as he thought about the divorce, pictured himself signing the papers. He closed his eyes tight against the image, rubbing his hand through his hair as if he could rub it from his mind. Dear God, the idea of divorcing her sent a cold chill and a panicked buzz cutting straight through him.

When the door to Maddie’s bedroom flew open she screamed, snatching the towel off the bed and clutching it against her.

“Liam! What are you —”

Her words were cut short by him walking briskly toward her, cupping the back of her head gently, yet firmly, with his hand and covering her mouth fiercely with his.

Pulsating need coursed through him as he opened her mouth under his and clutched at her damp hair.

She pulled away slowly a few moments later, pressing into him as if her legs were about to give way underneath her.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, breathless.

“Should you be kissing me this way? I mean, we don’t know yet if —”

He shook his head. “No, probably not. But I don’t have the virus. The doctor just called. I have the common cold. He said symptoms could still develop so, yes, I could still give you a cold. Do you want to take that risk?”

Maddie searched his eyes. She knew he was asking her more than if she wanted to risk getting sick with a cold.

She let the towel fall to the floor and he pulled her hard against him. Hooking her arms behind his neck, she hungrily grabbed his mouth with hers and he felt every tense muscle in his body relax with pleasure.

“Maddie,” he gasped, pulling his mouth away. She tipped her head back to look at him. “Please don’t leave me.”

A smile flicked across her lips. “I won’t.”

He kissed her hard, gently pushing her back toward the bed at the same time. Lowering her slowly, kissing her, he heard his phone ringing in the living room.

“Should you get that?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “I should. Hold on.”

Laying on the bed, feeling ridiculous and exposed, Maddie sat up and looked for the towel. She knew if it was work, Liam probably wouldn’t be back anytime soon. If ever.

When she looked up, though, he was standing in the doorway with the phone in his hand, against his ear.

 “No, Matt. I’m not going to be in for a few more days. Yeah. Just to be sure. I’ll keep in touch, but I have some things I need to work on at home first. . .” He laughed, looking at her. “Yeah, you could say that. Okay. Bye.”

She leaned back on her elbows, watching as he held his thumb down on the off button of the phone and tossed it down the hallway toward the living room. She saw the desire in his eyes as he walked toward her, lifting his shirt over his head and tossing it across the room.

“I believe we have some catching up to do,” he said when he was next to her, his arms pulling her gently into the curve of his body, his mouth lowering to hers.





Sunday Bookends: Peggy Rowe, finding fellow Mitford fans, and the last week in our house

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings7 Comments

Here we are: at the final week in our current house. It’s been a bitter sweet time as we are excited to leave this area in some ways (some bad memories from here) and sad at the same time (we have some really nice neighbors). The other day we received some snow and I looked out at the hills that hug this Valley, at the snow clinging to the pine trees and said to my daughter (who is 5): “Look at the beautiful trees out there. Isn’t that amazing?” She let out a heavy sigh and said: “I’m going to miss those hills.”

Somehow she always seems older than she is, which seems to be a familiar trend with my children.

Not sure how well you can see the hills with power lines in front of them and fog settling on them. We always have fog here in the mornings and on certain days because the town is located between two rivers.

Of course, we will still be surrounded by hills at our new home, which is only about 45 miles away from where we live now.

We get the moving truck Tuesday and start loading it up, most likely on our own since everyone is afraid of everyone else these days, (understandably),

I’m not really sure how we are going to load up the couches and heavier furniture, but right now we don’t have a choice. If we don’t move out we could lose the mortgage it took us months to get and the buyers of our house could be in the same situation.

I’m a total wimp anymore with all my weird health issues or hormones, or whatever, so please pray I get some strength next week and can help get things loaded up. Luckily we have a couple of days to load the truck before we have to be totally out of the house so it will give us time to pause and gasp for air.

Last week (and the week before) I started re-reading some familiar, cozy books to help take my mind off various stresses. One of those books was About My Mother by Peggy Rowe (mother of Dirty Job’s fame Mike Rowe). The other is The Light in the Window by Jan Karon. It is the second book in The Mitford Series. After Jan Karon made an announcement about them on her Facebook page, I even found a fan club that is reading the first book this next month and we can all share our favorite parts and talk about our favorite characters. That should be a nice distraction (if I have Internet at the new house during the month because we aren’t sure how long it will take to get Internet hooked up with all that is going on.)

I’ve been following Peggy on Facebook (her interviews with Mike are hilarious!) for awhile, and am looking forward to her new book, About Your Father and Other Celebrities I Have Known: Ruminations and Revelations from a Desperate Mother to Her Dirty Son, which will be released on April 14. I don’t normally pre-order books, but I pre-ordered this one on Kindle.

I not only started re-reading the book but had a gift credit for Audible and downloaded the book there too, which Mrs. Rowe reads herself. I needed that for something uplifting to focus on while I go to sleep at night. I fell asleep listening to her the night before.

For those who might be interested, here is the description for About My Mother:


A love letter to mothers everywhere, About My Mother will make you laugh and cry – and see yourself in its reflection.

Peggy Rowe’s story of growing up as the daughter of Thelma Knobel is filled with warmth and humor. But Thelma could be your mother – there’s a Thelma in everyone’s life.  She’s the person taking charge – the one who knows instinctively how things should be. Today, Thelma would be described as an alpha personality, but while growing up, her daughter Peggy saw her as a dictator – albeit a benevolent, loving one. They clashed from the beginning – Peggy, the horse-crazy tomboy, and Thelma, the genteel-yet-still-controlling mother, committed to raising two refined, ladylike daughters. Good luck.

When major league baseball came to town in the early 1950s and turned sophisticated Thelma into a crazed Baltimore Orioles groupie, nobody was more surprised and embarrassed than Peggy. Life became a series of compromises – Thelma tolerating a daughter who pitched manure and galloped the countryside, while Peggy learned to tolerate the whacky Orioles fan who threw her underwear at the television, shouted insults at umpires, and lived by the orange-and-black schedule taped to the refrigerator door.

Sometimes it takes a little distance to appreciate the people we love.

The description for About Your Father:

Peggy Rowe is at it again—this time giving a hilarious inside look at growing up Rowe, both before and after Mike’s rise to fame.

Since the day they said, “I do,” Peggy’s previous “doting” lifestyle met with her husband John’s minimalist ways and became the backdrop for years of adventure and a quirky sense of humor because of their differences. From thoughts of wearing headlamps in the house to save energy, to squeezing out the last drop of toothpaste with a workbench vise, Peggy learned to pick her battles and celebrate the hilarity in each situation.

Once their boys were born, woodstove mishaps and garbage dumping tales were the seed for Mike’s obsession with doing dirty jobs and the comical presence he is known for today.

As Mike rose to fame, Peggy was his biggest fan—who gave motherly advice and constructive criticism, of course. She baked cookies for Mike to take to Joan Rivers for a Christmas party hostess gift, and even wrote fan letters under faux names and mailed them from different cities to Mike’s producer.  

By the time Mike hits it big, Peggy and John retire to face more adventures, with a lightning strike in their condo, an elderly friend who ate marijuana leaves, and entering into celebrity status by making Viva paper towel and Lee jeans commercials, plus so much more.

Peggy’s stories relive the details that intrigue and entertain old and new fans alike. So if you want a bigger, even funnier take on the Rowe family, About Your Father and Other Celebrities I Have Known delivers.

– Amazon

One of the other things that helped keep us distracted this week from the moving stress (and other things) has been watching the bald eagles on the livecam sponsored by the Pennsylvania Game Commission. This week my daughter and I missed the egg hatching because it happened at night but we were able to see the mama eagle feed the baby some fish the next day.

That was exciting for both of us since it was a first for us both. We have heard that the other egg hatched, but haven’t seen the new eaglet yet. The baby in the third egg apparently didn’t make it because some of the people in the live chat said the father eagle crushed the egg and fed it to the baby that lived. Gross, but nature.

We were watching another live cam feed and it looks like the egg that those eagles were taking care of is not going to hatch, unfortunately.

We have also enjoyed watching the Orangutans on the San Diego Zoo’s live cam.

The weather was a little weird this week with some sun, some rain and then actual snow one day. The up and down temperatures seems to be how spring is here, though. My daughter enjoyed running into the snow and standing under the gutter spout to get her hair wet, as well as trying to get me wet by throwing snowballs at me.

Showing me how cold and wet her hand is from gathering snow.

Getting groceries and supplies has been a little odd with everything going on and while we once looked forward to care packages with treats in them, we were all (okay, just me) excited to get a care package from my parents with two of the hottest commodities around the nation right now (there are disinfectant wipes under the toilet paper :

I ordered a few things from Walmart online two weeks ago and just received the items this past week. I’ve decided not to order from them again at least until after we move and maybe not at all until after things settle down a little with this virus.

The whole situation with all of this stuff in the news, by the way, has left me looking a bit like this lady below, who I plan to write about next week:

So, how about all of you? How are you holding up? What are you reading, watching, doing? Let me know in the comments.

Special Saturday Fiction: A New Beginning Final Chapter

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, fiction7 Comments

Here we are to the final chapter of A New Beginning. That you to those of you who followed me on this journey and for sharing your thoughts. I plan to have the Kindle version of this book up sometime in April after it has been proofed, edited and even revised.

The sun was bright, glistening off the cars in the church parking lot and through the leaves of the trees. Judson’s fingers were intertwined with mine as we walked out of the church, on our way to Edith and Jimmy’s for lunch.

Judson let go of my hand as we walked toward the top step and looped his arm through Jessie’s while she slowly made her way down the front steps.

“Here, Miss Jessie,” he said in his smooth Southern accent. “Let me help escort you down the stairs.

His Southern politeness always sent tingles of adoration rushing through me.

Jessie looked up at him with an expression of delight. “Oh my! Such a Southern gentleman!” she declared.

Judson laughed softly as they progressed slowly to the next step. “Anything for you Miss Jessie.”

“Now, Judson, if that is indeed true, I need to ask you a serious question.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Are you going to marry Blanche soon or what? You two have been holding hands and looking all sweet at each other for quite a while now. I’m not getting any younger and I’d like to see her happily married  before I die. Now, how about you move along and just ask her to marry you already?”

Judson looked startled and laughed. “Well, Miss Jessie. It’s really up to Blanche if she wants to marry me. I’m game if she is.”

Jessie snorted. “’I’m game if she is,’” she said in a mocking tone as she paused on the bottom step. “Will you just listen to that? Young people today, I tell you. What kind of proposal was that, young man? I thought you were a Southern gentlemen. You better do it right.”

Judson grinned, looking at me. A rush of butterflies swirled in my stomach. I recognized that grin as the same one he’d had before he tossed me in the lake the week before and the one that crossed his face when he dropped a fishing lure that looked like a spider on my lap a few weeks before that. What was he about to do?

I pressed my hand against my cheeks in disbelief when he stepped off the last step with Miss Jessie and dropped to one knee in the dirt at the end of the church stairs, in front of everyone walking out of the service. My face flushed warm and I knew it must be red.

“Blanche Robbins,” he said, holding his arms out to his side dramatically, exaggerating his Southern accent even more. “Will you consent to be my wife?”

I walked down the last two steps, Jackson behind me, and stood in front of Judson, unsure if I should laugh or cry.

He leaned closer to me, looked up  and whispered, “I don’t have the ring yet, but Miss Jessie ordered me to do it right and to hurry up about it so I figured I better listen and obey.”

I glanced at Jessie and tried not to laugh. “I’ll consent to be your wife, Judson T. Wainwright,” I said in my best Southern accent, curtseying slightly.

“Whoo-hoo!” Emmy’s voice broke over the splattering of applause from those standing outside the church as Judson stood and drew me close, kissing me gently. “I knew my plan would work,” she giggled. “And it only took three years.”

Miss Jessie patted Judson the shoulder. “Thank you, young man. You’ve made this old lady very happy. Now, don’t take your time planning the big day. Hurry up so I can be there.”

Judson and I laughed as we hugged her.

Several members of the church shook our hands as they walked by to their cars, congratulating us.

Judson leaned close to Jackson, who was now standing behind me. “Hey, buddy, is this okay with you?”

Jackson grinned a familiar mischievous grin, sliding his hands into his front dress pant pockets and leaned against the railing next to the stairs. “I get to call you dad when you two get married, right?”

Judson’s teasing grin faded into a more serious expression. Tears glistened in his eyes. “Absolutely, kid. If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Jackson said, his tone matter-of-fact and displaying a maturity that surprised me, but also made my heart swell.

Daddy walked toward us, hands in his pockets, standing in a pose almost identical to Jackson’s.

“Well, I guess gone are the days of the man asking the father’s permission first,” he said, a mischievous grin on his face.

Judson looked alarmed and I could tell he was worried Daddy was really upset. “Oh sir, I’m so — ”

Daddy laughed loudly and slapped Judson hard on the back.

“No worries, my boy, I would have given you that permission. You’re like family to us already.”

Judson shook his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

Edith, Emmy and Lily surrounded me, Emmy holding Faith, Lily cradling Alexander.

“We’ve got to start planning!” Edith cried.

“We should have a June wedding,” Emmy said. “Or September. With all the leaves falling down around you. Outside, by the lake, where you first kissed.”

Edith turned to look at Emmy, then back at me.

“You two first kissed at the lake? Why didn’t I hear about this? You mean that weekend we went out there all together?”

I sighed. “We can talk about it on the way to your house for lunch.”

Edith kept talking. “Did he kiss you or did you kiss him? Is that why you were so quiet on the ride to the adoption agency that day?”

I walked toward the car as she continued to talk, laughing, and hugging Jackson close.

“We’re finally giving you the wedding you deserve,” Mama said, smiling through the tears, three months after Judson’s public proposal. “This dress you made is so beautiful.”

She lifted the veil and laid it back on top of my head. “And you are so beautiful too.”

She cradled my face in her hands and kissed my cheek.

“Thank you, Mama.”

Edith was a giddy mess on the other side of the room. “It’s almost time! I am so excited! My little sister is getting married!”

Emmy was almost as giddy. “And now my best friend is going to be my cousin-in-law!”

Lily, whose demeanor had brightened slowly over the last year, smiled in amusement at the giddy display before her, pushing a strand of blond hair off her shoulder.

“You look beautiful, Lily,” I said. “I’m so glad you agreed to be a junior bridesmaid.”

She lowered her eyes sheepishly, her cheeks flushed red. “Thank you for asking me,” she said softly.

I had been apprehensive about Edith and Jimmy bringing Lily home with them, but now I couldn’t imagine life without her. She’d been quiet, withdrawn, and frightened her first few months at their home. Eventually, though, she began to open up more, finding interests that girls her age should have. Her mother had signed papers to make Edith and Jimmy her legal guardians six months earlier.

 Edith enrolled her in school and took care of Alexander during the day, bringing him with her to the shop most days, sometimes asking Mama to help watch him. In the evenings, Lily helped to care for Alexander, changing his diapers, giving him his bath and laying him down at night after his final bottle. Edith and Jimmy both wanted Alexander to call Lily “mom” when he was old enough to talk and referred to themselves simply by their first names. While Lily called them by their first names, I could see that she saw them as her parents.

The door to the Sunday School room opened and Marion peeked around it.

“I have your something old,” she said with a smile.

She stepped into the room and handed me a small, delicate white  handkerchief with pink flowers embroidered in the corners.

“This was my mother’s,” she said. “She gave it to me and now I want to give it to you.”

“Marion, I can’t take this…”

She laughed and winked. “Oh, sure you can. I carried it with me at my wedding with Stanley and so far that’s going well so it must be good luck.”

I tucked the handkerchief into the sash of the dress. “Thank you, Marion.”

“I have your something blue,” Emmy said, sliding a small blue flower into the curls piled on top of my head.”

“And you’re already wearing my something borrowed,” Edith said, gesturing to my shoes. “Don’t forget those are mine. I want them back after the wedding.”

I looked around the room at the women who were and had become family to me, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with emotion. I knew Miss Mazie, Hannah and Buffy were all waiting in the sanctuary with the rest of the guests.

 As a teenager, I’d never imagined myself married and then when I married, I’d never imagined myself divorced. Once divorced I felt my chances at love were gone, but here I was, about to be married again, this time to someone who not only loved me and my son but also God. And here were the women who had helped me through it all, standing with me to rejoice in what I saw as a happy beginning after an unhappy season in my life.

“Okay, come on,” Edith said waving her hands in front of her eyes as tears welled in them. “Blanche is about to cry. Mama is about to cry. I’m about to cry. And if we cry we are all going to ruin our make-up. Blanche, reapply your lipstick and let’s get this show on the road. There is a handsome man upstairs waiting to marry you and a handsome boy standing next to him waiting to hug you both.”

I sat on a bench next to the window and looked in my purse for the lipstick. My hand touched an envelope I had shoved in there earlier that morning. I’d found it in the mailbox and when I saw the postmark, had quickly shoved it in my purse so no one else would see it. I slid it out and looked at it for a few moments before opening it.

“What’s that?” Edith asked, zipping up the back of Emmy’s dress.

“It’s a letter,” I said, staring at the words on the paper.

“From?”

“From Vietnam,” I said softly. “From Hank.”

Edith and Emmy looker at each other and then walked over to stand next to me, looking over my shoulder. Mama and Marion joined them.

Dear Blanche:

Just writing to let you know they shipped me to Vietnam four months ago. I won’t lie, it’s hell over here. I’m getting what I deserve and I know it. If I don’t make it back, tell Jackson his daddy was an idiot for never getting to know him.

Hank

I folded the letter, slid it back in the envelope and slid the envelope between the pages of my Bible, placing Hank where I should have placed him a long time ago – into the hands of God.

I flipped my veil over my face. “Come on, ladies. Let’s go. I have a new beginning waiting for me.”



Quarantined: A Short Story Part 5

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn short stories5 Comments

I feel like I’m overwhelming my blog with fiction (and posts in general), but, oh well, I guess. People seem to be following along and enjoying the stories so I’ll keep going. Plus, it’s good to give readers a lot of options that aren’t related to current events.

Quarantined was not a planned project. It came to me very fast and just poured out of me so I thought I’d share to my fiction loving readers (thanks for following along, by the way.) You can find the rest of the parts at the following links: Part 1, Part 2,Part 3, and Part 4. I’ll be posting the final part Sunday or Monday. For other fiction, you can check out the 35 chapters of A New Beginning, which will be published at a later date on Kindle (so you don’t have to click chapter to chapter if you haven’t been following along) or A Story To Tell, which is on Kindle now. By the way, this blog is not aimed at selling products, so I don’t mean to share about my book on every fiction post. My books are priced very low but I wanted somewhere I could place them where people could read them in full instead of skipping from chapter to chapter and I chose Amazon because I have a Kindle. I have found some other options since then for future books. Anyhow…let’s get on with the story, shall we?!


 They hadn’t spoken to each other for four days, other than for her to ask if the doctor had called and him to say ‘not yet,’ and him to ask if she wanted some lunch or dinner and her to say ‘I’ll make my own.’

He’d locked himself in his office, dealing with the fall out for his brother’s delay in quarantining himself after his interaction with the ambassador; writing press releases and using video chat features to do interviews with major news commentators.

She’d locked herself in the bedroom, writing bits and pieces of her novel in between pouring over news sites; scrolling through social media feeds for personal stories from those who had had the virus and were recovering. She wondered if she and Liam would eventually face the same situation, or would they be worse with one of them admitted to an ICU somewhere.

In the evenings she binged watched Parks and Recreation while eating ice cream or popcorn, grateful she’d stocked up on groceries even before Liam had told her about the quarantine. Liam spent his nights straightening boxes, speaking to his brother through video conferencing and binge-watching Bosch, the crime show about a rugged, hard-edged Los Angeles Police Department detective just what he needed to distract him from the restlessness he felt.

“So, how’s it going with Maddie?” Matt had asked via video messaging on night seven of their quarantine as he’d leaned back on his couch and cracked open a soda. His gaze wandered off to one side, toward something behind his computer before Liam could answer. “Jason. Stop hitting your sister. I don’t ca—you know what, just go outside. In the backyard. You’re allowed to go in the backyard. . . . I don’t know. Hit the ball. Chase the dog. I don’t care. Just get out for a while. Take your brother and sister with you . . . Hey! I’m still in charge around here. Do what I say!”

He looked back at Liam through the screen. “Fun times over here. I can’t wait until this thing is over.”

Liam scoffed. “It’s only been three days for you, dude. If you can’t handle three days with your wife and kids, you’re in serious trouble.”

Matt grinned. “Yeah. I know. First world problems, right? Anyhow, what’s up with you and Maddie. I see you’re still alive, so she hasn’t stabbed you yet.”

Liam winced and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Not for a lack of wanting to, I’d imagine.” He sat back against the headboard of the bed, arms across his chest. “We had it out the other night. The stuff she accused me of doing — you wouldn’t even believe it. Affairs, spending more time at work than with her, not supporting her after the miscarriages. It was all a bunch of crap.”

“Well?”

Liam scowled at his brother. “Well, what?”

“Did you do those things?”

“You know I didn’t, Matt.”

“Then why is it bothering you so much? Don’t be so defensive. You know you didn’t do anything wrong so let her rant.”

Liam shifted on the bed, focusing his gaze out the window. “I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t support her like I should have after the miscarriages. And she’s pretty accurate about working too much too.”

“And the affairs?” Matt asked.

“No!” Liam snapped, looking back at his brother. “I didn’t have an affair.” He paused, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I could never do that to Maddie. You know that. We haven’t been getting along, yes, but I . . . I could never hurt her that way.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and leaned closer to the screen of his laptop. “Do you really think I could do that?” he asked his brother.

Matt laughed. “Liam, no, I don’t, and I don’t know if Maddie really does either, but she’s scared. She obviously doesn’t feel secure in her relationship with you to think that. I don’t think you or Maddie really want this divorce. You’re both just afraid to do the work it will take to keep this thing going. It’s going to hurt, little brother, but I think you two need to work things out. I think you still love your wife or what she said to you wouldn’t have hurt so much.”

Liam shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Matt Grant. The hard-headed, some might say, pig-headed, youngest-ever head of the intel committee showing that he’s also a marriage counselor.”

The brothers laughed easily together.

“Seriously, though, Liam,” Matt said, leaning closer to the screen now. “Let me give you some brotherly advice: make darn sure this divorce is truly what you want before you sign those papers. You and Maddie have something special. Always have. I don’t want to see you throw this away without really thinking it through. Okay?”

Liam let out a long breath, tapping his fingers along the touchpad of the laptop.

Matt pressed him further. “Promise me you’ll think really hard about all of this while you two are locked up in there, okay?”

Liam nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Matt.”

Three nights later, on the tenth night of quarantine, Liam packed it in early, shutting off his phone and laptop around 10 p.m. and sliding under the covers, drained and glad he hadn’t yet experienced any coughing, muscle aches, or a sore throat. His mind was racing, filled with thoughts of work, thoughts of what this virus might mean to his parents, his older aunt and uncles, and anyone else whose health might be more vulnerable.

 His thoughts were also filled with Maddie.

She was sitting in the room down the hall, but she might as well have been thousands of miles away with all the interaction they’d had this past week.

Matt was right. Liam still loved Maddie and he was beginning to wonder if she had any love left for him.

Sleep had just begun to slip over him when he heard a soft knock on his door. He didn’t answer. He rolled over and closed his eyes tighter.

The door squeaked open and then footsteps, soft across the floor. What did she want? He was too tired for another fight.

“Liam?”

Maddie’s voice was barely audible. He ignored her.

She spoke a little louder. “Liam?”

He ignored her again.

She sighed in the darkness, he felt, rather than saw, her turn back toward the open doorway.

“What?”

Silence fell over the room and he heard a breath drawn in deep and slowly let out again.

“Will you hold me?”

He rolled over, squinting in the darkness, trying to make out her face to decide if she was serious or not.

“Just hold me. Nothing else.”

He wondered if this was some kind of trick. He squinted again, trying to see if her hand was behind her back; if she might suddenly draw a knife from there and stab him.

“Please?”

She seemed to be serious. Very. He heard a vulnerability in her tone that he hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Um . . . yeah. Okay.”

She lifted the sheet and comforter, sliding next to him, her body warm, her feet cold. Her feet had always been cold and she’d always slid them up his legs to warm them, making him squirm but laugh at the same time. Sometimes he’d asked if she needed the rest of her warmed up too and often she’d say yes and he’d snuggled close and nibbled at her earlobes.

He wasn’t going to ask her tonight if she needed warming up.

She laid her head on his shoulder, a hand on his chest over his heart and closed her eyes. She remembered how comforting the soft thump of his heartbeat had been for most of their marriage.

They laid in the dark listening to each other breathe until she whispered: “I tried to stay away from the news but it’s like watching a train wreck. I can’t seem to look away.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“People are scared.”

“Yeah.”

“They’re convinced they’re all going to die.”

“They’re not. Fear does crazy things to your mind.”

Silence settled over them again.

She laughed softly again. “Yeah. Like that time you had that spider on your arm when we were driving to my parents and you almost drove us into a river.”

Liam snorted a laugh. “Well, spiders are scary, what can I say? All those legs. . .” he shuddered. “It’s just creepy.”

Silence settled over them again.

“Liam?”

He stared into the darkness, at the light of the streetlight bleeding in under the blinds. “Yeah?”

“If this kills one of us —”

“Maddie, this isn’t going to kill either one of us. I already told you we don’t even know if my test is positive. And most of the cases are mild, especially in our age group. We’re not in the highest risk age group. Okay?”

“But if it does . . . I want you to know. . .” Maddie took a deep breath and spoke fast and softly as she exhaled. “I’ve always loved you. Even when I didn’t like you.”

Liam laughed softly.

“Thanks. I guess.”

“And, Liam?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry you thought you had to fix me. Only God can fix my broken heart.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Silence settled over them again and he laid his hand over hers, over the one laying on his chest.

“Maddie?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry you thought I didn’t care. I’m sorry I let my career become more important than our marriage.”

He had been trying not to be aware of her body warm against his, of the smell of her shampoo, of how soft the skin on her arm felt under his hand, of how her closeness made his heart rate increase. But he was aware of it. All of it. Much more than he wanted to be.

He slid his hand slowly up her arm, resting it just below her shoulder, squeezing gently.

He gently pressed his lips against the top of her head, her closeness suddenly intoxicating. “I love you, Maddie. Despite it all. I love you.”

He listened to her breathe and for a moment he thought she had fallen asleep.

 “I’m so tired. . .” she whispered against his neck, her breath warm. He could tell she was fading fast.

“Sleep,” he said softly. “We can talk more in the morning. It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

She slept but he couldn’t. Not now with her tucked against him soft and warm, kicking his thoughts into high gear. He hadn’t expected her to come to him for comfort. He hadn’t expected it, but he welcomed it and loved having her so close, even if it was only physically.

 Had she meant what she said? That she still loved him? Maybe it had been the stress and the worry talking. The exhaustion even. He wasn’t sure but what he was sure of was that those words had sparked a warm, comforting fire in the center of his chest. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her hand over his heart, trying to switch his brain off and knowing he’d meant it when he’d told her he still loved her.