fiction

Fiction Thursday: “A New Beginning” Chapter 13

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 15 Comments

This is part of a continuing story, which you can catch up on here or at the link at the top of the page, under A New Beginning.

Want to read the first part of Blanche’s story? Find A Story to Tell on Kindle and/or Kindle Unlimited.
I had some “complaints” (notice the teasing quotes) last week that people would have to wait a week to read the cliffhanger from last week so I moved it up a day. I actually had two complaints because I really only have two people reading the story. Hahaha! Or at least two people commenting (which is NOT a complaint by me, just explaining it’s not like the complaints came in droves or that they were real complaints. Should I stop over-explaining now? Okay. I shall.)

Also, guess what! I’m glad that I rewrite and edit my books once I share them in chapters on my blog because I have been using the wrong name for one of my characters. Blanche’s mother-in-law is Marion, not Marjorie! Yikes! So sorry Marion! First, she had a horrible life with a horrible husband and son, and now her story is being told incorrectly because the author is messing up her name.

Check back tomorrow for Chapter 14 of the story.

 

 

Chapter 13

I had been so drugged when Jackson was born, I couldn’t remember what the doctor had done to make him cry. Or did he just cry by himself? I wracked my brain then remembered a delivery scene in a book I’d read and quickly turned the baby on her back, clearing mucous from her nose and mouth with my fingers and then flipped her again so her chest was against my palm as I smacked her back firmly.

Nothing.

I smacked her again, a little harder this time, as Emmy cried.

I was beginning to sob now, terrified.

“Oh Jesus, please let this baby breathe.”

I rubbed the baby’s back, feeling her solid against my hand and closed my eyes, slapping her hard again.

The sudden gasp that came from the tiny form after the third slap, tiny arms jerking out to her sides, sent relief rushing through me.

“Oh, Jesus! Thank you!”

Little Faith’s scream was the best sound I’d ever heard.

I laid her against Emmy’s chest and pulled my coat off, laying it across both of them. Tears streamed down Emmy’s face as she held Faith close to her.

The wind whipped against the car and snow pelted the windshield and windows. Looking on either side of us I could only see white. I knew I wouldn’t be able to see the road even if I had been able to stop my legs and hands from shaking.

I turned the heat up and looked in the backseat for the blanket I knew Daddy kept there.

“I was a Boy Scout,” he’d told me when I had teased him one time about the blankets and other supplies he had in the car. “You know their motto -”

“Yes, Daddy. Always be prepared.”

This was one time I was glad Daddy was prepared. I tightened the blanket around Emmy and Faith and then reached over and turned the radio on. Elvis crooned over the speakers.

“We should at least have some music while we wait to see if this snow slows down,” I said.

Emmy smiled, tears in her eyes as she watched Faith root for her first meal outside the womb. “We did it, Blanche. She’s here!”

I stroked Emmy’s hair and smiled down at Faith snuggled against her. I hoped the gas lasted until the snow slowed down and I could safely pull onto the road again. I should have listened to Mama about the snowstorm.  Emmy and I should have waited to go to the movies another night. I should have known she would be right. It seemed like Mama was always right and I knew I needed to start tuning myself into my own intuition if I was going to be as instinctual as she always seemed to be.

Emmy laid her head back against the door and smiled weakly as we listened to the next song by a new group from England called The Beatles.

“Such a weird name for a band,” Emmy laughed. “What do you think of their music?”

“I actually like them,” I said. “Edith is all about Elvis still, but I love I Want to Hold Your Hand.”

Emmy looked out the windshield as snow began to cover it. I knew we were both trying to keep our minds from being filled with worry.”

“Did you see on the news when they came into JFK?” she asked. “Can you believe how stupid those girls acted? I can’t imagine acting so stupid over a bunch of long-haired boys, I don’t care how good their music is.”

I laughed. “As someone who acted stupid over a boy when she was young, I guess I can’t say much. But. . .that was a little ridiculous.”

After another five minutes I could see the road slightly between the snowflakes. I didn’t want to wait much longer; I knew Emmy and Faith should be at the hospital and the umbilical cord still needed to be cut. Keeping with his “Always Be Prepared” motto, I knew Daddy had a knife in the glove compartment, but the lack of sanitation kept me from trying it.

“We’re only about ten minutes away. I’m going to try to get back on the road.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Emmy asked nervously.

“The road is definitely covered, but I don’t think it was cold enough before for the road to have been frozen underneath. I need to get you to the hospital.”

“Okay, then, let’s head out and pray for God to protect us.”

Even as I pulled the car back onto the road I wondered if I was making the right decision. Another couple of inches of snow had fallen on the road in the hour we’d been off the road. I began to sing to try to distract myself from intrusive thoughts about what could happen, remembering a song my Grandma used to sing.

“The Lord’s our Rock, in Him we hide, A Shelter in the time of storm; Secure whatever ill betide, A Shelter in the time of storm.”

Emmy sang with me. “Oh, Jesus is a Rock in a weary land. A weary land, a weary land; Oh, Jesus is a Rock in a weary land, A Shelter in the time of storm.”

We sang as I drove at 10 miles an hour, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, leaning forward and squinting through the windshield wipers moving fast  to keep up with the snow. Emmy sang the next song clearly, her voice soft and angelic. I had forgotten how well she could sing.

“Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
the darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.”
A loud explosion interrupted her singing and at the same moment I felt the steering wheel jerk to the right and yank me off the road and into a field full of snow. We both screamed as I gripped the wheel to try to take control back, but it was too late. The car’s front end had slammed into an embankment and what looked like smoke billowed in front of us, obscuring our view.

I slammed the car into park when it hit the embankment and turned toward Emmy to check that she and Faith were okay. Emmy held Faith against her, her eyes wide.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Emmy nodded but didn’t answer audibly.

“I’ll see what happened,” I said, opening the driver-side door.

Snow pelted me in the face and soaked my hair as I slid and skidded in the slushy snow toward the front of the car. I didn’t need to go far before I saw our problem – a blown front tire. I knew I had no idea how to change a tire, even though Daddy had shown me only a week ago, but I also knew Daddy most likely had a spare in the trunk. I shuffled toward the back of the car, then remembered I’d need a key to unlock the trunk. I shuffled again toward the front of the car and turned off the ignition, sliding out the key before venturing out again to unlock the trunk.

There was a spare tire and a jack right where I thought it would be, but I doubted I’d be able to lift the car with the jack and change a tire with the snow pelting me in the face and piling up around me. Still, I had to try so I kneeled in the snow, glad I was at least wearing jeans and boots, but regretting I hadn’t even brought gloves with me. Apparently, I hadn’t listened to Daddy’s motto as well as I should have over the years.

Ten minutes later I couldn’t feel my fingers and the jack had broke. I climbed back in the car and turned up the heat.

“No luck?”

I shook my head. Emmy was nursing Faith and I tightened the blankets around them.

“We’ve got to get you to the hospital. We’re not far away. I think I’m going to walk to see if I can  . .”

“No! You can’t leave me, Blanche!”

“Emmy, I have to find a phone to call an ambulance or someone to come help us. We can’t wait much longer.”

Emmy reached out with one hand and clutched my arm. “Stay! Someone will come, I’m sure!”

“I don’t even know how much more gas we have . . .”

“Don’t leave me. I’m so scared, Blanche.”

Emmy was trembling and I was worried that she’d lost too much blood or was dehydrated. Images of Edith collapsing against me flashed in my mind but I refused to imagine the same happening to Emmy. I slid close to her and hugged her against me, looking down at Faith in her arms.

“It’s going to be okay, Emmy. We’re going to make it through this. Someone has to come along soon.”

I hoped we weren’t too far off the road for someone to find us. I leaned my head against Emmy’s shoulder and began to pray.

“Jesus, give Emmy and me your peace right now. Hold us in your arms. Watch over us as we wait for someone to come. We know we are in your watch care.”

The wind howled around us as I began to quietly sing another hymn.

Dusk was upon us and Emmy had drifted to sleep with Faith against her when the roar of a car engine drowned out the wind and the click of sleet on the car windows. Feeling physically drained only moments before a new burst of energy rushed through me as I wiped the condensation from the window and squinted through the falling snow.

Tears of relief stung my eyes at the sight of Jimmy rushing through the snow and ice toward us. Emmy woke as the driver’s side door squeaked open.

“Blanche! Are you two okay?” Jimmy asked, trying to catch his breath, his cheeks flushed red.

“All three of us are doing okay but we could sure use some help getting to the hospital,” I said.

“Three? What – oh my gosh!”

Jimmy cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled against the wind.   “They’re here! Bring the blankets! Emmy’s had the baby!”

The rushed footsteps crunching in the snow were almost as welcome of a sound as Faith’s cries had been. I stepped out of the car as Daddy and Judson reached the bottom of the hill.

“You can’t do anything easy, can you, Emmy-lou?” Judson teased as he laid the blankets across her and the baby.

“My middle name is Anne and you know it, Judson Thomas,” Emmy said with a weak smile.

“I’ll get my jack from the back of the truck,” Jimmy said.

Judson gently closed the passenger’s side door and ushered me toward the back of the car where Daddy was standing, ready to roll the spare tire to the front of the car.

“When you two didn’t come home we panicked,” Daddy said. “We panicked even more when the sheriff stopped by looking for Emmy.”

“Looking for Emmy?”

His eyebrows were furrowed with concern as he glanced back at the car and lowered his voice. “Sam’s been shot.”

I gasped and suddenly felt shaky. “Shot? Is he alive?”

“He’s at the hospital,” Jimmy said, taking the jack and wheel wrench from Daddy. “That’s all we’ve been told. We don’t want to upset Emmy, especially now, so I don’t think we should tell her yet. What do you guys think?”

Daddy agreed. “Let’s get the tire on, get some gas in the tank and head to the hospital. When we get there, you go with Emmy, and Judson, Jimmy and I will find out how Sam is.”

I felt tears stinging my eyes, but I blinked them away quickly. I was barely able to manage a nod, as a wave of exhaustion suddenly rushed over me.

Daddy placed his hands gently on each of my shoulders. “We need to be strong for Emmy right now, okay?”

I nodded again and took a deep breath, determined to not let Emmy see the fear or worry gnawing at my insides.

“Go sit in the car and get warmed up,” Daddy said. “Don’t think the worst about Sam yet.”

I sat in the back seat and made sure Emmy and Faith were warm, trying to slow my racing thoughts. Sam had been shot. How bad was it? Was he even alive?

When Daddy and Judson had changed the tire and filled the gas tank with gas from a container in the back of Judson’s truck, Daddy slid into the front seat next to Emmy and smiled reassuringly.

“Alright, little lady. Let’s get you and that baby to the hospital and make sure you’re both okay.”

Emmy smiled weakly. “Thank you, Mr. Robins and I – um – I’m sorry about your upholstery.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not think about that at the moment,” Daddy said, grimacing.

Flash Fiction: Carrying His Wife Out

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 13 Comments

From the Carrot Ranch Writing Prompt for January 9: “A Carried Wife”. To see the first part of this continuing flash fiction, see Writing Prompt: When the Wealth Didn’t Matter. 

They had to carry her out when they found him lying there on the floor by the hutch covered in blood.

How could he have done it? Why would he have done it? He had all a man could want, all she could give him. Hadn’t the money been enough all these years?

They called it a miracle that she’d walked in when she had; startling him and causing him to drop the gun and shoot himself in the foot instead of the head liked he had intended. She’d collapsed when the gun went off, falling against the hutch.

January 9, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about a carried wife. Why is she being carried? Who is carrying? Pick a genre if you’d like and craft a memorable character. Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by January 14, 2019. Use the comment section below to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines.

Fiction Friday: A New Beginning Chapter 12

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 7 Comments

As I said yesterday,  I felt like putting up two chapters from A New Beginning this week. Chapter 11 was up yesterday and I’m sharing Chapter 12 today, but next week I’ll probably be back to one chapter a week.

As always, this is an initial draft so there will probably be typos, missing words, maybe even plot holes. I take feedback from the blog and other sources to help me rectify those issues, but for now, I’m simply sharing a story for fun.

Need to catch up? Find the link to the other chapters HERE or at the top of the page. Want to read the first part of Blanche’s story? Find A Story to Tell on Kindle.

 

Chapter 12

The cold air stung my nose and face as we rushed toward Daddy’s car, rubbing our arms as we slid inside.

I cranked the heat up in the car and turned the radio on as Emmy wedged herself behind the wheel.

“Ooh, I just love this car,” she cooed as she turned the key in the ignition. “It’s so smooth and shiny and ..” she slide her hands over the dashboard, a dreamy smile on her face. “…new.”

I laughed as she wiggled back and forth in the seat, as if dancing in place.

“Don’t wiggle too much,” I warned. “I don’t want you wiggling that baby out of you in Daddy’s new car.”

Emmy slid the shift lever into drive and laughed. “Oh no. This baby can’t come yet. I still have to finish the nursery.”

As we pulled onto Main Street, Emmy glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “So,” she said. “Let’s talk about how you feel about seeing Judson out with Sherry.

I rolled my eyes, feeling like I had rolled my eyes more in the last few months than I had in my entire life.

“I know you had hoped to set me up with him, but it doesn’t matter to me who he goes out with.”

Emmy’s raised her eyebrows.

“Excuse me! I was not trying to set you two up!”

I tipped my head slightly. “Really? I’m not naïve little Blanche anymore, remember? I know when my best friend is trying to set me up. You can act innocent if you want but we’ve already discussed the efforts of friends and family trying to find a man for little ole’ Blanche. Seriously, though, why would I care? He’s perfectly welcome to go out with whomever he wants.”

“I don’t know,” Emmy said. “I guess I just thought you looked a little uncomfortable sitting next to him while he sat next to Sherry.”

“Well, sure, I felt uncomfortable. It was their date. I couldn’t figure out why Judson would invite us to sit with them.”

Emmy smirked, that blasted one eyebrow still raised. “Hmmm…maybe because he realized how much he’d rather have been on a date with you instead of Sherry when he saw you standing there in the lobby of the theater looking so lovely.”

“Emmy . . .”

“What? It’s possible. My cousin doesn’t share a lot with me, but he did ask me quite a few questions about you after he met you in the fall.”

“I know, Emmy, you told me, but I’m sure he was simply being polite.”

“I’m fairly certain he was being more than polite. . .”

“Well, if he had been, he wouldn’t be on a date with Sherry would he?”

Now it was Emmy’s turn to roll her eyes. “Blanche, it doesn’t help that you avoid him at every chance . . .”

“Who told you that?”

“I’m not blind, Blanch,” Emmy said. “I’ve watched you purposely switch seats at church. A month ago, I watched you from the window of our office walk to the other side of the street when you saw him walking toward you from the diner. You’re clearly trying to avoid him, but I don’t think you’re trying to avoid him because you don’t like him. I think you like him much more than you want to admit.”

I looked at the snow starting to cover the road in front of us. “And I think you should focus more on driving and less on concocting conspiracy theories.”

Emmy’s laugh faded into a strained wince as she hunched slightly over the steering wheel.

I laid my hand against her shoulder. “you okay?”

“Just a slight cramp. I’m sure it’s just Braxton Hicks. No big deal. And don’t change the subject. Admit it. You’re avoiding Judson because you’re attracted to him and you’re-”

Emmy grimaced and bit her lower lip. Her grip had tightened on the steering wheel and I noticed her knuckles were white.

“Something is going on, Emmy. What is it?”

Emmy gasped and glanced toward the floor of the car. “Oh Blanche, I think something is wrong.”

“What do you mean something is wrong?” I asked Emmy, watching her face lose color.

“I just felt something – weird . . .”

“What?! What did you feel?”

“Like something – something – popped . . . where it shouldn’t.”

“Was there a rush of water?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at the seat between her legs as she drove. “I think so. Oh no! The seat is soaked! What do I do, Blanche!”

A cold chill shuddered through me but I tried to stay calm. I knew we still had plenty of time, even if her water had broke.

“You stay calm, first,” I said. “It’s going to be fine. We have some time. Babies don’t come as soon as the water breaks. Just keep driving and we’ll head straight to labor and delivery and I’ll call Sam when we get there.

Emmy’s face paled and I knew I had to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I said quickly.

“Like what?! The weather?!” I could tell Emmy was panicking.

I looked out at the snowflakes swirling in front of us and the haze settling on the mountain tops around us. The snow was starting to pile up on the edges of the pavement and the road was wet now.

“Um…maybe not. How about the movie. Did you like it?”

“Blanche! I am about to give birth in your dad’s new car if I don’t get to the hospital! Paul Newman kissing Shirley MacClaine is not what I want to think about right now.”

“Right. Well . . . how about we talk about our plans for this summer?”

Emmy’s face had contorted in a grimace and her foot was tapping the break. “Blanche, I have a horrible pain. Is this normal?”

Now I was starting to panic. Why was she asking me what was normal? I’d only had one baby. I wasn’t the labor expert.

“Yes. It’s normal,” I assured her, deciding not to mention this probably meant her contractions had started already. “It’s going to be fine. This is just the very early stages of labor.”

The fact her contractions seemed to already be starting so soon after her water broke was alarming to me but I didn’t want her to know I was anything but confident that we’d make it to the hospital.

“Was that a contraction?! It was, wasn’t it?! Isn’t that what you have when you’re in actual labor?”

“Yes, but they will be far away to start with and then get closer together. There is plenty of time.”

“Blanche, you have to drive. I can’t drive if I’m going to be having these waves of pain.”

I felt anxious about driving in the snow, but I knew Emmy was right. I started to agree with her and tell her to get out so I could climb in the driver’s side but she rambled on, apparently determined to convince me.

“There’s nothing to it. You’ve driven a tractor before. I’ve seen you. I know you can drive a car. I’ll tell you how to shift the gears if we need to. It’s just I don’t know if I can keep driving because of the -” She grimaced. “The discomfort I’m having.”

My heart was pounding faster. “Emmy, I can drive. Don’t worry about that but, please, oh, please don’t have this baby in the car. In Daddy’s car.”

“I know it’s your daddy’s car,” Emmy said through clenched teeth. “Let’s stop talking about it being Alan Robbin’s new car. I am not having my baby in your daddy’s car.” She pulled the car to the side of the road and slid it into park. I quickly jumped out and ran around the front of the car, as she slid to the passenger side.

My hands were shaking as I hooked the seatbelt and placed my hands on the steering wheel. I knew I could drive the car fine at a reasonable speed, but a reasonable speed wasn’t what we needed right now. I needed to get Emmy to the hospital in Sawyer quickly and that was a 40-minute drive.

“Blanche, what –“ Emmy gasped again. “I mean, how close –” Her words started coming out between winces. “How close are contractions supposed to be?”

I glanced at her as she gritted her teeth and clutched the door handle. “You need to breathe slowly through each contraction,” I told her, something I had learned only after I had had Jackson.

I wish I had known it before. Her contractions seemed too close together so soon after her water broke. I wondered if we would even make it to the hospital. What was I going to do? I didn’t know how to deliver a baby. I’d read about women having babies in many of the books I had read and one time a lady gave birth on Gunsmoke, but the show didn’t show what actually happened.

“I don’t know how to deliver a baby!” I blurted, as if stating that fact out loud was going to help the situation.

“You’ve had one!”

“Yes, but I was on the other end!”

Beads of sweat dotted Emmy’s forehead as she let out a long breath and pushed herself up a little in the seat.

“You might not have to worry about it,” she said, her expression relaxing and her breathing beginning to slow down some. “I think the contractions are slowing down now.”

I let out my own deep breath. “Thank, God.”

I started making a mental list of what we would need to do once we arrived at the hospital, besides walking Emmy through the emergency room to labor and delivery. I would need to make some phone calls. Sam for one.

“Where is Sam today? We’ll need to call him when we get to the hospital.”

“I’m not sure. He’s on assignment somewhere in the western part of the county. Honestly, I was a little worried about it. Some guy that’s been running a burglary ring has been on the loose in a really remote area. They were backing up the state police to try to arrest him. I was hoping he’d be home when we got there.”

“Well, let’s hope he is so he can head up to the hospital to be with you.”

“I hope so.” I heard Emmy’s voice crack as she spoke.

I reached over and took her hand in mine. “It’s going to be okay, Emmy. You can do this.”

She nodded but tears were streaking her face. “I’m scared, Blanche.”

I tried to sound confident, even though I was afraid too. “Nothing to be afraid of. Women have babies every day.”

I glanced at Emmy and she caught my eye. I knew we were both thinking about Edith and the baby she’d lost.

“Women have healthy, beautiful babies every single day and you’re going to be one of those women,” I said firmly.

Emily nodded but closed her eyes against the tears. When I glanced at her again her face seemed even more pale that before, her eyebrows furrowed, and I could tell another contraction had hit.

“It’s going to be fine.” My words were aimed at reassuring us both.

We drove for several moments in silence as Emmy focused on breathing through the contractions and I focused on the road, which was now covered with a thin layer of snow; the sight sending fear shivering through me. My foot gently tapped the brake as a deer darted across the road in front of us. I knew deer always traveled in groups and continued to drive slow in case another one decided to cross.

I drew on my mother’s advice for how to face fear and began to recite Bible verses about peace and God’s protection as the snow began to fall faster, forcing me to lift my foot off the accelerator and focus on the lines in the middle of the road.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. Umm.. Umm…” I paused, trying to think of another verse. “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”

Emmy cried out in pain. I reached out to take her hand again and winced as she squeezed it hard.

“But now, this is what the Lord says…” Her grip loosened slightly. “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.”

The windshield wipers were barely keeping up with the snow now. I pulled my hand from Emmy’s and turned the wipers to the highest setting.

“Blanche  . . .”

“We’re going to be there soon,” I said, though I knew we had at least 20 more minutes to drive and even longer if the weather got worse.

“Blanche! I think I feel . . . something is happening!”

“Emmy, you can’t . . .”

“This baby is coming!”

“Don’t push!”

“I’m not trying to!”

My eyes darted along the road as I drove, desperate to find a house or at least a place to pull off. I should have stopped somewhere earlier to call Sam, or my parents or Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, anyone, but there weren’t many places to stop between Dalton and Sawyer and we’d already blown by the road to my house into desperation to get Emmy to the hospital.

Now we were in the proverbial middle of nowhere with miles and miles of nothing but trees and empty fields flying by in a blur.  A small dirt road appeared in front of us and I gently moved the car to the end of it, slamming it into park as I turned my attention to the crying Emmy. I’d been denying the baby was coming for 20 minutes but I knew it was time to accept this was really happening. Emmy was going to give birth to her baby in my daddy’s new car and I had to focus, even though my mind was racing and images of all that could go wrong were forming faster than I could dismiss them.

“Can you move your legs?” I asked. “You’re going to need to turn and put them up here so we can see just what’s happening.”

I wasn’t even sure if getting a better look would help me know what was happening. When I was 11, I’d watched our cat give birth on Daddy’s side of the bed. Daddy had been equally horrified and in awe. I had to wonder how he’d feel about Emmy now giving birth in his red and white shiny and new Olds. I imagined his reaction would be similar to the one he’d had when we’d all stood and stared at Mittens – though he probably wouldn’t mutter plans for revenge on Emmy like he had Mittens. I knew watching Emmy give birth would be nothing like watching Mittens and trembled as terror gripped me.

I helped Emmy lean back against the door, her legs facing me as we worked to slide her undergarments and hose off.

“Blanche! We can’t do this here!”

“We’re going to have to. The baby’s head is there!”

I smiled at Emmy, even though my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears and feel it in my throat. “Lots of dark hair!”

When Emmy bore down the rest of the head emerged and I cupped my hands around it but then it disappeared again.

“Emmy, push!”

“I can’t!”

“You have to push!”

“I can’t!”

Emmy was crying, her breath coming out in short panicked gasps.

“Emmy! Look at me! You have to slow your breathing or you could pass out. Don’t look away from me.”

I had to think of some way to get her to focus.

“God, help me,” I prayed silently.

I leaned close to Emmy as an idea came to me. “I want you to focus on me and say ‘I can do all things through Christ.’ Say it over and over if you have to but those are the only words I want you to think about. Got it?”

Emmy nodded, her face soaked with tears.

I tightened my hand on her knee and looked her in the eye.

“Say it, now!”

Emmy sobbed, her hair matted against her forehead with sweat. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!” she whimpered, her eyes clenched closed.

“Look at me!”

She looked at me, tightening her jaw.

“Say it again.”

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!”

“Now, push down right now like you’re going to poop.”

If it had been under different circumstances I know Emmy and I would have laughed at the poop comment but we didn’t have time. Emmy tightened her jaw again, kept her eyes on me and bore down.

I felt a tiny head and shoulders against my hands.

“Again!”

Emmy screamed and pushed again but the rest of the baby still wasn’t out yet.

“Again!”

After two more pushes I was holding a wet, heavy and warm baby girl in my hands.

“It’s a girl, Emmy! It’s Faith!”

The baby was solid, slippery and motionless.

Panic ripped through me. Why wasn’t Emmy’s baby moving? The gray color of her skin was terrifying. Images of Edith holding a limp, grey colored baby in her arms flashed through my mind and I began to sob.

God, please. No.

I could tell Emmy was tired, but she was also starting to realize something wasn’t right.

“Blanche. Why isn’t she crying? Don’t babies usually cry?”

Yes. Babies usually cried and this baby wasn’t crying.

“God, help me, please.”

Writing prompt: when the wealth didn’t matter

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 4 Comments

He kept the gun in the hutch behind the Tiffany Sybil Claret Wine glasses that had belonged to his grandmother.

There were 20 of those ridiculous glasses, worth $100 each. Wealth, wealth and more wealth.

It was all around him but none of it mattered.

His fingertips grazed the cool metal of the gun, a Remington RM380, traced the shape of it, and slipped down to the handle where his fingers firmly grasped it.

He tipped his head back and laughed loudly.

So rich yet so poor.

They had their money to keep them warm.

They wouldn’t miss him.

Part of the Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge.

January 2, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about something found in a hutch. It can be any kind of hutch — a box for critters or a chest for dishes. Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by January 7, 2019. Use the comment section below to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines.

Fiction Friday: A New Beginning Chapter 10

/ Lisa R. Howeler / Leave a comment

Welcome to Fiction Friday, where I share a fiction story I’m working on or a novel in progress. If you share serial fictions on your blog as well please feel free to share a link to your latest installment, or the first part, in the comment section.

Right now I’m sharing from a novel in progress, A New Beginning, which is the sequel to A Story to Tell, now available on Kindle. As always, there may be typos, left out words or even awkward sentence structures I didn’t yet catch. This is a first draft so there will be changes before I publish it as an ebook in the Spring of 2020.

Are you caught up with Blanche’s story or do you have some reading to do? This week we continue with some take-it-easy character building, but there will be some excitement next week. Do you want to know what?

Well, I’m not telling you. You can read it next week. So there!

As always, you can find the links to the other parts of the story here and if you have any comments on how the story is going so far, or any ideas for future chapters, let me know in the comments!

Chapter 10

“Here we go. Chicken salad sandwich and fries for Blanche and a small salad for Edith.”

Betty Bundle’s hot pink, looped earrings bounced as she placed our plates in front of us. She stood for a moment, one on her hip, the other hovering out to her side, smacking gum like a cow with its cud as she looked down at Edith.

“Is that really all you’re going to eat, hon’?”

Edith glanced up at Betty without lifting her head. “Yes, Betty,” she said with a sigh. “That’s all I’m going to eat today.”

“Eatin’ a salad is like eatin’ air, you know,” Betty said. “You need something more substantial than air to get you through the day.”

Edith sighed, stabbing a piece of lettuce with her fork. “Thank you, Betty. I appreciate your input, but I’m eating light today. My stomach isn’t feeling the best.”

Betty pursed her lips and furrowed her eyebrows, folding her arms across her chest. “Well, I guess but you make sure you get something later. It’s not healthy eating so little and if you’re trying to lose weight, well, you don’t need to. You understand me?”

“You’re starting to sound like my mom, Betty,” Edith laughed. “Don’t you have another table to wait on?”

Betty sighed and flounced across the diner toward another table, tablet in hand as she reached for the pen she’d propped behind her ear.

“So . . .” I sipped my iced tea and cleared my throat. “Is your stomach feeling off for any reason?”

Edith sipped her water. “I think it’s nerves. The adoption agency called this morning. Jimmy and I have been approved for adoption. Now we just wait for the phone call that says someone has chosen us to adopt their child”

“Oh, that’s great!” I cried.

My sister’s hand trembled as she stabbed at a tomato. “It’s getting real now, Blanche,” she said. “We’re really doing this and I’m not going to lie, I’m terrified.”

I reached across the table and took her hand. “It’s going to be okay, Edith. You and Jimmy are going to be amazing parents, you know that.”

“It’s not just the parenting that scares me. It’s the idea that we might fall in love with this baby, or child and then the mother changes her mind. I can’t imagine that heartbreak. Blanche, I think I know why you put up walls around yourself now. I’m afraid to be hurt again. I’m afraid to . . .”

She shook her head and I could see she was trying to hold back the tears. “I’m afraid,” she said a few moments later, her voice cracking. “To love this child in case we lose him or her the same way we lost Molly. Jimmy and I made a space in our hearts for our baby girl and then I came home from the hospital with empty arms.”

Edith wiped her eyes with her napkin. “I couldn’t bare to hold a child and fall in love with that child, only to have that child taken from me.”

“You’re acting like me, Edith,” I said. “You’re thinking of all the worse case scenarios and letting them guide your decisions in life, when you don’t even know if they’ll ever come to pass. That’s no way to live.”

Edith blew her nose and laughed softly. “Physician heal thyself,” she said with a smirk.

I bit into a fry and leaned my head on my hand, sighing.

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you,” I told her. “We are psychoanalyzing you today. My session can be tomorrow.”

Edith wiped her eyes again and smiled. “Well, at least you know I can empathize with you now and I understand the fear of letting anyone else into your life. I think this is something you and I will have to work on together. We will have to do what Lillian said during Bible study a couple of weeks ago: feel the fear and do it anyhow.”

The ding of the bell on the front door announced the arrival of Emmy, Judson and a few more of the workers from the construction business. Judson and the other men took up two booths on the other side of the diner while Emmy slid in the booth next to me, her belly almost touching the table.

“I said I was coming to lunch and the whole lot of them spilled out after me like a gaggle of schoolchildren,” she said picking up the menu. “The stench behind me was all-encompassing. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking agreeing to be Daddy’s secretary and having to put up with this group of dirty, sweaty gorillas every day.”

I sipped my iced tea and laughed at the drama in my best friend’s voice. “You love it and you know it,” I said. “All those men fawning all over you, especially now that you’re expecting. ‘Yes, Miss Emmy.’ ‘ Can I hold the door for you, Miss Emmy?’ ‘Let me get you a glass of water, Miss Emmy.’”

Emmy looked at me in mock shock. “Blanche Robbins, that is not true.” She looked back at the menu. “They get me lemonade, not water. Plain water is evil.”

Betty returned to take Emmy’s order.

“You know, Blanche,” she said smacking away at her gum. “There’s a lot of good lookin’ men over there. At least one of them has got to be single. Maybe you should—-”

“Good grief, Betty! Not you too!”

“What? I’m just sayin’ — You’re still a young girl, you know. You don’t have to act like such an old woman. Go out on some dates, have some fun already.”

Another person trying to fix me with a man.

“Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match…” I sang at Betty. I slipped into my regular voice as I shook my finger at her teasingly. “Don’t you join the Fix Blanche Cause being headed by the rest of my friend’s and family, Betty. I don’t need a man to make my life better.”

Betty blew a bubble of gum at me, standing with a hand on her hip. “Well, I didn’t say anything about it being better but it might be a bit more interesting.”

I mimed a person writing in an order notebook, moving my hand across the top of the table. “Why don’t you just take Emmy’s order and go play matchmaker somewhere else, Betty.”

Betty shrugged and took Emmy’s order as I’d suggested.

“Don’t blame me if you end up old and alone,” she said with her dry wit as walked back toward the kitchen. “I tried to help but you jus’ wouldn’t listen.”

As she walked from the table I sighed and ignored the giggles from Emmy and Edith, wondering who else would be next to remind me I needed a man to have a better life.

***

“Now, Blanche, you tell me, is this dress just too fancy for an old lady like me?”

86-year old Jessie Reynolds was modeling the dress I’d made for her in front of the mirror, holding herself steady with her cane and lightly touching the bun her long, white hair was twisted up in.

“No, ma’am. I think it’s just perfect.”

“Not too risqué?”

I snorted a laugh. “No, ma’am.”

She looked over her shoulder and winked at me. “Hmmm..maybe you better start over and add a little flare to it then.”

“Now, Jessie. . .”

The elderly woman laughed and sat back in the chair across from me. “I still have a little spunk left in me, you know. Maybe I can snag myself a new man before I walk across that rainbow bridge.”

“Oh my goodness,” I laughed again and shook my head. I poured some tea into a teacup and set it on the plate next to Jessie.  “And which man do you have your eye on?”

“Well, that Bill Sprowles just lost his wife a year or so ago. He might be a bit lonely.”

Jessie and I laughed together. “Ah, well, you know I’m just teasing you. A woman doesn’t need to have a man to be happy, does she?”

“No, ma’am. She doesn’t.”

“But it certainly is nicer when she does. Now, tell me, Blanche, have you thought about dating again?”

I shook my head and laughed. “I should have known that was coming. Jessie, you’re a troublemaker.”

“Have to keep myself busy somehow at my age.”

“Honestly, I haven’t really been worried about it. I’ve had Jackson to take care of and this shop to run. I’m happy where I’m at, Jessie.”

Jessie sipped her tea. “I do know what you mean. Sometimes it’s easier to stay where we are and not allow change. But maybe in the future you’ll be ready to let someone else into your world and I hope you won’t be afraid to do so when the time comes.”

Although I didn’t enjoy discussing my love life, even with Jessie, I knew she meant well, and her blunt humor made the conversation less painful than it would have been with others. “Thank you, Jessie. I’ll keep that in mind if that time ever comes.”

“Oh no. Not ‘if’, Blanche, honey. When.” She winked at me over the edge of the teacup and giggled. “Plus, I need you to hurry up. I’m not a spring chicken and you need to have a nice big wedding with a nice, handsome man before I die.”

“Okay, Jessie,” I said. “Let’s get you out of that dress so I can get to work on making the alterations and have it ready for you by tomorrow.”

To myself I added: “And so I can rush you out of this shop before you start suggesting men for me to marry.”

As Jessie left the shop, Marjorie stepped in, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Blanche, do you know anything about Stanley Jasper?”

“Just that he’s the editor of the paper,” I said, choosing not to add that he’d asked me about his intention to ask her out to dinner.

“Well, the strangest thing just happened with him at the diner. He asked me if I’d like to have dinner with him some night.”

I feigned innocence as I looped some thread around a spool and slid it into a drawer. “Oh? Well, what did you say?”

Marjorie picked at a piece of lent on her coat. “I didn’t know what to say so I asked him if I could think about it.” She shrugged. “He said that was fine, but, I don’t know . . . I’m not ready to — I mean I’ve never thought about dating again. I’ve just . . .  well, I’ve just never really thought about it. I don’t even know what to say. I guess I figured I was too old for such things.”

“Marjorie, you’re never too old for companionship but I understand,” I said. “It was nice of him to ask but you’re not sure you’re ready to open yourself up again.”

She nodded, sitting on the hard metal chair across from me. “I know you can relate to that, to putting up walls and being afraid to pull them down again; afraid to be hurt again.”

She sighed and tipped her head slightly, staring at the sewing machine with a far off look. Sitting with the front window as a backdrop, sunlight behind her, making the light grey streaks in her hair appear blond, she looked more like a young girl than a 55-year old woman

“I just don’t know what to do,” she said softly, wistfully almost, caught up in her thoughts.

“Well, it’s entirely up to you,” I said. “I think you did the right thing telling  him you needed some time to think about it.”

A small smile tugged at her mouth. “It was nice being asked – having someone actually seem . . . interested in me, I guess you’d say.”

I smiled as I leaned back against the sewing table, happy to hear a hint of joy and excitement in her voice and curious to know if she’d eventually accept Stanley’s invitation.

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Prompt: “By Design”

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 7 Comments

The following is a Flash Fiction prompt by Carrot Ranch Literary Blog for the week of Dec. 26, 2019 to Dec. 31, 2019.

The challenge is to write a story in 99 words, no more, no less. This is my first try at such a thing, so go easy on me. Edited to add: I realized after I wrote this that I accidentally left a word in that shouldn’t have been there so this is only 98 words. Oops. Also… I read this to my husband, my 13-year old son heard it and announced, “that was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

She thought it had all been an accident. He’d run into her on his way into the supermarket while she was walking out.

“Oh, excuse me,” he’d said, bright blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight, dirty blond hair falling across his forehead and his hand warm against her arm as they collided. “I didn’t see you there.”

She’d dropped one of her bags and oranges were rolling across the parking lot.

Little did she know their encounter had been by design all along, and by his design, not by divine design. It wasn’t divine, was it? She wondered.

Lisa R. Howeler is a writer and photographer from the “boondocks” who writes a little bit about a lot of things on her blog Boondock Ramblings. She’s published a fiction novel ‘A Story to Tell’ on Kindle and also provides stock images for bloggers and others at Alamy.com and Lightstock.com.

Fiction Friday: A New Beginning Chapter 9

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 2 Comments

Welcome to Fiction Friday, where I share a fiction story I’m working on or a novel in progress. If you share serial fictions on your blog as well please feel free to share a link to your latest installment, or the first part, in the comment section.

This week I pushed through some of the blockages I had in the story, so hoping that continues and I can finally finish it and begin some heavy editing. Of course, as I edit that could change some of what you are reading here, but the final draft will be published as an ebook on Kindle and other locations sometime in the spring.

As always, you can catch the first part of Blanche’s story, A Story to Tell, on Kindle. Also, as always, this is a work in progress so there are bound to be words missing or other typos. To follow the story from the beginning, find the link HERE or at the top of the page.

Light, Shadows & Magic (2)Edith took the platter I had been carrying as I stepped through her front door. “Fried chicken, huh? I just read an article about how fattening fried foods are.”

I rolled my eyes. “And I just read an article about how unhealthy it is to take all the good tasting food out of your life.”

Edith set the platter on her table and then reached for a pitcher of lemonade and a bowl of salad, setting them on the table.

“Hey, ladies, Emmy’s walking up the front walk,” Jimmy said walking in the back door. “Or should I say, she’s waddling up?”

I smacked him gently on the arm. “Jimmy!”

“What? She’s waddling! I can’t help it. I think she’s carrying twins.”

“Don’t say that to her,” Edith whispered. “I don’t want her to feel bad.”

I opened the front door and took the plate of brownies from Emmy, stepping back so she could walk through to the couch, where I knew she’d want to sit.

“A few more weeks and I’m free,” she gasped, falling back onto the cushions, her belly pushed out.

“Free?” I laughed. “Oh, honey, your belly will be free, but your job only gets harder after the baby is here.”

Emmy closed her eyes and sighed.

“Oh, don’t remind me,” she said, then smiled. “But I know it will be worth it then, when I can finally hold this baby in my arms.”

“You girls going to be okay here alone?” Jimmy asked, snatching a brownie. “Your dad and I are taking Jackson and Judson fishing up at the lake today, so we won’t be around to save you if you set the oven on fire or Emmy gets stuck in the couch.”

Emmy scowled at Jimmy and playfully tossed a pillow at his head.

“Why are you taking Judson?” I asked.

“Why not?” Jimmy asked. “He’s a cool guy and we like showing him how to be a real country boy.”

“She thinks Mama and Daddy are trying to set her up with him,” Edith laughed. “And that Daddy is prepping him to be part of the family.”

I scowled at her as I helped Jackson with his jacket.

“Mama is trying at least,” I said.

“What’s ‘setting up’ mean?” Jackson asked, reaching for his fishing pole.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, kissing his forehead. “Don’t you worry about it, honey.”

Jimmy grinned and snatched his fishing pole from behind the door then raised his hands in front of him as a sign of surrender and headed toward the door.

“I’m stepping out of this conversation. Have fun with your gathering, ladies.”

I watched Jackson follow Jimmy down the sidewalk toward Jimmy’s truck, his jeans slipping down slightly in the back as he walked. It was hard to believe that he was already 6-years old. It hurt me he didn’t have a father to help set an example for him, but I was happy Jimmy and Daddy were there to be the men in his life.

“Why do you keep avoiding Judson anyhow?” Edith asked as the front door closed.

“I’m just not interested,” I said.

Emmy struggled to push herself up out of the cushions of the couch.

“Why not?” she asked. “He’s cute, polite  . . .  a member of my family, which means he’s got to be a great person.”

I shrugged. “I’m just not. He’s nice enough but who knows how long he’ll even stay here. He’s only here to learn more about construction from your dad and then he’ll be gone.”

Emmy shrugged. “Yeah, but that could take years. I mean, he’s renting a home here, says he loves this area. He could decide to stay here forever and besides – you agree he’s good looking right?”

I rolled my eyes, sitting in the recliner and leaning my head back against the back of it and groaning. “Yes, he’s good looking, but looks, as we know, can be very deceiving.”

I tipped my head up, raised an eyebrow and looked at Emmy and Edith. “You get my drift?”

Edith shrugged and poured herself a glass of lemonade.

“Not every good-looking apple is rotten,” she said, grinning.

Emmy shifted forward on the couch and looked at Edith. Now both of them were grinning, a sight that aggravated me.

“And that apple really is very good looking,” Emmy said. “Those blue eyes against that dark hair…handsome like all the male members of my family. ”

Edith smirked.

“And I bet he’s got some muscles under that construction shirt. He’d have to with all that lifting and hammering he does.”

“You two are starting to sound like Mama!” I cried. “Are we going to bake some cookies and make popcorn for the Dick VanDyke Show tonight or are we going to talk about my love life?”

Emmy wheezed as she pushed herself to a standing position. “Or your lack of a love life.”

I turned and scowled at her.

She raised her hands slightly at her side and shrugged.

“They say pregnant women get something called brain fog,” she said with a grin. “Blame my sassy mouth on the baby. I’ll be right back. I have to pee again.”

When Emmy waddled back into the room a few moments later, Edith set a tray of egg sandwiches on the coffee table and sat on the couch next to Emmy.

“Speaking of babies – I’ve been wanting to talk to you ladies about something.”m

My heart started pounding fast.

“Are you -?”

Edith interrupted me by raising her hand and shaking her head. “No. No. Nothing like that. We still can’t seem to get pregnant, but Jimmy and I have been talking a lot lately about other ways to start a family.”

I sat on the chair across from the couch. “Adoption?”

Edith nodded and wrung her hands nervously. “Yes. But I’m scared. What if this isn’t the right thing to do? What if it – what if it falls through or what if we don’t bond with the child, because he or she isn’t ours biologically?”

I leaned forward and took my sister’s hands in mine. “Edith, you’re starting to sound like me. That’s not like you. At the risk of sounding like Mama, have you prayed about this?”

“Oh yes, Jimmy and I both have. We’ve been praying about it together every day. I – I called an adoption agency last week and they’ve asked us to drive down and fill out an application. They were very nice, but I still – I just don’t know if this is the right thing to do.”

“Well, if it isn’t the right thing to do, God will stop it,” Emmy said. “That’s how I figure it, anyhow. Maybe it’s not the soundest theology but it’s what I think.”

Edith smiled, reaching one hand out to hold Emmy’s and the other to hold mine. “Okay, ladies. Then our job is to pray together that Jimmy and I make the right decision and that if adoption is the path God wants us to take, a child will be placed with us.”

We all agreed we would pray for God’s wisdom and I prayed silently for Edith’s heart to be protected.

***

“Blanche, sit down.” Stanley gestured to the chair in front of his desk sans cigar as I handed him my column. “I have a question for you.”

The suggestion to sit was an unusual one for Stanley and made me nervous. Usually, he merely nodded for me to lay the column on his desk while talking on the phone or typing away on his typewriter before telling me to have a good day.

“Can I get you a glass of water?” he asked as I sat down.

I shook my head, bewildered. I noticed his face was clean-shaven, his hair neatly combed and his shirt and pants a little less wrinkled than usual. Instead of leaning back in his chair with a cigar he sat in it with his back straight, then leaned forward slightly, elbows propped on the desk.  His hazel eyes locked on mine as he spoke.

“Blanche, I’d like you to start writing some feature stories for us. One a week to start with. What do you think?”

He was offering me an actually paying job? I was dumbfounded.

“I – I don’t know what to say. I’ve never interviewed people before and I –“

“You’re a good writer, Blanche. You’re easy to talk to. People like you. You’d be writing fluff pieces. Stories about old men who grow 60-pound squashes in their backyard and women who win pie-baking contests 25 years in a row. Easy, softball stories. I think you can do it and those kinds of stories sell newspapers. Why don’t you think about it and let me know when you bring your column next week? What do you say?”

I cleared my throat. “Well, okay, I can tr–”

“Great,” Stanley spoke over me. Interrupting people seemed to be a habit with him, as if his brain moved in tune with the days breaking news and he was afraid slowing his words would let his competition beat him to the punch. “I’m sure you’ll realize it’s a good idea. Now, on another, entirely different, matter . . .”

Stanley shifted nervously in his chair, leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, uncrossed it again, and leaned forward in his chair. He cleared his throat, coughed and took a quick sip from his coffee mug.  I waited for the quick flow of words that normally came, but instead there was only awkward silence.

“This is awkward for me to ask, Blanche.”

A rush of nervous energy shot through me. Good grief, what was making this man so nervous? Why were his eyes darting from me to the top of his desk and back to me again? Oh no. He wasn’t going to ask me out, was he? I’d already turned Thomas down the year before. Were newspaper men somehow attracted only to anxious, introverted wallflower types? Not to mention, the man was old enough to be my father and my actual father couldn’t stand him.

“Blanche, how well do you know Marjorie Hakes?”

Relief washed over me. I wouldn’t have to turn down advances from an older man today after all. “Oh. Well, I –“

“I mean, I know you know her son, or you knew him, or .. well, you know what I mean.”

I felt the sudden urge to giggle at the way Stanley was stammering and stumbling over words.

“Yes, I was married to Hank at one time,” I said. “It’s not a secret to anyone in this little town.”

“Right,” Stanley said. “But, I mean, I don’t know what your relationship is with his mother now and if you are close to her or not …”

“Actually, I visit her once or twice a week so she can see her grandson.”

“Oh, yes, right. Of course. That makes sense. Very nice of you.”

Stanley paused and slid a cigar from a box on the corner of his desk. He stuffed it in the corner of his mouth but didn’t light it. Pulling it from his mouth he propped it between his forefinger and middle finger and started to say something then closed his mouth again. He cleared his throat and returned the cigar to the corner of his mouth.

“Stanley?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you asking me about Marjorie?”

“Oh, yes.” He cleared his throat again and I thought about suggesting he take another drink of his coffee to wash down that frog in his throat but the conversation was dragging on long enough as it was.

“I see Marjorie every morning at the diner and I – uh–” he coughed softly and leaned back in his chair, looking briefly at the top of the desk before raising his eyes to mine. “Do you think she would go out with me?”

I bit my lower lip to hold back the laughter. I had never seen Stanley look so anxious and laughter might make it worse. I pondered how to answer his question. I had a feeling Marjorie had put up walls around her heart the same way I had around mine and I wasn’t sure she’d be willing to open herself up again. I didn’t want to discourage Stanley, but I wasn’t sure if I should encourage him either.

I wanted happiness for Hank’s mom, but suddenly I wanted to protect her the way I had been protecting myself. Stanley didn’t seem like the most stable or compassionate person at times. I worried that working as a newspaper editor for so long had jaded him and Marjorie didn’t need a hard-hearted man; she needed someone who could be what Henry Hakes never was. Someone who would treasure her, treat her like a woman should be treated. I wondered how much Stanley knew about her marriage to Hank’s father and the abuse she had suffered. I didn’t feel it was my place to tell him.

“I think there is a possibility she will say yes,” I said finally. “I think there is also a possibility she will say ‘no.’ I know that is not the answer you were probably hoping for but I’m not sure how she feels about opening herself up to new relationships since her husband passed away. She’s . . . been through a lot. It could be hard for her to – well, to trust again.”

Stanley looked at me over folded hands, his elbows propped up on the desk, the cigar between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve heard stories about her marriage,” he said. “I’ve heard stories about your marriage.  Neither of them were easy, from what I understand. So, I’m cognizant of the need to go slow here, if that’s what your getting at.”

Maybe Stanley wasn’t as jaded as I thought. “Yes. That was what I was getting at.”

Stanley combed his fingers back through his hair and straightened his tie. “Thank you, Blanche. That’s all I needed. Think about the feature writer position, okay? I’d like to have you on board.”

I hoped the tenderness I’d heard in Stanley’s voice when he talked about Marjorie was sincere and that I was seeing the real Stanley under his sometimes tough veneer. I hoped he wouldn’t break Marjorie’s heart the way her late husband and son had.

Stanley spoke as I reached for the doorknob. “Hey, before I forget, Thomas is the one who suggested I call you about writing the feature stories. He said you’re a good writer and I agreed. And you know,” he leaned his arm casually on the desktop in front of him and smirked. “I think Thomas may be a little sweet on you.”

Standing with my hand still resting on the doorknob I turned slightly and sighed. Could it be that even Stanley was trying to set me up with a man?

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” I said as I opened the door and stepped into the noisy newsroom.

Lisa R. Howeler is a writer and photographer from the “boondocks” who writes a little bit about a lot of things on her blog Boondock Ramblings. She’s published a fiction novel ‘A Story to Tell’ on Kindle and also provides stock images for bloggers and others at Alamy.com and Lightstock.com.

Fiction Friday: A New Beginning, Chapter 8

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 10 Comments

Well, readers, I’m going to confess that I’m a bit stuck on Blanche’s story after about Chapter 14 so — any suggestions to how you think her story should go? Let me know in the comments. I do have some ideas and some ideas somewhat, (dare I even say it since I’m a writer who writes by the seat of her pants?) plotted out.

If you want to catch the beginning of Blanche’s story, you can read it on Kindle and Kindle Unlimted.  However, you don’t have to read the first part to be able to enjoy A New Beginning.

If you want to read A New Beginning’s chapters that have been posted so far, you can find themhere (or at the top of the page). 

As always, this is the first draft of a story. There will be typos and in the future, there will be changes made, some small, some large and as before I plan to publish the complete story later as an ebook. 

 

The hay bale I was trying to catch slipped through my arms and cut scratches across my skin, even through the thick flannel shirt I was wearing, causing me to immediately regret volunteering to help Daddy, Judson and Jimmy stack hay bales at Mr. Worley’s barn.

“You should catch the bales like this,” Judson said, bending with his knees, his arms out a little further than mine had been. “Instead of what you were doing. You might be able to stack a little faster.”

I didn’t know why but the way he instructed me on how to catch hay bales irritated me and made me want to tell him to shove his opinions where the sun didn’t shine. He was the one lofting the bales too high from the back of the truck.

I hoped Jimmy came back from gathering more hay bales from the field soon so he could help with the stacking and I didn’t have to deal with Judson on my own.

I literally bit my tongue to hold back my comment as another bale fell out of my arms.  I knew we’d never finish the job if Judson didn’t start throwing me the bales from the wagon the right way. When the third bale slammed hard against my chest, my resolve crumbled.

“You’re throwing them too high!” I shouted.

Judson shrugged. “I’m not throwing them too high. You’re just not catching them right. Why don’t I come up there and help you?”

“Why don’t I come up there and help you?” I mumbled to myself in a mocking tone.

“No. I’m fine,” I said, catching the next bale and carrying it to the growing pile of hay bales at the back of the loft.

As I turned around, a hay bale flew at me, almost hitting me in the face.

“What was that?!” I snapped.

Judson winked at me and grinned as I swiped a strand of hair out of my face. “It was you being too slow and not following my advice.”

I propped my hand on my hip and glared down at him, desperate for a retort but afraid what might come out if I opened my mouth. I turned instead and picked up the pieces from the haybale that had crumbled. When the job was finally finished my face, shirt and jeans were damp with sweat and stained with dirt. I sat on a hay bale, breathing hard.

I looked up at the glass of iced tea Judson was handing to me.

“You’re a hard worker,” he said.

I still felt annoyed at him over his comments, so I simply nodded, standing and wiping the dirt off my face as I took the glass. Like I cared if he thought I was a hard worker.

“You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”

I shrugged. “No. It’s fine.”

His laughter made me even more annoyed. Blast him.

“You are! Hey, I was just trying to help. Besides, you finally got the hang of it after you started catching them the way I told you to.”

I glanced at him standing at the edge of the loft, muscular arms folded across his broad chest, grinning, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. I clenched my jaw and hoped the warmth I felt in my face wasn’t showing as flushed crimson on my cheeks.

I couldn’t figure out why his grin was infuriating me so much, but I had a feeling it was because I didn’t like the idea that he thought he could tell me what to do and how to do it. When I’d left Hank I’d been determined that no one, especially a man, would ever tell me what to do again. But it was ridiculous. Judson wasn’t like Hank. He wasn’t trying to control me. He’d only been trying to help. Was I ever going to get past the feelings Hank had left in me?

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat.

“Yes, well, thank you. We got the job done and that’s all that matters.”

Judson leaned back against a pile of bales, pushing his legs out in front of him and looked at me as he drank from his own glass of tea. “I’m not sure what to make of you, Blanche, but I’m beginning to think I’m not your favorite person.”

I glanced up at him in surprise. “I’m – what?”

“You avoid eye contact with me. You duck into stores when I walk toward you on the street. I’ve noticed you’ve been laying your Bible at the end of your pew during church, as if you’re holding a spot for someone else, but no one else ever comes and when I talk to you I sense every word I say irritates you.”

Several strands of hair fell out of the ponytail I’d pulled my hair into earlier in the day.  I yanked the hair tie out and let my hair fall around my shoulders as I prepared to put it back up again. I drew the strands all into one hand, the hair tie in the other. I knew I was buying time to try to think of how to answer Judson. I couldn’t believe he’d noticed all the times I’d tried to avoid him and felt guilty that he thought it was because I didn’t like him.

“You should keep your hair down.”

I paused with my hands on my hair and looked up to see Judson watching me intently, his expression serious.

“You look beautiful with your hair down,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows propped on his knees as he watched me.

I knew my face was red with embarrassment now. “Thank you,” I mumbled but still pulled the hair back and slid the hair tie around it tightly.

He cleared his throat and stood. “Well, it’s late and I’d better get home and get some dinner in me before I head to bed. I’ve got an early day on the construction site tomorrow.”

“Judson – it isn’t that – I mean, it’s not that I don’t –“

I had no idea how to explain why I’d been trying to keep him at a distance.

He walked toward me, stopping in front of me and smiled.

“It’s okay, Blanche. You don’t have to explain.” He pushed a strand of hair off my forehead and hooked it behind my ear. “Maybe one day you’ll decide I’m not so bad to have around.”

He winked and walked past me, climbing down the ladder of the hayloft. I closed my eyes and held the cold tea glass against my throat.

I thought about a quote I’d read one time by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German theologian who was killed during World War II.

“We must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God. God will be constantly crossing our paths and canceling our plans by sending us people with claims and petitions.”

To be interrupted by God was one thing but sometimes it was hard to know if it was God interrupting or someone else was. And, to be honest, I wasn’t ready for any interruptions in my life that would threaten the life I’d built for me and Jackson. I hated that I saw a friendship with Judson as a threat to our current contentment. Maybe it was because I was worried Judson wanted more than a friendship.

***

The first time I’d walked into Stanley Jasper’s office my legs were weak. I felt like I needed to sit down but I didn’t want to sit down until I’d been asked, so I stood there, clutching a folder with two column samples and trying not to sweat.

Stanley sat, typing furiously on his typewriter without looking up, a cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth, a cup of coffee next to him and the surface of his desk cluttered with newspapers and sheets of typing paper. Some pages were crumpled up and tossed to the side, obviously tossed there out of frustration. The editor was unshaven, his hair sticking up in front as if he’d clutched his hair in anger one too many times, his clothes wrinkled and his shirt haphazardly tucked in.

The click of the typewriter keys filled the room, blending in with the more muffled sounds of the rest of the newsroom outside the closed door. I wondered how long it would take him to look up from the typewriter but wasn’t sure I should interrupt his train of thought in case he was writing up a big story for the next day’s paper.

“Blanche!” he declared suddenly, causing me to jump back slightly. He stood and thrust a hand at me over the desk.

I reached out and took his hand and he jerked my arm up and down in a quick movement before releasing it.

He gestured to a brown, leather chair with a ripped seat across from his desk while simultaneously ripping a page from his typewriter and tossing it on top of a pile of other pieces of paper. “Please, sit.”

“I liked your columns,” he said as he sat. “What made you send them in?”

“Well, I – I – like to write and my sister – I mean, well I –“

Stanley pulled the cigar from his mouth and starred at me for a moment, a wry smile curling his mouth. “Huh, I can see you’re more articulate in writing.”

I laughed softly and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’m a little nervous –

Stanley spoke in a rhythm similar to his typing. “No reason to be nervous. I liked your columns. Down home stuff. We need more of that light stuff in our paper. I’d like to run a column by you once a week. No pay, just my heartfelt appreciation. What do you think?”

He had stopped talking so abruptly I hadn’t been ready to answer. “Oh. Well, I, yes, that would be fine.”

“Great. We’ll use these first two you sent in and then you can start submitting one each Tuesday so we can typeset it and have it ready for Thursday. Sound good?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “What’s that in your hand? More columns?”

I nodded and handed them across to him. He snatched the folder flipped it open, scanned the pages and nodded. “Great! I’ll read these over and let you know what I think.”

“Thank you,” I managed to choke out, trying to keep up with the pace of the conversation.

“So,” Stanley leaned back slightly in his chair, propping the cigar in one hand as he looked back at me. “Local girl, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir. It makes me feel old. Stanley’s fine.”

“No problem . . . Stanley.”

“Did you go to school for writing?”

“Well, no, I didn’t – I just write for myself, I guess, you’d say.”

“It’s paid off. You’re a good writer.” He stood and walked around the desk and flung his office door open, letting in the sounds of the newsroom. “Let me show you around and introduce you to the staff, or the staff that’s here anyhow. A lot of them work at night after they cover council meetings.”

“You’ve met Minnie. She’ll be the one typesetting your columns each week.”

Minnie nodded, dark curls bouncing, even darker eyelashes fluttering. “Nice to meet you, Blanche. Looking forward to reading your columns.

Stanley kept walking, stopping briefly at the next desk.

“This is Danny Post. He’s our sports editor, writer and photographer, all rolled up in one nerdy package.”

The balding man with glasses smiled as he stood and shook my hand. Standing at about my height, I guessed his age to be around 50 and him to be someone who wrote about sports because he most likely had never played any.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in a voice softer than I imagined a sports editor having.

I managed brief greetings to each person as Stanley clipped through the introductions like a drill sergeant, pausing at each desk only long enough to rattle off a name and a title and an occasional good-natured jab.

“This is Thomas Fairchild our cub reporter,” Stanley said standing in front of the last desk in the newsroom.  “We call him a cub because he’s young and new and one time we caught him eating out of the dumpster outback because he makes so little money here he was looking for dinner. Thomas, this is Blanche. Try not to corrupt her when she comes in to drop off her columns okay?”

Thomas grinned as he looked up from his computer, green eyes sparkling beneath strands of dirty blond hair laying across his forehead. “I’ll try but I can’t promise,” he said, his eyes drifting from my face to glance down to the top of my blouse.

He winked and tilted his head to move his bangs out of his face. I immediately felt uneasy and hoped the introductions were over for now. Luckily, they were and I thanked Stanley for his time and walked quickly through the newsroom and down the street toward the dress shop.

The next time I saw Thomas it was two weeks later when I dropped off my column. The newsroom was quiet with much of the staff missing. I assumed it was either a lunch break or they were in a staff meeting. Thomas was sitting at the front desk, sipping from a cup of coffee, the phone receiver tucked between his shoulder and the side of his face.

“Yep. Yep. Yep. I think that sounds like a great story, Mr. Tanner. Of course the Simpson’s cows breaking loose and taking a swim in the church pond is worthy of a story. Yep. I’ll head out now and see you shortly.”

I handed him my column and gave him my best sympathetic look. “Good luck with that one.”

“Want to go with me? I could use someone to grab some photos of the wading cows while I chat with the pastor and the farmer. The staff photographer’s out to lunch.”

“Nah. I don’t think so. I’ve got to head back to the shop to help Doris.”

He shrugged. “Well, suit yourself, but I’m telling you, this is going to be some hard-hitting news.”

“And that’s why I’m glad I’m only a volunteer columnist,” I said.

Thomas grabbed his coat and slid it on, then reached for a camera on the desk behind him.

“You should be a writer you know,” he said. “I mean writing more than just columns. We could use a good writer like you to write some feature stories for us. I have a feeling you’d shine more as a writer for us than you ever would in a dress shop.”

“Well, thank you but I don’t think so.”

“You should think about it,” he said, walking around the desk as I walked toward the front door. “And then you should think about going out with me.”

I snorted a laugh as we walked out in the sunlight together. “Excuse me?”

I looked over my shoulder and saw him grinning broadly.

“What? Don’t you ever get asked out?”

“Not really. No.”

“Well, that’s a shame. Those guys are missing out.”

He winked at me, sliding a pair of sunglasses out of his jacket pocket. “So? Are you going to go out with me, or what?”

He slid the glasses on, still grinning.

My throat felt tight as I realized he was serious. The sun hit the blond highlights of his hair and I couldn’t deny he was attractive. Still, there was too much of Hank’s charming personality and boldness in him for my liking.

“Thank you, Thomas, but I’m not really – I mean, I don’t — ”

I suddenly realized I had no idea how to turn down a request for a date since I’d only ever been asked once and that had, obviously, ended badly.

“I’m not dating anyone right now,” I blurted. “It’s complicated, but I really do appreciate the invite.”

He was still smirking. “That was the nicest rejection anyone has ever given me.” He tossed his head back to move his bangs off his forehead again. “I’ll be sure to try again and see if every rejection is as nice as this one.”

I laughed at his determination. “Have fun with the cows, Thomas.”

His invitation had been a surprise to me, to someone who thought Hank’s pursuing me had been a fluke, but it had also been unwelcome to a young girl uninterested in frivolous romantic pursuits.

Lisa R. Howeler is a writer and photographer from the “boondocks” who writes a little bit about a lot of things on her blog Boondock Ramblings. She’s published a fiction novel ‘A Story to Tell’ on Kindle and also provides stock images for bloggers and others at Alamy.com and Lightstock.com.

Fiction Friday: A New Beginning Chapter 6 & 7

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 1 Comment

If you want to catch the beginning of Blanche’s story, you can read it on Kindle and Kindle Unlimted.  However, you don’t have to read the first part to be able to enjoy A New Beginning.

If you want to read A New Beginning’s chapters that have been posted so far, you can find themhere (or at the top of the page). 

As always, this is the first draft of a story. There will be typos and in the future, there will be changes made, some small, some large and as before I plan to publish the complete story later as an ebook. Also, sorry about the lack of indentations at the beginning of paragraphs. I can’t seem to figure out how to make that happen in WordPress.

As the nights get colder and we snuggle under covers, warm cups of tea and a book in our hands, let us embrace how life slows down to give us time to experience life around us in a simpler way. Don’t look at winter as just a time for dreary weather, cold winds, or snow to shovel this year. Instead, see it as what it can be – a time to pause, reflect and reconnect with those in your family as you wait for the warmth to come again.

I finished the last paragraph of my column, pulled the page from the typewriter and slid it into the envelope so I could drop it off at the newspaper office the next day. I pulled my sweater close around me as I stood and looked out my bedroom window at the leaves falling from the maple tree in our backyard. The colors weren’t as brilliant this autumn as they had been in previous years but mixed among the dark oranges and browns were a few bright yellow and red bursts of foliage across the hills that surrounded our small valley.

Jackson had been in school a little over a month now and while he had cried the first day I took him, he seemed to love it now. I missed him terribly during the day and I anxiously watched the clock, walking to the school every day to meet him outside. My heart melted at how his face lit up when he saw me, leaving behind the friends he’d been talking to so he could run to me and throw his arms around me. I walked with him back to the shop each day and we waited there for Daddy to finish at the office, pick us up and take us home.

I was happy to see him growing but struggling with it at the same time. He was growing so fast. His childhood seemed to be rushing by and I wanted to stop time and just enjoy it all a little more. I’d never thought I’d be a mother and now I could barely remember life before Jackson.

“Hey, Mama.”

I turned to see Jackson looking up at me, one of his toy trucks clutched in his hands.

“Hey, squirt. What are you doing?”

“I’m pretending I’m a truck driver and I’m gonna dig a hole in the backyard.”

“That sounds fun.”

I sat on the edge of my bed and lifted him into my lap, pressing my face into his soft brown hair.

“How are you liking school?”

Jackson scrunched up his nose, spinning the wheels on his truck. “It’s okay, I guess. ‘cept for all that writing and numbers. That stuff’s borin’. But I like when we get to do that recess thing. And lunch is good, unless we have meatloaf. They don’t know how to make it like Grandma.”

I knew recess was his favorite part of the day by how hard I’d had to scrub his pants clean lately.

“Mama, how come I don’t have no brother or sister?”

The way children could change a topic so abruptly amazed me. I knew questions like this one would come one day and while I dreaded them, I knew being honest was important. Still, I wondered how honest I should be with a 6-year old.

“Well, honey, because right now Mommy and you live with Grandpa and Grandma and there really isn’t room for a brother or sister.”

I felt confident that while my answer didn’t address the lack of a husband to help provide a sibling, it still wasn’t a lie.

“Oh.” Jackson furrowed his little eyebrows and scrunched his nose again. “Well, if we move away, can I have a brother or sister?”

“Do you really want to move away from Grandpa and Grandma?”

“No. I like living here, but I want a brother too.”

“What if you had a sister one day instead?”

“No. That won’t happen. I’d have a brother.”

“Are you sure about that? You know you don’t get to choose, right?”

“What would I do with a sister? I don’t wanna play with no dolls or dresses.”

“Honey, some girls like to climb trees and play with trucks too, you know. I always did.”

Jackson scrunched up his face like he was deep in thought.

“Well, then, maybe I can have a sister, I guess.”

I kissed his cheek and hugged him close. “For right now, you don’t need to worry about that, though. Why don’t you and I bake some cookies after dinner?”

“Chocolate chip?”

“What other kind is there?”

“Cool.”

I watched as he slid from my lap and ran from the room, his toy tightly clutched in his hand. There were some days I liked that it was just Jackson and me, but other days I found myself aching for a father for Jackson and a man to love me. I didn’t like, however, that my family, and apparently even Emmy, thought any gaps in my life could be filled with a man.  I knew for a fact that a man wasn’t the answer to all the problems in a woman’s life and, if anything, a man seemed to complicate it more.

Hank had certainly complicated my life, first with his attention and then with how he’d treated me not long after we were married. The arrival of Judson was threatening to complicate things too, but I was determined not to let it – at least not in a romantic way. I had a feeling even a friendship with him would throw a wrench in the regularly scheduled program that was my current life.

***

“What made you leave with Hank that day, Blanche?”

Six months after I’d returned home with Jackson and Edith had apparently decided it was time I share my thoughts behind leaving my family. I focused on the apples I was peeling for the apple pie and tried to decide how to answer without sounding like a silly schoolgirl. But there wasn’t any way I wouldn’t sound silly or trite. I had been a schoolgirl and I had been silly. My thoughts were immature; my idea of what life should be skewed by romance novels and Ava Gardner movies.

“I thought I loved him,” I said finally, still not making eye contact with Edith. “I was very stupid and naïve. I know that now.”

“I didn’t ask you to make you feel bad, Blanche. I just really wanted to know. I never really asked you. I guess I figured it was none of my business, even though I was dying to know since I never expected you to do that.”

I laid the knife down and gnawed gently at my nails, a habit I’d picked up on the days I wasn’t sure which Hank was coming home from work.

“I think,” I started, with a shrug. “That’s partly why I did it. No one expected me to. Everyone seemed to always know what I was going to do, what I was supposed to do, who I was supposed to be. Mama and Daddy seemed to have my life planned out for me. Everyone saw me as boring and predictable and you – well, you weren’t. In the back of my mind I guess I wanted to prove everyone wrong. I wanted to write my own story and I wanted Hank to be in it. I did love him, or the version of him I imagined in my mind. I didn’t know . . .” I starred out the window at a car driving by the house. “Well, who he really was underneath the charm and handsome façade.”

Edith picked an apple from the bowl and started peeling it. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. It was never my intention. Honestly, I had no idea.”

I laughed softly. “Edith, I’m not blaming you. It was how I felt at the time. Feelings are not always facts, as we know.”

“True,” Edith said. “And what we think are facts are sometimes simply facades – like the idea I was always spontaneous or fun, or whatever you thought I was. You must know by now that I was simply a lost girl who never accepted my parents’ or God’s love as being enough. I thought I had to have a bunch of boys love me too.”

She shook her head as she tossed the slices into the pie crust. “I was so foolish back then. I guess you and I were foolish together. Thankfully God protected us from doing any worse harm to ourselves or anyone else and brought us back to our senses.”

“I only wish it hadn’t taken me so long to come back to mine,” I said, feeling tears in my eyes. “And I wish it hadn’t taken Hank beating me to wake me up. I did bring harm to at least one person – Jackson.”

Edith reached across the table and cupped her hand against my cheek.

“What’s done is done and it’s time to move forward. For both of us.”

Over the years, I did my best to move forward, as Edith had said, rebuild the relationships I’d damaged when I left but I was still stuck, especially when it came to building new relationships. I wasn’t only disinterested in navigating the world of romance; I wasn’t even interested in meeting new people. My experience with Hank had left me with a healthy dose of mistrust, not only in others, but also in myself. When I was younger, I had trusted myself to make the right decisions, to know by how a situation felt whether it was right or not. Leaving with Hank had felt right at the inexperienced age of 17 had moved forward with a confidence I no longer possessed.

Edith poured hot water over my tea bag and set the milk and sugar next to me. “Part of that moving forward means reaching for those dreams you had for your future before you left. So, what did you imagine you’d do with your life one day, before you met Hank Hakes?”

I stirred milk into my tea and shook my head. “Those were just childish thoughts, Edith. Like a lot of the thoughts I had back then.”

“You wanted to be a writer. I remember that. Why don’t you start writing? Even if it’s just for yourself. You still keep a journal right? Oh! Why don’t you submit a column to the local paper? You could write about small-town life, the weather, whatever. People around here really love those types of columns and our paper needs that. Take a sample column over to the editor and see what happens.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Why not? What do you have to lose?”

I laughed. “Certainly not my pride. I lost that a long time ago.”

“Oh, stop it, Blanche. Just go for it. You never know what will happen and there is no use living in the past. We’re moving forward, remember? This is just one more step you can take to do that.”

Check out the latest chapters for this story every Friday here on the blog and also follow me on Wattpad.