Is it just me or is the joy being sucked out of everything anymore? I mean everything.
I used to enjoy photography groups online but then suddenly, if you weren’t photographing this or that you were wrong. Now it’s if you dare to photograph a black person and you are white, you are wrong. I kid you not. That was the directive in a group I was in and left because good grief! Can we stop trying to control everyone else and take the joy out of everything.
I don’t share my photography online anymore and I’ve abandoned Instagram because I’ve watched too many photographers bullied for how or what they create.
Someone is always offended.
Someone is always pointing out what they think someone else is doing wrong.
Someone always wants to prove they are superior to someone else because they think one way or another.
It’s even spilled into the churches.
I’m quite fed up and am tired of being told how to create, how to eat, how to talk, and I am certainly over being told how to think.
People, seriously, stop sucking the joy out of everything. Please.
Stop overthinking.
Stop overthinking for other people at least.
Photograph what you want.
Sketch what you want.
Create what you want.
Write what you want.
Believe you want.
And, please, don’t tell others how to do any of those things.
Focus on your own life and move the bloody heck on.
Since moving to our new house we’ve watched various plants around the property bloom and it has been fun waiting to see what shows up. Last week, I mentioned being excited because peonies were blooming next to our house. I was excited because we had peonies outside our house when I was growing up and I haven’t really seen them since. Last week I counted four of the bushes, two on the side of the house, one on each front corner, but then I discovered there is a fifth near the neighbor’s property and Friday I discovered a sixth on the other side of our garage.
My mom told me that the blooms usually open by my brother’s birthday so I waited and the first blooms did indeed open on my brother’s birthday. He came to the house for a visit that day (he lives 90 minutes away) and had to leave before we went to see if the blooms had opened (he had work the next day) but later I checked and there they were – opened, or at least part of them.
Now we are waiting for the purple/pink ones to open fully.
The white ones were slightly damaged during heavy rains one night. Either that or the resident bear laid in the middle of them. I did mention our neighbor saw the resident bear in the backyard two weeks ago right? If I didn’t, then I’m telling all of my readers now. The bear is real and he/she was about 50 yards from our house at 5 a.m. one morning.
We missed him/her but have seen a lot of other wildlife, including rabbits, blue herons and our neighbor let us know her daughter saw a rattlesnake. My husband says if he sees the snake it will be dead within seconds. He’s not a fan of snakes. At all.
Anyhow, I digress; back to the blooming flowers. After discovering the peonies I also woke up one morning to find pink roses blooming outside behind our garage, near the lilac bush (which barely bloomed this year). I knew my daughter, who loves flowers, would be excited so we walked up the hill to see them together. We then discovered another rose bush next to the peonies bush near the neighbor’s fence.
There are also these purple/blue flowers, but I have no idea what they are. I really am ignorant about plants and flowers.
I’ve stayed away from social media, for the most part, but did jump on quick this past week. That was a huge mistake. The atmosphere there was even more toxic than it was about a week or so ago when I decided to step away. Everyone is angry, offended, and calling each other racists if they ask a question. Quite frankly, I don’t have the energy for it all so I’m back off social media. I can’t live my life offended 24/7 like the rest of the world. It’s just not healthy.
It seems like a lot of the pastors are out there trying to tell people they need to feel offended 24/7 too so I’m not even listening to well-known pastors right now. Honestly, I need to get back into the Bible and stop listening to pastors anyhow. They seem to be led by the world lately and when I listen to them I feel further away from God and my faith than ever.
What I’m Reading
I am finishing up two books, A Light in the Window by Jan Karon and The Knife Slipped by Earl Stanley Gardner and I am also hoping to dive into a couple of cozy mysteries this week, including By Book or By Crook (A Lighthouse Mystery No. 1) by Eva Gates. I’ve peaked into this book and after reading the first page, I’m not sure this is going to be my type of book, but I’m going to try anyhow because I may be totally wrong!
What I’m Watching
Sweet Magnolias
I binged watched the first season of Sweet Magnolias on Netflix this week (we have a trial month of Netflix because I’m not a big fan of them, for various reasons) and I have a lot of opinions on it, but will try to keep my “review” short.
First of all, for the writers of the show: thanks for the parenting lessons on how NOT to be a parent. None of these parents actually talk to their children or ask them what’s really wrong. They just assume and then act on what they assume and then the kids get upset and the parents get upset because the kids get upset. It’s a really strange cycle to watch and I suppose it is slightly realistic but a little overblown.
Then there is the little girl the husband hooked up with and got pregnant and the fact she’s an idiot and doesn’t understand she is only a few years older than her new boyfriend’s oldest child so she shouldn’t be acting like she’s going to be the new mom of these children.
Then there is the whole “lifetime friends” baloney. Three women who always remained friends. What is that even like? You know it’s fiction when there is a story line like that — with friends who actually talk to each other after high school.
They meet once a week or so for margaritas and seem pretty wound up in their own lives and not their kids’, but the show is primarily about them so they can’t pause it every five seconds for a heart-to-heart with the kids.
The show is supposed to take place in a tiny town named Serenity in South Carolina. The one problem is that only half the members of the town have Southern accents and the actors who do try the accents (especially Chris Kline who plays Bill) are pretty bad at it. They are some of the oddest southern accents I’ve ever heard.
I did binge-watch the show in two days but that’s partially because I fast forwarded a good portion of the last three or four episodes because the drama had gotten to be a bit too much and I really wanted to run over Bill. If you watch the show you will realize very quickly why I want to run over Bill and then back over him again. Then later I wanted to run over Maddie, but again, you’ll have to watch the show to figure out why.
I talked to the screen a lot with this one. I said things like “Hey, maybe you should have been paying attention to your kids and that wouldn’t have happened.” Then I looked up and my 5-year old was missing. Luckily she’d just gone to get a piece of bread and was still in the house, but still . . . I learned to be less judgmental of these fictional parents in that moment.
Virgin River
After fast forwarding through part of the last episodes of Sweet Magnolias, I started Virgin River, which is a fairly feel-good show that has a very similar storyline to Hart of Dixie, (which I watched a couple of episodes of this week as well.) in that a woman comes to a small town to work with a much older doctor. Oddly, the actor (Tim Matheson) playing the doctor in Virgin River also played the doctor on Hart of Dixie. Typecast much?
The difference is that in Hart of Dixie, the woman is a doctor who needs to earn more experience before she can become a heart surgeon and in Virgin River the woman is a nurse practitioner who is looking to escape her past. On Virgin River we learn about the main character’s (Mel’s) past through flashbacks throughout each show. Trigger warning: so far the show does deal with the topic of infant loss. By the way, Virgin River is the name of the town.
I much prefer Virgin River and it’s acting and story line to Hart of Dixie and Sweet Magnolias (so far anyhow). I’d have to say my favorite character in Virgin River is the mayor, Helen. She’s a pistol and I used to know a small town mayor just like her. The mayor I knew dragged an oxygen tank behind her while also smoking a cigarette, just to give a sneak peek into her personality.
What I’m Listening To
I haven’t been listening to a lot and that may be why I’ve felt off some days. I have still been listening to some of the Dead South and this week I listened to Unchained Melody by Marc Martel because his voice soothes me. I haven’t been listening to some of the worship music I used to listen to because it just seems like a big money-making machine at times since every big church sings the same songs over and over again. When I do listen to it, I listen to Michael W. Smith’s Awaken album.
I enjoy Unchained Melody by Marc Martel because the beauty of his voice makes the world seem less ugly.
What I’m Writing
I’m still in the middle of The Farmer’s Daughter and I’m also plugging away on my novella Fully Alive. I haven’t had much time to finish the short story I started — Rekindle —- which is the sequel to Quarantined.
I worked on this book this week, finally feeling creative after shutting off the news and social media. I probably wrote 1,000 words Tuesday night, saved and shut off my computer, only to discover that the computer, which saves to Microsoft OneDrive, had not saved any and I mean ANY of my changes that I had worked on for hours that evening.
I had been saving for hours and all of it was gone when I opened it up right before bed to add something. I normally email a copy to myself but it didn’t matter because none of the changes had saved so the emailed copy didn’t have any of the changes or additions either. I have no idea why it happened but now I am working on rewriting entire chapters, fixing errors and rewriting rewrites.
Some days I just want to give up on this silly writing thing but then I remember that no one really reads my stories or books anyhow so this whole writing thing is really just a hobby and I should not be upset by a hobby. Ha! A hobby is for fun so I had fun going back and rewriting all that I had lost and I will be rewriting much of it again in the future when it is all complete.
Anyhow, to catch up with the story, you can click HERE or at the top of the page. This is a work in progress and as always there could be errors, typos, plot holes, etc. that I will hopefully fix in the final draft. My other works of fiction are linked to at the top of the page as well and both of my books are currently on Kindle Unlimited: A Story to Tell and A New Beginning.
The serene scene of cows grazing in a field bright with golden sunlight was in stark contrast to the direct view Molly had of a grieving Alice Stanton. Alice’s hands were pressed to her face, the tears she’d fought to hold back for much of the day spilling down her cheeks and through her fingers.
Alice, a small woman with long dark brown hair streaked with graying highlights that fell to the middle of her back, was known by many in town as usually being upbeat and optimistic in situations others found too overwhelming. Today, though, Alice was the one overwhelmed.
Her cheeks were splotched red from crying and her usual upbeat demeanor had crumbled under the pressure of her family’s financial strain. Her body trembled with each sob and it was all making Molly feel awkward, unsure how to respond to Alice’s tears. But then Molly did what she’d want someone to do for her if she was in the same situation: she pulled Alice into a hug and let Alice cry on her shoulder while stroking Alice’s hair.
The Stanton’s farm had fallen on hard times three years ago and instead of trying to survive another year they had given up, like so many other farmers, filing for bankruptcy and choosing to sell off their animals, equipment and land.
“Oh, Molly,” Alice said as she lifted her face and tried to dry her eyes with an already soaked, crumpled tissue. “I can’t believe this is really happening to us.”
Molly looked across the Stanton’s field at the tractors and farm equipment lined up in rows, people walking around the items, looking at them thoughtfully, studying them, discussing their worth. Behind the farm equipment were rolling hills, fields filled with cows that were also being bid on, and beyond those fields, other farms dotting the landscape, some of those farms on the verge of bankruptcy as well.
“That’s our life for the last 30 years,” Alice said in disbelief, looking out at the large crowd and the auctioneer setting up his booth. She gestured at the scene with one quick movement of her hand that she returned to the cross necklace, clutching it tightly. “There it all is – set up for strangers and neighbors to pick through and pick apart. It’s so surreal.”
Fresh tears spilled down Alice’s face and Molly felt the sting of tears in her own eyes.
“What will you and Jim do?”
Alice shook her head. “I don’t know for sure yet. I picked up a job at the bank and Jim has an interview at the meat packing plant next week. Isn’t that ironic? He couldn’t afford to produce milk and meat himself so now he’ll have to work packing some factory farm’s meat.”
The auctioneer started the bidding on the Stanton’s hay baler, rattling off its attributes and suggested prices in a quick paced tone, almost too fast for Molly to keep up with. The men standing in front of the auctioneer trailer were a mix of mostly men, some well-dressed while others had obviously driven straight from the barn to the auction.
The well-dressed were usually from the corporate farms, having driven two or more hours. Molly looked at them like vultures come to feed on dying carcasses of the small family farms. She knew she shouldn’t think that way. They had their place in the world too, but Molly agreed with her dad and other small farmers who worried about the loss of quality and safety in corporate farming. Then there was the questionable care of the animals and the reduced profits for small farming operations when the bigger farms moved in. Molly didn’t know how it all worked really, but small farms were all she’d ever known and she felt a fierce loyalty to them.
Molly knew from past auctions that many of the farmers from the family farms didn’t want to bid, not because they couldn’t use the equipment, but because they didn’t want to see their neighbors go out of business. And in some cases, the bidding farmers wondered if they might be next and if they should waste money on equipment they’d soon be selling themselves.
“This was a four-generation farm,” Alice said softly, watching the auctioneer. “Jim’s grandfather took it over from his father, who died very young from tuberculosis. This was all Jim ever wanted to do, from the time he learned to walk, pretty much. If this is this hard on me I can’t imagine how devastated he has to feel about all of this. He won’t even talk to me about it. He’s so matter-of-fact about the bills and how we are too far in debt.”
Alice found another tissue in her jeans pocket and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“I just wish he would talk to me about how he is feeling,” she said, blowing her nose. “I worry about what holding it all in is doing to his health.”
Molly’s chest constricted. She understood Alice’s worry for Jim. Molly had the same worries about her father who rarely spoke about how situations his family had faced or were facing him made him feel.
Alice lowered her voice and leaned closer to Molly. “Did you hear about Larry Jenson?”
Molly shook her head.
“He couldn’t take the pressure,” Alice whispered tearfully. “He felt like he’d let his family down when the farm failed last year. His wife found him two nights ago in the barn, a bottle of pills in his hand, an empty glass that smelled like whiskey next to his body. The coroner told his wife he’ll most likely rule it a suicide but he’s waiting for the toxicology report.”
Molly gasped. “Oh my gosh! His wife and family must be devastated.”
Alice nodded. “She is and I think that’s one thing I’m worried about with Jim. If he won’t talk to me about how all this making him feel, maybe he won’t talk to me if he’s thinking of . . .” Alice shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. “I can’t even bare to think about it.”
Molly laid a hand on her shoulder. “You won’t have to,” she said, hoping she was right. “Just keep an eye on Jim and be there for him. When he’s ready to talk he will. I’m sure he’s just keeping quiet now to make sure he can get what needs to be done done.”
Alice turned her head, wiping the tears from her face. “I’m going to go make sure they have enough hot dogs and snacks for the bidders. If I cry anymore my eyeballs will fall right out.”
Molly watched Alice walk back toward the barn and bit her lower lip, wondering when the day would come when her family auctioned their life away. She turned and watched her dad walking with other farmers, studying equipment, contemplating about quality and price. Jason and Alex stood at the back of the crowd talking to a small group of younger farmers and Molly recognized one of them as Jason’s former classmate Jeremy McCarty. The McCarty’s had been farming their land with a head of 250 dairy cows for three generations, but Jason had said the family was considering selling out and moving to Kansas within the year.
“This is a fine harvester,” the auctioneer said. “Three years old. Great paint job still. Well taken care of. Let’s start the bidding at nineteen. Nineteen thousand. Nineteencanigetnineteen? Nineteennineteennineteen – Nineteen in the back. Can I get twenty-twenty-twenty? Twentytwentytwenty – twenty-one. Twenty two thousand-twenty-twothoussandtwentythreecanigettwentythreeandtwentytwentytwenty -three! Twenty-three!”
The bidding went on like that for the rest of the afternoon while Molly served buyers hot dogs and soda and agreed with other farmers that the day was one of sadness; the end of an era. This was the first auction Molly had been to, but she knew there had been others in recent months and she knew there would be more. The faces of many of the farmers who walked by were etched in worry, eyelids drooping from late nights of crunching numbers.
“Sold off half the herd last month,” one farmer said to another, standing in the doorway of the barn where a makeshift concession stand had been set up. “If we can save some money this year, I’m hoping to bring some more cows back.”
“I saw the most recent reports from the dairy bureau,” the other farmer said. “The numbers don’t look encouraging.”
Both farmers shook their heads.
“This is all I’ve ever done,” the first farmer said. “It was all my dad and his dad ever did. I can’t imagine what I’ll do with myself if I have to finally pack it in.”
His friend laughed, clapped him on the back.
“How about finally retire and take Eloise on that cruise she’s always wanted?”
“I get sea sick, but even if I did go, what will I do with myself after we get back?”
The farmers stood, hands shoved in their overall pockets, silent for a few moments, and looked out over the field full of farm equipment, buyers and curious onlookers weaving around each other.
“Welp, best get back to the barn and milk what’s left of my cows.”
“Yep,” the other farmer nodded, still looking out at the auction. “Need to get back and make sure mine are all in the barn for the night.”
The two men parted ways, heads both down, deep in thought as Molly watched them. She sat on the stool behind the table and felt a strange heaviness in her chest. The idea that these men, so much like her father, could no longer live the lives they had hoped to broke her heart and made her world feel upside down.
She sat down on the stool behind the table, opened a bottle of water and watched the trucks pull in and out of the Stanton’s side yard where a makeshift parking lot had been set up.
She had been considering walking away from farming, seeing what the world was like beyond her parent’s corn fields, but at the same time she dreaded the possibility that in the near future she wouldn’t even have a choice if she wanted to be involved in farming or not.
“Whatchya thinking about?”
Molly startled at the sound of the voice to the right of her. She looked over to see Alex grinning, his black cowboy hat tipped low on his head, a black sleeveless shirt revealing his tanned muscular biceps. She wasn’t sure when he started wearing that hat, but every time she saw him in it, it flipped her stomach upside down.
Alex had come to their farm a city slicker, but he should have been born a country boy as fast as he had adapted to life on the farm.
She shrugged as an answer to his question, then thought for a moment about how to answer.
“Alice was just telling me about Larry Jenson, this local farmer . . .”
Alex cracked open a Pepsi and sat on a stool next to her.
“The one who offed himself? Yeah. Jason was telling me about that.”
Molly’s eyebrows darted up, and Alex knew he’d said something wrong.
“Offed himself? Really? That wasn’t very sensitive, Alex.”
“Oh. Sorry. I mean —”
Molly sighed. “It’s okay. You can’t help being insensitive. You’re a man.”
“Ouch.”
“Anyhow, it’s just — I mean, Mr. Jenson had to be really down to do that, you know? What if —”
“Molly, your dad would never do that, if that’s what you’re thinking, and neither would Walt. You know that.”
“I don’t know. Do I? If things got bad enough and —”
Alex shook his head. “Not going to happen. No more thinking that way, okay? Your family has a good thing going. They’ve got the farm store, the rain has finally let up, there should be a good crop this year. Everything is going to be okay.”
He looked over at her, reached out and laid his hand against her shoulder. “No more worrying, okay?”
His hand on her skin flustered her for a moment, but she managed to nod as she looked at him.
“Okay. I’ll try.”
She pulled her eyes from his, her heart pounding.
She watched the farmers walking by the open barn door, cars pulling in and out of the field that was serving as a makeshift parking lot.
Alex watched too.
After a few moments of silence, he looked at her again.
“So, if you’re done worrying, I’m heading back to see how much equipment your dad is going to make me haul out of here when he’s done bidding.”
Alex’s grin as he stood to leave not only lifted her heavy mood, it made her feel almost giddy. She leaned forward on the stool, propped her elbow on the table, her chin on her hand and welcomed the distraction of watching him walk away. Now one wore a pair of jeans as well as Alex Stone.
Alex tried to push Molly’s worries from his mind as he walked toward Robert and Jason. He whole heartedly believed that Robert Tanner would never leave his family, in any way, no matter how tough it got, at least not on purpose. Still, Molly’s concerns were contagious.
He had been noticing how tired Robert had been looking lately, but he wasn’t about to mention it to Molly or Jason. Alex had tried to step up more, offering to take on jobs Robert would normally do, hoping it would encourage Robert to slow down. Instead, Robert had replaced the jobs with different jobs, never slowing down, always on full-speed. Alex had acted confident with Molly, but inside he worried like she did that all the pressure of running a large farming business would finally break the man he’d come to think of as a father figure.
***
“So, when were you going to tell me about the financial trouble the business is in?”
Robert’s back was to his sister but he didn’t have to see her to know that Hannah was standing with her arms folded across her chest, her leg cocked to one side, and a tight scowl pursing her mouth into an angry frown. He inwardly groaned and titled his eyes toward the heavens, silently praying for an interruption.
He and Bert, her husband, had talked last night about telling her about the issue with the loan so he knew this moment was coming. Bert had even called an hour ago to warm him she was on the warpath. Bert had already had his hide chewed and it hadn’t been pretty. Robert knew he was next.
He had hoped she would find Walt first, but Walt told him last night he’d be an hour away today, picking up supplies for the farm store at a partner farm. Walt had a way of avoiding conflicts by making himself hard to find.
“Well?”
Robert cleared his throat before turning away from the tractor he’d been preparing to climb into. It was obvious it was time to face the music with yet another woman in his life.
He turned and saw his youngest sibling standing in the exact way and with the same expression he had pictured in his mind. “Good morning to you too, Hannah.”
“Robert, I can’t even believe that you and Walter and Bert kept this from me. I had every right to know what was going on. I’m a full partner in this business.”
She was doing that thing now where she pointed one finger down at the ground at the end of every sentence and emphasized every other word.
“Hannah, I know. It was wrong. I just – we just —”
“Didn’t want me to know because you thought you could fix it on your own? Because I’m a woman? What?” She placed both her hands on her hips, her nostrils flared.
“You know that’s not why.”
Hannah’s light brown hair, now streaked with blond highlights from exposure to the sun, was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her brown eyes were flashing with fury.
Robert was a mild-mannered man who often spoke softly and was rarely angered. He remained calm when others weren’t and normally Hannah admired this quality but today she wanted to see some actual emotion from him, to see a response behind his normal calm, closed off demeanor.
“No, Hannah, that wasn’t it at all.”
“You need to be honest with me this time, Robert. Don’t keep hiding things from me.”
With a heavy sigh Robert sat on a square bale of hay near the barn door and leaned forward slightly, arms propped on his knees. “Walt and I wanted to protect you because of how hard Dad’s death was on you. We planned to pay things off at the end of this summer with the corn harvest, but as you know, that’s not going as planned. We were going to talk to you once we had the money to take care of the shortfall. Until then we tried to shield you so you wouldn’t have to face anymore stress. You’ve been the main one caring for Mom, we saw how hard you tried to act like Dad’s death didn’t affect you, but Hannah . . .”
He looked at up at her from where he was sitting, saw her mouth was still pressed into a thin line. “Walt and I know it almost destroyed you. We didn’t want that to happen again. We didn’t want to see you hurt and worried again. We thought we could handle it. We were wrong. I’m sorry.”
Hannah’s shoulders had already started to relax as she listened to her brother and her face was less pinched than before. She sat next to him on the hay bale, not sure whether to yell or cry. The emotions she had been shoving inside for the last year chose for her.
Robert reached over and squeezed her hand as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Hannah.”
She nodded and accepted the wadded up handkerchief he handed her, blowing her nose into it and wiping her eyes.
“I know you didn’t mean to keep me out of the loop. It’s just — I always feel like I’m the last to know everything. I was the last to know that Daddy was sick. No one wanted to tell me when the doctors said his heart was in worse shape than they thought. And now here we are, possibly losing our livelihood and I’m in the dark again.”
Robert shook his head. “We’re not going to lose the business, Hannah. It’s going to be fine. Walt and I,” he took her hand again. “and you, will go over tomorrow and talk to Bill and we will work out a plan, like we should have in the beginning.”
Hannah nodded, sniffing and blowing her nose again. “Okay.”
She looked at her brother, tears glistening in her eyes. Seeing her in such a tender moment, so vulnerable and emotional, was unnerving to Robert. Hannah was always the strong one, the determined one, the one who seemed to have it all together, even though she was the baby of the family. Even at their dad’s funeral she’d been composed, strong, and had only cried once, briefly, in front of everyone else.
He knew from what Bert had told him, though, that the tears had flowed, hard and fast at home, locked in her room at night or in the bathroom when she thought no one could hear her or see her. Robert didn’t know why his sister had always fought so hard to hide her emotions but he was glad to see a part of that wall breaking down now, even if it did make him uncomfortable.
“We need to talk about Mom,” she said finally, after a few more moments of tears and blowing her nose.
“She’s still pretty down, isn’t she?”
Hannah nodded. “I’m worried about her, Robert. She has little interest in anything anymore. I can’t get her to go to church. She complains all the time.”
Robert knew all of this already. He’d listened to his mom complain about a variety of people and situations in recent months. He’d also listened to her refusals to attend church with him and Annie, instead saying she didn’t feel well and would rather read her Bible at home.
“I’m not ready to lose Mom too.” Hannah choked out the words. “But I think she’s just given up since Daddy died.”
Robert slid his arm around Hannah’s shoulders and pulled her gently against him. “I’ll go talk to her. All we can do right now is love her through this.”
Hannah nodded against his shoulder and blew her nose again.
She looked at the soggy handkerchief crumpled in her hand. “Is the handkerchief you always have shoved in your pocket and blow your nose on all day?”
Robert sighed. “Yes. It is, but I haven’t used it yet today.”
Hannah wiped her eyes with the corner of the handkerchief. “Oh. Thank God. Men are so gross.”
This is an excerpt from my Novella Fully Alive, currently in progress. I have not edited or rewritten the fiction posted here yet and do so before I publish it later on Kindle, so there are bound to be typos, plo. To read the other parts of Fully Alive, click HERE.
Josefa woke with a start, cold sweat beading across her forehead. She tried to remember where she was, the only sound her rapid, pulsating heartbeat . She looked around and slowly her room began to take shape in the moonlight. She’d had the nightmare again. The one she’d had night after night. The nightmare of that day in Jerusalem, when her family had been there for Passover.
The day Yeshua died.
The day five years ago when Yeshua had been murdered on Golgotha.
She remembered it like it had been yesterday.
Voices full of rage echoed within the city walls.
“Crucify him!”
Her father had trembled next to her with shock, anger, confusion. He pulled and her younger brother close. “Keep walking. Don’t stop.”
Her mother followed, tears streaking her face, sobs shaking her body.
“Father, why would they do this?” Tears soaked Josefa’s face as the crowd enveloped her, jostled her into other people.
She didn’t understand. Why were the priests of this city demanding the death of the man who had brought her back from the dead? What had he done that deserved death?
She screamed in protest, but no one could hear her and if they could, they weren’t listening.
“It’s not true! He saved me! He brought me back from the dead!” She tried again, her throat raw, her voice hoarse. “He gave me back my life!”
A man shoved her hard to the ground.
“Shut your mouth, you blaspheming liar!”
Saliva dripped down his chin as he screamed. A tremor of fear rushed through Josefa and she looked away quickly. It was as if he was possessed. Maybe he was.
Jairus stooped to protect her and swung around toward the man, anger clouding his vision. “Never touch my daughter!”
The man was screaming again, standing over her and her father. “You are nothing, Jew!”
“I am a leader in the synagogue, I am a holy —”
More people were shouting at Jairus and Josefa now, shouting at anyone they felt were followers of Yeshua.
“You are nothing!”
“Blaspheming scum, go back to whatever city you came from.”
“Do you follow this man? Then you should be put to death with him.”
Jairus jerked his head toward an open area near the city wall.
“Myriam, Ephra, Josefa, come. We must leave.”
Josefa turned to follow her family but paused, looking over her shoulder at the yelling crowd, at the sudden appearance of Yeshua through the crowd, struggling to walk under the weight of what looked like a large piece of wood. She watched in horror as he fell onto the stones, the wood on top of him. Blood dropped onto the dirt from his face, his hands, everywhere. Josefa couldn’t see any of Yeshua’ skin that wasn’t bleeding.
She broke from her father’s arms and stood along the edge of the crowd as Yeshua walked by, reaching out, her fingertips touching Yeshua’ bloody garment, hanging in rags off his shoulder. She jerked her hand away and held it to her mouth as she began to sob.
“Yeshua. Yeshua,” Josefa choked out. “I believe in you, Yeshua.”
Yeshua looked at the ground as he fell again, and she wondered if he even knew she was there. A Roman soldier dragged a man from the crowd and tossed him to the ground in front of Yeshua.
“Help him! Pick up the cross!” the soldier demanded.
As the man helped lift what the soldier had called a cross, another soldier lifted Yeshua to his feet. They watched the scene together and Josefa’s heart raced as Yeshua stood slowly, raised his eyes toward the crowd and found her gaze.
His eyelids were swollen, blood running in rivulets from what appeared to be thorns bent into the shape of a crown on his head. He looked at her with an unfocused gaze as he hooked one arm around the man and the other around the wood. Hot tears stung Josefa’s eyes, rushed down her cheeks as Yeshua moved his gaze from her and looked back to the ground, shuffling his feet forward in step with the other man.
A strong hand gripped her wrist and pulled her backward, through the crowd. She looked up into deep blue eyes, a smooth face stained with dirt under a Roman helmet. The soldier’s face was young, but his eyes were old. She expected a rebuke but instead his voice was gentle, filled with compassion.
“You must leave this area. It’s not safe for young girls like you.”
She could hear her father calling for her, but Josefa couldn’t seem to pull her eyes from the soldier’s.
“Come, Josefa!” Jairus said sharply, prying the soldier’s fingers from his daughter’s wrist. “Let’s get away from here.”
Her father’s voice was breaking with emotion and when she looked up at him, he was rubbing the back of his hand across his face.
“I can take no more,” he whispered hoarsely.
She looked up and the soldier had turned and was following the crowd, to where she didn’t know.
She followed her father and they found the rest of their family waiting for them by the city gates.
“We must leave, Jairus. It’s no longer safe,” Myriam whispered, trembling.
Jairus pulled her close and nodded. “We will go and collect our things from Lieber’s and begin our journey this evening. I will see if I can convince him and his family to come with us. The Romans are thirsty for blood this day.”
“What are they going to do to Yeshua, father?” Josefa asked, fear shivering through her.
Jairus shook his head. “I don’t know, Josefa. Keep walking.”
Jairus’ brother declined traveling away from Jerusalem, begging Jairus to remain for Passover.
“Traveling on Passover is forbidden. We will be safe here on this side of the city. The Romans are only taking care of a troublemaker, a man who called himself the Son of God.”
“But Uncle Leiber —”
Jairus scowled at his daughter. “Josefa. Be silent. Go prepare the afternoon meal with the women.”
All these years later, Josefa still remembered how darkness fell later that day, how the ground shook and she fell to the dirt courtyard outside her aunt and uncle’s home in fear.
She screamed, reaching out for something to hold onto but finding nothing. As the ground rose up beneath her, the sun darkened and she couldn’t see her parents or anyone else.
“Yeshua! Yeshua! Help me!”
Bricks fell from stone structures around her, striking her and then blackness settled over her and all was still.
“Josefa!” She woke to her mother’s voice that day and again, five years later, she heard her mother call to her. And again her mother took her in arms and again she told her everything would be okay and prayed over her, asking for Adonai’s protection
I really like Mama’s Empty Nest’s idea of sharing old posts each Thursday so I’m doing what any good blogger would do and stealing the idea from her. Haha! Seriously, I probably won’t do this every week. I am thinking once a month instead.
I thought I’d share this post from about two years ago when my Aunt Eleanor passed away.
I think what I will remember most about Aunt Eleanor are her hands.
I remember those hands holding thread and a needle and pillows or quilts she just made. I remember those hands gluing buttons to frames, cutting out patterns, pinning needles in place for her next project. I remember those hands holding stacks of family history she had just typed up.
I remember those hands laying a flower on her mother’s, my grandmother’s casket.
I remember the first time I noticed the tremor in those hands and wished I could hold those hands and make that tremor go away.
I remember one of the last times I held those hands, how warm they were, how firm the grip despite all her body was fighting. We were in the nursing home where she had been living for several years. Parkinson’s was making her body and mind weaker.
I told her something I didn’t say much to her or my grandmother when I was younger, simply because they were a family who didn’t say it as much in words as they did in actions: “I love you, Aunt Eleanor.”
“Oh, sweetie I love you too,” she said and she held my hand even tighter and we sat there for several moments in silence, the TV on the wall blaring the news or the weather channel, I can remember which.
I don’t think she wanted to let go. I didn’t either.
I wasn’t sure she even remembered who I was that day but looking back it didn’t matter if she did or didn’t recognize me or even if she thought I was my mom, since some days she called me by her name. All she knew was love – that she felt loved, that she felt love for me and that at that moment the room was full of peace.
The day Mom called to tell me Aunt Eleanor was gone I thought about how much I hadn’t wanted to let go that day.
A week later when I drove by the nursing home I realized I still didn’t want to let go.
“You know, I really miss her,” My Aunt Doris, Eleanor’s sister, said to me last week when we visited her for her birthday. “”We don’t realize what we have until it’s gone, do we?”
I agreed and we sat there a couple moments in silence but then it was time to leave and head back to our home in Pennsylvania. I left Aunt Doris there, in her chair by the window, thinking about her sister. My kids, dad and I, got into the car. We drove down the road and we thought about Eleanor too.
We missed her and I wished that I could hold those hands one more time.
My aunt Doris and aunt Eleanor when they were children and it looks like they are in the driveway at their grandparents’ home, which is where I grew up.
I finally finished Sweet on You by Becky Wade and I thought I should explain that it didn’t take me so long to finish it because it wasn’t good, or didn’t hold my attention, but because I was finding it hard to concentrate with everything going on in the world these days. After clicking off the news and social media for an extended time, my focus came back and I was able to read again.
Which is why I finished Sweet on You and also progressed on Light in the Window by Jan Karon and The Knife Slipped by Earl Stanley Gardner (who also wrote the novels the Perry Mason show was based on).
Here is a short description of Sweet on You for anyone who might be interested:
Britt and Zander have been best friends since they met thirteen years ago, but unbeknownst to Britt, Zander has been in love with her for just as long. When Zander’s uncle dies of mysterious causes, he returns to Washington to investigate. As they work together to uncover his uncles tangled past, will the truth of what lies between them also come to light?
This is the third in the Bradford Sisters’ series.
This is also the third book I have read by Becky Wade and I’ve discovered that she is very interested in describing the fashion of her characters, while I am not. That doesn’t mean she is a bad writer or I don’t enjoy her books. In fact, based on her Instagram account, I think Becky and I would get along nicely and we would laugh about how much she enjoys describing the fashion of her characters and how much I hate doing that with my characters. I skim her descriptions of the fashion simply because – well, I don’t care. It doesn’t add anything to the story for me to know in a very detailed way the main character is wearing. Thankfully she’s not overly detailed, just gives enough to describe the person’s outfit really.
A description of a character’s fashion can add something to the story, because what a character is wearing helps to paint a picture of who they are, so please know I’m only teasing a little about not caring about a detailed description of what the character is wearing. But I really do just skim those descriptions myself if they get too detailed.
I follow Becky Wade on Instagram (when I’m on Instagram, which I haven’t been for more than a week now, maybe two. I don’t know. I don’t really like Instagram.) and she recently mentioned the books from her Bradford Sisters series is being optioned for a movie. I would gather a Hallmark movie. I’d be interested to see those movies as there is a lot of intrigue in each of the books. These are light, somewhat schmaltzy romances (yeah, sort of like what I write) just to let you know.
I wanted to offer a description of The Knife Slipped too (not so sure about that cover but I think it is made in the style of the old Noir crime novels. So far this book is not full of s-e-x (said like Miranda Hart in her show Miranda). Just intrigue and slightly off color language.):
At the time of his death, Erle Stanley Gardner was the best-selling American author of the 20th century, and world famous as the creator of crusading attorney Perry Mason. Gardner also created the hardboiled detective team of Cool and Lam, stars of 29 novels published between 1939 and 1970—and one that’s never been published until now.
Lost for more than 75 years, THE KNIFE SLIPPED was meant to be the second book in the series but got shelved when Gardner’s publisher objected to (among other things) Bertha Cool’s tendency to “talk tough, swear, smoke cigarettes, and try to gyp people.” But this tale of adultery and corruption, of double-crosses and triple identities —however shocking for 1939—shines today as a glorious present from the past, a return to the heyday of private eyes and shady dames, of powerful criminals, crooked cops, blazing dialogue, and delicious plot twists.
Donald Lam has never been cooler—not even when played by Frank Sinatra on the U.S. Steel Hour of Mystery in 1946. Bertha Cool has never been tougher. And Erle Stanley Gardner has never been better.
This is a new genre for me so we will see if I stick with it or not.
So how am I doing on my news/social media detox I invited others to join me on this past week? Fairly well. I won’t say I’ve quit cold turkey. I still have the urge to check news sites and social media but last week something happened that really made me not care about the turmoil of fire the national media keeps flaming to line their pockets. My mom ended up in the ER. She’s fine. It was gastritis and not a heart attack but, you know what? That day I could have cared less about who was calling who racist. I could have cared less what one politician said about another politician. I just wanted my mom to be okay.
Clicking on a news site wasn’t even on my radar that day and it hasn’t been there since. Like I said, I do feel a sense of “I’m out of the loop” and think about “getting in the loop” but I just don’t go there. My brain had gone all the way to planning my mom’s funeral last week. Yes, I know. That’s nuts but the initial report I got was hazy and I thought “this is it. I finally move closer to my parents and this is it…” Even though it wasn’t “it” I was left feeling off for the rest of the day and I knew logging on to a news site would push me even further into unsettled darkness.
I decided it might do the same in the days that followed so I’m here, in semi-darkness about what is happening in the world (my husband works for a small town paper so I do know some things and I did log on Facebook once on Friday) and guess what! It feels great! I’ve never felt happier to be a clueless (or semi-clueless) schmuck with my head in the sand.
Join me.
Come to the light side.
Ignore the urge to watch the world burn around us (quite literally) and shut the computer off or click off the phone and go work in your garden, for a walk, paint, write, take a photo. I don’t know. I don’t care how you do it but just give your poor brain a break; it wasn’t meant to take in all that information at once. Of course, I sound like those people who are always telling everyone what to do here, so I’ll modify a bit and say: Do it if you want to, but I can guarantee you will feel less stressed if you take that break.
Seriously, how many more articles do we need to read with headlines like this: “[Celebrity] says he doesn’t think [politician] is/will/can/ever doing/do/do/did a good job.” I can’t find a care left for what a celebrity or politician thinks and I bet many of you are in the same boat.
Since I’m not watching news, or trying not to, I’m watching only what requires the least amount of brain cells. Things like Corner Gas (a Canadian sitcom), old shows like The Dick VanDyke Show, and British sitcoms like As Time Goes By. I also watched Murder Mystery on Netflix with Adam Sandler and Jennifer Anniston. It wasn’t award winning, but it was entertaining and a nice distraction. (My son said to add it was a little stupid as a warning.)
I don’t have much of an update on the garden because it’s growing very slowly. It rained a couple of times last week but other than that I probably didn’t water it enough throughout the week. Some additional flowers bloomed outside the house but I’m still waiting on the peonies.
I hope to have photos of them next week.
So how about you? What have you been you reading, watching, or doing lately? Let me know in the comments!
I shared the first part of this chapter yesterday. You can find the rest of the chapters HERE.
And, guys (ladies mostly), let me tell you something! I just noticed on Amazon that I got my first negative review on my first book! It’s like a right of passage. I have a feeling I’ll get more because, well, I’m not the best writer ever, but I don’t even care. I know, you’re thinking: “What is wrong with this woman? She’s happy she got a negative review???”
Well, not necessarily, no, but I’m happy that it doesn’t bother me like it used to. In the last few years (especially since I lost my aunt in 2017) I have realized what is most important in life and what others think of me isn’t one of those things. I see the fact I’m not too worried about it and laughed while reading it as progress in my life.
As I read his words out loud to my son I just kept laughing: “It was free and it still cost too much.” I should be crushed, but everyone has different tastes and I’m just learning about all this writing stuff so I’m good with it. So thanks, Anthony, I needed that and the rest of your review (which went on a bit too long, if you ask me.) The fact I drove someone to sit and write a review, even a negative one, makes me smile. I do wish he’d given me a little more constructive criticism than it wasn’t worth his time, but, oh well, I’ll hope for a more passionate negative review in the future.
Alex breathed in deep the smell of hay and the musty smell of female cow as he leaned his head against the cow’s side while he hooked up the milking machine the morning after the rummage sale. Growing up in an urban area outside of Baltimore, he never thought he’d enjoy the comfort of a cow, the warmth of a barn on a crisp spring morning.
He didn’t have to look up to know Molly had walked in behind him. He clearly recognized her footsteps, something he had memorized, much like the way her nose crinkled slightly when she laughed and the way she blew her bangs out of her face when they fell across her forehead while she was working in the barn.
Her footsteps stopped behind him.
“So,” she said and he heard a tinge of aggression in just that one word. “What was that with Ben yesterday?”
Alex shrugged, keeping his eyes on his work.
“I was just harassing him.”
He stood, rubbed some dust off Daisy’s side, his back still to Molly.
“He seemed like a real jerk so I wanted to mess with him.”
Molly cleared her throat. “Well, yes, he is a little jerky – sometimes. I guess.”
She stopped short of asking him why he had acted as if they were dating. She felt the conversation they were having was awkward enough.
“Okay,” she said. “I need to start the milking on the other side, so . . .okay. And thanks for fixing the truck and driving it back to the house.”
Alex reached for the udder cream, not looking at her as he treated Daisy. “Yup. No problem.”
Molly turned away from him and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, silently mocking her anti-climatic exchange with Alex. She had intended to find out not only what the deal with Ben had been but what the recent change in his behavior toward her was about, especially since Liz had been pestering her with questions about it since yesterday during the rummage sale.
“Was he trying to act like you two were dating?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you two dating?”
“No!”
“You would tell me if you were dating right?”
“Liz . . .”
“Well, would you?”
“Yes, Liz, but we’re not dating.”
“So, what was —”
“I have no idea, Liz.”
“You’re going to ask him, right?”
Molly had slapped her forehead against her hand while Liz watched her with wide eyes. “Yes. I will.”
And she had asked him.
He’d given her his answer and now she was going back to work in the barn. She was letting it go. She wasn’t going to push the issue.
Pausing at the bottom of the hayloft she leaned back against the ladder and let out a long breath.
She knew no matter how hard she tried she wasn’t going to be able to let it go, at least in her mind. She knew she’d keep wondering what was changing between her and Alex and if he noticed it too.
Yes, Chapter 11 is broke up into two parts for the blog this week because, to me, this chapter is too long for a blog, but not too long for a book. No idea what I’m talking about? Me either, but I rambled about chapter size last week on the blog and still couldn’t decide how I feel about long chapters.
I will be sharing part two tomorrow because, quite frankly, some of my readers need a good, light distraction right now (and luckily my fiction isn’t too hard hitting.)
Alex woke from a sound sleep to someone pounding on the front door. It was his morning off from the barn. The morning Taylor Bundle came to help out and Alex got to sleep in but missed out on joking with Molly.
“Jason! Are you in there!? If you’re sleeping in, well, get up!”
Alex rubbed his eyes, listening to Molly yelling from the front porch. He threw the covers aside, hoping something hadn’t happened at the farm.
He staggered down the stairs in a pair of old sweatpants and it wasn’t until he had unlocked the door and swung it open that he remembered he’d forgotten to grab a shirt.
A strange rush of energy pulsated through the center of Molly’s chest at the sight of a bare-chested Alex standing groggily in the doorway.
“Hey,” he said, mid-yawn. “What are you doing here?”
“Um. Oh. Hey.”
Molly’s mouth was suddenly dry, and she felt a rush of warmth in her cheeks as she struggled to remember why she was standing on Jason and Alex’s front porch at this time of the morning. She seemed to have forgotten who she even was for a moment.
Good grief. Alex even looked good yawning. Her eyes fell on a small tattoo on the skin just below his tanned collarbone. An eagle sitting on a globe. All these years working with him and she’d never noticed he had a tattoo. She’d seen him with his shirt off before, but she’d never let her eyes linger. Why had she never let her eyes linger? She might have enjoyed the hard work in the barn more if she had.
She noticed he was looking at her, his hair ruffled, one eyebrow cocked, waiting for her to answer his question. He’d asked her a question. What was it again?
“Oh. Yes. I was — I mean, I’m on my way, or I was on my way to the rummage sale but the truck broke down down the road and I didn’t want to, — well, Jason was closer than going back to get Dad so I was hoping I could talk to Jason.”
Alex yawned again and leaned against the door frame.
“He took Ellie out antiquing or something. I don’t remember what he said, exactly. I was sleeping. Or trying to. You want me to look at it?”
“No. Well, yes, but actually I need a ride to the rummage sale first. Mavis has me on the baked goods tables this morning and I don’t want to listen to her scold me about being late if I don’t show up on time. Any way you could drive me to town?”
Alex rubbed his fingers across his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to wake up more. Alone in the truck with Molly. While groggy.
This might be fun.
“Uh . . . yeah . . . just let me throw on a shirt and I’ll be right out.”
No need to throw on a shirt, Molly thought.
“Yeah, sure,” she said out loud. “No problem. Take your time. I’ve still got a bit before I’ve got to be there.”
Molly turned back toward the road as Alex shut the door and let out a long breath.
Take your time. Getting a shirt on. Covering up all that beauty.
What a way to start a day. First, a broke down truck, which was a bad start, but then seeing Alex shirtless, a definite improvement.
“Why would a woman from church scold you for your truck breaking down?” Alex asked when he climbed into his truck next to her ten minutes later.
He pushed his hand through his hair and, unfortunately, had pulled a t-shirt on. He was eating a piece of toast as he shifted the truck into drive and pulled onto the dirt road.
“What do you mean?”
Alex shrugged. “I mean, she’s a Christian. Shouldn’t she be all nice and stuff? And forgiving?”
Molly looked out the window and leaned against her hand. “Well, yeah, she should but . . . well, sometimes human nature gets in the way I guess.”
Alex shoved the last piece of toast in his mouth, talking with his mouth full. “She sounds like she should read her Bible more.”
Molly laughed. “A lot of us should read our Bible more, but yeah, she should.”
Fencing and cow pastures rushed by and Molly thought about how even she should be reading her Bible more.
“You should get rid of that truck, you know.”
Alex shifted topics of conversation as quickly as he did gears, and it made Molly smile as she looked at him.
“Why?”
“It’s a piece of junk.”
“I like my piece of junk.”
“You could get a nice sedan or something.”
“Out here? And why? Because I’m a girl? So, you think girls shouldn’t drive trucks. Is that it?”
She smirked at Alex, waiting for his response. He looked out through the windshield, his arm hanging lazily over the steering wheel, grinning. She recognized that look well; a look that said he was about to roast her like he often did in the barn.
“You know it’s not because you’re a girl,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road. “You’re one of the manliest girls I’ve ever met.”
Molly didn’t even hesitate to ball her hand into a fist and smashing it straight into his upper bicep, her eyes narrowed and her jaw tight, but a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
He laughed loudly. “What? You are! You burp louder than most guys I know, and I know women say they don’t fart but that time you blamed it on the cow? Yeah, I didn’t buy that for a second.”
“I didn’t fart!” Molly cried through the laughter. “It was Betsy!” Alex was laughing harder now.
“That poor cow,” he said. “She gets blamed for so much of your gross behavior.”
“My gross behavior? You spit loogies on the ground all the time.”
“It’s not my fault I have an abundance of phlegm.”
She laughed and pushed at him gently with her hand.
“I didn’t need to know that, Alex Stone.”
Alex smiled, glancing at her, enjoying the sound of his name when she said it. They laughed for the rest of the drive, harassing each other about various sounds they’d made while working in the barn, or jokes they’d passed back and forth that probably shouldn’t have been said at all.
Molly wiped tears of laughter from her eyes as Alex pulled into the parking lot. She opened the truck door as he parked it in front of the basement door.
“Thanks for the lift,” she said climbing out. “I can get a ride home after I’m done.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should come in and see if they’d have anything I’d want.”
Molly shut the truck door and leaned on it to talk through the window. “I doubt it, unless you need a new purse or some heels”
Alex shrugged. “I don’t need those, no, but Jason said they have some electronics this year. Maybe I’ll come check it out.”
“Okay,” Molly said, turning toward the church basement door. “I’m heading in. I’ll see you there.”
Alex leaned his head against his hand, smiling, watching her walk away for a few moments before pulling his truck into a parking space.
Inside, the baked goods table was already half-filled and the rest of the tables were set up and ready for customers.
“There you are!” Maddie whispered loudly when Molly approached the table. “I was afraid you weren’t coming and then I’d be stuck listening to Mavis complain all morning about your failure to keep commitments.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “She’d already started that speech, huh?”
Maddie nodded. “Of course. I’m heading back to the children’s section. Pray for me.”
“I definitely will.”
Molly straightened the cakes and cookies, displaying them along the table, separating each kind of cookie and each style of cake and then propping up the pies so people could see them better. She waited for the first customers of the day and watched Alex walk through the electronics aisle, looking over old computers and stereos.
On the tables spread across the basement, various items sat on tables for sale; old televisions, lamps, pots and pans, dishes, books, sunglasses, toys, video games, and even a motorcycle helmet. A few early birds were already perusing the merchandise that, if sold, would help the church with various projects throughout the year, including putting a new roof on the church.
Molly had attended the Spencer Valley United Methodist Church since she was a child up until a year ago. Her parents and grandparents had always attended the church. Molly, however, had fallen in love with a church across town that featured more upbeat music and a younger congregation over all. Even though she no longer attended the church she continued to help with fundraisers and other events, which was why she couldn’t avoid Mavis’ overly critical eye.
She liked the church and the other people who attended, though, including Maddie and the new pastor and his wife. Joe and Emily. They had arrived at the church a little less than a year ago, shortly after her grandfather passed away and about the same time her grandmother had stopped attending church.
Molly liked Pastor Joe’s easy going demeanor and outgoing personality and Emily’s sweet nature. Molly couldn’t pinpoint why but she felt a sadness in Emily when she talked to her and she wondered it was because Emily still felt out of place in her fairly new surroundings.
“Well, hey, I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
The familiarity of the voice made Molly turn her head to see if it could really be him. It could be and it was. Ben Oliver was standing in front of her with a broad smile, looking surprisingly even more handsome than the last time she had seen him five years ago at his grandmother’s funeral.
His hair was cut high and tight, his dark brown eyes sparkled, and a small dimple pricked the skin next to his mouth when he smiled.
She now wished she hadn’t rushed out of the house so quickly, throwing on a Confederate Railroad t-shirt and a pair of jeans and pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail on top of her head.
She tried to act non-plussed by his presence. “Ben, hey. What a surprise. Jason said you were in town.”
“Yeah, just came back a couple weeks ago.”
Molly decided to look busy. She straightened the cookies and stacked a couple of the pies. “Staying long?”
Ben nodded, watching her work. “For good actually. I’m opening a law office in Waverly.”
Waverly was a half an hour from Spencer Valley. And half an hour away from Molly, which she was fine with.
“Oh. So, you’ll be living there then?”
“I’m not sure yet. For now I’m living with my parents while I look for a place, either here or there. Actually, I’m here today with my mom.” He laughed. “She’s looking for a new purse.”
He smiled and picked up a bag of cookies. “Hey. You always made amazing cookies. Chocolate chip if I remember right.”
Yes, Ben, I did make cookies. For you. Like it mattered.
“Yep. I used to. I don’t really make cookies anymore.”
A woman with dark brown hair hanging down her back and a strained expression on her face approached the table. Two young children hopped up and down beside her while she held their hands tightly.
“I want the chocolate ones!” A little girl with blond curls cried.
“I want peanut butter!” Her brother said loudly as he hopped in place.
Molly guessed their ages to be about four and them to be twins. Their mother looked exhausted as she let go of their hands and struggled to open her change purse. “I’ll take one of each.”
Molly slid them across the table and accepted her money, watching them shove cookies into their mouth as they darted toward the toy section.
“Wow,” Ben said watching the children leave. “That was – well, a lot of energy.” He smiled at her and she felt the old familiar rush of warmth travel from her stomach to the top of her head.
“Did you make anything on this table?” he asked.
“Just some cakes with my mom. They’re the ones over there.”
“Oh man. Those are your mom’s cakes? I’m definitely getting one of those. Her cakes are one of the highlights of my youth.” He walked to the other side of the table and began to look through the cakes. Over his shoulder Molly saw Alex studying a laptop, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
This is insanely awkward, Molly thought to herself, unable to shake the memory of Ben’s comments about her the day in the convenience store. Stop pretending to be nice, Ben.
She was grateful to see Liz walking toward her a few moments later, a broad smile on her face, an attractive pink bag hanging over her shoulder.
“I told you I wouldn’t leave you to deal with Old Battleax on your own.”
Molly tilted her head toward Ben, her eyes wide.
Liz looked at Ben, back to her and then mouthed. “No way. Ben? What is he doing here?”
Molly shrugged and rolled her eyes. Liz flung her purse on the chair next to Molly and placed a hand on each hip. “Well, well, well,” she said loudly. “Benjamin Oliver. Surprised to see you show your face here in Spencer Valley again.”
Ben smiled broadly as he looked at Liz, the container carrying one of Annie’s chocolate cakes in his hand. “Liz! Hey! You look great!”
“Ben, hey. You still look like a jerk.”
“Liz!” Molly hissed.
Ben laughed softly and shook his head. “It’s okay, Molly. Liz has never liked me, if you remember.”
“Liz has never trusted you,” Liz shot back with a scowl. “And rightly so, I’d say.”
Ben slid the cake across the table toward Molly. “People can change, Liz. Learn from their mistakes.” He smiled tightly. “Don’t you think? Hey, how’s Gabe doing?”
Molly winced internally. This was getting messy.
“I left him,” Liz said coldly.
“Oh, well, see we do learn from our mistakes, I guess.” Ben smirked and Molly shook her head because it was apparent he still had his quick tongue.
Molly placed the cake in a bag, watching Liz and Ben watch each other, feeling the tension in the air.
“That’s $4.50,” she said quickly to interrupt the stand-off.
Ben’s charming smile had returned as he turned toward Molly, handing her a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he told her. “It’s for a good cause. And listen, Molly, I’d really like to talk to you sometime. If you have time? I didn’t expect to see you here today, but I had planned to track you down at some point.”
Molly nodded outwardly but shook her head inwardly. “Yeah, sure, that would be fine. I’ll be around.”
Out of the corner of her eye she watched Alex sauntering toward the table, a used laptop under one arm and a cowboy hat propped on top of his own. As if the awkward moment couldn’t get even more awkward.
“Well, you were wrong,” he said to her cheerfully. “It turns out they did have a couple things I wanted.”
His gaze traveled from Molly to Liz’s tense expression and then to Ben standing awkwardly with a bag of cake in one hand and his wallet in the other.
“Oh, hey, did I interrupt something?” Alex asked.
“No, not at all,” Liz said. She tipped her head at Ben. “Ben here was just leaving.”
Ben? Alex looked Molly’s ex-boyfriend up and down, taking in his light blue polo shirt, tan khakis, brown leather belt and dark brown loafers. He wanted to laugh out loud. This was the great Ben Oliver? He definitely looked like a lawyer – overdressed, sneaky, and weak.
“Ben,” he said with a forced welcoming smile. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Ben looked surprised. “Oh? You have? I’m sorry. You are . . .”
“This is Jason’s friend Alex,” Molly said quickly. “He works for Dad.”
She cleared her throat and focused on some crumbs on the table, brushing them away.
“Ah, a farm boy, eh?” Ben grinned and looked from Alex to Molly. He winked. “Does he say ‘As you wish?’ to you?”
Molly’s face grew warm. She knew what Ben was referring to, especially because The Princess Bride had been her favorite movie to watch with him when they had been dating. Wesley, the farm boy, would always say “as you wish” to Buttercup, the farmer girl, when she’d ask him to fetch something for her, and in the book the author wrote that “as you wish” was code for “I love you.”
Ben had never said “as you wish” to her.
Molly started to speak, but didn’t even know how to respond. Was Ben mocking her? Was he mocking Alex? She wasn’t even sure at this point.
Alex laughed and slapped Ben on the back with one solid movement of his hand. “Oh, Ben. You’re just as witty as Jason and Molly described you. Of course, that’s what I say to Molly. I mean, who wouldn’t be honored to travel through the Fire Swamp with someone like Molly? Right?”
He smiled at Ben a little longer than Molly felt he needed to. She caught Liz smirking on the other side of Ben.
Ben laughed a laugh that sounded slightly nervous. “Right. Of course. Very funny.”
“Well,” Alex said with an exaggerated sigh. “I would love to stay here and talk more but I’ve got manure to shovel, cows to milk, hay to fork into the stables. You know, all those ‘farm boy’ things we ‘farm boys’ do.”
He turned quickly toward Molly and slid his hand under her elbow, leaning close to her. “I had fun this morning. See you later okay?”
He winked, brushed his mouth against her cheek, and walked through the door, leaving her and Liz staring at him in bewildered surprise.
“Oh,” Ben said after a few moments. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you two were …”
“He’s just a co-worker,” Molly blurted.
Liz smothered a snicker behind her hand and sat in the chair behind the table.
Ben nodded and shrugged. “Oh, okay, well —”
“Molly, there are more cakes in the kitchen that need to be brought out.”
Mavis’ spoke over Ben and Molly was grateful for the interruption.
“No problem, Mavis. I’ll be right there.” She turned to face Ben. “I’m so sorry. Duty calls. Catch up later?”
Ben nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. Sure. No problem.”
Molly walked quickly back toward the kitchen, her face ablaze with shock, embarrassment, and confusion. First, seeing Ben out of the blue and then Alex acting weird.
What in the world was Alex even doing? Was he trying to make it look like they were dating? For what purpose? For whose benefit? For hers? For Bens? . . . for his? She didn’t know what he was doing but she knew she was going to have to talk to him about it later at the barn. And Molly knew Liz was going to want to talk about it as soon as she arrived back at the table with the extra cakes
P.S. The character in this section will have a name change before the final publication. I just have decided on the name I want for her yet.
Eliana couldn’t stop thinking about the day her healing had come. Cleaning flour from the bowl, preparing to cook a meal for her sister’s family after so long, tears were warm on her face.
The morning she had been healed she had sat in the room of the home she’d been confined to for so long, weak, her heart heavy with loneliness and despair, the same as almost every morning for 12 years. Her husband Josiah had divorced her years before, declaring her unclean and unfit to bear him children. She watched him with his new wife from a distance, watched their children grow and felt the ache in her own womb for a child of her own.
“He will come with healing in his wings,” she whispered the morning she had been healed, remembering the prophecy of Malachi.
His wings. She wasn’t sure what that meant but she thought of what she had heard – that John the Baptizer had spoken, saying that a man who came to him for baptism was the one they’d been waiting for, the prophesied messiah. This man was a rabbi, a teacher, but whispers said he was so much more. Healings at his hands. Blind men seeing, crippled walking, souls rejoicing. She closed her eyes, pictured the man and what he might look like. What he might be wearing. She pictured his prayer garment and thought of how the corner of it, the tzitziyot, was called the wings of the garment.
The wings of the garment.
The wings.
With wings.
She felt it first in the pit of her stomach, a hard, hopeful knot. From all she had heard this man was indeed the one who would come to heal, not only her, but all mankind.
He had been easy to find. She had simply followed the crowd that pushed against him. She walked with her head covered, the covering pulled across her face with her hands that she clutched before her face, her head bowed.
Even though Eliana felt that this man called Yeshua was the messiah and knew touching his garment could heal her, she was fearful as she approached him. She was impure and she knew that if she touched him – this pure man – he would also become impure. He paused to speak with a man and someone in the crowd bumped her and she stumbled forward. He was so close. So close. She lowered herself to the ground as he stood, slowing reaching out. If she could just touch — Her hand trembled and she clutched her fingers into a fist, biting her lower lip, closing her eyes, hesitating.
“Adonai, Adonai. . .” she whispered, her lips dry.
She opened her eyes, drew a breath slow into her lungs, and stretched out her hand again, a sob gurling deep in her chest as her fingertips brushed the twisted wool at the edge his prayer shawl. Comfort and warmth flowed through her immediately and the pain she had suffered under for so long was gone. It was gone. She couldn’t feel the crunching agony within her womb. She couldn’t feel anything but peace.
The blood she had felt drip slowly down her leg, off and on, so many days for the last 12 years suddenly stopped. She felt dry where she had wet for so long. Eliana stood abruptly and turned to leave, to go home, get away from the crowds, think about what had happened, about what her future might hold now.
“Who touched my clothes?”
The voice of Yeshua startled Eliana and she looked back to see him looking around him, searching the crowd for the person who had touched him. A lightening bolt of fear coursed through her. She had been careful only to touch the tzitziyot, not him. How had he known? Even one of Yeshua’ followers expressed disbelief that he wanted to know who had touched him and pointed out that people were all around him. Anyone of them could have touched him.
“I felt power go out from me.”
Eliana trembled in fear, her breathing shallow. She clutched her hands together to try to stop the shaking. He knew someone had reached out for his healing. He knew.
How could he know?
How could he know unless. . .?
She watched him and fell instantly to her knees.
The words spilled out of her
“It was me, teacher.”
She felt, rather than saw him turn to her. Her eyes were on the ground, trembles shivering through her. “I have been bleeding, unclean for 12 years. I have been to every doctor. I have tried everything. I was shunned by my family, my community. But when I heard about you – when I heard of those you had healed, I knew – I knew you could take it all away and heal me. I knew you were the one who has been prophesied.”
He kneeled to her level, cupped her chin in his hand. She lifted her eyes slowly, to eyes soft with compassion.
“Your trust has healed you,” he said softly, so soft she could barely hear him. Then he spoke again, louder. “Your trust, daughter, has healed you. Go in peace and be healed of your disease.”
Her sister’s voice yanked Eliana from her memories of the day.
“Eliana! Have you finished the bread?”
“Yes, Ledah, I have.”
“Well, bring it. We are ready for dinner.”
Sunlight poured in through the window of the family home and across the table lined with food. Ledah’s family sat on the floor, children with big brown eyes looking kindly and expectedly at Eliana as she handed her sister the bread mixture. Her sister immediately started cooking the bread over the small fire pit just outside the door.
“We shall celebrate today,” Ledah said with a smile at Eliana as she placed the bread in the bowl. “Jeremiah has slaughtered our best lamb to celebrate your healing. It still makes no sense, but I don’t care. It is a wonderful day!”
Eliana smiled and shrugged. “I don’t understand it either. All I know is when I touched his garment, I was healed. I can’t explain it. I can’t tell you more than that. But I no longer suffer the way I did.”
Ledah shook her head. “It makes no sense, Eliana. A mere man can not heal you by you touching his garment.”
“Then he is not a mere man, is he?”
“Eliana, we have all heard these stories before. Supposed messiahs come to rescue the Jews. Yet here we sit under Roman rule. Don’t start believing all that nonsense now.”
“I don’t know what to believe, yet, but I know what happened to me and I know I am healed, Ledah. I know I have a lightness I have not known for 12 years. This is a gift I can not take lightly.”
Ledah took her older sister’s hand, squeezed it and smiled. “And that’s all that matters. That you are back with us and soon you will live life again among your people.”
Live life again? Eliana didn’t even know what that meant. After so many year alone, watching her husband remarry and have children from afar, she didn’t even know how to enter life again.
She couldn’t imagine any man wanting to marry her, not after she’d been cast aside by her husband. Her chance of having children was gone.
Yet, she had her health again and that in itself opened up hope to her.
And hope? Well, hope meant anything was possible now.
