Fiction Friday: A New Beginning Chapter 27

On March 6, 2020March 4, 2020 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings13 Comments

First, please don’t get mad at me for this week’s cliffhanger. I swear I didn’t set it up that way. Second, as always, this is a first draft of the story and as always, you can catch the first part of Blanche’s story, A Story to Tell, on Kindle. You do not need to read A Story to Tell to follow A New Beginning.

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. This book will be published in full later this spring on Kindle and other sites.

Let me know what you think should happen next and what you think of the story so far in the comments.

Chapter 27

“Hey, Robbins.”

Thomas sat on the edge of the desk I was sitting at and grinned. “That story you did on Sam was great. What are you working on for us tonight?”

I looked up from the typewriter and sighed. After a long day of work, I didn’t want to be sitting in a dimly lit and slightly stinky, male-dominated newspaper office and writing anything, but I had a Friday deadline, it was Wednesday and had only a couple of hours a day to work on the story after work.

“A story about a survivor of Pearl Harbor but I’m having a horrible time piecing it all together.”

I flipped through the wrinkled pages of notes on top of the desk. “I wanted to write it at home but my typewriter is out of ribbon and I’ve discovered I don’t write as legibly as I once did since Stanley told me it looked like chicken scratch when I submitted my column last week.”

Thomas laughed. “I can’t read my own handwriting either, don’t worry about it. Besides, now you won’t have to bring your copy in when you’re done. You can just leave it on Millie’s desk for her to handle tomorrow.”

“Hey, how are things going with Midge?”

Thomas grinned and pushed his hand back through his hair. “Good. Actually, really good. You probably won’t believe this but she’s even convinced me to go to church. I’ve met her Dad. I’m not sure what he thinks of me, but I think I might be winning him over.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“But, wait a minute – what about you? What’s up with you and muscle man?”

“Thomas . . .”

“Okay. Judson. What’s up with you and Judson?”

“He’s been in North Carolina for two months now, helping his family after his dad’s heart surgery. We’ve talked a couple of times on the phone and – it’s just complicated.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Oooh..complicated is always interesting. Want to fill me in on what that means?”

I shook my head and laughed. “No. I do not want to fill you in.”

I lifted the papers around me, looking for my notes where Mr. Harper had shared about hearing the Japanese planes while he was in the canteen with a group of friends.

“You know, it might help if I had all my notes here. I think I left the rest of my notes at the shop. I’m going to go grab them. I’ll be back in a few moments.”

“Take your time,” Thomas called as I reached the office door. “We’re here practically all night. Or at least I will be. I have to write up a boring town council meeting. And when you get back you can tell me what’s so complicated between you and Judson.”

The crispness in the evening air as I stepped outside the newspaper office, signified Fall had officially, and finally, arrived. Walking down the sidewalk toward the shop, I looked up at the leaves of the maple trees hanging like a canopy over the street. Pausing for a moment under the streetlight outside the shop, I tipped my head back, closed my eyes, and breathed in the smell of autumn; leaves on the ground, coffee brewing in the newspaper office, someone’s wood-burning furnace freshly lit.

“Hey, Chatterbox.”

A cold chill shivered through me. I opened my eyes but kept them focused on the stars dotted across the night sky.

I didn’t have to turn around to know who was standing behind me.

As I turned I saw the familiar smirk, the brown hair with loose strands hanging across his forehead and bright green eyes, the mouth that tilted up on one side when he said my name; the mouth that had given me my first kiss and what I once thought would be my last.

My voice sounded foreign to me, hollow and strained when I was finally able to speak. “What are you doing here, Hank?”

He smirked and slid his fingers back through his hair, pushing the loose strands out of his eyes. I stepped back against the closed shop door. I knew that look and nothing good came with it.

“That’s about the greeting was I expectin’,” he laughed. “That or something involving a lot of curse words. Good to see you too, Chatterbox.”

I bristled at his repeated use of the nickname he’d given me when we’d first met. I studied his face, clean-shaven, his expression hinting at the hardness I had been used to seeing when we were married.

“What are you doing here?” I repeated.

He slid his hands in his pant pockets and casually leaned back against the light pole in front of the store. His demeanor gave off the air of arrogance I was accustomed to from him. “I was hoping to talk to you a little.”

“It’s not a good time.”

“Well, when would be a good time?”

“There won’t ever be a good time.”

Hank rubbed his hand across his face and snorted a small laugh. “Come on, Blanche. Can’t we call it even? I mean, I broke your nose and you broke mine, right? We’re on a level playing field now, don’t you think?”

I could tell he hadn’t changed at all. He wasn’t even going to apologize for the way he’d treated me, not that I had ever really expected he would.

“What do you want, Hank?”

He gestured toward the shop door. “Can I come in and talk?”

“We can talk right here.”

“Okay. Fine.”

He slid a cigarette from his front shirt pocket, propping it in his mouth as he searched for a lighter inside his jacket. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag on it before pinching it between his thumb and forefinger and blowing out a stream of smoke toward me.

“So, you found yourself someone new since you left me?” he asked.

“That’s none of your business.”

He laughed, taking another puff of the cigarette. “Well, in case you care, I found someone new.”

“That’s nice.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not a bit. You found someone new before I ever left you.”

He watched me through narrow eyes, smoke pouring from his mouth and nose. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

His laugh was raspy, like footsteps across a gravel walkway. “That’s a bunch of bull and you know it. I never took none of those women into my bed.”

“It’s any of those women and at least you admit there were other women.”

He spit at the ground next to him, narrowing his eyes at me again. “You always did have to let me know you were smarter than me, didn’t you?”

I tightened my hand into a fist as I took a step back, my jaw clenched.

He shrugged and tapped ashes off the tip of the cigarette with his index finger. “Well, I didn’t come to talk about any of that anyhow. I just came to tell you that you won’t have to worry about seeing me again for a long while. I head out to bootcamp in a week.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Bootcamp? You?”

“Yeah. Me. Don’t sound so surprised. I haven’t exactly been livin’ the lap of luxury since you left. I got picked up for petty theft a couple times, once for beating up some loser who deserved it, and two months ago I got nailed for hot wiring a car.”

He shrugged. “Last week when I was visiting my old buddies up in New York some old cop arrested me and said I was trying to steal money from some bar up there. It was total crap. Someone else did it and pinned it on me, but the judge told me I could sign up or spend two years in jail. I chose to sign up. One year and I’m back out again,” he waved his arms out to one side, bowing slightly. “debt to society paid. I go to boot camp next week and from there, who knows.”

He shrugged again, took another draw on the cigarette. “Probably Nam.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Can you even believe it? Me fightin’ in a war. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the head?”

I didn’t answer him, just watched him blow smoke into the dark, my hand on the door to the dress shop, my muscles tense, ready to duck inside if he stepped any closer.

He looked at me under heavy eyelids, head slightly tipped back, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the cigarette between his forefinger and thumb. I wondered how much he’d had to drink before he came here.

“What?” he said. “You ain’t got nothing to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” I asked, unsure of how I felt about what he’d just told me; how I should feel.

The idea of Hank in the military, maybe being sent to Vietnam wasn’t anything I’d ever imagined. I’d never seen an ounce of bravery or nobility in him and I didn’t see it now either.

“You don’t have to say nothing,” Hank snapped. “I just came back to tell Mama and thought I’d tell you too.”

I opened the door to the shop and stepped back toward the open doorway. “Okay. You’ve told me. You can leave now.”

He dropped the cigarette and ground it into the dirt with the tip of his boot. “Take care of my boy while I’m gone, Blanche.”

His boy? I was incensed at the way he referred to my son after years of never even contacting me to ask about him.

“You don’t get to call him ‘your boy’,” I hissed, my voice shaking in anger. “And I’ve been taking care of him all these years just fine. Without your help.”

I clipped out the last words through clenched teeth.

Hank smirked, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Well, sure I get to call him my boy.” He stepped closer to me, a swagger in his step, his gaze traveling from my face, down the length of my body and back up to my face again. “I helped make him, didn’t I?”

My face flushed warm and I turned to walk into the shop, ready to slam the door in his face. I gasped as a hand clutched my arm near the elbow.

“Hey, I’m not done talking to you,” Hank said sharply, twisting me toward him.

“Yes, you are, Hank.”

The voice, hard and cold, came from somewhere outside the shop. I looked through the doorway, past Hank startled to see Judson standing on the sidewalk, hands at his hips, glaring eyes focused on Hank, his jaw clenched tight. I hadn’t even realized he was back from North Carolina.

Hank’s familiar smirk returned as he tipped his head back and laughed loudly, letting go of my arm.

“Oh, here we go.”

He clapped his hands a couple of times and walked back onto the sidewalk, standing in front of Judson. “What’s this? The boyfriend come to protect you?”

Judson stepped between Hank and me, folding his arms across his chest, not responding to Hank’s mocking questions.

“I’m at a disadvantage here,” Hank said to Judson. “You know me, but I don’t know who the hell you are.”

Judson’s eyes remained focused on Hank’s.

“I’m telling you the conversation is over,” Judson said, his voice as steady as his gaze.

Hank folded his arms across his chest as well and there the two men stood, like two rams ready to slam their horns together.

Hank sneered and poked Judson in the chest. “Why don’t we let Blanche decide who she wants to talk to, big boy?”

Judson’s eyes narrowed. “I’m trying to be patient, here, Hank, but I don’t think you’re hearing me. You need to leave. Now.”

“Listen, buddy, I’m here to talk to Blanche. Not you.”

Judson stared at Hank, jaw clenched, not responding.

“Strong and silent type I guess,” Hank said with a soft laugh. “I want five more minutes alone with Blanche. You can stand out here if you want but–”

“Not going to happen,” Judson said.

Hank tipped his head back, rolling his eyes. “Come on. Enough of this game of chicken already. I talk to Blanche then I leave and you can have her and do whatever you want with her for all I care. How hard is that for you to understand? Or are all those muscles strangling your brain?”

Hank turned and started to step toward me again, but Judson grabbed his arm, shoving him back hard against the outside wall of the shop.

“Judson! Stop!” I cried.

I was afraid what Hank would do, but I also realized Judson had a good 50 pounds on him.

Anger flashed in Hank’s eyes as he stepped away from the wall. “So, this is the way we’re going to do it, huh?”

“It’s totally up to you,” Judson said, his arms folded back across his chest. “You can leave, or I can make you leave.”

Hank’s voice was cold. “I’d like to see you try.”

Fiction Thursday: A New Beginning, Chapter 26

On March 5, 2020March 4, 2020 By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, Fiction Friday, Fiction Thursday5 Comments

Welcome to Chapter 26 of A New Beginning. Are you all still looking over your shoulder to see if Hank shows back up?

As always, this is a first draft of the story and as always, you can catch the first part of Blanche’s story, A Story to Tell, on Kindle. You do not need to read A Story to Tell to follow A New Beginning.

Let me know what you think should happen next and what you think of the story so far in the comments.

Chapter 26

“You invited Stanley Jasper? Here? To our house? For dinner?”

Daddy was in disbelief. “Janie, honey, what were you thinking?”

Mama turned from the sink, propping a hand on her hip. “I was thinking, Alan, that I wanted to invite Marion and her new friend to lunch when I saw them outside the supermarket yesterday. Is that so horrible?”

Daddy sighed and tossed his newspaper onto the table with a gentle flick of his wrist. “Well, no. It’s not so horrible, I guess. It’s just . . . well, you know how I feel about Stanley Jasper.”

Mama turned back to the counter and cracked open an egg over the frying pan. “Yes, I do, and I also know that you are a good Christian man who can handle being polite to another child of God for one afternoon for the sake of a lovely woman who needs a second chance at happiness in her life.”

Daddy snorted. “Well, I suppose,” he said. “But if she needs happiness, she should choose someone other than a bleeding heart liberal like Stanley.”

I clasped my hand to my mouth, trying not to let Daddy see me about to laugh at the conversation unfolding in front of me.

“Who knows,” Mama said, cracking another egg. “Maybe Stanley isn’t the man you think he is.”

Daddy rolled his eyes. “And maybe Khrushchev and I should have tea and crumpets after work tomorrow.”

I was grateful when Jackson skipped into the kitchen and asked if he could have chocolate milk with his breakfast, ending the discussion.

When Marion and Stanley arrived later that evening, Daddy had calmed down and put on a nice sweater and tie and combed his hair.

“Stanley,” Daddy said stiffly, shaking Stanley’s hand when he walked through the door.

“Alan,” Stanley said with a curt nod. “Good to see you again.”

This is going to be such a fun evening, I thought to myself sarcastically, wondering how stilted the dinner conversation would turn out to be.

The conversation flowed along smoother than I thought, with Daddy and Stanley managing to avoid politics and foreign relations and Mama, Marion and I dominating the conversation with comments about the latest fashions and our plans for what to plant in our flower beds in the spring.

After dinner Mama suggested we chat in the living room to let dinner settle, while she brewed a cup of coffee and cut slices of pie.

“So, Stanley – are you a fan of baseball?” Daddy asked, sliding his hands along the arms of his chair.

Stanley nodded, clearing his throat. “Well, yes. I’ve always been a Phillies fan.”

Daddy nodded back. “They’re not having too bad of a year this year.”

“Doing well,” Stanley agreed. “Yep. Doing well.”

Silence fell over the room. I could feel the tension in the air and tried to think of a way to break it.

“I like baseball!” Jackson declared from the living room floor where he was playing with his trucks.

Laughter filtered around the room. Daddy ruffled Jackson’s hair. “That’s right. You do. We’ll sign you up for the local team when you get a little older.”

“Do you like to pitch or hit better?” Stanley asked Jackson.

“Both!”

“That’s a good thing,” Stanley laughed. “You can be an all-around player.”

“And he’ll be the best player out there because he’s my grandson,” Marion said, kneeling down and kissing Jackson’s cheek.

“Aw, Grandma!” Jackson said, rubbing his cheek. “Not when there’s company here!”

We all laughed again as Mama walked into the living room with a tray with the pie and coffee. She set the tray on the table, arranging plates in front of each person.

“Strawberry rhubarb okay for everyone?” she asked.

Stanley smiled. “Well, Mrs. Robbins, that’s just about my favorite pie and I don’t get it very often.”

Mama picked the tray back up and propped it under her arm. “Now, Stanley, please call me Janie.”

“Of course, Janie,” Stanley said. “Thank you.”

Stanley’s eyes wandered to the record player across the living room as he took a bite of pie. He tilted his head to get a better look at the records in the rack underneath it.

“I see someone is a Hank Williams fan,” he said, standing and sliding record out of the stack. “Emily and I used to dance to his songs at little dance hall near our house when we first met.” He cleared his throat after a few moments of looking at the front of the record and looked up at us. “Sorry. Emily was my wife. She passed away 15 years ago.”

He swallowed hard. “Cancer.”

Daddy looked down at the floor briefly and cleared his throat as well. I began to see that clearing throats was something men did when they were nervous, embarrassed, or having difficulty controlling their emotions.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Stanley,” Daddy said. “That must have been very hard on you.”

Stanley nodded and placed the record back on the rack. “It was, but, well, being able to spend time with Marion has been a nice respite after so many years of grieving.”

He smiled at Marion and pink spread across her cheeks as she lowered her face and smiled back.

Daddy stood and walked to the rack. “You know what song Janie and I like to dance to?” He slid a Patsy Cline record out. “This one…”

He opened the record player and slid the record on the turntable, gently dropping the needle on to it.

I Fall to Pieces crooned throughout the living room. Jackson sat next to me on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest and leaned against me.

Daddy held his hand out to Mama. “Care to dance, Janie?”

Mama laughed. “Alan, not here . . .”

“Why not? Come on. Stanley and Marion can dance too. Us old folks can get some moves in tonight.”

Mama’s cheeks flushed red like Marion’s had a few moments earlier. She laid her hand in Daddy’s. Daddy gently pulled her close, his arm around her waist, his hand holding hers. She slid her other arm around his back and leaned her head against his shoulder as they swayed.

Stanley grinned and took Marion’s hand in his. I smiled as Marion moved smoothly into his arms, looking the happiest and most comfortable she’d looked since the day I’d met her.

The couples danced slowly to the music, Stanley and Marion smiling at each other, Mama and Daddy lost in the moment, hanging on to each other, swaying. As I watched them, I wondered if this would be me someday – dancing in my living room with my husband, swept up in the moment, feeling at home not in a house but in his arms.

After an hour of more songs and more dancing, laughing and sharing stories, I looked down and noticed Jackson had fallen asleep against me. I nudged him gently, knowing he had become too big for me to carry.

“Come on, kid. Let’s head upstairs.”

He leaned against me and looked up at me bleary-eyed as we walked up the stairs. I helped him take his shirt and pants off, slipping pajama tops and bottoms on him.

“Mama? When is Judson coming home?”

“I don’t know, honey. He’s still helping his family.”

Judson had been gone for over a month now and there were few days that went by when Jackson didn’t ask when he was coming home.

“I miss him.”

“I know, sweetie. I miss him too.”

I knew I wasn’t lying when I said I missed Judson.

Jackson changed into his pajamas and then climbed into bed, yawning. I tucked him into bed and kissed his forehead.

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Judson is ever going to come back?”

I pulled the covers up over his shoulder and sat on the edge of the bed. Judson had called twice since he’d left. The last time we had talked had been a week ago. We’d talked briefly and he’d given me an update on his father, on repairs he’d made around the house while he was there and said he hoped to be home in a couple more weeks. Jackson had asked to talk to him before we could discuss anything else and then Judson had said family had arrived and he needed to go.

“He said he would,” I told Jackson. “I know you miss him, but he has to be there for his family right now.”

“He promised he’d come back.”

“Yes, he did. So, he’ll be back.”

As I changed into my nightgown for bed, I thought about what I’d told Jackson and hoped I hadn’t lied. Judson had promised, but people had a way of breaking promises, something I knew too well. Sliding under the covers, I wondered if I was hoping Judson would return for Jackson’s sake, or for mine.

***

“I am so excited to finally meet Miss Mazie in person,” Edith said from the backseat of Emmy’s blue Chevy. “Jackson, honey, take your finger out of your nose.”

I snickered, looking back at my sister pulling Jackson’s finger away from his nose while he giggled.

“Good luck with convincing him to stop that,” I said.

A baby seat sat next to Emmy, Faith snuggled in a pile of warm blankets. Emmy was driving, her hand tapping on the steering wheel to the beat of The Supremes, her head tilting from side to side as she sang along. We’d left early that day to travel to see Miss Mazie, Hannah and Buffy, for only the third time since I’d left almost seven years before. It was the first visit with Emmy and Edith.

“I’m so glad Sam didn’t have to work today and I could drive us,” Emmy said, pausing in her singing. “It’s so fun to have a girl’s day!”

Sunlight streamed through the trees as we drove and I rolled the window down to enjoy the breeze, unusually warm for October. The autumn leaves spread bright colors across the hillsides. The day was perfect and a chance for me to forget about my confusion about Judson and for Edith to take her mind off Lily and the baby.

It seemed impossible it had been eight years since I had driven this road in the passenger seat of Hank’s truck, his hand on my thigh, our future out in front of us like the empty road we were on. I remembered leaving, thinking how I didn’t want to live alone and how Hank was my ticket to adventure and love for the rest of my life. I was so naïve, so oblivious to the reality of married life and life in general.

“Hey, turn here,” I said as we entered the city.

I watched the apartment buildings rise up before us as we got closer, unchanged; rusted fire escapes hanging loosely on the sides, vines crawling up the outside walls, laundry hanging on lines stretched between windows. Inside one of those apartments, on the fifth floor, I’d crossed from innocent teenager to confused and lost young woman.

“Pull over here.”

Emmy pulled into a parking space in front of the building where Hank and I had lived and I stepped out and looked up at the window of the apartment we had lived in.

“You’re too young to know what love is,” Mama told me the night Daddy

caught Hank kissing me in our backyard. “What you have right now is lust.”

Mama had been right. My feelings for Hank might have been tinged with love but they were highlighted by a healthy dose of lust. I had never felt more alive than when he touched me and kissed me in the moonlight. A rush of desire I’d never known before coursed through me the first time he pressed his mouth against mine and that desire consumed me to the point of selfishness and self-destruction.

I closed my eyes, picturing the night in our sparsely decorated apartment when I’d told Hank I was pregnant, six months after we’d been married; the night the veil of fantasy was stripped away.

He had stood over me, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“It probably isn’t even mine.” He repeated it, pacing in front of me as if he’d struck on an idea and was thinking how to use it. “It probably isn’t even mine.”

He tossed the empty whiskey bottle at the wall behind my head and it shattered, glass raining around me. I screamed in terror and fell to the floor on my knees, my hands over my head. His fingers encircled my upper arm and he pulled me up to look at him, his eyes wild.

“That’s it isn’t it? It isn’t even mine!” He shouted the words at me. “Maybe you’re just a whore like your sister.”

His face twisted in a terrifying scowl and I turned my head from the overwhelming

stench of alcohol on his breath.

“You’re just a little whore, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

I opened my eyes to stop the memory and while I couldn’t see the window from where I stood I knew it was there – the bedroom where I’d held Jackson against me while Hank screamed and danced around the room like a man possessed.

“What do you think you’re going to do?” he had asked. “You gonna try to leave me? You gonna try to take my son from me?”

Suddenly he screamed, veins popping out on his neck, eyes wild, words unintelligible except for a few obscene curses.

“The hell you will!” he screamed. “The hell you will!”

He’d lunged at me and I had fallen with Jackson in my arms.

Like a man possessed by the devil he flailed and screamed and in that moment I had wondered if he really was the devil; the physical beauty I had once seen in him distorted by his rage-filled screaming.

I had only been able to get away because he’d fallen to the floor, grabbing my foot on the way down. I had kicked him full in the face in that split second adn I could still hear his crazed screams in my mind as he clutched at me. Closing my eyes in the bright sunlight, I could still see the blood spraying from his nose and spilling onto the floor; his glazed, unseeing eyes looking at me and then closing before his head fell down into the blood.

“Blanche.”

A hand touched my shoulder.

“Come on,” Edith said. “We don’t need to keep standing here with all those memories rushing at you. Let’s head down to see Miss Mazie’s. She’s expecting us.”

I drew in a deep breath and nodded, pausing to look at Jackson through the back window, through the reflection of the apartment building on the glass, asleep against the door. The memories were hard. My decisions led to pain for both Jackson and me, but at the same time, if I’d never left with Hank, I’d never have had my son.

Miss Mazie’s house looked almost the same as it did the day I’d left to go back home. The small white house stood close to other, similarly built white houses, rose bushes blooming on either side of the steps leading to the porch. A hanging basket overflowing with small purple flowers swung gently in the breeze. A porch swing looked inviting and cozy on one side of the porch. I remembered nights sitting there, chatting with Miss Mazie about her life, then gently swaying back and forth, a dozing Jackson in my arms.

Standing on the porch, her walker helping to support her, Miss Mazie waved as we pulled into the driveway. Her skin, dark like chocolate, was still smooth on her face, almost, as if she hadn’t aged at all.

“Oh, honey, you get on up here and hug my neck,” she called to Jackson as he skipped up the stairs to her.

She kissed his cheek and laughed, her plump body jiggling as she held him against her.

“You’re like a big fluffy pillow!” Jackson declared, pressing his face against her stomach.

Miss Mazie laughed even harder. When she finally let him out of her embrace, she reached out for me and pressed her soft cheek against mine.

“Honey, you look so good,” she cooed. “Now you introduce me to everyone else and then come on in so I can hold that baby.”

After introductions we entered the house to wait for Buffy and Hannah to arrive with their children. The noise rose considerably when they did and I was grateful the weather was warm enough to send the children outside into the backyard to play. Hannah’s daughter Lizzie announced she would take charge of the younger children, even though her brother was the oldest.

Lizzie was almost unrecognizable to me now. Gone were the pigtails and freckles she’d had when I first met her with Hannah on a cold winter day outside the church the day after I’d learned I was pregnant with Jackson. Her straight blond hair hung down her back, held back from her face with a pink head band. At 13 she no longer stuck her finger in her nose but stood straight with her chin held high and a book hugged against her chest with one arm. Gone were the outfits of denim overalls with tiny pink flowers, replaced by a light pink polo top and an adorable plaid skirt, a pair of pink t-strap Mary Janes completing the ensemble.

Lizzie held her hand out to Jackson. “Come, Jackson. Let’s go play on the swing.”

Even her tone exuded maturity. I watched her lead my son out the backdoor with the other children following behind, in awe of the young lady she had become.

“I can’t believe how much she’s grown,” I said to Hannah as we made sandwiches in the kitchen. “She was so pretentious a young child.”

Hannah tossed her head back and laughed, blond curls falling down her back. “She has now added a touch of impertinence to her growing list of attributes. And oh, my goodness, she still doesn’t know when to hold her tongue, but she’s slowly starting to develop a small amount of tact at least.”

I glanced out the back door at a little girl with blond curls tight on her head giggling and chasing Jackson around a bush in Miss Mazie’s yard. I realized she must be Buffy’s youngest, the baby who had come after three miscarriages. She was the miracle child, the child who had opened my eyes to the need to not judge a book by its cover.

Buffy, the pastor’s wife, had always seemed so proper, well put together and popular, but at the same time always wearing a mask that never allowed anyone to see the real her.

The day she sat in Miss Mazie’s kitchen and began to pour out her heart about the losses of her children and her doubts of God’s goodness and faithfulness, I had seen my own judgmental heart.

“So many people don’t know what it’s like,” she had said abruptly that day, shaking her head. “to always have to be on. To always have to be – perfect. To look like you have it all together all the time, so no one suspects that sometimes you don’t even know if you believe what your husband is preaching up there.”

Tears rushed down Buffy’s cheeks, streaking her face with mascara.

“Do you know what it’s like to hear that God never gives you more than you can handle and have those words echo over and over in your mind while you watch a nurse carry a small box out of the room that you know holds the baby you carried for three months? Isn’t this more than I can handle?”

I remembered my heart breaking at her words and feeling shame at having judged her as someone who never suffered.

Now here was the baby she thought she’d never have, giggling and playing in the autumn sunlight.

“She’s beautiful,” I said as Buffy stood next to me.

“Thank you. She’s the part of our family we never realized we needed.”

“How are your other children and Pastor Jeffrey?”

“They are doing wonderful. You know we didn’t think we would be at this church for this long but it’s home now and such a blessing. The church is growing and Jeffrey is the happiest I’ve seen him in years.”

I was happy to see my friends living lives of joy after their struggles and I knew I was on the same path, no matter what my heart decided about Judson.

I found a seat in the living room on a chair next to Miss Mazie’s recliner.

“Now, Blanche, what’s this I hear from Jackson about his friend Judson who he says is about his mama’s age?” Miss Mazie shuffled into the living room from the dining room. “He says this friend doesn’t have a wife and is related to his Aunt Emmy.”

Emmy almost spit out the ginger ale she was drinking. I shot her a warning glare.

“Sorry,” Emmy mouthed, looking at the floor, her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

When had my son found time to get Miss Mazie alone and spill the beans to her about Judson anyhow? This was one of the times I regretted my son had the gift of gab, which seemed like a curse right now.

“He’s a good friend to Jackson and our whole family,” I said with a smile.

Emmy raised her eyebrows at me and smirked.

“Who are we talking about?” Buffy asked as she and Hannah walked into the room with pitchers of lemonade and plates of sandwiches.

“Judson T. Wainwright, my handsome cousin from the South,” Emmy told her. “He moved up about a year ago to work in my dad’s construction business.”

Emmy glanced at me, caught sight of my scowl, and cleared her throat. “He has been a good friend to all of us.”

I could tell she was trying not to tease me, knowing how confused I was feeling after the night at the pond.

“Oooh,” Hannah said, sitting in a chair across from me. “I think I need to hear more about this man.”

Buffy sat on the couch, leaned her elbows on her knees, propped her chin in her hands, and looked at me with wide eyes. “So, is he a suitor of yours, Blanche?”

“I think he’d suit her just fine if she’d allow herself the chance to get to know him better,” Edith blurted.

The women laughed as I blushed.

“Now, now ladies, let’s not embarrass poor Blanche,” Miss Mazie said waving her hand as she sat in her recliner. She smiled at me and reached over to take my hand. “Blanche will find someone when she’s ready.”

“It’s okay, Miss Mazie,” I said. “I know they are only teasing me because both of them know how hard it’s been for me to let my guard down since Hank.”

Miss Mazie was still holding my hand. “We all know how much Hank hurt you, baby, but don’t let your heart be hardened against all men. There are many good ones out there. Don’t you forget, God created us in his image – male and female – to compliment each other. Now that I’ve said that, though, you make sure you wait for the right man to come along, okay, now? Pray about it.”

On the drive home that night I thought about how Miss Mazie and Emmy had both implored me to pray about how I felt about Judson. Why did I always seem to forget about prayer when I was struggling with a situation? The only problem was, I wasn’t sure how to pray. Should I pray for God to take away my feelings for Judson to protect my and Jackson’s heart, or should I pray for my heart to be softened toward the idea of Judson being more than a friend to me?

Looking back at February, ahead to March, and favorite posts from the blogosphere

On March 4, 2020March 4, 2020 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings20 Comments

February was a little bit of a crazy month. Normally it drags on because we are dealing with the winter blahs, but this year it flew by pretty fast because of house showings and then eventually the sale of our house. Now we are knee-deep, somewhat literally, in packing up the house and clearing out, some of which we had already started.

Weather-wise, the temps rose and fell throughout the month, which was wonderful for our sinuses and mood (she said sarcastically). It was like “We’re happy!” “Now we’re sad!” “We’re happy!” “Now we’re sad!” all month long.

Looking ahead to March, there will be more packing and then the actual moving, with the plan to be in the new house by April 3. There will also be more homeschooling, somehow, in between all the packing and moving. So far, homeschooling is both a blast and completely aggravating. I’ve considered writing a post about homeschooling again, but, sad to say, I had some who looked down their noses at me for doing it so I hate to think they’ll read any posts about the struggles and gloat. I know, very immature of me to worry about what others think, but I’m still working on that.

I wrote a variety of blog posts on a variety of topics (which is why the word “ramblings” is in my blog name.)

I shared a few weekly round-ups:

I also shared several chapters of A New Beginning, and you can find the links to all of those HEREor at the top of the page.

I share a couple posts about faith:

I also wrote about:

I also enjoyed many posts by a variety of bloggers in February and I thought I would share them with you today in addition to my February review.

I loved all the photos and daily events with Derrick, but I especially loved this one he called The Horse Whisperer. The photos and story behind it were beautiful.

As always, I have to share one of Pete’s stories from Lunch Break Fiction, but this time I also get to share he has a book out. I just purchased it and I am so excited to read it! I loved this post from February entitled Metrics. If you haven’t read Pete’s short stories, you’re really missing out.

I like pretty much every post shared at My Life with Gracie so it’s hard to highlight just one, but I did like when John shared his copy of Doctor Doolittle with Gracie and the other chickens.

Mama’s Empty Nest shared this throwback post written from the perspective of her cat and it was hilarious and sweet.

Melinda Johnson wrote about Facebook Being a Stalker Boyfriend and she’s completely right. You all know my disdain for Facebook.

Bettie, one of my favorite bloggers, shares so many touching posts butthis one was interesting because it gave me the chance to hear her voice and more of her story. What a blessing!

I enjoyed this post by Heather Dawn about waking up on the wrong side of the bed (even with coffee!) because I could relate to it.

I could also relate to Autumn at Autumn Rain about her worry that she’s too late to blog, to write, to . . . well, whatever. And, no, Autumn, we are not too late. It’s never too late.

There is a lot interesting posts to digest at Our Little Red House, so I picked just one about her garden in the month of February. She gets to have a garden in February since she lives in Arizona.

This post from Becoming HIS Tapestry entitled Love Me; You Don’t have to Trust Me, hit home as there have been people in my life I haven’t fully trusted, but who I have loved. Honestly, it might tip some of your preconceived notions about love right up on their head.

Some difficult, but important posts from the last month included:

This one on Storied Pathwayswhen she wrote about her grandmother, who is in the hospital, and who has meant to much to her. Get some tissues.

The Whole Truth Laid to Rest on A New Life was such a hard read, but just so necessary in a day and age where so many don’t respect life on the simplest, smallest levels. *trigger warning* This is the personal story of a woman who had an abortion years ago and is now facing the pain from that decision. No matter what you believe about the issue, this is her story and she has the right to that story as much as anyone else.

So, how about all of you? Read any good posts in February? Do some exciting things? Share links or stories in the comments and see you at the end of March for my March update (if I remember to do it or even have time with the move and yes, this post was supposed to be done for the end of February. Oops.).

Flash Fiction: The Open Road

On March 2, 2020March 2, 2020 By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, flash fiction6 Comments

They would leave together.

Hand in hand.

Alone, yet together on this journey. She was leaving behind all she’d ever known.

Her mother, sweet and tender.

Her father, hard and stubborn, yet she knew he loved her.

The man with her, Augustus, a Roman by birth, married her in secret in the home of Tehal, who’d been healed of her affliction by the touch of a garment.

Could she trust her future to this man with kind eyes and a caring heart?

She felt that she could, knowing they were both called to the open road.

February 27, 2020, prompt from The Carrot Ranch Literary Community: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that includes the open road. Where will the trip lead? Who is going, and why? Follow the open road wherever it may lead!

Respond by March 3, 2020. 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.

Thank you to the 350 people who follow me and the people from 92 different countries that have visited me

On March 2, 2020March 2, 2020 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings13 Comments

I don’t look at my stats too often (she lies, trying not to look as vain as she sometimes, unfortunately, feels), but last week I noticed I had gained a few more followers (I think I’m up to 360, not tons, but a lot for little ole’ me). I’ve also been checking out where my visitors are from and was surprised to find that I have had visits to my blog from 92 different countries in the last year. I find it so interesting that my readers are from so many different countries. I also find it interesting there are this many countries in the world and that there are a few on my list I have never heard of (Maldives and Suriname, I’m looking at you).

The majority of my visitors, of course, come from the United States. In 2019, 8,262 visits were from Americans. I thought the second highest visitor count would be from Canada (I don’t know why since I don’t really post anything that would be exclusively interesting to Canadians) but instead India is in second place with 835 visits. Not that anyone really cares (about the same as about this entire post) but rounding out the top five countries where my visitors came from were Canada, United Kingdom and Australia. Off-topic, but I only know one Australian and I think she’s too busy homeschooling her brood to even check out my blog so I don’t think those Australian hits are from her. I actually met her while blogging 13 years ago on a different blog (a mommy blog). There is some unimportant and unnecessary trivia for you.

I think some of my followers are simply looking for reciprocal follows on their blogs, which is the nature of the social media culture we find ourselves in these days. Many of my followers author blogs about psychology or mental health, which really isn’t a surprise considering my mental health is pretty unstable most days. I’m sure people who know me in real life aren’t surprised I’m being stalked by mental health experts (or self-proclaimed experts). They are probably expecting to find some business through me. Ha! But maybe some are following because they are actually interested in the ramblings of the girl from the boondocks (no, really, they want business.)

Some people probably follow me based on my posts about faith, some because of the fiction, maybe some for the photography (though those posts have been sporadic at best lately), and maybe some for the ramblings about creativity. Most bloggers say you need a niche for your blog (I heard the same from the photography world) but being random can pay off too.

Sure, I don’t have the following of other, high-profile bloggers, but I really don’t mind that. I like my small little corner of the blog world. If I did start to accumulate a high amount of followers, I’d probably delete this blog/site and start another one. I share for fun, not for attention. I mean, a little attention is okay and nice, but a lot of attention? No thank you!

I have never looked at a social media “influencer” (whatever that is), or someone famous and felt envy, wishing I could have people pay attention to me like they do them. I mean, can you imagine having all that attention on you in this highly political, always offended, always ready for a fight environment? Blogging or sharing wouldn’t be fun anymore. Instead, it would be like walking into a minefield and hoping you don’t set off a row of landmines that destroy your life and your love of writing.

In other non-important stat information from my blog for 2019 and 2020:

I had a total of 11,351 views in 2019 and 6,904 visitors (this doesn’t add up with how many views I received from different countries, but I think that total was 2019 and 2020);

161 blog posts (not many by most standards);

2,067 views from WordPress;

1,870 views from Facebook;

and a handful from other sites.

In 2020 I’ve had:

3, 544 views;

1,986 visitors;

and 49 blog posts (which actually seems like a lot for it only being the end of February).

So, if you are a blogger, do you keep track of your stats? I don’t normally, so if you don’t, that’s good with me. If you do, that’s cool too! Let me know in the comments (if you want to, of course).

Sunday Bookends: The British version

On March 1, 2020March 2, 2020 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings7 Comments

This past week there was some good news on the house front, progress on my book writing, and a little bit of reading done. On the house front, we are moving closer and closer to closing on the house on April 3 and we are all starting to get nervous as we think about all we have to do to pack and move ourselves 45 minutes away by then.

Our appraisal of the other house led to a price drop, there are some issues the inspection brought up that we are having addressed, and my husband is in full-on moving mode by packing boxes and stacking them in our dining room. Soon I will have nowhere to sit but on boxes, I have a feeling.

As for what I am watching, the majority of the shows I have watched lately are British, so when Erin at Still Life, With Cracker Crumbs mentioned this week that she watches British cozy mysteries it was right up my alley. I feel a bit awkward mentioning Erin again, since I mentioned her last week, as well, and she also mentioned me in her blog this week, but I don’t feel awkward enough not to mention I got the idea for this week’s post from her.

This week I’ve been watching Grantchester (just started), but in the past, I’ve watched some of the same shows Erin has, such as Shakespeare and Hathaway, Death in Paradise, and Rosemary & Thyme. It’s a shame so many people die in these small British towns or in the Caribbean, as in Death in Paradise, but, hey, it’s entertaining for all of us, right? Even if the main characters are harbingers of death.

We signed up for Britbox last year so I could get more of the British fix I have craved for some 20-years. As a child, my brother and I sometimes watched Doctor Who on PBS (we didn’t have much choice. We only had four channels back then. It was that or soap operas.) and later Are You Being Served? When I was older I found myself caught up in As Time Goes By (with Judi Dench and which I have mentioned here before). BBC America introduced me to many more shows, some of which my brother had watched, such as Fawlty Towers with John Cleese.

My brother also enjoyed Monty Python, which I introduced my son to recently. My son and husband enjoy it while I just wonder what they were smoking when they made those shows. I also wish, in some ways, my child had not discovered Monty Python because he keeps running into the room yelling “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!” This is fine except he’s been doing it while I’m in the bathroom and I have this phobia of having a heart attack on a toilet, since that’s how my great-grandmother died, according to family lore.

With Britbox I have watched Miss Marple, as I have mentioned before, Sherlock Holmes with my husband (he’s a huge Sherlock Holmes fan and we have also watched Sherlock with Benedict Cumberbatch, of course.), One Foot in the Grave, The Vicar of Dibley (which I watched before Britbox). I’m not sure how I discovered Miranda years ago, but I remember my husband buying me DVDs of the series from the UK and then me trying to figure out how to change the region on my laptop so I could watch them. Of course, Miranda is now on Hulu and Miranda Hart also has books out, including one about her dog that I didn’t finish for some reason. I need to go do that this week.

I liked Father Brown but had to bail after season five because I hated the one actress and the whole show was just going off the rails to me.

Grantchester is interesting, so far, but I hope the main character starts smiling a little more soon. So far he is dealing with PTSD from fighting in World War II, is starting to become an alcoholic and grappling with his love for a friend who is marrying another man. A bit heavy and depressing, in some ways, but the actor makes it all a little better by his gentle demeanor. It’s strange to watch the lead actor (James Norton) because he reminds me of a guy I went to high school with who is now on Broadway. The guy I went to school with, Lucas Steele, was nominated for a Tony a couple of years ago for playing Anatole in Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812.

Looking at a photo of them side by side in these two photos, they really don’t look the same (except maybe around the mouth) but something about James’ mannerisms reminds me of Lucas, who, unfortunately for him, got stuck in a Geometry class with me when I was a senior and he was a junior. He was a really sweet kid with an amazing set of singing pipes, and while I haven’t seen him in 20 some years, I’d have to imagine he’s still a sweet guy. The people in the town where we went to high school pile into a tour bus every time he’s in a show (off or on Broadway) to go see him. Right now he’s in something called Emojiland, off-Broadway.

Anyhow, back to Grantchester. Fitting in with Erin’s comment about British shows having no qualms about switching main actors in the middle of a series, I’ve noticed on Amazon that James Norton is being replaced by another actor for Season 4. I’m not sure I’ll make it through Season 1 let alone to Season 4 of Grantchester, but I’ll probably abandon the show when the new guy shows up like I did for the second Detective Inspector for Death in Paradise. I stuck around for the second detective, despite hating how the first DI was written off, but I have no intention starting to fall for a third DI and having them be written off as well. I just read that the entire cast for the show has slowly been replaced in its nine seasons, to the point there are no longer any original cast members left. I mean, at that point, you might as well just call it a night and cancel the show, don’t you think?

The only British show that can really get away with this drastic main character replacing is Doctor Who because it was written into the plot more than 50 years ago when it was made clear that the Doctor has regeneration power. There have now been 13 actors (and one actress) playing that part. After I met my husband, I rediscovered Doctor Who and got him hooked on it. He’s obsessed with the show but I’m not as interested as I once was. (Who would be now that David Tennant is gone. Sniff. I know that was four Doctors ago, but I still miss him. Daaavid!!!)

The show is a bit too weird for me; always was, but for some reason I still watched it. The odd scientific mumbo-jumbo makes my head hurt and I’m not a fan of the current female Doctor Who. She’s a good actress but the writers have done a disservice to her by writing her as an overdramatic female who focuses way too much on social issues and too little on alien-fighting, in my opinion.

Not only am I watching British shows right now, but I seem to be reading British books, again thanks to Erin who suggested the Willow Tree Hall books by Alison Sherlock. I finished the first Willow Tree Hall book, Love Begins at Willow Tree Hall, this week. I liked it but I felt it could have ended a lot earlier than it did. It was a bit repetitive for me in the last several chapters. I liked the fact the book was fairly clean and light-hearted and just … I don’t know . . . simple.

I may start the second book this week, but for now, on tap for me in books is finishing A Light in the Window, which is the love story between Father Tim and Cynthia in the Mitford Series by Jan Karon. I read it probably 20 years ago (oh my gosh! I’m so old!) but I have forgotten a lot of it and it has taken on a different meaning now that I’m older. This simple love story between an older couple is right up my alley in this stage of my life, even if I am 20 years younger than they are in the books.

I’m also planning to read a novella by Becky Wade called Take a Chance on Me, which she released for free on Amazon this weekend. I haven’t read her before, but discovered her on Instagram, when I started my author account, and I believe she’s released this novella to promote a new novel in her Misty River Romance series, which will come out later this spring.

On the blog this week I shared a couple of chapters from my book ‘A New Beginning’, which will be out on Kindle later this spring.

I also wrote about a child in a neighboring community who is battling brain cancer and the support that came together for her from the community.

So, how about you? What have you been reading, watching or doing this week? Let me know in the comments. (I stopped asking ‘What are you up to this week?’ when my brother kept answering “About 5’6″.” Sigh. Brothers.)

Fiction Friday: A New Beginning Chapter 25

On February 28, 2020February 29, 2020 By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, Fiction Friday13 Comments

If you missedChapter 24, I posted it yesterday for Fiction Thursday.

Let me know what you think should happen next and what you think of the story so far in the comments.

Chapter 25

A few days after my night out with Thomas, I kicked off my shoes inside the door and flopped on the couch, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. Despite months of trying to avoid Stanley and Thomas about the freelance featuring writing job, I’d finally taken my first assignment: interviewing Sam about how he was adjusting to work after being shot eight months before.

After a long week of starting a dress for Ellie Tanner for her sweet 16, hemming three sets of pants for Mrs. Jefferies five boys, and interviewing Sam for the newspaper, I wanted to eat some dinner and curl up with a good book on the couch.

“Hey, Mama!”

Jackson skipped out of the kitchen with the phone receiver in one hand, the base in the other, the cord trailing behind him.

“Guess who’s on the phone?!”

I yawned. “I don’t know, bud, who is it?”

“Judson! And he called to talk to me! But now he wants to talk to you! I’m not done telling my story yet, though. Hold on.” He put the receiver back to his ear. “And then Grandpa and I went fishing after school because Mama went to dinner with that guy from the newspaper. Not the old one who is going to be my grandpa, but the younger one with the Flash Gordon hair. And when they came home, he smelled like beer and I told him that Mama doesn’t like people to drink beer and he said he understood but someone had just poured beer on him so that’s why he smelled like it. Okay. You can talk to Mama now! Bye, Judson!”

I stared at my son in horror as pushed the receiver into my hand and ran up the stairs toward his room. I wasn’t ready for a conversation with anyone after such a long day, but I definitely wasn’t ready for one with Judson now that my son had blabbed to him about my night out with Thomas. How was I going to explain that to Judson? What would I say, ‘Well, yes, Judson I did kiss you by the lake that night and then a few weeks later went out with another man. Apparently, I’m breaking out of my shell at a high rate of speed now.’

I held my hand over the mouthpiece, rolled my eyes, and then cleared my throat before speaking.

“Hey, Judson.”

“Hey.” I was surprised by the pleasure I felt at surge through me as I heard his voice. “Just the person I wanted to talk to.”

I had this sinking feeling he might want to talk to me about that night at the lake, the kiss, the outburst, all of it.

I pulled the phone into the kitchen and sat on the floor, away from Mama in the laundry room and Daddy in his office working on paperwork he’d brought home.

“How are things going?” I asked. “How’s your Dad?”

“Dad came through the surgery okay. He’s still at the hospital recovering.”

“I’m glad to hear. Do they know how long he’ll be in?”

“Probably a few more days.”

I picked at a piece of dirt under my fingernail, unsure what to ask next, but knowing I needed to ask something to avoid any other, more uncomfortable topics. “How’s your mom?”

“Tired but hanging in there. My brother called from college to check in. He’ll be up this weekend to visit.”

A silence fell over us and I knew there was so much unsaid between us that neither of us knew where to start.

“So . . .” Judson’s voice trailed off.

Oh, God, help me, he’s going to talk about it.

“You went out with Thomas, huh?”

Oh, he’s going to talk about Thomas. Well, that’s awkward too.

“Oh, well . . yes, but just to hear a band at a place up in Nichols. One of his friends was playing with the band and he asked if I would like to ride along.” I knew if I rambled much more, I would sound even more guilty, but then why did it matter if I sounded guilty. It wasn’t as if Judson and I were in a relationship.

“Was it fun?” Judson asked in a tone of voice I couldn’t exactly recognize. It bordered somewhere between mocking and polite.

“Actually, yes,” I said. “The band was great and it was nice to go somewhere different, get out of the area. I met some new people. They seemed nice.” I cleared my throat. “Listen, I heard Jackson talking to you. I can explain about Thomas smelling like beer. . .”

“You don’t have to. It’s not really my business . .. just because you kissed me a couple of weeks ago.”

I twirled the phone cord tight around my finger until it turned red and slightly purple. I took a deep breath. “Yeah, so anyhow, Thomas’ friend, girlfriend, whatever, was trying to get her brother home and her brother threw beer on Thomas when he thought he was someone else.

“Ah. I see.”

An awkward silence settled over us and I bit my lower lip, trying to think what else to say to avoid the topic I knew we should be discussing.

“So we’re just not going to talk about what happened at the lake that night?” he asked abruptly.

I drew in a sharp breath. “Judson . . .”

“You kissed me.”

I chewed on my thumbnail as I tried to figure out how to answer.

“Yes, I know I did, Judson, but . . .”

“You admit you kissed me then, right?”

“Yes, but. . .”

“Because I was going to kiss you but I thought I was being too forward. Imagine my surprise when you kissed me instead.”

“Judson, I know I kissed you, but listen, it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He laughed. “It was the nicest mistake I’ve ever been a part of.”

“It’s just … I shouldn’t have …” I let my voice trail off. I didn’t know how to explain why I shouldn’t have kissed him that night.

“You shouldn’t have kissed me or shouldn’t have enjoyed it?”

I nearly chewed my nail off trying to figure out how to answer. I let out a long breath, deciding I’d try changing the subject.

“Is the weather nice down there?”

Judson cleared his throat. “Okay. Have it your way. But we’re going to have to talk about it sometime, Blanche. So…Yeah. It is. Warm.”

There was another long gap in the conversation as my mind raced. I could hear voices in the background on Judson’s end, laughing, sharing stories. Restlessness hung heavy in the silence between us.

“Cool down up there yet?” he asked finally. I could hear a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Yeah. Maybe we will actually have autumn here soon.”

“Maybe we can take a walk together in the leaves when we get home.”

“Sure, that would be nice.”

I twisted the phone cord around my finger again, listening to the faint hum of conversations on his end, Jackson in his room upstairs playing with his cars on my end, reading frustration behind Judson’s silence.

“I miss you, Blanche.”

His words revealed an ache in the middle of my chest that I began to recognize as a sense of loss at no longer seeing Judson in town or in our backyard helping Daddy or throwing the ball with Jackson. I was missing him too, even if the rest of my feelings about Judson were complex and mixed up inside.

“I miss you too,” I said softly.

“Is it okay if I call again?”

“Yes. Please do.”

After a ‘goodbye’ we both hung up and I sat alone in the dimly lit living room, in the confines of a suffocating loneliness I hadn’t expected to feel. I leaned my head back against the wall, my hand on the receiver, and started a mental list of all the reasons I shouldn’t feel so lost with Judson gone. I knew I had a long, sleepless night ahead of me.

Fiction Thursday: A New Beginning, Chapter 24

On February 27, 2020February 27, 2020 By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, Fiction Friday, Fiction Thursday5 Comments

Is it really possible we are in Chapter 24 of A New Beginning? Well, I guess it is! If you haven’t read Chapters 22 and Chapter 23 from last week or are even further behind, I will warn you that there are spoilers ahead!
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I caused a bit of a stir last week by bringing Hank back into town and maybe into Blanche’s life. We will have to wait and see if he is gone for good like his mother and Blanche believe he is.

Blanche also struggled more with trying to figure out how she feels about Judson.

This week I started another story on Wattpad, which, if you don’t know, is a site with a lot of stories written by (excuse the following term) horny teenagers. This is not meant to be offensive to teenagers but there really is some x-rated and poorly written fiction on this site. Why then am I posting there? Because already I’ve had a couple of adult authors (not authors of ‘adult fiction’ necessarily) give me some pointers to help me tighten up my story. I may, or may not, continue to share The Farmer’s Daughter on Wattpad. I hope to have the final book version of it out on Kindle sometime in the fall or winter of 2020. I am only on the first draft of that novel, which will be first in a series.

Okay. Enough rambling. On to the chapter for this week. As always, this is a first draft of the story and as always, you can catch the first part of Blanche’s story, A Story to Tell, on Kindle. You do not need to read A Story to Tell to follow A New Beginning.

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.

Chapter 24

“Hey, Blanche!”

Thomas waved at me from across the street as I locked the door to the shop. The sun caught his blond hair as he swept it off his forehead. Daddy had climbed into the car and Jackson was standing next to me, swinging a rock on a string.

“The rock is my pet, Mama, since you won’t let me have a dog,” he told me when I’d picked him up at school.

He’d been trying to convince me to get him a dog for a couple of years. Apparently, his sad expression while he tugged the rock along behind him was his latest attempt.

Thomas crossed the street and stopped in front of us, looking down at the rock. “Is that the latest toy craze? Or a failed yo-yo?”

Jackson pushed his lower lip out. “It’s my pet. Because Mama won’t let me have a dog.”

Thomas looked at me with wide eyes and mock horror. “Why, Mama! How can you be so cruel? Look at this poor child with his rock when he could have a ball of fluff licking his face, following him around, being his best friend like dogs are for all little boys.”

I scowled at Thomas.

He grinned and laughed at me. “Ouch,” he said, leaning down so his face was closer to Jackson’s. “Is that the look your Mama gives you when you’ve done something wrong?”

Jackson nodded, his eyebrows raised. “I think you’re in trouble,” he whispered in Thomas’ ear.

Thomas held his hand out to Jackson and Jackson took it. “My name’s Thomas. Looks like us boys have to stick together in this dog thing. I’ll work on your Mama for you about this dog thing, if you let me take her with me tonight to hear a band play a few miles away. What do you say?”

Well the very nerve, I thought, placing my hands on my hip. He hadn’t even asked me, just assumed I would go. “Thomas . . .”

He smiled at me. “What? I’m just trying to help the kid out here.” He winked at me. “And maybe myself.”

Jackson bit his lower lip and placed his finger against his chin, looking up at the sky as if he was thinking.

“Okay, Thomas,” he said. “You can take Mama to hear that band if you tell her she should let me have a dog.”

I shook my head, placing my other hand on my other hip and glaring at both of them. I pointed my finger at Jackson, trying not to smile. “Young man, you remember that it isn’t only my decision about the dog. We’re living with Grandpa and Grandma. It’s up to them too.”

“What’s up to us too?” Daddy asked from behind me.

“Getting a dog,” I said.

Daddy sighed, patting Jackson on the head. “We’ll take about this later, kid.”

A muscle in Thomas’ jaw jumped as he cleared his throat and held his hand out toward Daddy “Hey, you must be Blanche’s, Dad. I’m Thomas. I work with her at the paper.”

Daddy looked at Thomas’ hand for a moment, did a little throat clearing of his own and then took it. He nodded. “Thomas. Night to meet you.”

We all stood there in awkward silence for a few moments, the sound of cars passing by on the street the only sound, before Thomas finally spoke again. “I was just asking Blanche if she would like to go with me to hear a friend of mine that’s playing in a band up in Nichols. I thought we could head out now and grab some dinner there.”

“Actually, you didn’t really ask me,” I pointed out.

Thomas grinned. “Well, in a roundabout way, I did.”

Daddy looked at Thomas, then me and back to Thomas and shrugged. “She’s a grown woman now, as much as I hate to admit it. It’s up to her.”

I was having a hard time reading Daddy’s expression as he looked at me, but I wasn’t sure if he was happy with the idea of me leaving with Thomas. I felt the pressure of needing to answer one way or another with both Daddy and Thomas looking at me. Maybe a night out was what I needed to take my mind off my confusing feelings about Judson and my worry about Hank returning again.

“Sure,” I said. “If Daddy is okay with a night with his grandson.”

Daddy nodded. I worked at deciphering his expression, but still couldn’t read it.

“I’d be glad to take him home, get him fed, and,” he leaned down to look Jackson in the eye. “take him fishing!”

“Yeah!” Jackson cried, jumping up and down, grabbing his grandpa’s hand. “Come on! Let’s go!”

I watched Daddy and Jackson walk down the street toward Daddy’s car and felt a twinge of regret at not leaving with them. I wasn’t one to make spontaneous decisions and on the rare occasion I did, it always made me feel uneasy.

Thomas gestured to a bright blue Chevy El Camino parked across the street and bowed slightly. “Madam.”

I looked at the car, studying the long lines, the sun reflecting off the sleek, blue paint. “Why am I not surprised this is your car?” I asked.

“Why? Because it’s a chick magnet?”

I rolled my eyes as he opened the door.

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking,” he said, climbing into the driver’s side. “This isn’t a date, okay? I actually asked Midge Flannery first. You know Pastor Jenson’s daughter over at the Methodist Church? But she came down with a cold.”

I grinned. “A real cold, or . . .”

“Hey! Watch it. Yes, a legit cold. I saw her myself. Red nose and eyes even. I took some soup over to her apartment before I decided to ask you.”

“Oh. I see. I’m your second choice.”

“Well, yes, actually, you are,” he said, starting the car. He grinned at me again and winked. “But, we’re just friends so that’s okay, right?”

“Yes, actually it is,” I said as he pulled the car away from the curb, hoping he would remember we were just friends as the night went on. “So, who is the friend we’re going to see?”

Thomas clicked on the radio. “Jerry Fritz. The new sports reporter. He’s the bass player.”

Dean Martin crooned over the radio and Thomas turned the knob.

A man on the radio screamed through the speaker:

“I can’t get no satisfaction, I can’t get no satisfaction

‘Cause I try and I try and I try and I try

I can’t get no, I can’t get no…”

This time I reached over and turned the knob.

“What?” Thomas said. “You don’t like the Rolling Stones.”

I made a face. “No. They’re sleezy.”

Thomas snickered. “I think that song is my theme song.”

I ignored his comment and turned up the radio.

“Stop! In the name of love!” I sang to the song on the radio, putting my hand out in front of me, wiggling like Diana Ross. “Before you break my heart.”

Thomas watched me with wide eyes, glancing from the road to me, then back again.

“Look at you lettin’ loose!”

I stopped singing and laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. And focus on the road.”

“You’re thinking that it’s time to let your hair down, Blanche. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

I touched the bun on top of my head, then smoothed my hair to make sure there were no strands out of place.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” I said.

“Why not? You should let your hair down. I bet you look beautiful with your hair falling down around your shoulders.”

I looked out the window and thought about the day in the barn with Judson, how he’d told me I looked nice with my hair down. I touched the back of my head and closed my eyes and remembered how he’d told me the same thing at the lake. I could almost feel Judson’s hand in my hair as he pulled me closer. I thought about the day he’d left and how I’d barely let him hug me, how I’d pulled back, physically and otherwise. Why had I been so cold? I was driving my own self crazy at this point trying to figure out why I was acting so strange.

I shook my head at Thomas. “I don’t even have a comb to pull through it. It would be a mess.”

“Messy is sexy,” Thomas said with a wink.

I looked at him raised eyebrows, tipping my head. “Are you sure you want to go out with a pastor’s daughter?”

Thomas tipped his head back and laughed. “Maybe she’ll help me turn over a new leaf. Seriously, though, this is tame compared to what I used to be like. I promise you I’ve come a long way.”

“Yikes. I think I’m glad I know you now then.”

The bar was crowded when we arrived, the band already on stage. The bass player nodded at Thomas while he played, and Thomas nodded back.

Thomas gestured toward a couple standing up from a table in the corner. “Looks like that one is opening up. Let’s grab it.”

He pulled my chair out for me and brushed crumbs off the top of the table. Looking around the room, I realized how out of place I felt. I viewed diners and drinkers through a haze of cigarette smoke that stung my nose and eyes. The sickly-sweet smell of alcohol pulled at my stomach, memories of Hank staggering in after work rushing at me fast.

I hadn’t been in a bar since the night I’d witnessed Hank kissing that other woman. I had found my mind wandering to that night often over the years, wondering what had ever happened to her. Had Hank started dating her officially after I left? Maybe he’d even married her. Or maybe he’d done to her what he’d done to me. I was pulled from my memories by Thomas snapping his fingers in front of me.

“Hey, kid, where’d you go?”

“Oh. Sorry. I just haven’t been in a bar in a long time.”

“Back in your other life, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“Tell me about it when I get back. I’m going to order a burger and a beer. What can I get you?”

“A burger sounds good. Just a ginger ale to drink, though, please.”

Thomas sighed. “Of course.”

Watching the people around me sipping alcoholic drinks or gulping mouthfuls of beer, I realized how sheltered my life had become since coming home and it was something I didn’t mind. What had I been thinking agreeing to come here with Thomas? I’d rather have been home, curled up on the couch with Jackson, watching Gunsmoke. While I had once thought my life would somehow become exciting after I left with Hank, I now realized I preferred my quiet nights at home.

Thomas handed me my drink and as I took a sip, he held out his hand.

“Johnnie said he’d bring our burgers out to us when they’re done. Want to dance?”

I looked up at him, shaking my head, my chest constricting. I hadn’t danced in years.

Thomas leaned over me and spoke loudly over the music. “Come on. We’re dancing as friends.” He held up his hands in front of him. “No hanky-panky. I promise.”

He held out his hand again and I took it reluctantly. Leading me out into the middle of the other people dancing, he laid his hand against my lower back, stepping close to me as a fast song faded into a slow song. I took his other hand and slid my arm around his waist, feeling almost as awkward as I had the night I’d first danced with Hank as a 17-year old girl.

Thomas winked at me playfully. “Now, if you said right now you had feelings for me, I would throw all the friend stuff right out the window.”

I slapped his shoulder playfully.

“Thomas!”

He laughed as we danced, swaying to the music. When a faster song came on he stepped back and we watched the people around us dance. He shrugged at me and tried his best to mimic the steps as I laughed.

He leaned close to shout over the music. “I’m not really a dancer. Can you tell?”

I watched him shuffle his feet and stumble and laugh. He was right. He wasn’t a dancer. But I wasn’t one either and soon we were laughing at each other.

When the band stopped playing a few minutes later we stopped to applaud.

“We’re going to take a break and be back in 15 minutes,” the singer said, tipping his hat.

Sitting down at the table again, I took a drink from my ginger ale and noticed our burgers and fries had been delivered while we were dancing.

“What were you thinking about earlier?” Thomas asked, reaching for a fry and dipping it in ketchup. “When you zoned out on me.”

I drank more of the ginger ale, wishing I could change the subject.

“Just about the past.”

“Something the old man did to you?”

I laughed. “Well, he wasn’t exactly an old man, but he was my husband at the time, yes.”

“Did he do something bad to you at a bar?”

“You could say that.”

Thomas’ expression faded from teasing to serious. “Did he – hurt you – physically?” He held his hands up quickly. “Wait. No. You don’t have to tell me. This is supposed to be a night full of fun, not bad memories.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t anything like that. It was just. . .” A sudden lump formed in my throat and I found myself unable to speak about the night I’d watched the blond woman with the low cut dress kiss Hank hard on the mouth and him kiss her back. “It was nothing,” I choked out.

Thomas looked at me with furrowed eyebrows, taking a swig of the beer.

“Nothing I can talk about anyhow without crying apparently,” I said, swallowing hard.

I was determined not to cry. I’d pushed tears so far down for so long I sometimes wondered if I could cry anymore.

“The more you tell me about this guy,” Thomas said, his jaw tight. “the more I wish I had walked into D’s that day and punched him straight in the face.”

“You’re not the only one who wants to do that, but really, it was a long time ago. It’s better just to leave it. It only bothers me once in a while and tonight some of the memories came back, that’s all. And really, I’m just not a bar person. I don’t drink, I haven’t got a clue how to dance, and cigarette smoke gives me a headache.”

Thomas grinned. “In other words, you’re a complete square.”

“Yep. And I like it that way.”

Thomas leaned back in the chair, watching me. “I do too. You’re fine the way you are. Not saying that in a flirting way, but you don’t have to be someone you aren’t. I think you know that by now.”

“I’m getting there. Enough about me, though. I want to know what you like about Midge.”

Thomas didn’t hesitate. “She’s cute.”

I sighed and pressed my hand against my forehead. “Thomas. Besides her being cute.”

“Okay. Okay.” Thomas tipped the chair back on two legs as he hung his arms over the back of it. “She’s sweet, smart and makes me want to . . .,” he looked at the ceiling, bit his lower lip and tipped his chair back down, light crimson seeping into his cheeks as he looked at me. He laughed softly and shook his head, looking at the top of the table and pushing at his napkin. “She makes me want be a better person, I guess you would say.”

He rubbed his hand across his face and shook his head. “That sounded so cheesy. I can’t believe I just said that. I’m so embarrassed.”

I tipped my head back and laughed loudly. It felt so good to laugh and release the tension I’d been holding in recently.

“If I was Midge and I heard that, I would melt inside. Thomas! You should tell her how you feel! What are you waiting for?”

Thomas looked at me his face, and even his ears, bright red now. “I’ve only taken her out twice. I can’t tell her that.”

“Okay,” I conceded. “Maybe you can’t tell her yet, but, soon, okay?”

A thought hit me as I took another bite of the burger.

I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Wait, a minute, Thomas. Weren’t you harassing me about not going out with you just a couple of weeks ago? Why did you even care if you were dating Midge?”

Thomas winked, taking a sip of his beer. “That was more about making you feel guilty than really thinking you’d go out with me. I already knew you had a thing for Judson.”

Biting into my burger I shook my head at him.

“Hey, I told you the truth about Midge and how I feel about her, so now it’s your turn. How do you really feel about Judson?”

I shoved a fry in my mouth as I considered how to change the subject but didn’t need to worry. Thomas’ eyes drifted past me and his eyebrows furrowed. “Speaking of Midge. . .What is she doing here?”

I turned to follow his gaze and saw Midge standing next to a man at the bar, talking with her hands, looking upset. She pulled a thick woolen coat around her as the man responded, wiping her nose with a tissue and blowing into it. Thomas cleared his throat and continued watching the exchange. I had a feeling Thomas was thinking what I was, wondering what Midge was doing at the bar if she’d told him she had a cold.

The man stood abruptly, shaking his head, turned and shoved the man behind him hard to the ground.

“Patrick!” Midge shouted. “Stop it!”

“You’ve been pestering me all night and I’ve had enough of it!” the man Midge had called Patrick shouted as he stood over the man on the ground.

Midge pulled at the arm of the man she’d been talking to. “Patrick, you need to come home with me.”

“I’m old enough to make my own decisions, Midge!” Patrick yelled, facing Midge. “Go home!”

Midge threw up her arms in frustration, walking away from the bar and pushing her way through the crowd. Thomas crumpled his napkin and tossed it onto his empty plate, watching Midge stomp in our direction.

“Midge?”

Midge Flannery was petite with a small round face, a cute nose and dark brown curls that fell to her shoulders. I’d known of her since we were both children and though I didn’t know her well, she had a reputation for being sweet, quiet, and well composed. This was the first time I’d ever seen her look flustered and disheveled. She pushed a curl back from her face and I noticed her eyes were red rimmed, her nose looked sore, and she was wheezing slightly.

“Thomas! What are you doing here?” She glanced at me, then back at Thomas.

“I could ask the same thing. I thought you were sick.”

Midge sighed and covered her mouth as she coughed. “I am sick. I came down here because the bartender called our house and told me my brother was drinking too much and to get him out of here. I drove up here so my dad wouldn’t find out Patrick is completely out of control with the drinking. Patrick refuses to come with me, though and I’m too tired and sick to mess with him this time.”

She looked at me and scowled, a hand on her hip. “But it looks like you found a replacement for me anyhow, Thomas Fairchild. Now I don’t have to feel guilty for canceling on you.”

I stood and held my hands up. “Now, Midge. Wait. I’m only here with Thomas as a friend. He was just telling me . . .” I glanced at Thomas whose face had paled as I spoke, probably worried what I was going to say. “Um… Thomas told me he’d asked you to come but you were sick and asked if I would come as a friend.”

Midge’s expression softened, but I could still see unshed tears in her eyes. “Oh. Well, I guess that’s better than what I thought.”

“Do you want me to see if I can convince Patrick to leave with you?” Thomas asked.

Midge nodded, blowing her nose again. “You can try, but honestly, I don’t think it will help.”

A half an hour later, Midge and I followed a beer-soaked Thomas and a staggering Patrick Flannery into the parking lot. Midge and I had both stifled laughs behind our hands when Patrick threw a mug of beer into Thomas’ face, thinking he was someone else. Out in the parking lot we were still laughing as Thomas helped Patrick into the car.

“Real sorry about that, buddy,” Patrick said, slurring his words. “I swear I thought you were Danny harass- harassing me . . . me . . ” he hiccupped in Thomas’ face. “again.”

“It’s okay, big boy,” Thomas said with a grimace. He patted Patrick’s shoulder as Patrick fell into the backseat of the car. “Let’s just get you home.”

Thomas shut the door and turned toward Midge and me, his eyebrows raised. “Whew. That was not the adventure I was expecting tonight. Your brother is as strong as an ox.”

Midge smiled. “I’m just glad he didn’t punch you. We’d be on our way to the emergency room.”

“Are you going to be okay getting him home?” Thomas asked.

“He’ll sleep on the way there and I’ll either drag him inside or let him lay and let Daddy find him in the morning and handle it,” Midge said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

She laid her hand on Thomas’ arm, tipped her head to one side, and smiled. “Listen,” she said, her nose clearly stuffed from the cold. “I hope you’ll ask me out again, Thomas. When I’m over my cold.”

Thomas smiled. “I certainly plan to.”

Midge stood on her tip toes and brushed her lips against Thomas’ cheek.

“I hope I didn’t give you my cold by doing that,” she said.

I stepped back and moved toward Thomas’ car slowly, feeling like I was eavesdropping on a private moment.

As I turned toward his car, I saw Thomas out of the corner of my eye lean down and briefly press his mouth against Midge’s.

“If you did, it would totally be worth it,” he said softly.

I smirked when he slid into the driver’s seat a few moments later. “Well, it looks like things are progressing nicely in the Midge department,” I said with a wink.

“They certainly are,” he said with a grin, starting the car. “They certainly are.”

We laughed about the evening and sang to the music as we drove and when he pulled the car into my driveway, I saw Jackson standing on the front porch, his hands on his hips.

“Where have you been, young lady?” he said as I stepped out of the car.

I giggled as Thomas stepped around to where I was standing.

“I was out with Thomas listening to some music.”

“You should have been home an hour ago.”

Jackson’s eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth pressed tight into a thin line.

I kissed his cheek as I stepped onto the porch. “We had to help a friend before we could leave.”

His scowl softened and he lowered his hands from his hips. “Well, if you were helping a friend, I guess it is okay.”

Thomas stood next to me and laughed. “Hey, kid, thanks for letting me take your mom with me tonight.”

Jackson folded his arms across his chest and eyed Thomas suspiciously.

“You smell like beer,” he told Thomas. “Mama says beer makes people mean and she doesn’t like people who smell like beer.”

Thomas glanced at me and winced. “Ouch. Your Mama is a tough lady, but yeah, she’s right. Beer can make people mean. Luckily I never even finished my beer tonight. I smell like beer because some guy dumped his on me. Crazy, huh?”

Jackson wasn’t swayed from his indignation. “I think it’s time for you to leave,” he said firmly. “I bet you didn’t even talk Mama into getting me a dog.”

“Jackson, that’s enough,” I said, my tone even sharper than his had been. “Head in and up to bed. You should have been there an hour ago . I’ll be in to read you a book and tuck you in. Now go.”

Jackson turned but kept his gaze on Thomas until he finally walked through the front door.

“Wow,” Thomas said. “I don’t think you need to worry about anyone ever messing with you again. That’s one tough kid.”

“Yeah, he loves his Mama but sometimes he seems to forget who the parent is.”

Thomas stepped off the porch, walking toward his car. “Thanks for a fun night, Blanche and hey, remember what you said about me needing to tell Midge how I feel?”

“Yes. . .”

“If you have feelings for Judson you need to do the same.”

He grinned, tossing his keys into the air and catching them behind his back.

“See you around the office. Oh and get your kid a dog.”

After reading Jackson his book and kissing him goodnight, I tiptoed to my room and closed the door behind me. Undressing I thought about my night, about dancing with Thomas and about what Thomas had said. I also thought about the realization I’d come to when Thomas and I had been dancing; how I had wished I was in Judson’s arms instead of Thomas’.

Faithfully Thinking: The little girl who brought a community together

On February 26, 2020March 13, 2020 By Lisa R. HowelerIn Faithfully Thinking10 Comments

*feature photo credit: Brown Photography

I generally skip past blog posts with sad stories, especially those related to childhood cancer so I would certainly understand if you skip this one. What is different about this one, though, is that there is some hope mixed into the story: hope for humanity, I suppose you might say. Or at least it restored within me some hope for humanity.

Back in the fall, probably Septemeber or October, we started to notice Christmas lights on houses in a tiny town we drive through to get to my parents and my husband drives through to get to work. In addition to the Christmas lights, Christmas decorations were starting to appear — like inflatables of Christmas related characters and Frozen characters. It’s not uncommon for Christmas decorations to remain on houses in our areas for months after Christmas, but this was a bit unusual to say the least. My husband soon learned the lights had been put up to cheer up a little girl in the town who had been diagnosed with a rare, aggressive brain cancer. The community had joined together to hang the lights for her to see when she came back from treatments.

One member of the community had even gone as far as writing the little girl’s name in lights on the side of his barn. For a full two months, I cried almost every time I drove through the town, amazed by the kindness of the community and the way they had gathered together to encourage this little girl in her battle. Not only did residents hang the lights, but businesses and the township also decorated in her honor.

Last week the family was told there is nothing more the doctors can do for her and a candlelight vigil was held for her at the tiny park in town. Members of two other communities, one where her church is located, another about 20 miles from Ulster, also held vigils, praying for her and singing her favorite song, “Let It Go” from Frozen.

87863466_1424714851044622_7209998532218978304_n — Little Ariah being held by a friend at the vigil in her honor. Photo credit: Brown Photography

I know you can think of stories like this one, maybe in your own community or in a community near you. Ulster, Pennsylvania isn’t the first small town to rally around one of its’ own in a time of trial and tragedy. The story is not unique; it isn’t terribly unusual. I think, though, that we need to hear these stories no matter how many times they happen, to remind us that all hope is not lost; that the anger the media shows us has not permeated our world as much as they tell us it has.

There are still good people.

There are still kind people.

There are still loving people who recognize that, yes, indeed it does take a village to raise a family.

And there are still people who recognize we were not created to be alone but to be part of a community, a family tied together not by bloodlines but by our common humanity.

It is these people who show us that though there are things in the world that will bring us to our knees in grief, it is still true that”the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5)

Ariah’s family showed this weekend that they believe and understand that the moment Ariah’s spirit leaves her earthly frame it will be in the presence of Christ.

When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15:54-55)

Musicians sang in the pavilion that night:

I raise a hallelujah, in the presence of my enemies
I raise a hallelujah, louder than the unbelief
I raise a hallelujah, my weapon is a melody
I raise a hallelujah, heaven comes to fight for me
I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm
Louder and louder, you’re gonna hear my praises roar
Up from the ashes, hope will arise
Death is defeated, the King is alive!
I raise a hallelujah, with everything inside of me
I raise a hallelujah, I will watch the darkness flee
I raise a hallelujah, in the middle of the mystery
I raise a hallelujah, fear you lost your hold on me!
I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm
Louder and louder, you’re gonna hear my praises roar
Up from the ashes, hope will arise
Death is defeated, the King is alive!

The niece of a woman I knew passed away a few years ago from cancer. She was very young, I don’t remember the exact age. She told her mother, as cancer made her weaker and weaker, that she was going to heaven. Her mother, of course, was distraught, not wanting her little girl to leave her.

“Heaven is closer than you think,” the little girl told her mother.

It’s so hard to sing in our storms.

It’s hard to sing in our unbelief.

It’s so hard to raise a hallelujah in the face of death.

It’s hard to raise a hallelujah in the face of fear.

It’s hard to raise a hallelujah when all hope seems lost.

It’s hard to understand the idea that our loved ones will be gone from earth but alive in heaven.

Even though it was hard, the people of the community raised those hallelujah’s this weekend.

They raised their voices because they believe that one day hope will arise from the ashes, that death is defeated and that the spirit of a little girl who fought so hard for her life here on earth will live in a heavenly realm we can not even imagine, a realm closer than we think it is.

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