Special Fiction Saturday: The Farmer’s Daughter, Chapter 6

I posted Chapter 5 of The Farmer’s Daughter yesterday. You can catch up on the story HERE or at the link at the top of the page.


The sun was already hot on the back of Robert’s neck and it wasn’t even 9 a.m. yet. He chose a wrench from the toolbox sitting next to the tractor and leaned over the engine, hoping to find out why the tractor had sputtered to a stop earlier in the day.

He knew the rest of this hot day would be a tough one, one that would leave him with a red, burned neck if he wasn’t careful. Annie was always after him to put on his sunscreen. He scoffed almost every time. Sunscreen? Really? He’d lived and worked on this farm his whole life and never wore sunscreen. That was until he met Annie and she ran around behind him with a bottle ready to squirt the cold, white liquid on the back of his neck, arms, ears, anything exposed to the sun. This morning he’d skipped out before she could catch him, but he knew she’d be out eventually, bottle in hand.

“You’re going to need this,” she’d say. “Can’t have you getting skin cancer on top of all the other stresses we’ve got going on at this place.”

Robert reached for a different wrench and bent over the tractor’s engine again. This time the wrench fit smoothly over the bolt and he started twisting, biting his lower lip like he always did when he was focused on a task. Annie was right. There were enough stresses on this farm. His health didn’t need to be one of them. Working the bolt loose he heard a car engine and looking up he watched one of his many stresses weave down the long driveway, past the farmhouse and up toward the barn. It looked like this day wasn’t going to be one of the easy ones.

Dust billowed around the car and rolled toward Robert. He squinted, keeping one eye on the bolt he was working on and one eye on the imposing figure climbing out of the drivers seat of the beat-up blue Toyota Camry. He may have looked imposing, but Robert knew there wasn’t anything imposing about Bill Eberlin, the man he’d known since high school who was more threatening to a plate of wings than he was to another man.

Bill Eberlin lumbered toward him in his familiar gate with a slight limp, button up shirt partially untucked from the top of a pair of oversized black dress pants, his large belly stretching the limit of the shirt. The collar of his ruffled suit coat had somehow gotten flipped up on one side, down on the other, and Robert could see by the sweat glistening on his foreahead that the air conditioning had broke down in his car.

Robert kept his eyes on the engine as Bill approached, tightening his jaw as he worked the bolt loose.

“Robert. How’s it going?”

Robert smiled, glancing briefly at Bill. Bill’s face, his cheeks slightly puffed, slightly sagging from age, was a mix of flushed red and pale white.

“Okay, Bill. How’s it going in the banking business?”

“I think you know the answer to that Robert. Been trying to get you on the phone. Sent you a couple of letters. Haven’t heard back from you, but figured you’ve just been busy. For the last six months.”

Robert’s smile faded. He straightened and focused his gaze on Bill’s. “Yeah, Bill, I know. Walter and I have been talking about how to take care of this. We’ve been meaning to call you.”

Bill let out a long breath, leaned back against the barn door. He rubbed his big hands against his eyes. “Listen, Robert, you know I don’t like being hard on you guys. We went to school together. I like you and your brother and I love to see farms thrive.” He looked up, his expression serious. “It’s my bosses. They’ve really been on me to get you back on track with payments. I want to work with you, okay? If I can just get you to talk to me, we can find a way to make this work.”

Robert wiped grease off his hands and nodded. “I know, Bill. I’m sorry we avoided you. It’s not like me, you know that. I guess I was just trying to buy us some more time. We were hoping for better milk numbers this month and that didn’t happen. We were also helping for a better corn crop and that’s not going so well either. I kept thinking things would get better and —”

Bill chuckled softly, sliding his hands in the pockets of his wrinkled dress pants. “That’s not happening either. I get it buddy. It’s tough for a lot of farmers right now. For a lot of small business owners for that matter. I’m  beginning to feel more like a therapist than a loan officer.”

Robert nodded, walked toward Bill and leaned back against one of the tractor’s towering tires. He and Bill stood there in silence a few moments, looking out over the fields.

Bill sighed. “Times are tough, all over, Robert, is what I’m saying. You’re not the only one in trouble.” He looked over at Robert. “Don’t feel ashamed, alright? I’ve got a 3 o’clock Tuesday. Come in and we’ll work something out. Maybe we can even lower your payments, get you a better interest rate and get you caught up.”

“Thanks, Bill. I’ll be there.”

“Bring that lovely wife of yours too. She brightens up a room. Maybe she can charm the manager into a loan extension.”

Bill winked and stuck his hand out toward Robert, who took it and shook it.

“Be careful out there, Bill,” Robert said, pushing the door to Bill’s car closed.

Bill laughed softly as he slid the key in the ignition. “I know you’re a praying man, Rob, so pray for me. I’m on my way to Nelson Landry’s.”

Robert leaned back from the car and whistled. “You got your bullet proof vest?”

Bill shook his head, and smiled. “I don’t. That’s why I need the prayers. Heard the last guy who drove up there looking for payment had a bullet shot through the back window.”

“Nah,” Robert said. “I heard he just shot a warning shot in the air.”

Bill shifted the car into reverse, his foot still on the break. “Either way, I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Who knows. Maybe you’ll get lucky and this will be one of his hangover days.”

“Yeah, you know, I can’t figure out how he keeps that gas station open and keeps such late nights at the bar at the same time.”

Bill backed out and waved at Robert. “See you Tuesday. Hang in there.”

Robert watched the car disappear down the driveway, filling his cheeks with air and letting it out again. He walked back to the tractor and started working again, hoping Jason would get back from town soon with that part they needed.

“I brought you some lemonade.”

Robert looked up, his face smeared with grease and sweat and when he saw his wife standing there, her dark brown curls falling around her shoulders, the sunlight behind her creating a deep orange aura around her, his stomach flipped like it so often did when he saw her. She still had the same affect on him even after 31 years of marriage. He couldn’t look at her without feeling the way he had at the age of 15 when he’d met her on that merry-go-round at the fair; a teenage giddiness that sent ripples of pleasure through his chest.

Robert straightened from where he’d been bent over the tractor and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Thanks, sweetie.”

He took the glass from her hand and drank it in one long gulp, the cold of it spreading from his chest throughout this limbs,

 “I needed that,” he said handing her the glass. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She stood, smiling, holding the glass, watching him as he wiped the grease from his hands. “Have you figured out what’s wrong with it yet?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Robert said, avoiding her gaze. He knew she didn’t really want to know about the tractor. She wanted to know why Bill had been there and he knew he was going to have to tell her. He’d hoped she hadn’t seen the exchange, but he knew better. Annie didn’t miss much around this place and it wasn’t easy to keep secrets between them.

 He knew if he looked at her she’d draw it out of him, the same way she drew so much else out of him – deep feelings he wouldn’t share with anyone else: worries, hurts, joys, sadness, fear.

Desire.

Passion.

 He didn’t want her to draw this out of him, to have to admit he was failing his family; that even by working so hard every day on this farm he couldn’t pay his bills, pay his debts, and keep the farm going the same way his father would have.

“How far behind are we, Robert?”

He laughed softly. “You really do know everything that’s going on around here, don’t you?”

Annie smiled. “I’ve been married to you 33 years, Robert Patrick Tanner. I know when something is bothering you. Plus, when Bill Eberlin comes out to the house to talk to you in person, I know it can’t be good. It takes a lot to get him to move from that comfy chair of his.”

Robert studied her calm expression, listened to her evenly toned words, and felt a peace settle over his spirit that he hadn’t had a few moments before.

 “We’re about six months behind,” he said bluntly. “Walt and I’ve been paying other bills and trying to figure out a plan to make payments on the loan at the end of this summer. We didn’t want to tell our families until we got it figured it out. We shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry we kept this information from you for so long.”

Annie sighed, stepping closer to her husband, and laid her hand against his cheek. “Robert, when will you learn that we are in this together? I’m sure Lauren would tell Walt the same thing. What about Hannah? Have you kept her in the loop on this?”

Robert smiled and shook his head, laying his hand over his wife’s as she moved it to his chest. He hadn’t told his sister, the farm store manager, about the financial struggles, but he had told her husband, Bert, even though Bert, a local mechanic wasn’t even technically part of the business.

“I guess we were a little sexist, us Tanner men and Bert,” he told his wife sheepishly. “Some kind of ancient instinct must have kicked in and we wanted to protect our women, so we discussed a plan to take care of it on our own.”

Annie leaned close and brushed her lips against her husband’s. “We are in this together, Robert. That means you and me, Walt and Lauren and Bert and Hannah. We want to help. Don’t shut us out.”

This woman is still way too good for me, Robert thought as he looked in his wife’s eyes, seeing compassion and concern there, not the anger he probably should have seen.

“We won’t do it again,” he told her. “I promise. We’ll figure this out,” he kissed her gently. “Together. I didn’t mean to lie. It’s just . . . there is so much to worry about. I didn’t want to add more to your plate.”

Annie slipped her arms around his neck. “I know why you did it, Robert. It’s okay. You did it to protect me, not to hurt me. What’s done is done. Now, let’s just start figuring out how to get this business back on track.”

Footsteps behind them pulled Robert’s gaze from his wife’s and he laughed as he saw Jason standing in the doorway with a look of disgust on his face.

“Guys, seriously? Aren’t you a little old to be doing this type of stuff?”

Robert scoffed, his arms sliding easily around his wife’s waist as he pulled her against him. “Too old? Really, Jason? What are you going to do when you get this age? Never kiss Ellie again and become a monk?

Annie laughed, pulled from her husband’s grasp and looked at her son, a hand on her hip. “Speaking of Ellie, when are you going to finally ask that sweet young lady to marry you? You’re not getting any younger and neither is she and this mama wants some grandchildren.”

Jason dipped his head, bright red flushing from the base of his neck up to his forehead, and walked through the doorway, turning a right and heading toward the pig pens. “Need to go check on Bessie and see if she’s ready to give birth to those piglets yet.”

Annie laughed. “Oh, I see how it is. Avoiding the subject, Jason Bradly. Well, you go ahead, but I’m not giving up. I’ll have you married by the end of this year yet.”

“Okay, Mom,” Jason called over his shoulder as he stepped into the mother pig’s pen. “Just go back to making out with Dad. I won’t look.”

Robert and Annie looked at each other and laughed.

“So, do you want to make out, Annie?” Robert asked, pulling her close again, kissing her neck.

Jason shouted from the pig pen: “Oh, my gosh! Guys! I was kidding.  Get a room!”

Annie tipped her head back and laughed and then pressed her mouth against her husbands. When she pulled her mouth away several moments later she laid her hand against the back of his neck.

“Oh my, that skin is hot. I’ll go get the sunscreen. I left some right over here somewhere. . .”

Robert laughed, shaking his head as he watched Annie wander to the other side of the barn near the room he’d built to sleep in when one of the cows were calving or the pigs were in labor. She was nothing if not predictable.

 

Fiction Thursday: Rewrites and doubts about writing ability

So, here is the truth: I have been rewriting and editing A New Beginning this week and I’m discouraged. I don’t like parts of it and may need to gut the thing before I sent the thing to Kindle sometime in May. That’s the honest truth. I read it and think that there are so many sections that really need to be reworked so I’m working on that right now. I’m also having a lot of doubts about my writing but I’m sure that’s normal for any writer.

Which brings me to why there is not a new chapter for Fully Alive today. I do have ideas for Fully Alive. Plenty of ideas. But I’m intimidated by the story. A comment on my chapter last week highlighted this anxiety about writing this story, though unintentionally. The person who commented mentioned how difficult it is to make people from 2,000 years ago real to my readers. How true that is. Fully Alive is a story that has been in my mind for more than a year now and I’ve tossed it back and forth in this old noggin of mine so much that I’m back to my old habit of overthinking. The person who commented said they were sure I could bring the characters to life, but I keep thinking: What if I’m not the one to write this story?

I’ve written large chunks of this story, but I know I need to do more research before I can fully flush it out. That need for research is one reason I’m stuck on Chapter 4. If I show you the first paragraph of this chapter, you may understand better why I need to do some research.

The stench of death filled Atticus’ nostrils. Any other man would have gagged on vomit, but death was a smell Atticus was accustomed to. Before being stationed in Jerusalem he had been on the battlefields of Germania and before that he’d trained in Rome itself to become what his father had been — a Roman centurion.

I am so excited to explore the character of Atticus, I can not even tell you. But I don’t know enough about him yet. I need to know more about the army he is apart of before I can understand him. And I need to know more about his culture, how he grew up, before I can really tell his story. So, I’m a bit stuck. I need time to research, but I also need time to finish rewriting parts of A New Beginning, unpacking our house, writing The Farmer’s Daughter, and did I mention unpacking our house?

I have a lot of self-doubt when it comes to my writing. People I thought cared about me have declined reading it in the past and I know it is really stupid to hold on to that rejection (which the person probably doesn’t even know they did) but it’s still there in the back of my mind, amongst a pile of various other rejection skeletons. I still don’t feel like I’ve found my groove for fiction writing, but I’m not giving up. Not yet. I really enjoy it, even if it isn’t perfect. I like telling stories, even if they aren’t award winning.

I plan to keep sharing fiction on the blog, but I thought today I’d share with you that sometimes writing it is a challenge for me. While it’s a challenge, it’s also a ton of fun and I am determined not to take the fun out of it, which is why I decided there isn’t anything or anyone who says I have to share a piece of fiction on my blog if I feel it isn’t ready. If there isn’t anyone pressuring me to share before I’m ready, then why am I pressuring myself? Who even knows.

All that being said, I do have additional chapters from The Farmer’s Daughter to share tomorrow and Saturday. I’ve been working on Fully Alive and The Farmer’s Daughter about the same amount of time but Molly’s story is coming faster for me because her story takes places in a more modern time and in a setting I’m more familiar with.

Here is a sneak peek of that chapter:

I brought you some lemonade.”

Robert looked up, his face smeared with grease and sweat and when he saw his wife standing there, her dark brown curls falling around her shoulders, the sunlight behind her creating a deep orange aura around her, his stomach flipped like it so often did when he saw her. She still had the same affect on him even after 31 years of marriage. He couldn’t look at her without feeling the way he had at the age of 15 when he’d met her on that merry-go-round at the fair; a teenage giddiness that sent ripples of pleasure through his chest.

Robert straightened from where he’d been bent over the tractor and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Thanks, sweetie.”

He took the glass from her hand and drank it in one long gulp, the cold of it spreading from his chest throughout this limbs, bringing him a cool feeling he’d desperately needed.

 “I needed that,” he said handing her the glass. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She stood, smiling, holding the glass, watching him as he wiped the grease from his hands. “Have you figured out what’s wrong with it yet?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Robert said, avoiding her gaze. He knew she didn’t really want to know about the tractor. She wanted to know why Bill had been there and he knew he was going to have to tell her. He’d hoped she hadn’t seen the exchange, but he knew better. Annie didn’t miss much around this place and it wasn’t easy to keep secrets between them.

 He knew if he looked at her she’d draw it out of him, the same way she drew so much else out of him – deep feelings he wouldn’t share with anyone else: worries, hurts, joys, sadness, fear. Desire. Passion.

 He didn’t want her to draw this out of him, to have to admit he was failing his family; that even by working so hard every day on this farm he couldn’t pay his bills, pay his debts, and keep the farm going the same way his father would have.

“How far behind are we, Robert?”

I’ll see you tomorrow for the rest of Chapter 5 of The Farmer’s Daughter!


Want to read what I’ve shared so far on Fully Alive? Click the link at the top of the page or HERE. You can find additional chapters from The Farmer’s Daughter HERE or at the link at the top of the page.

Fiction Friday: The Farmer’s Daughter Chapter 4

To catch up with the other chapters click the link at the top of the page or HERE. I shared Chapter 3 of Fully Alive on Thursday Fiction, yesterday.


“Alex Stone sounds like the name of some guy from a romance novel,” Matt McGee said, punching Alex in the shoulder and handing him a beer. “Did you ever realize that?”

When Alex had moved to Pennsylvania, he soon realized watching the Steelers every Sunday was a requirement, whether he liked it or not. He and Jason and their friend Matt had laid out a spread of subs, chips, and sodas, kicked off their shoes and flopped onto couches and chairs, ready for a Saturday football binge.

“How would you know about the names of characters in romance novels?” Jason asked with a smirk.

“Hey, I had sisters growing up,” Matt answered. “They all liked those romance garbage novels. You know, the romances with the cookie-cutter plots.”

“Yeah, just like the movies that are based on them,” Alex offered, cracking open the beer. He took a sip. “Girl with big career comes back to her small hometown for a visit, down on her luck.”

“Girl runs into an old boyfriend,” Jason said.

“Old boyfriend brings back hard memories, but then old boyfriend tries to apologize for all he’s done,” Alex finished with a mock crying face.

“Girl falls for old boyfriend again,” Alex said.

Alex grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl and shoved them in his mouth. “Old boyfriend screws up again and girl goes back to big city,” he said around a mouthful of peanuts.

Jason rolled his eyes. “But old boyfriend realizes he’s a screwup and that he really loves her and follows her to the city.”

“He tells her he’s always loved her,” Alex continued. “a d she tells him she’s always loved him. And everyone lives happily ever after.”

He choked out a gagging noise. The three men looked at each other, wiping pretend tears from their cheeks.

“Exactly,” Matt said. “Cookie-cutter plots full of clichés. And you, Alex, are one of those clichés. Alex Stone. The handsome cowboy, ex-boyfriend with the six-pack who comes to steal the girl away from the boring, uptight rich guy in the city.”

Alex lifted his shirt and looked at his flat, but slightly paunchy stomach. He pushed at the soft flesh and sighed. “I’d love to have a six-pack, but I think I would need to work out a little more.”

“Or just work a little more period,” Jason said opening a bag of chips and reaching for the remote.

“Oh, geez, thanks, bud,” Alex said, elbowing Jason in the ribs.

Jason and Alex had been roommates in college and were roommates again, now living in an old farmhouse two miles from the Tanner farm. Jason invited Alex home several times during their four-year stint at Penn State University and when they had graduated Alex followed Jason home and had worked on the Tanner farm since.

Matt, Jason’s friend since elementary school, had fit in nicely with the pair since all three were interested in football, farming, beer, and women, not necessarily in that order.

“What do you think we’d be doing if we’d actually used our degrees?” Alex asked, leaning back on the couch.

“Hey, I am using mine, remember?” Jason said. “Agriculture science and economics. It’s what I do every day. You’re the one who didn’t use your degree in – what was it again? Computer games or something?”

Alex tossed a pillow at Jason’s head. Jason blocked it and laughed. 

“Computer programming and graphic art.,” Alex said.

Matt shrugged. “You two should have been like me and gone straight into the Army after school and then right into a career. Then you wouldn’t have all those college bills to pay off.”

“Alex is lucky,” Jason said with a wink. “His parents paid for his college, so he can live high on the hog.”

Alex shook his head. Jason liked to affectionately rib him about his rich upbringing, but Jason had no idea how poor Alex’s family had really been over the years. Poor in relationships, in love, caring – in all the things that really mattered in life. Alex didn’t like to talk about it and had rarely mentioned his pain-filled past. Jason knew a little about how hard it had been, even if he didn’t know the full story.

They were both in their sophomore year when Alex had taken Jason home to upstate New York with him on spring break, knowing his parents would be traveling to Italy or London or Paris like they did every spring. Only this year his parents weren’t traveling.

Alex tossed his bag on the floor inside the door, starring with a furrowed brow at his mom standing by the fireplace in the front room. “Mom. Hey. What are you doing here?”

His mom, dressed in dress pants and a white blouse, turned, mascara smeared under her eyes, her face wet with tears. She was pale, her face gaunt, her slim fingers trembling as she clutched her hands together.

“I thought you’d be in Italy or something,” Alex said.

“There won’t be any more trips to Europe for your father and me.” His mother’s voice was cold. “Not together anyhow. He’s left me Alex. He’s left us. He ran off with his secretary – finally – after cheating on me with her for the last three years. He finally did it.”

Alex’s cheeks flushed warm with embarrassment at his family’s skeletons being yanked from their closets in front of Jason, the kid with the fairytale home life. He’d already told Jason about his own shady past, how he’d become involved in drugs and petty crimes in high school, trying anything he could to gain attention from his parents – even negative attention. The drug use had been brief and mild compared to what it could have been but their use, coupled with the pranks and shoplifting had almost kept him from graduating high school. Luckily Alex’s grandfather had stepped in and set Alex straight before he ruined his entire life.

Alex glanced at Jason, saw him nervously scratch the back of his head, trying not to make eye contact with Alex or his mom.

“So, um, maybe this is a bad weekend for me to hang out,” Jason whispered to him.

“No. It’s fine,” Alex’s mom said quickly, overhearing him. “You boys can have the house for the weekend. The pool company came this morning to clean that out, there is plenty of food in the fridge and the hot tub is ready to go too.”

She wiped the tears from her face and tried to smile.

“Invite some more friends over, hon’,” she told Alex. “My credit card is in the top desk drawer in your dad’s office. You might as well use it while we can – before he runs it up on the tramp. Buy some more food, rent a DJ, whatever you want to do. I’m going to go to Leslie’s for the weekend. I need some shopping therapy. You’ll have the run of the house.”

She kissed his cheek, smiled weakly at Jason and walked past them toward the winding staircase in the middle of the house.

Alex didn’t throw the party, instead choosing a quite weekend with Jason, watching movies and shooting hoops in the driveway.

Alex’s parents’ divorce was final a few months later. His mother was given the house in the settlement and Alex saw his dad only at Christmas for the next two years.

Alex thought often how he’d trade all the money his parents had thrown at him and his brother Sam over the years for a stable family life, loving parents, and a father he could actually look up to. He’d found more parental support in Jason’s parents than he ever had in his own.

His mom fell apart for two years after the divorce, shopping and drinking in excess to drown her sorrows, living off the alimony until she met David Stanton, the heir to an oil family’s fortune. David wooed her with exotic trips and sparkling jewelry, eventually marrying her in a quiet ceremony on the beach with Alex and Sam standing next to his mom, doing their best to support her.

“Hey, you okay?” Jason asked, pulling Alex out of his memories.

“Yeah. All good.”

Jason looked concerned. “You sure? You need to talk about anything?”

Alex grinned. “You mean do I want to share my feelings over a cup of tea and some crumpets?” he asked. He punched Jason in the arm. “Holy crud, dude. I think that church stuff is rubbing off on you and making you all girly. No. I do not need to talk about anything.”

Jason laughed and shook his head. “Hey, that ‘church stuff’ as you call it, makes me care about people. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

Alex sipped his beer and looked at the TV. 

“Nope,” he said. “Nothing wrong with it – unless you start asking me to paint your toenails while you tell me how much you loved Steel Magnolias.”

Jason punched him the arm. “Shut up, dude and turn on the game. Plus, I liked Beaches better.”

Alex clicked on the game and laughed.

Since moving in with Jason, Alex had started to feel like he was part of a family, something he’d never really felt before. Jason’s father was more of a father to him than his own had ever been. Jason’s mother, Annie, treated him like one of her own children, even scolding him when she didn’t think he’d drank enough water on a hot day or bringing him chicken soup if he came down with a cold.

Over the years Alex’s feelings about Jason’s sister, Molly, had evolved to the point he knew he was attracted to her but was determined to deny it. For the most part, Alex saw Molly as another member of the family, but after she dropped out of classes at the small community college an hour away to take care of her grandfather, he’d begun to see her more often and in a new light.

He tried to remember Molly was Jason’s younger sister, but as each day passed and they worked closely during milking and cleaning stalls, he found his feelings toward her becoming more confusing. He enjoyed their early morning talks and their late evening joke sessions.

While he’d once overlooked her as simply being a child, a year ago he had caught himself watching her in the field, noticing the curves of her full figure, the way her reddish-brown curls fell down her back and how she flipped those curls over her shoulder when she laughed. She’d developed from a timid young girl into a beautiful woman in front of him in what felt like overnight and he was having a hard time not being overwhelmed by a new awareness of the changes in her.

More than once Alex had mentally scolded himself for being distracted by Molly’s smile, the smell of her shampoo or the feel of her hand grazing his when she passed him the milking hose.

Not only was Alex afraid of what Jason might think of him for having feelings for his sister but he was worried that the man who had become a father figure to him would also disapprove. Even more than how her family would react, Alex wondered how Molly would respond to his budding feelings if he ever gathered enough courage to tell her.

For now, he planned to keep his feelings to himself and hoped he would recognize the right time to tell her how he felt – if that time ever came.

Fiction Thursday: Fully Alive Chapter 3

I finally found some time to sit and finish Chapter 3. As always, this is a story in progress, so there will be most likely be typos, plot holes, etc. I’ll rewrite and edit it prior to publishing it in the future on Kindle.

If you’re looking for other fiction I’ve written you can find my first book, A Story to Tell, on Kindle; my second book, chapter by chapter, here, or at the link at the top of the page under A New Beginning, or my short story Quarantined. I’m also sharing The Farmer’s Daughter on Fridays.


“Eliana, you must understand. Your bleeding does not stop. You are tuma. Unclean. I can not continue our marriage covenant any longer. There isn’t even a possibility of continuing my family’s line with you in this condition and there is no possibility of us  . . .”

Josiah turned to look at Eliana, pain in his eyes. He shook his head and turned from her.

“My heart is broken but this is the way it must be. Arrangements have already been made and the divorce will be finalized within a fortnight. I will give you your certificate of divorce then.”

Eliana fell on her knees to the dirt floor of the home she had shared with her husband for only three years before the bleeding started and wouldn’t stop. Eventually he had cast her out and she’d been living in a small home behind theirs because Jewish law called her unclean.

Her body shook with sobs that rose from deep within her as Josiah continued to stand with his back to her.

“Josiah!” she cried out between sobs. “Please. I love you. I am your wife. You can not abandon me at such a time. I am frightened and no doctor has helped me. I already live away from you, I can’t make you unclean. Please, wait . . . wait for me to be healed.”

A cold shiver rushed through her body. She had been shamed so much already, would she now be further shamed by being cast away by the man she had loved for so long? Panic seized her and without thinking she lunged forward, grasping Josiah’s hand, pressing it to her cheek.

“Do not shame me further, Josiah!”

Josiah ripped his hand from hers and staggered back as if struck by a blow.

“Eliana! No! You have made me unclean! I must go to the mikvah now to be cleansed! Stop this! You must accept our marriage is over. I will no longer continue to be bound in marriage to a woman I can’t even touch or . . . or make love to, have children with. A man can’t be expected to live such a lonely existence without his needs being met.”

He turned away from her, yanking the door to the home open. “I will provide you with a small sum of money to help you find food and shelter,” he said, his tone cold and detached. “You may stay in the house I have provided until you find a new home. Please be gone from this house when I return. Goodbye, Eliana. May Yahweh protect and bless you in your future.”

Eliana screamed at the closed door several moments, but soon collapsed in exhaustion. She had no strength to mourn. Blood had flowed from her for so long she wondered how she still breathed at all, let alone how she had managed to function to prepare her own food, clean her clothes and wash the clothes of the gentiles who knew nothing of her lengthy bleeding.

Josiah spoke of loneliness. He knew nothing of the isolation and loneliness she had faced for 5 years now. He knew nothing of the looks of disgust from those in her own community. He knew nothing of what she had suffered because he had turned from her when she needed him most.

Looking around the room, prostrate on the floor, she remembered the early days of marriage with Josiah. She remembered laughter, warm kisses, intimate moments within the bonds of marriage.

“We shall call him Tikvah. ‘Hope’,” Josiah had said, his hands on her protruding belly.

She laughed. “But we don’t even know if it will be a boy or a girl.”

“It will be a boy,” he said, laughing as he leaned close to kiss her. “A big, strong boy to help me in the fields.”

Eliana had laughed with him and now she wished she could remember how to laugh.

The day she held their son, Tikvah, lifeless in her arms, mere minutes after birth, she had forgotten how to laugh or even what laughter sounded like.

Josiah had become more distant, snared in his own grief, unable to soothe Elaina’s emotional pain. When the bleeding wouldn’t stop after birth, trickling each day, she became worried.

“It will stop,” her mother told her. “Do not worry, Eliana. This happened to my sister after she lost her baby, but the bleeding stopped.”

And eventually the bleeding slowed, her energy returned and Eliana was certain happiness would one day return to her, Josiah would hold her in his arms, and another baby would come.

The water of the mikvah was warm and inviting the day the bleeding stopped, and she prayed it would cleanse her from the tuma, make her clean again, help Josiah love her again. His mouth was warm on her own that night as he believed she had been cleansed but she no longer felt the passion she had before the loss. Something had withered inside her, faded away.

A week later she woke and felt warmth beneath her garments. Looking at her bed clothes she stared in disbelief at the growing red stain. The bleeding had returned.

“I love you, Eliana, but you must stay here. I can no longer have you in the home.”

Josiah tossed blankets at her feet, a small sack of coins, a few weeks later. The barren room around her reminded her of her barren womb and she wept when he had closed the door, leaving her alone in the darkened room. She stayed there, alone, only her sister visiting her with food and company a few times a week, watching Josiah live his life at the bottom of the hill, inviting friends to his home, working in the fields, and eventually speaking with Baruch, the butcher, who Eliana knew had three young, unmarried daughters at home.

“Elohim. Please. Please.”

She had paced the floor, tears in her eyes. She clutched at the top of her dress and sat, weak again.

“Don’t let Josiah marry again, leave me behind,” she had whispered to herself.

She could not even reach out to him, beg him to not choose another wife. Touching him would make him unclean like she was. She should have known then that this day would come, the day he would tell her she was no longer wanted, and he would no longer wait for her to be healed.

Eliana wished for death the night after Josiah told her he was marrying another to give him children.

“You can remain as my wife and return if the bleeding stops,” he had told her in a soft, hopeful voice.

But the bleeding had not stopped, and Eliana had watched as Abbigail’s belly had grown rounder and then later when she held a small newborn against her chest.

She now wished for death again, knowing Josiah didn’t want to wait to see if she would be healed. He had decided he truly no longer wanted her, no longer loved her.

She dragged her nails along her skin, wished for something hard and sharp to stab through her veins, let the blood run from every inch of her like it had been seeping from beneath her garments for so long. She imagined death enveloping her like a black sheet, pulling her down and down until she no longer had to think about the pain, the hurt, the rejection, the loss.

Do it.”

A voice hissed at her from the darkness, barely audible.

Her hair and clothes damp against her felt like chains as she thrashed under the blanket, trapped between sleep and wakefulness.

End it.”

She was choking, fingers tight around her throat, squeezing.

No one loves you. No one ever will.”

She reached out, tried to scream, but no sound came.

Shame whispered, breath hot against her face. “You are unclean. You will never be clean.

Depression growled deep in her soul. “You’re worthless.”

Rejection taunted. “You’re nothing. Nothing but a burden to all you touch.

Despair urged her to stop the voices, stop the hurt, stop the terror gnawing at her insides. “Just one cut and it will all be over.”

Eliana screamed out, trying to pull away from the claws pulling her down. “Adonai! Adonai! Help me!”

She gasped as she awoke, sun pouring in on her from the small window above her bed. She threw her blankets from her and stood quickly looking around the room frantically.

Had it all been a dream? Were the spirts still there?

“Eliana? Are you awake?”

Her sister’s voice startled her and she backed against the wall, sliding down it and pulling her knees to her chest.

When Ledah opened the door, Eliana’s face was pressed against her knees as she rocked slowly and sobbed.

“Oh, Eliana.” Ledah kneeled beside her, wrapping her arms tightly around her and pulling her close. “Eliana, I am so sorry for these many years of suffering you’ve faced. I will not leave you. I am here and I am not afraid to touch you. Do you understand?”

Eliana nodded but couldn’t speak, sobs choking her words, tears soaking her hair and dirt stained robe.

Oh Adonai, she prayed, clutching to her sister’s garment. Save me. Don’t let the Spirit of Death torment me any longer. Please, bring healing to me.

***

The sound of footsteps outside her window woke Josefa. She rubbed her eyes as she looked out the window, watching a crowd of people walking, laughing, talking past. Women and men were carrying children on their shoulders or leading them through the crowds. Older women were walking slowly with walking sticks. Men were speaking in hushed tones while other men spoke loudly, debating theological subjects.

“Where are those people going?” she asked her mother when she walked bleary eyed into the living area.

Her mother was busy kneading flour to bake bread.

“They say Yeshua is speaking on the hill today. They want to hear what he has to say.”

“Can I go, mama?”

“We have things to do here, Josefa. And you have not had your morning meal yet. You should eat.”

“I can take bread with me. I could go and tell you what he says.”

“Go alone? I don’t like the idea of that. . .”

Josefa glanced behind her, out the window and caught a glimpse of her mother’s friend Elizabeth among the crowd.

“Look, there is Elizabeth! I could walk with her.”

Sitting back on her feet, Myriam saw her daughter, saw the brightness in her eyes, the hope. She sighed. There were worse things than her daughter learning from the man who so many, including herself, were beginning to believe was truly the son of God.

“Hurry and catch up with her but don’t stay long. Come home for lunch and tell us what he says.”

She wrapped a cloth around a piece of bread she’d made fresh that morning. “Take this with you and eat.”

Josefa threw her arms around her mama’s middle quickly, snatching the bread and darting from the room.

“Thank you, mama!” she called over her shoulder.

Outside the sun was bright. Excited voices mingled with the sounds of the street – creaks and groans of a merchant’s cart, a woman calling for her child, a man calling out the price of the fish he was selling, laughter from a group of men gathered together outside the synagogue. Josefa pushed forward through the crowd toward Elizabeth, reading out and touching arm.

“Mama said I can come with you. Are we going to hear Yeshua?”

Elizabeth’s dark hair hung loose down her back, bouncing as she walked. Her smile was sweet and welcoming as she turned to look at Josesfa.

“Yes, Josefa. We are going to hear what the teacher has to say. Is it okay with your mother that you come with me?”

“Yes. She said I could come if I was with you.”

 Elizabeth’s youngest daughter, Lydia, held tightly to her mother’s hand, her toddler cheeks flushed in the warm sun.

Josefa slid her hand into Elizabeth’s other hand.

Elizabeth squeezed her hand gently. “Tell me, Josefa. How do you feel since the teacher came to visit you?”

“Amazing, Elizabeth. The world has never been brighter, food never tasted so incredible. It’s as if life is new again.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, Josefa, you always have sounded older than you are. Sometimes I think that you were born a little old woman.”

Josefa smiled, hoping that Elizabeth’s words were meant to be a compliment.

A man behind them walked faster so he was walking in step with them.

“Are you Jairus’ daughter?” he asked, breathless.

He didn’t wait for Josefa to answer.

“Yeshua brought you back to life, didn’t he? What was it like? What did he say? Who do you believe he is? Is he truly the son of God?”

Words rushed out of him quickly, too quick for Josefa to answer and even if she had been able to fit her response in between the questions, she didn’t know what to say.

The rabbi had told her parents to treasure the miracle as their own and not to share it with others.

Elizabeth pulled Josefa against her as they walked.

“She’s just a child,” she said to the man. “Don’t bother her with so many questions.”

The man fell silent, looked down at the ground as they walked.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He looked up and they followed his gaze to the top of the hill where Yeshua stood with his disciples and other followers.

“What do you think?” Elizabeth asked the man as the crowd slowed their steps. “Who do you say he is?”

The man shook his head slowly, never taking is eyes off the teacher.

“I don’t know. Truly. I do not know.”

“Hear me, everyone, and understand.”

The voice of Yeshua drifted to Josefa and she strained to hear, walking beyond Elizabeth and the man, pushing through the crowd.

“There is nothing that enters a man from outside which can defile him, but the things which come out of him, those are the things that defile a man. If anyone has ears to hear, let him hear!”

Josefa sat among others near the front of the crowd, pondering Yeshua’ words as he spoke. So much of his words were a mystery to her but she silently prayed Jehovah would show her later what the words meant.

An hour passed before Yeshua’ raised his hand to those asking questions.

“There will be time for answers later. I must go and break bread with my disciples now.”

Josefa looked over her shoulder for Elizabeth but couldn’t see her. She knew she should turn around and find her so they could return home but instead she rushed to follow Yeshua and the men who followed him, careful to stay several steps behind.

They sat next to the water, under an olive tree as another man approached with baskets.

“I have found us food – bread and fish, some fruit. Let us eat.”

As the men began to eat Josefa crouched behind a mound of dirt several feet away, close enough to hear their words.

“Where shall we go next, Master?” a man asked Yeshua.

“Wherever people will listen to us,” Yeshua said, breaking a piece of bread off.

“Master, I have a question – about what you said earlier today,” a disciple sat close to Yeshua, knee propped up and an arm laying across his knee.

“Yes, Thomas . . . please ask.”

“When you were speaking about whatever enters a man will not defile him. Does this mean that there are no rules about what foods we should eat? Should we ignore the law Moses gave us?”

Yeshua took a drink of water from a cup one of the disciples offered him. He sighed and leaned toward the man he had called Thomas.

“Are you thus without understanding also? Do you not perceive that whatever enters a man from the outside cannot defile him because it does not enter his heart, but his stomach and is eliminated, thus purifying all foods. What comes out of a man, that defiles a man. For from within out of the heart of men proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, lewdness, an evil eye, blasphemy, pride, foolishness. All these evil things come from within and defile a man.”

Josefa leaned back against the rock mulling the words over in her mind as the men ate and began to talk about their plans for the rest of the day, where they would rest that night and what cities they hoped to reach later in the week.

Hurried footsteps startled her. “Josefa!”

She looked up to see Elizabeth standing above her. “What are you doing? Your mother trusted me with you. Now come. It’s time to get home. Your mother will want you to help prepare for the afternoon meal.”

Josefa walked behind Elizabeth, the voice of Yeshua and his followers fading with each step. Her mind wandered to life before Yeshua had healed her as Lydia reached up and slipped her tiny had in hers.

Josefa thought about how every day had seemed routine, mundane, not full of life and hope before she’d been risen from the dead. She’d never thought about her future before then. She’d thought about chasing frogs with her friend Caleb and learning how to sow and make bread with her mother. She’d worried about who she might be betrothed to by her parents. But now she thought about so much more. She thought about how she could help others feel the way she felt; how she could show them how amazing life could really be and what a gift it was.

“Josefa, now that you are well life seems normal again,” her brother had told her one day after Yeshua had visited.

But Josefa didn’t want to go back to normal. She didn’t want to look back at the normal of her life before. She wanted to look forward to a new type of normal – a life full of opportunities to really live.

Fiction Friday: The Farmer’s Daughter Chapter 2

Life has been crazy in my neck of the woods, but revising Chapter 2 to share here this week helped distract me a little. Hopefully, it will actually post because my parents’ house (where we are staying for a while) has some pretty awful WiFi. That has been both a blessing and a curse. I’ve been frustrated at times being unable to access things online I’d like to but it’s also been a blessing because I am cut off in many ways from the negative news of the world. I can’t scroll Facebook or even access news sites at certain points in the day and I’m actually liking that.

If you missed Chapter 1, you can find the link HERE.

 


The Spencer Valley Community Center was the gathering place on Thursday nights for half the town of Spencer, population 3,000. In one conference room, the Spencer Valley Historical Society was meeting to discuss the upcoming history fair and fundraiser. In another room, there was a painting class, ages teen to 90s.

At the end of the hall a dance class was being held in the main gathering area and in a small conference room behind the kitchen, the Spencer Sewing and Knitting Club was holding its weekly gathering for amateurs and experts alike.

Molly was an amateur, which was clear from how she was sucking her index finger after stabbing it the third time in ten minutes while trying to learn to cross-stitch. She wasn’t even sure why she was at the sewing club. She’d never been interested in creating anything with thread and needle. She was usually at the community center for painting or sketching classes. When her friend Liz had invited her to the sewing club meeting she’d agreed, simply to break up the monotony of her evenings at the milking barn.

Molly laid her project down on her lap and rubbed her eyes.

“I haven’t been able to sleep all week,” she said through a yawn. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Liz Cranmer, Molly’s friend since seventh grade sat across from her in a cushioned wooden chair, her red-blond hair tied back in a neat ponytail.

“It’s all that worrying you do,” Liz said, matter-of-factly. “You have too much cortisol in your system.”

Oh, here we go again, Molly thought, fighting the strong urge to roll her eyes.

Liz was a self-proclaimed natural health expert. She was also a well-known hypochondriac. A half-filled water bottle with ice and freshly cut lemons sat next to her chair, which she sipped throughout the meeting.

“I don’t even know what cortisol is,” Molly said. She immediately regretted admitting her lack of knowledge.

Liz laid her project on her lap and looked up. “That’s what your adrenals make when you’re stressed. It’s a hormone that is produced by your body to try to help you —”

“My what?”

“Adrenals. They’re glands that sit on top of your kidneys.”

“Do they help me pee? Because I’m peeing fine.”

The other women, sitting on couches or chairs in a semi-circle, were starting to giggle.

“Oh boy. Here we go again,” Mildred McGee said with a shake of her head.

“No, they don’t help you pee,” Liz said. “They help regulate your flight or fight response.”

“By making me pee?” Molly asked.

“They aren’t related to peeing,” Liz said impatiently, rolling her eyes. “Anyhow, you need to buy some supplements to regulate your adrenals. Are you tired all day and wide awake at night?”

Molly sipped coffee from a thermos next to her and shook her head. If Liz wasn’t diagnosing herself with unusual ailments she read about in some magazine or online, then she was diagnosing her friends.

Ginny Jefferies, the town’s 50-year-old librarian, sighed. “Oh, Liz. You’ve been reading too many medical sites again. You know you’re a hypochondriac.”

“Well, I didn’t say I had it,” Liz pointed out. “I said Molly did.”

Louise McGroarty smiled and looked over her bifocals at Liz and Molly in amusement as she looped another piece of yarn around her needle.

“I don’t have adrenal issues,” Molly sighed. “I’ve just been thinking too much lately.”

“What have you been thinking about?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know. Life in general, I guess. Like what I want to do with mine besides working on the farm.”

“Molly, honey, you only live once and if you want to see what life is like beyond this town then you should finish that degree you started all those years ago and see where it takes you,” Louise said  as she tied off a piece of thread. “You’re almost 30, kid. It’s beyond time to figure out what you want in life and get on with it.”

“I’m 26, not almost 30,” Molly said.

“26 is the new almost 30,” Jessie Newberry, the mayor’s secretary, said with a grin.

Molly sighed. She had been sighing a lot lately.

“Really though, I like living on the farm,” Molly said. “It’s what I’m used to.”

“What you’re used to isn’t always what is best for you, honey,” Ginny said, pushing a needle through her project.

“Exactly. Besides helping your family, and maybe us wonderful ladies,” Lydia Walmsley smiled as she gestured around the room. “What else is keeping you in this town?

As if on cue, the side door to the community room opened and a quiet hush fell over the women as they looked up from their projects. Molly followed their gazes and watched Alex walking toward her wearing a dirty pair of jeans and a stained white t-shirt. The expressions on the women’s faces made it seem like he was strutting down a catwalk on fashion week in Paris instead of into the community room in his farm clothes.

“Hey,” he said, stopping and standing in front of her, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “Your mom wants to know if you can stop by the store on the way home and pick up some more flour and sugar for the rest of the cakes.”

She furrowed her eyebrows and smiled slightly. “You don’t know how to buy flour and sugar?”

“You know I always buy the wrong thing,” Alex said with a grin, pushing his fingers back through his ruffled brown hair.

Molly noticed that almost all the women were watching her and Alex, or more accurately Alex as if Alex was standing shirtless under a waterfall.

“I can pick it up,” she told him. “Now get out of here and go be productive somewhere.”

Alex offered a mock salute. “Sure thing, drill sergeant,” Alex said. He turned to walk away and then looked over his shoulder and smirked. “Have fun sewing and knitting, ladies.”

Liz looked at Molly with one eyebrow raised, her back to Alex.

“We sure will, Alex,” she said. “You have a good day now.”

Alex walked through the doorway, his back to the women. “Oh, I plan to.”

As the door closed firmly behind Alex, Liz smirked.

“And that, my dear ladies, is what is really keeping Molly Tanner in Spencer Valley,” she said as warmth rushed into Molly’s cheeks.

“Ooooh…” several of the women cooed together as Molly rolled her eyes.

“That could not be further from the truth,” she said.

“He’d keep me here,” Maddie Simpson said with a smile. “I’d just follow him around anywhere like I was a lost puppy dog.” The other women laughed in agreement.

Hannah Barks fanned her chest with her hand. “Same here. Oh my, Molly, where have you been hiding him?”

“I haven’t. He’s been working at our farm for the last five years. Of course, unless you live at the local bars or attend a rodeo you’ve probably never met him.”

“Sounds like someone is trying to pretend she’s not interested,” Allie Jenkins said with a smirk.

Molly started to fold her project as she shook her head.

“I’m going to go get those baking supplies for mom to avoid the wrath of Mavis.”

“No matter what you do, you’ll never avoid the wrath of Mavis,” Ginny said with a snort.

The other women laughed and nodded in agreement.

“Isn’t that the truth?” Allie said. “That woman is never happy.”

Liz shoved her project into her bag quickly. “I’ll follow you,” she told Molly.

Outside in the parking lot, the sun was just starting to set. Golden light poured across the small town of Spencer, making it look almost picturesque. Molly always thought that if it hadn’t been for several dilapidated, abandoned buildings along Main Street and the empty shoe factory on the edge of town, her hometown could be mistaken for one of those quaint villages in a Hallmark movie.

Many of the homes were well maintained, fairly new siding, matching shutters, the stereotypical white picket fence surrounding the neatly mowed front and back yards. The homes that were less maintained were where every book and movie always placed them – on the other side of the train tracks and well out of view of most visitors, who usually looked for the small, unique shops on Main Street instead.

The tracks were mainly used to transport cars to and from the railcar repair station. The repair center was the last remnant of the railroad company that once employed the majority of the town, helping to facilitate its growth more than 100 years ago, along with farming and the local medical center. When train transportation became less prominent, its demise was part of what started the town down the slippery slope of its economic decline.

Across from the community center was St. Peter and Paul’s Catholic Church; one of many churches in town. Molly looked up at the building, a tall cross illuminated from behind and adhered to the front of the stone structure, near the middle of the bell tower. In front of it was a statue of Mary and in front of Mary were a bouquet of fresh flowers that someone must have placed there earlier in the day.

The small farming community was host to a variety of small churches, representing a variety of the main Christian denominations. While Molly had always admired the stunning architecture and stained-glass windows of the Catholic Church, her idea of how to approach her faith had led her to what was called a “non-denominational church” thirty minutes away, in the neighboring town of Millsburg. The church hadn’t hitched itself to any one denomination and this was a concept that appealed to Molly.

“So, are you really thinking of leaving the farm?” Liz asked after she had finished chatting with the ladies and met Molly in the parking lot.

“I don’t know,” Molly admitted. “I like helping dad and mom with the farm. I like helping with the cows and at the farm, working at the farm store, and I even like collecting the eggs from those cranky hens.  On some days I can’t really see myself doing anything else, but on other days – I don’t know. I just want something different.”

Liz flipped a strand of hair off her shoulder. “I hear you. Change is good. Why do you think I left my job at the school district? I needed something more exciting than answering phones and scheduling the superintendent’s meetings.”

“You work at a health food store,” Molly said with a laugh. “Is that really more exciting?”

Liz tilted her head and laughed. “Sometimes it is actually. Yes. Last week a woman came in and asked if the crystals we have would help her to realign her shakra. I don’t even know what a shakra is. I just told her it was possible and left off that I had no idea.”

Reaching their cars, Liz unlocked hers and tossed her bag into the passenger seat. She leaned back against the closed door.

“But enough about me, back to you. You’ll have to think about what you want to do beyond the farm, but I know one thing you can do now: come to the gym with me and get in shape and snag that sexy Alex.”

Molly unlocked her own car and shook her head at her friend. “Liz, no. Alex is — well, Alex. And he wouldn’t be interested in me at all anyhow.”

“I highly doubt that’s true and besides, are you interested in him?”

Molly raised her arm and looked at an imaginary watch. “Oh, my. Look at the time. Don’t you have a cat to get home and feed, Liz?”

Liz sighed  as she turned to slid into the front seat. “Go ahead, Molly Tanner. Chase away your best friend who is only trying to help you lose your —”

Molly waved over her shoulder at her friend. “Bye, Liz. Will I see you at the ladies’ group Tuesday?

“I don’t know.” Liz shrugged. “I might have to work. Jane has been out sick this week.”

Jane Wilcox was Liz’s boss and the owner of Nature’s Best Health Food Store. Molly thought that for someone who touted healthy living and eating she sure was sick a lot.

“Well, I hope you can come. We’re studying Esther this week.”

“Again? Oh my gosh, I get it,” Liz said with an eye roll. “Esther was wonderful and we should all be like Esther.”

“There are a lot of good lessons in her story, but, no, we can’t all be like her,” Molly said. “I’m sure she wasn’t perfect. We’re only hearing one story of her life.”

Liz laughed. “I know, like how Facebook and Instagram only show the highlights of someone’s life. I’ll see what I can do. Drive home safe, lady. And for Godsake, don’t let Mavis rope you into manning that bake sale table again.”

Pulling the door closed Molly thought about how Liz felt she needed to change her looks to get the attention of a man. She was probably right, still it was weird thinking about the need to become someone you weren’t simply to be paid attention to by the opposite sex. What happened when the man found out Molly wasn’t who he had thought she was? That would certainly be an awkward transition unless the woman simply pretended to be someone else the rest of her life.

Molly shuddered as she drove, thinking about a woman she had known who was doing exactly that and was probably miserable because of it. Dana Priester always had her hair styled perfectly, her make up just so, her clothes always the latest design, and a smile always plastered on her face. How awful it must be for her to always have to be “on” and never be allowed to let down her hair and simply be herself. Then again, Molly thought with a shrug, maybe stuck up and fake was who Dana really was.

Just as awkward as Liz’s suggestion that she get in shape to catch a man was the man Liz had mentioned. Molly had definitely found her mind wandering more than once to Alex’s handsome appearance but she had never thought about trying to “win him over” or “catch him.” Alex was — well, Alex. He was simply there. Her brother’s best friend, her dad and uncle’s employee, her co-worker, for lack of a better word.

He was attractive, easy to talk to and fun to be around but Molly knew he would never be anything more than those things to her. He was too attractive, too charming, and maybe even too fun for her. There was no way he would ever be interested in someone like her; someone who weighed more than she should, didn’t pay much attention to her feminine side and who he most likely merely thought of as his best friend’s little sister who he worked with at the barn.

Passing the town limits and relaxing as the comforting sight of fields of hay rose up around her, Molly shifted her thoughts from Alex to the ladies’ group and how it had been helping her study the Bible more. She still had a long way to go before she felt as “spiritual” as some of the women in the group, who seemed to trust God in every step of their lives, but she felt more equipped to handle life than she had five years ago when her grandfather was first diagnosed and she had started caring for him.

She knew she should have been praying more about what God wanted for her life too, but she’d prayed she had prayed a lot when her Grandfather’s health had taken a turn for the worse and never heard an answer. Why would God now give her an answer about what steps she should take in her life? And even if he did give her answers, how would he give her answers?

She knew answers from God weren’t like an audible voice from the clouds, but she had been seeking answers about her next step in life for seven years and, yet, here she was, almost 26, and feeling stuck in a deep, boring, frustrating rut. She didn’t know if leaving the farm was what she needed to get out of it, but she knew she needed some kind of change and she needed to make that change sooner rather than later.

Fiction Thursday: Fully Alive Chapter 2

Here we are at Holy Week! I know it seems odd that we will be celebrating Easter this weekend without full church services, but we can worship together at our computers and celebrate that Christ is Risen. I didn’t even think about that I was sharing this Biblical fiction story in the Easter season, but I suppose it is fitting.

If you missed the first chapter of Fully Alive, you can find it HERE.


The busy sounds of people rushing by to complete their daily chores quieted as Jairus pushed the door to the synagogue closed. He leaned against the door and closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to quiet his racing thoughts.

He focused on the words he had said to Josefa the night after the teacher had healed her. Healed her? Brought her back to life?

Is that really what had happened?

Even now it was all too unbelievable to him. He wondered, did he really believe what he had told Josefa? That this man, this Yeshua was the true Messiah that the prophets had spoken of?

Maybe he had been wrong to say so; to tell his daughter this man must be the true savior of his people. He’d spent his whole life studying the scrolls, learning of Moses and Elijah, about the prophesies of the Messiah. Now here he was almost completely convinced the man he had followed in the street, begging for him to come and heal his only daughter was indeed the Messiah. He knew he was being ridiculed behind his back by the other leaders of the synagogue for asking for Yeshua’s help but he couldn’t deny what he had witnessed that day.

He remembered Josefa’s fever and how she’d no longer been able to stand. Myriam, his wife, had soaked a cloth and laid it across Josefa’s forehead, hoping the cool water from the stream would revive her. For days they sat by her cot, holding her hand, Myriam weeping as Josefa moaned and faded in and out of consciousness.

Jairus had paced the room, rubbing his beard. He stopped and looked at his wife kneeled over their daughter. “You know I told you about this teacher, this man they call Yeshua?” Myriam was looking at Josefa, not responding, merely crying. “Myriam, are you listening? He’s been healing people. I saw him heal a man’s hand in the synagogue last week. The leaders were upset because it was the sabbath, but I saw the man’s hand. It was diseased, scarred, withered but Yeshua held it, touched it and the hand was whole again.”

Myriam dabbed her eyes with her shawl as her husband spoke, barely listening as she watched her daughter’s breathing become more and more shallow. Dark circles were now under Josefa’s eyes.

“I will go to him, ask him to come,” Jairus was speaking again. He paced again, rubbing and pulling at the hairs of his beard as he always did when thoughts overwhelmed him.

“Do we now believe in such men who call themselves healers?” Myriam asked softly, her shoulders slumped forward, her body weary from worry.

Josefa’s body shuddered with a convulsion. Myriam gasped and lifted her daughter, holding the girl’s small frame against her chest. Josefa’s breathing was now labored. Jairus saw the panic in his wife’s eyes and felt it rising in himself as well.

“We are losing her! Go! Go to this teacher and ask him to come!” Myriam’s voice filled with fear. “He’s our only hope now!”

Jairus’ heart pounded as he ran from the house, out onto the crowded paths, pushing his way through travelers and locals and animals being led to market. He could see a crowd around a man in front of him. They were all moving one direction, calling out “Yeshua!” Questions were being asked, some voices mocked, some sounded hopeful.

An image of Josefa’s pale frame flashed in Jairus’ mind and he tried to move faster, pushing more people aside. His chest felt tight, his breathing more labored, reminding him of how old he was getting now. Was this man he was trying to reach a heretic as the synagogue leaders and other rabbis said? What if he was crazy like the man who people called John the Baptist, the man who was covered in dirt and smelled? This John the Baptist, Yochanan the Immerser, had spoken of a healer and prophet who would come to save the Jews. Was this Yeshua that man?

Jairus’ foot caught a stone and he felt himself falling. Dirt flew into his face and pebbles cut at his palms. As he pushed himself up he felt tears hot stinging his eyes. He would never reach Yeshua now.

His head still down he saw a pair of sandal clad feet against the dirt.

“Let me help you.”

Jairus looked up as a man with kind eyes and a smile held a hand out to him. He took it and stood slowly.

“Thank you.”

Jairus barely looked at the man, instead searching the crowd to see where Yeshua had gone.

“Do you seek Yeshua?”

“Yes.”

“Come. I’m one of his followers. I will bring you to him.”

Jairus looked at the man, noticed his unkempt beard and slightly frayed clothes. He nodded at him, seeing kindness and concern in his gaze.

The man gently touched the shoulders of those around them and people began to move aside. Ahead of them Jairus saw that Yeshua had paused and turned to the crowd. His eyes focused on Jairus who suddenly felt unsure, uneasy. Jairus dropped his gaze, overwhelmed with worry for his daughter and overwhelmed with the presence of this man who had performed so many miracles. His body felt weak from running, from being awake for so many days watching over his daughter.

His knees give way suddenly and he fell to the ground before Yeshua. Sobs wracked his body as he bowed low, losing control of his emotions.

“Yeshua.”

He gasped out the name.

“Yeshua.”

 A sob choked his words and he thought he wouldn’t be able to finish speaking.

“Yeshua, my little girl is dying. She is my only daughter. Please. Please, come and lay hands on her so that she will be healed and live.”

Tears streamed warm on his face and he shook his head as if to shake them away. He was startled by emotions he usually kept locked inside. A hand touched his head, on the covering he wore there. He sat back on his knees, lifted his face upwards and stared into the eyes of the man he had once seen heal a man’s shriveled hand, an act that had enraged other leaders in the synagogue.  

“Come.” Yeshua’ voice was gentle, yet firm. “Rise and let us go to her.”

Two followers of Yeshua helped Jairus to his feet and Yeshua motioned for Jairus to lead the way to his home. The crowd surged around them as they tried to move forward, moving with them, as if one combined force, following Yeshua. Several moments of chaos followed and Jairus felt a rush of frustration as the crowd pushed between him and Yeshua.

“Yeshua! What does God ask of us?”

“Yeshua, what happens when we die?”

“Yeshua, will I find wealth?”

People pushed against each other; each person wanting to get closer to the man being called a healer and a prophet, each wanting answers to benefit their own life.

Jairus faintly heard Yeshua’ voice over the noise of the crowd.

“Who touched me?”

Jairus tried to push forward in the crowd, looking over his shoulder every few steps to be sure Yeshua was following.

“I felt power go from me,” Yeshua spoke louder to one of his followers. He stopped and turned to look behind him. “Who has touched me?”

The people in the crowd murmured and grew quiet.  Jairus stopped to see why Yeshua wasn’t following him, panic growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Master, there are people all around you and you are asking ‘who touched me?’” one of Yeshua’ disciples scoffed. His tone was incredulous, tinged with annoyance.

Jairus knew this was the man called Kefa, or Peter – a fisherman from Gailee who now followed Yeshua. Many whispered in surprise that Peter, known as brash and abrupt, was following a teacher of God.

 “Somebody touched me,” Yeshua said. “For I perceived power going out from me.”

 His eyes scanned the crowd around him, but no one answered. People looked at each other confused and unsure why Yeshua was concerned. Why did it matter who touched him? Many people had probably touched him, without even meaning to.

 Suddenly a woman’s voice could be heard barely above a whisper.

“It was me.”

Then louder, over the murmurs of the crowd. “It was me.”

“Who is speaking?” another of Yeshua’ disciples asked. “Please, come forward. Answer the teacher.”

The crowd moved aside and a woman, head down, moved toward the front. She dropped to her knees trembling, her head bowed low and covered with a shawl, her clothes tattered and stained. Tears dripped off her face and into the dirt as she clutched her hands before her.

Jairus swallowed hard, shifting in place, anxious. He wanted to grab Yeshua by the arm and drag him forward, back to his house and his daughter, but at the same time he was entranced by the scene unfolding before him. He couldn’t look away.

The woman glanced upwards at Yeshua.

“It was me,” she said softly. “I knew if I could just touch the hem of your garment…”

Her gaze fell again to the ground. She let out a shaky breath. “I heard all that was said about you. About who you are. About what you can do. . . Rabbi, I’ve been bleeding for 12 years. No one will come near me. I am unclean. I’ve been to every doctor, but no one can help me. No one has ever healed me.”

Some in the crowd winced and a few stepped away from her, covering their mouths.

Tears continued to stream down her face.

“I have tried everything. I heard of your miracles and I knew – if I just touched the fringes of your robe – the fringes – that healing would come.

Her fingertips grazed the edge of his robe again. She could barely speak as she sobbed.

“And it did. It did. The healing came the moment my fingertips grazed the tzitziyot of your robe. I felt it. I felt it stop. The pain stopped. It all stopped.” Soft murmurs of awe rippled through the crowd, mingling with her sobs.

Jairus’ heart pounded hard and fast. If this woman was saying that simply touching the hem of the rabbi’s garment was enough to heal her, then he was indeed a powerful man, a messenger of God. If healing flowed from him so easily then there was hope for Josefa.

Yeshua kneeled before the woman, reached out and took her hands in his. He touched her chin and lifted her face up to look at him.

“Daughter, your faith has made you well.”

Yeshua kissed her forehead gently and wiped the tears from her face. He stood and helped her to stand with him.

“Go in peace.”

A sob escaped her lips again and then she smiled and laughed loudly with joy. She kissed Yeshua’ hand as she held it, still laughing. Then she backed slowly away.

“Thank you,” she said, tears of joy now spilling down her face. “Thank you.”

A hush had settled over the crowd. Women dabbed their eyes and men talked quietly to each other, shaking their heads with furrowed eyebrows, trying to make sense of what they had witnessed. Jairus felt a sense of urgency rushing through him, tensing his muscles. He needed Yeshua to hurry. New hope surged within him at what he had seen and he wanted the same for Josefa and his family.  

“Yeshua, my daughter… please …”

Yeshua turned toward him again.

“Of course. Let us go…Lead me to her.”

Jairus felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Josiah, standing next to him, his face stained with tears and dirt.

“Master, there is no need to hurry now. Josefa . . .” his voice trailed off and Jairus began to shake his head. “There is no need to bother the teacher now. She’s —”

“No! No!” Jairus wouldn’t let him finish.

He felt bile rushing up into his throat and his hands began to shake. He pressed his hands to his head, as if trying to wake himself from a dream, rocking slightly where he stood.

“Josefa…” he felt the tears hot on his face and he clutched his robe against him as pain seared through his chest. “Oh Adonai. Adonai help me.”

He looked up as Yeshua touched his arm.

“Do not be afraid.” Yeshua’s voice was soft, comforting. “Just keep trusting.”

Yeshua’s eyes were kind but Jairus’ mind was reeling. If only Yeshua had moved faster. If only that woman hadn’t stopped them. Josefa would still be alive and her laughter would still fill their home.

“She’s gone,” he told Yeshua. “We cannot save her now. You can not heal her. If only . . .”

Yeshua looked over Jairus’ shoulder, his gaze moving above the crowd.

“Come. Lead me to your home.”

Jairus did as Yeshua told him but his legs felt as if they were weighted down. Before they even reached the corridor near his home he could hear the wailing and knew the mourning had already begun.

Mourners were outside the home, trying to comfort Myriam, who was clearly in shock as she pulled at her clothes and repeated “No. No. No.”  
Jairus rushed toward his wife, grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her against him. She clutched at his clothes and shoved her face into his chest.

“She’s gone. She’s gone. Oh, Jairus. Our little girl is gone.”

Yeshua pushed forward in the crowd. He laid his hand against Myriam’s back to comfort her.

“There is no need for tears,” he said with a gentle firmness. “The girl is not dead. She is merely sleeping.”

An angry voice shouted over the noise of the crowd.

“She’s dead! You give these people false hope! You are a liar and a fool! Like all who have come before you!”

Other voices joined in agreement.

“You say you can heal but you only bring hallow promises to these people,” a man sneered.

Yeshua stood with his back to the crowd, kneeling down beside Myriam and Jairus who had collapsed together into the dirt by their front door.

“Send these people away and come inside with me,” he instructed. “Peter, James, John, come with me.”

Jairus opened his eyes to the sound of someone moving inside the temple, interrupting his thoughts and memories of that day.

“Jairus? Is that you?”

He recognized the voice of Ezra, another leader in the synagogue.

“Yes, Ezra. Good morning.”

Ezra walked toward him holding scrolls.

“Have you come to help me organize these for the scribes?” his mouth lifted in a wry smile.

“I did not but I am glad to help,” Jairus said returning the smile.

The men laid the scrolls on the table next to a bottle of ink.

“I do not know how so much has become in disarray in here – and outside,” Ezra said.

He looked at is friend and noticed Jairus was pulling at his beard, as he often did when deep in thought.

“Tell me, Jairus. How is Josefa recovering?”

Jairus smiled. “Well. She is well. It is – dare I say it?”

Ezra nodded but his expression grew serious.

“Jairus, I must ask you – I’ve heard many talk of what happened with Josefa. Is it true, what they say? Was she dead before Yeshua arrived?”

Jairus felt his muscles tense. He was unsure what Ezra hoped to learn with his questions. He pondered how to answer, but knew telling the truth might encourage Ezra to help him understand more what had happened.

“Myriam and her hand maiden said there was no breath. She was cold when I entered the home and I felt no heartbeat beneath my hand. Her skin . . .” he felt his breath catch in his throat and he paused to choke back emotion. He shook his head as if to shake the image from his mind. “Her skin was pale, tinged with blue. And… so cold.”

Ezra laid his hand on Jairus arm and squeezed it gently.

“You’ve been through much, my friend,” Ezra said.

He opened a scroll to read its contents, rolled it again and stuck it back in a space in the temple wall.

“What do you believe happened that day?” Ezra asked.

“I don’t know, friend. I truly don’t. All I know is she was gone and when Yeshua came she arose at his bidding. He took her hand and instructed her to rise and live and she did.”

“After all you have seen .. .” Ezra paused in stacking the scrolls and turned to look to Jairus “After meeting this man who calls himself the Son of God – who do you say he is?”

Jairus realized he didn’t know how to answer. He had seen Yeshua do miraculous things and heard of even more. He believed his daughter was still living because Yeshua touched her, but was he truly the son of Jehovah or was he simply a great teacher, so holy Jehovah used him to heal?

He looked Ezra in the eyes, opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again. “Ezra – I wish I could say, but truly, I do not know what to believe about this man.”

Fiction Friday: The Farmer’s Daughter Chapter 1

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

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.

Quarantined: A Short Story Part Six

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.