Lisa R. Howeler author

Fiction Friday: Reintroducing Gladwynn Grant

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 7 Comments

I’ve had a few new visitors to the blog lately so I thought I would bring back my Fiction Friday feature for this week to reintroduce Gladwynn Grant, the main character of my cozy mystery series.

There are only two books in the series so far, with both of them currently on Kindle Unlimited, which is an ebook subscription service through Amazon for those who aren’t familiar with it. It is also available for sale as an ebook on Amazon and as paperbacks on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Gladwynn Grant is a young woman who has moved in with her eccentric grandmother after being laid off from her job as a research librarian at a community college. Let’s be honest, she also moves to her grandmother’s small town to get away from her ex-boyfriend, Bennet Steele.

She used to visit her grandparents in Brookstone as a child and teenager and always thought the town was fairly quiet. Her image of the place is shattered, though, when she finds out in the first book that someone may have tampered with the brakes on the local bank loan manager’s car and again when someone drops a car on a disagreeable resident in the county.

The first book, Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing, will be part of a blog tour with Celebrate Lit beginning March 12.

You can learn a bit more about the book, the tour, and the stops for the tour here: https://www.celebratelit.com/gladwynn-grant-gets-her-footing-celebration-tour/

 For the blog tour, I shared a bit about how I came up with Gladwynn’s name and personality so I thought I’d share that here today too.

I can’t say that Gladwynn Grant’s character is based completely on my grandmother, but, in some ways, I did. I named her Gladwynn after my paternal grandmother whom I grew up living over the creek and through the woods from.

Gladwynn was her middle name but I’m not really sure how she spelled it because she never really used it. She usually just wrote G. as the middle initial. When we did a search on Ancestry, we saw that some spellings on her documents were Gladwin and some were Gladwyn. I guess her family wasn’t sure either, but if I remember right (I don’t have the document right in front of me) on her birth certificate it was spelled Gladwin.

I liked the spelling of Gladwynn with a “y” and two “n’s” though so that is how I spelled Gladwynn’s name for the books.

My grandmother was tough and to the point. She wasn’t mean but she didn’t pull punches. She was not super maternal or affectionate. Again, though, she was not mean.

She lived through the Great Depression and raised children during World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War.

Her youngest, my dad, was in the Air Force when Vietnam broke out. He was never sent overseas but he helped build bombs and work on airplanes during that time.

She knew about hardship, trials, and heartbreak. Her husband died of cancer when he was in his 60s and she spent the next 35 years without him. She began to lose her eyesight to macular degeneration in her 80s.

None of what life threw at her stopped her from living her best life.

She still traveled and kept her house and property up. At the age of 86 I caught her on a ladder cleaning out the gutters. Around the same age she marched down the dirt road in front of her house with a walking stick and told the township road workers to make sure the drainage pipe they were putting in didn’t run into her field and flood it.

If she was afraid of things, she didn’t show it very often.

My family lived with her while I was in college and I learned so much about how to preserve and live a happy and fulfilled life despite the tragedies or trials of my life.

When I started thinking about writing a cozy mystery series, I wanted the main character to be a lot like grandma, but also more affectionate and sentimental than my grandmother seemed at times.

I only remember my grandmother telling me she loved me once or twice in my life, but I know she did because she showed it in her actions toward me.

I wrote Gladwynn to be bold and tough, but also to be affectionate and open with her feelings – a lot like my grandmother, but also a little different.

I think my grandmother would love the idea that I am writing a series of books based on her name and partially on her personality.

I will be sharing about the tour again when it comes closer to the actual launch date for it. If you would like to check out the books from the Gladwynn Grant Mysteries, you can find them here, Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing:    https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C1KSQJXP         and Gladwynn Grant Takes Center Stage: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CB74L7TQ

September Newsletter: Cooler weather, writing book two of the Gladwynn Grant Mysteries, and a giveaway!

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 3 Comments

One week during the winter of 1993 snow covered everything until the world was a white wonderland, but also a dangerous situation. Snow hung heavy on tree limbs and electric lines, both ready to break under the weight of it. An icy sheen of snow hid the highway that traveled in front, and slightly above our house. Electricity was on in most of our tiny village, split into two different electric companies by the creek behind our house.

My grandmother’s electricity was off so Dad started the truck, warmed it up, and headed out through three feet of snow – over the river (creek) and through the woods to Grandmother’s house he went.

He brought back my 84-year-old grandmother so she could wait until the power came back on. I don’t remember much about her visit other than her wearing a warm coat and looking out the window with us at all the insane amount of snow. I think that might have also been the year the neighbor’s teenage son was hit with a snowplow. He wasn’t killed, thankfully, but it was a nerve-wracking moment.

Here we are 20 years later and outside the air is brisk and we are piling wood up behind our garage to prepare for the cold weather we are sure to get this year. I am hearing that this could be quite a nasty winter when it comes to snowfall.

So far the trees haven’t changed color much but are just starting to and we know before long the hillsides will be ablaze with brilliant reds, orange, and yellows.

I am looking forward to the beauty, to the chilly weather, to the chance to sit under a blanket and read a book without the urgency that seems to come with summer – an urgency to soak up all the warm weather and sunshine, I suppose.

While I wait for autumn to hit us in full force, I am writing Gladwynn Grant Takes Center Stage, which is set to release in late November or early December. My original release date was November 21 but I may need to push it off a couple of weeks to make sure the story flows the way I want it to.

I’ve considered no longer offering pre-orders simply because they can be so stressful, but there will be a pre-order for Cassie, the book I am writing as part of the Apron Strings Book Series because that is part of our agreement in being part of the project. Cassie will be released in mid-August of 2024. I’m very excited to be part of this project, which books will start releasing in January.

If you’d like to learn more about this series and the authors who are writing the books (there will be a book focused on each decade from 1920 to 2020), you can join us in our Facebook group here:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/511319271100448

We share memories, talk about the decades our books are in, share silly and fun posts, and offer sneak peeks of the books. We’d love to have you join in the fun.

I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the reception of my latest book, Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing, and have really been excited to see reviews coming in from people I have never met or interacted with in my life. This happened with my other books as well, but reviews for those books sometimes came from people I had at least “met” somewhere online (and sometimes from people I never met). This time around I have people coming out of the woodwork who have read the book and reviewed it.

There is a large group of readers who think reviews on an indie author’s books come from family and friends. This isn’t the case with mine because most of my family doesn’t read my book and if they do, they aren’t really the rating or reviewing kind.

I don’t know of many real-life friends who have read my books – at least not close friends – and they certainly aren’t leaving ratings or reviews if they have.

This past week I received a review on Bookbub that I didn’t expect at all.

“This is a fun cozy mystery about a woman named Gladwynn Grant. Gladwynn moves in with her granny who isn’t the knitting parlor, baking cookies type of sweet old granny. She’s got spice. Gladwynn takes a job at the town newspaper thinking her new home in Brookstone will be a quiet life. She’s dead wrong. Her granny is also trying to set her up with the pastor in town, Luke. It had some fast moments but is easy going and the characters were fun. Very entertaining.”

I don’t know who you are Ryan, but thank you!

If you haven’t had a chance to read Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing yet, you can pick up a paperback copy on Amazon (soon to be available on Barnes and Noble too), read the ebook through Kindle Unlimited or buy it on Amazon, or you can order a paperback copy from my personal stash.

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C1KSQJXP

My Books page: https://lisahoweler.com/order-my-books/

The Spencer Valley Chronicles – all four books and a novella – are back up on Kindle Unlimited, which, if you don’t know, is a subscription book service offered by Amazon. The one drawback to having my books on KU is that I can’t share them digitally anywhere while they are enrolled in KU. Amazon likes its exclusivity.

I can, however, sell paperback versions of the book in other places so this coming year I will be offering the Spencer Valley Chronicles in paperback at Barnes and Noble as well. And, as I mentioned above, you can order autographed copies of the book at the link above.

I have had people ask before if I make more money with my books in KU or with people buying them.

The answer is that I make more money when a person outright buys the book since Amazon pays less than four cents a page read now (as of this autumn) and also determines what is and isn’t a page. For example, I sell my Spencer Valley Chronicles ebooks for $2.99 and if someone buys it I receive about $2.05. If someone reads it in KU, I receive maybe $1.50.

Why stay in KU then? One, Kindle Unlimited helps my books to be seen by people they might not have been seen by because Amazon will sometimes recommend them when a person reads a book in KU that is similar to mine. Two, many readers don’t want to buy a book by an author they don’t know so KU is a way they can try an author by essentially borrowing a book, deciding if they like the author, and then returning the book without filling up their Kindle with books by authors they don’t really know or maybe even like.

I’m not a well-known author so most people wouldn’t even try my book if it wasn’t for the convenience of KU. In other words, I wouldn’t make any money at all, most likely, if it wasn’t for KU because one, no one would see my books, and two, very few would want to take a chance on my book if they had to buy it outright, even if my prices are low.

I understand number two because that’s how I am as well. I don’t want to spend money on a book by an author I don’t know until I’ve tested that author out.

Someday I would love to have enough clout in the book-writing world to release my books on any platform and know they will sell, but I’m not there yet. Hopefully a few years down the road.

That closes my writing update for now.
If you would like to read about other updates you can catch up on my Sunday Bookends post from this week or simply follow my blog by subscribing below:

You can also sign up for a paid subscription where you will be able to get exclusive content, such as sneak peeks of my next book, giveaways, author interviews, etc. Paid subscriptions are $3 a month.

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I post 2 to 5 times a week depending on the week and what I have going on and occasionally I’ll even post seven days a week, but this is a rarity. In other words, I hopefully won’t fill your inbox up too much with blog post notifications.

My friend Erin and I are watching comfy and cozy (and sometimes a little creepy) movies for the months of October and November and then blogging about them if you want to participate in that feature in any way. She and I often do movie-watching features, which you can find by going to my search bar at the right and typing in Classic Movie Impressions, the Spring of Cary, or Comfy Cozy Cinema.

This week she and I are writing about Arsenic and Old Lace. We will be offering a link-up opportunity this week for anyone who might want to join in and write about their impressions of the movies as well.

I snuck this September “newsletter” or writing update right in under the wire, didn’t I?

Hopefully, I will get better about offering my newsletter updates earlier in the month from now on.

Photos and blog posts of the month:

I thought I would share some photos taken in September and also a link to some of my more popular blog posts from August and September for anyone who is interested:

Celebrating 60 years

Comfy Cozy Cinema: The African Queen

Saturday Afternoon Chat

Why Do You Blog?

She Was Ready for Heaven

Book Giveaway:

In my Sunday Bookends posts, I share what I am reading and right now I am reading a book called A New Leash on Life by Kathleen Y’Barbo. For this month’s giveaway, I am offering one reader of my blog and newsletter a chance to win an ebook of this book, which releases October 1. I can only gift this to someone who reads on a Kindle so let me know in the comments if you are interested.

I hope you will also let me know in the comments how you have been doing, what you’ve been up to, and, of course, what you’ve been reading lately.

A Christmas in Spencer: Beyond the Season, Chapter 3

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 2 Comments

Welcome to the third chapter of a twelve-chapter story I am sharing on the blog. This is being shared with minimal editing, just for fun, but will be fully edited once it is complete.

If you would like to read more about the characters in this story, you can find full-length novels on Amazon for purchase or on Kindle Unlimited HERE,

The first three chapters of the first book, The Farmer’s Daughter, can be found HERE.

Once all the chapters have been shared here, I’ll be providing a free Book Funnel link to blog readers and placing the story on Amazon for 99 cents.

Chapter 3

Alex’s muscles screamed for a break as he carried another heavy box of meat to Benny Johnson’s freezer truck. They’d been working to save the store’s frozen inventory for two hours now and he had caved and put on a pair of gloves in the first thirty minutes, much to Molly’s amusement.

Once the meat and dairy were inside the truck, they’d work on fixing the blown fuse for the freezers, or call the company who installed them, whichever got the job done first.

He’d been in the middle of sanding the original, chipping paint off Molly’s truck when Robert had called. Before the call about the freezers, he’d been grateful for the break from farm work to work on the surprise and he was glad he had Robert as a co-conspirator or it might not have worked. Of course, Robert had him as a co-conspirator too. He had a feeling there would be more than once in the next few weeks that they would have to chase either Annie or Molly off the scent of what they were up to.

His phone rang as he carried another box to the freezer truck. He ignored it at first, but then thought it might be Molly needing to be picked up from the farm to come help.

He should have looked at the caller ID first.

“Well, it’s about time you picked up your phone. I thought maybe the one cell tower the county had fallen down or something.”

He grimaced, his jaw tightening. “Good afternoon to you too, Mom.”

“I had to call you, I suppose, since you never call me.”

For obvious reasons, Mom, is what he wanted to say, but literally bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying it.

His mom had been generous in giving the Tanners a check to help save their farm a couple of years ago and he appreciated it but now she seemed to think it was a blank check to have the relationship with him they’d never had while he was growing up.

“You know I’m sure your father would like you to come home for Christmas.”

Ah his father. The man who never spoke to him, other than to help him how much he’d failed in life.

“Is that what he said?”

“Well, no,  but –“

“Mom. You’re divorced from the man. Have you even talked to him?”

“Briefly, yes. Three months ago. He wanted to make sure you and your brother knew about his diagnosis.”

“And that’s all?”

“Yes, but I feel certain he’d want to see you.”

“Isn’t his cancer treatable? I mean it’s been two years since we first learned about it and Sam hasn’t said much about it when we talk.”

His mother sniffed with indignation on the other end of the line. “Yes, from what I understand it is. They caught it early so that’s good. And Sam’s talking to you?”

He chose to ignore the Sam question. “I’m glad to hear that about the cancer but no, I won’t be back for Christmas. I have plans with Molly.”

Another sniff, this one with a little less indignation than the first. “Oh. I understand. Molly’s a sweet girl. And of course, her mother has replaced me in your life so – “

“Mom –”

You can’t replace something that was never there in the first place, is what he wanted to say, but, again, didn’t.

“I know. I know. Nothing can replace the love of a mother. Well, maybe you can bring Molly for a visit in February. Richard and I will be in Spain in January. Actually, if you aren’t coming for Christmas, I guess we will take that trip to the Caribbean after all. Your brother is staying with his girlfriend’s family this year in Cancun. I guess it will be another Christmas without seeing the children I gave birth to.”

He rubbed a gloved hand along the back of his neck, massaging the aching muscles there. “I’ll give you a call on Christmas, Mom.” Guilt pricked at his conscience briefly. “And maybe I can get down to see you after you get back from Spain.”

The sigh on the other end of the line denoted a change in tone. “I hope  you can. Richard has had the whole west wing of the house remodeled and we also enlarged the pool. We have plenty of spare rooms so be sure to bring Molly along. That reminds me – is she ever going to be my daughter-in-law or are you forever going to be dating?”

“Bye, Mom.”

“I mean I was just wondering – “


“Have a nice day. Bye-bye.”

He slid his finger over the call end button and slid the phone into his back pocket.

Carrying heavy boxes of meat in the freezing cold seemed a lot less like a hardship after that conversation.

“Hey, Alex.”

Molly’s hair —  pressed down with a pink knitted hat — framed her face as she carried a box of dairy products toward him. Her brother must have brought her from the farm. “Have you heard anything about my truck?”

Then again – this conversation might not be too much fun either.

He shrugged a shoulder and took the box from her. “All I know is that it’s being worked on. I’m sure it’s fine. It’s only been a week and a half, Mol. What is it you’re always saying? Patience is a virtue?”

Molly sighed. “I know, but I miss it.”

He grinned. “What, you don’t like cozying up to me in my truck?”

Molly smiled and hooked her arm in his. “Of course I like that, but I also like the freedom of having my own vehicle.”

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sure it will be done soon and when it is, it will be as good as new.”

Or close to it anyhow.

“Before I forget, Grandma invited us to lunch next week. She says she hasn’t seen us enough lately and to come over for some homemade lasagna.”

Alex laughed softly. “What’s she talking about? We see her every Sunday for lunch.”

“Yeah, but that’s the whole family. She says she wants a day with just the two of us.”

Alex grinned. “Works for me. It’s not like being fed some of her amazing lasagna is a bad thing.”

“Oh, and are you going to help us decorate at mom and dad’s next week?

“Of course. I did last year, didn’t I?”

Molly smirked. “No. You didn’t actually. You watched some action movie with Jason while you were supposed to be decorating.”

“I decorated the outside with your dad and Jason. I figured the inside stuff was up to you girls.”

“Excuse me?” She folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to say that decorating is a woman’s job?”

He shook his head briefly. “No. Just that women are better at decorating inside.”

She laughed softly. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Jason helped one year and just draped the garland over a couple of windows and said that was good enough.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m going for some more boxes. Get back to work, handsome.”

As he carried the box to the truck a few minutes later, his mind shifted to Franny’s invitation. He wondered if the woman had ulterior motives.  Robert’s mother had dropped hints more than once about his future with Molly, at least twice during family dinners where she’d kept her gaze on him for several uncomfortable moments before he, or someone else, changed the subject to break the tension.

She was a sweet woman, but she was also direct, and he knew he needed to have an answer for her if she was going to try to corner him about his future with Molly. An answer that wouldn’t lock him into anything but would halt her personal interrogation. An answer he’d have to start thinking about now if he wanted to escape unscathed.

***

Robert stood from the kitchen chair and straightened. Stretching his arms above his head, he winced at the pull along his ribcage.

“You should have let the boys do all that heavy lifting.”

The admonishing nature of his wife’s words would have irritated him if there wasn’t a large amount of compassion behind the scolding.

“I’m not an invalid, Annie. I can do some lifting.”

She stepped forward and touched his shoulder. “I know you’re not an invalid, but you are getting older.”

He stiffened at the words. “I’m not ancient. Lifting a few heavy boxes won’t hurt me at all.”

Annie rubbed her hands along his shoulders, then slid them down his arms, laying her head against his back. “I know. I’m sorry. I just worry about you.”

He looked over his shoulder at the top of her head. “I know you do, and I appreciate it.”

The day the tractor tipped over onto him and pinned him underneath, he wasn’t sure he’d have any more moments together with Annie like this. Laying there as rain poured down on him and Alex tried to free him, he’d asked Alex to help take care of her and Molly when he was gone. He’d really thought he’d hugged her the last time before he’d left to mow that field.

Now her breath was warm through his shirt as she sighed. He closed his eyes as she hugged her arms around him. They stood there for several minutes before he turned and pulled her against his chest.

She rested her cheek against his shoulder. “I’m thinking there will be at least fourteen for Christmas dinner this year. Do you think we should kill the turkey or eat ham?”

“I’m good with either.”

“I can’t wait to have them all together. Do you think we should invite Liz and her family?”

“No, hon’. I think Liz and her family will have their own Christmas together. Probably with Ginny and Stan now that Clint and Tiffany are back in town. Like they did at Thanksgiving.” He kissed the top of her head. “We don’t have to feed all of Spencer Valley you know.”

Annie laughed softly. “Oh, I know, but –”

He smiled. “You just want to take care of everyone. That’s one of the many things I love about you.”

It’s how Annie had always been. First, she’d taken care of him, then she’d taken care of him and the children.

She’d done her best to take care of her parents until they had decided it was time to move into a nursing community in town. Now she still took care of them, but in a different way, comforted that they lived close to friends who would notify her if anything went wrong.

She and Molly had taken care of his father when he’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and slowly slipped away, passing away a few years ago. They still took care of his mother Franny, even though she was as independent as ever at the age of 73, living on her own at the original farmhouse up the road. And now she wanted to take care of Molly’s best friend, but Liz had her own family, including her sister Tiffany who had recently moved back to the area.

“Well, what do you think. Will Alex propose to Molly this Christmas?”

The question jolted him from his thoughts. “What?” He wrinkled his nose. He hadn’t thought of that possibility. He thought the kid was just fixing up Molly’s truck for her, not fixing to put a ring on her finger. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

She pulled back and looked up at him. “How would you feel if he did? Do you think they’re ready?”

His muscles tightened. He didn’t like to think of his little girl getting married. Even to Alex, who he loved as a member of the family already. “Is anyone ever ready, really?” He smiled down at her. “We were only 19 when we got married. Were we ready?”

She locked her hands behind his back. “There are days I still wonder if we are ready, my dear.”

He cupped a hand against her cheek. “I’m ready for anything as long as you’re with me.”

He kissed her as she smiled, lifting his other hand so he cradled her face. When the kiss deepened, his swirling thoughts about the store, the farm and the Christmas surprise faded. Even after 30 years she had a way of clouding his senses, pulling him under her spell until nothing else mattered other than the warmth of her body soft against his while she kissed away his worries.  

Fiction Friday: A New Beginning Chapter 6 & 7

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 1 Comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Mama.”

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

“Hey, squirt. What are you doing?”

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

“That sounds fun.”

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

“How are you liking school?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chocolate chip?”

“What other kind is there?”

“Cool.”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Why not? What do you have to lose?”

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

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

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

A story to tell Chapter 9

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 5 Comments

Have you been following along with Blanche’s story? Let me know in the comments! To catch up to the story find the links to the other chapters at the end of this one.

 

Chapter 9

The few weeks after Daddy caught me were what I would call overwhelmingly tense. He didn’t speak to me. He didn’t speak to Edith. He barely spoke to Mama.

He left for work early and came home late. Dinners were silent and then he went to his chair to read his paper. I went to my room to do my homework or disappear inside a book.

Edith was quiet as well. She barely looked up from her plate at dinner. I knew she was thinking a lot about what Daddy thought of her. I hadn’t seen her flirting with boys as much lately, even though they flirted with her.

I listened to Daddy at first. I didn’t see Hank and he didn’t try to see me. I went to school and came home, helped Mama with the chores, went to church and did my best to be the Blanche I’d been before Daddy had caught me. I even visited that Bible study Lillian had suggested I attend, and I tried my best to really listen to the stories the women shared.

“Ladies, did we all get a chance to read the chapter in Proverbs about a virtuous woman?” Fran Sampson asked opening her Bible.

All the women opened their Bibles and I opened mine. I read:

Proverbs 31:10-31 “Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life. She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. She is like the merchants’ ships; she bringeth her food from afar. She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens.  She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard.  She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms.”

I decided not to comment too much, unsure what it was all supposed to mean. It sounded like to be a real woman I needed to be perfect and make wool. I couldn’t even sow, let alone make wool. And what did it mean to “girdeth her loins?” What were loins? It all sounded fairly ridiculous to me.

The women around me, most of them much older, nodded and smiled in agreement. Apparently, it made sense to them, then why couldn’t I figure it out?

“What do we think about this verse?” Fran asked, looking around the room.

I looked around the room too, hoping someone would enlighten me.

“Well, of course, it is probably unrealistic to believe we can live up to all of this, but it’s a wonderful guideline,” April Spencer said encouragingly.

April always had a sweet smile, perfect white teeth, blond hair, milky-white skin. Her daddy had been a farmer and her husband was a farmer and she looked like she should be on an ad for dairy products.

“It’s more of a goal to strive toward, something to work toward, rather than a list of how we need to be, I believe,” Lillian said.

The women around the room nodded in agreement and I felt a little more relieved about the passage, even if I didn’t understand all the words.

I decided I would think about the beginning of the passage: “The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.”

I thought I could handle that much, at least, when I got married. I could “do no harm” and I could make sure a husband could always trust in me.

***

I was walking with a basket full of baked goods Mama had asked me to take to the neighbors the evening before the last day of school when Hank pulled up in his truck. I was about a half a mile from home, on the dirt road, and along the edge of the Worley’s hay field, the grass high.

“I’ve missed you,” he said as he drove along next to me.

“I can’t talk to you,” I said, keeping my eyes on my steps as I walked.

“Haven’t you missed me?” he asked.

I had, but I couldn’t tell him.

“Come on, Blanche. I haven’t seen you in weeks. Go for a drive with me.”

I kept walking, trying to ignore him.

“Your daddy won’t find out. We’ll drive down by the covered bridge.”

I shook my head.

I wanted to be the good girl again. It had been easier when I was the good girl. Daddy had loved me when I was the good girl.

“Not now, Hank.”

“Suit yourself, but I’m going to try again,” he said and sped up, driving past me, his truck disappearing down the dirt road in a cloud of dust.

He did try again, two weeks after school ended. I had taken a walk to try to decide if I should apply for a summer job at the library and to think about what I wanted to do after I graduated the next year.

This time when he pulled up, I looked up from the road and our eyes met. I felt a funny feeling in my stomach, a mix of fear and excitement.

He was as handsome as he’d ever been.

“Come on, Blanche,” he pleaded. “I have to see you. Just take a little drive with me. I miss our talks and want to see how you are..”

I hesitated. I thought about Bible study and how we’d talked about resisting temptation. I felt like God wasn’t helping very well with keeping temptation from me.

“I can’t talk long,” I said.

Hank’s grinned. “I’ll take any time with you I can get.”

When I climbed in the front seat Hank’s smile sent heat rushing through me. He leaned in and kissed me hard. I knew I shouldn’t lean into the kiss, but I did, reaching out and sinking my fingers into his soft, brown hair. It felt so good to hold him and to be held by him. My body reacted as he opened my mouth under his and clutched at my hair.

“Girl, I’ve missed that mouth,” he said breathlessly, kissing me again.

We spent an hour kissing and talking under the covered bridge, his hands gliding where they shouldn’t be, but me liking it and reveling in the feel of his mouth on my skin. I was starting to understand what Edith had meant that night when she said that one day I’d understand how nice it was to have a man who paid attention to me.

“We can’t ever be apart that long again,” he said, leaning back to look at me. “What have you been up to?”

He kissed my neck.

“Trying to decide what I want to do after high school,” I told him, closing my eyes.

“What do you mean what you want to do?”

His mouth moved to my earlobe.

“Like, what career will I have,” I said, distracted with his hand gliding up my leg. “Mama says maybe I will be a housewife like her, but I don’t know if that’s what I want to do. I want more – you know?”

“I do know, yes,” Hank said leaning back to look at me. “I want more too. I want to get out of this area. I want to be away from all the people who tell me who I should be and who I never will be.”

He sat up, laid his arm across his propped up knee.” Why don’t you come with me? If you’re going to be a housewife, you can be my housewife.”

I laughed a little as he grinned.

“You can cook me some good food and wash my clothes and I’ll make crazy love to you,” he said.

“Is that a proposal?” I asked with a roll of my eyes. “If it was, it wasn’t a very good one you know.”

Hank laughed.

“What if it was a proposal?” he asked, flipping a piece of my hair off my shoulder with his finger.

I shook my head and laughed.

“Hey, girl, I’m serious.”

I looked up at his face and I felt weak. His expression was serious, his eyes watching me intently.

“Oh, Hank – I’m too young to get married,” I said softly.

“You’re not too young. You heard what I told your daddy. A lot of girls your age are already having babies.”

Hank grinned.

“You wanna have babies with me some day?” he asked.

I swallowed hard. I’d never thought about having babies. I shook my head.

“Not really,” I said honestly. “Or at least not now.”

“If I ever have babies, I want it to be with you,” Hank said, lightly touching the buttons of my shirt then trailing his fingertips along my collarbones

I only knew a little about where babies came from, and I knew what Hank wanted to do might lead there. I wasn’t ready for babies. I didn’t even like holding someone else’s baby.

“I have to go,” I said abruptly and pushed his hands away.

“Come on, Blanche. Just a little longer,” he kissed my neck and slid his hand across my stomach under my shirt.

I pushed his hands away again and stood up abruptly.

“My parents are going to wonder where I am and I’m pretty sure my daddy was serious about that gun,” I said.

Looking down at him I felt a rush of warmth move from my chest into my cheeks. He was so handsome, and I still couldn’t figure out what he saw in me. I knew if he asked me to marry him again I would say yes, just so I could spend my life looking at him.

But I didn’t want him to ask me to marry him again. My head was spinning. I was as confused about my present as I was about what I wanted for my future.

I knew Hank didn’t want to, but he drove me back to the end of our road, kissing me hard before I jumped out of the truck, like he wanted me to know who I belonged to. I smoothed my hair down and pulled the bottom of my shirt over the top of my skirt as I walked back to the house, ready to be the good girl for Mama and Daddy again.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

 

Fully Alive Part 3

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 3 Comments

For the first part of this work in progress click HERE. For the second part, click HERE.

This is a work in process and there will most likely be typos and changes to it in the future.

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

Jairus focused on the words he had said to Josefa the night after the teacher had healed her.

Healed her? Brought her back to life?

Is that really what had happened?

Even now it was all too unbelievable to him.
He wondered, did he really believe this man, this Jesus was the true Messiah as he had told Josefa?

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

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

 

“You know I told you about this teacher, this man they call Jesus? Miriam, are you listening? He’s been healing people. I saw him heal a man’s hand in the synagogue last week. The leaders were upset because it was the sabbath, but I saw the man’s hand. It was diseased, scarred, withered but Jesus held it, touched it and the hand was whole again.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Do we now believe in such men who call themselves healers?” Miriam asked, weary from worry.

 

Josefa’s body shuddered with a convulsion. Miriam rushed to her, held the girl’s small frame against her chest. Josefa’s breathing became labored, shallow. Jairus saw the panic in his wife’s eyes and felt it rising in himself as well.

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

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

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

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

He saw sandal clad feet before him and looked up.

“Let me help you,” a man with kind eyes and a smile held a hand out to him.

Jairus took it and stood slowly.

“Thank you,” he barely looked at the man, instead searching the crowd to see where Jesus had gone.

“Do you seek Jesus?” The man asked.

“Yes,” Jairus said, breathless.

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

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

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

He felt his knees give way and he fell to the ground before Jesus.

Sobs wracked his body as he lost control of control his emotions.

“Jesus,” he gasped out the name.

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

“Jesus, my little girl is dying. Please. Come and put your hands on her so that she will be healed and live.”

He felt tears rush down his face and he was startled by emotions he usually tried to keep locked inside.

He felt a hand on his head, on the covering he wore there.

“Come, rise and let us go to her,” Jesus voice was calm, gentle.

 

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

“Jesus! What does God ask of us?”

“Jesus, what happens when we die?”

“Jesus, will I find wealth?”

People cried out as they walked. They pushed against each other, each person wanting to get closer to the man so many were talking about.

“Who touched me?”

Jairus faintly heard Jesus’ voice over the noise of the crowd but he could barely hear what he was saying. He tried to push forward in the crowd, looking over his shoulder every few steps to see if Jesus was following.

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

The people in the crowd murmured and grew quiet.  Jairus stopped to see why Jesus wasn’t following.

“Master, there are people all around you and you are asking ‘who touched me?’” one of Jesus’ disciples laughed slightly as he spoke. His tone was incredulous, tinged with annoyance.

Jairus knew this was the man called Peter – a local fisherman who now followed Jesus. Many whispered surprise Peter, known as brash and abrupt, was following a teacher of God.

“Somebody touched me, for I perceived power going out from me,” Jesus said.

His eyes scanned the crowd around him but no one answered. They looked at each other confused and unsure why Jesus was concerned.

A woman’s voice could be heard softly, barely above a whisper.

“It was me.”

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

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

Jairus felt anxious. He wanted to grab Jesus by the arm and drag him forward, back to his house and his daughter, but at the same time he was entranced by the scene unfolding before him.

The woman glanced upwards at Jesus.

“It was me,” she said softly.

“I knew if I could just touch the hem of your robe…”

Her gaze fell again on the ground.

“I’ve been to every doctor. I’ve been bleeding for 12 years. No one will come near me, teacher. I am unclean.”

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

Tears continued to stream down her face.

“I have tried everything. I heard of your miracles and I knew – if I just touched the hem..”

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

“Master, the bleeding. I can feel- it’s stopped. Something is … something is …..different.”

Jairus felt his heart pounding heart and fast. If this woman was sure she had been healed, if she was saying simply touching the hem of his garment was enough to heal her then he was indeed a powerful man, a messenger of God. If healing flowed from him so easily then there was hope for Josefa.

Jesus kneeled before the woman, reached out and took her hands in his. He touched her chin and lifted her face toward his.

“Daughter, your faith has made you well.”

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

“Go in peace.”

A sob escaped her lips and she kissed Jesus’ hand as she held it. She backed slowly away.

“Thank you. Thank you.”

A hush had settled over the crowd. Some of the women dabbed their eyes and men talked quietly to each other, shaking their heads with furrowed eyebrows.

Jairus felt a sense of urgency rushing through him, tensing his muscles. He needed Jesus to hurry. He felt at hope at what he had seen and he wanted the same for his Josefa and his family.

“Jesus, my daughter… please …”

Jesus turned toward him and nodded.

“Of course, let us go…”

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

“Master, there is no need to hurry now. Josefa-“ his voice trailed off and Jairus began to shake his head.

“There is no need to bother the master now,” Josiah said. “She’s – “

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

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

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

He looked up as Jesus touched his arm.

“Do not be afraid. Believe.”

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

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

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

“Come, lead me to your home.”

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

 

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

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

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

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

An angry voice shouted over the noise of the crowd.

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

Other voices joined in agreement.

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

Jesus stood with his back to the crowd, kneeling down beside Miriam and Jairus.

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

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

“Jairus? Is that you?”

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

“Yes, Ezra. Good morning.”

Ezra walked toward him holding scrolls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ezra nodded but his expression grew serious.

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

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

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

Ezra put his hand on his friend’s arm and squeezed it slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked Ezra in the eyes, opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again.

“Ezra – I wish I could say, but truly, I do not know what to believe about this man.”