The old stair well was dark and cold.  On the way up, each board would creak and moan.  The hairs on my skin would stand up tall and my mind thought things I should not know.  At the top, there was a door—turn the knob and the fear was gone.

The room was light and full of space, with dabs of white, red, green and blue.   A large place made for the kids to play, run, nap, and dream.  Like clay to the mold and paint to the brush, this was the place to be if one were three or four.  Some books, toys, chairs, and a couch to fill the place.  But to get here, meant I had to go up the old stair well.

My first years were spent in that room, it was the bright spot of my days.   Light and love came to my heart and I smile when I think back in time.  I met peers who felt its charm and too think back with much praise.  There is one thing to which we can all point; the odd sense we felt when we went up the old stair well.

Years have come and gone, and I went back to see, the room on that side of the door.  The old stair well was still dark and cold and each board still gave a creak and a moan. But this time, I felt no fear as I went up the stairs, just a sense of home.

The knob a bit tight, and yet it did turn and gave way to the sight of the old room. The cob webs have grown. The reds, blues, and greens are now dull, and the toys and books are all but gone. An old chair still sat by the wall and the light still made the room bright and warm.

Tears fall. I close my eyes. I think back to how it once was.  I say out loud, “I love this place, just up the old stair well.”

~~~

This was written for GBE2 writing group.  This week’s challenge was to write something using all single syllables.  Phew. I think I did it?  We’ll see :) 

I had wanted to be a part of this mission for a long time, but for very complex reasons, I was never invited to do so.   When Jack, Kelly Sue’s right hand man, was diagnosed with cancer and was too ill to continue, I finally got the invitation.  Kelly Sue knew of my eagerness and she was worried it would somehow rub these people the wrong way. 

These people were invisible to most of society, maybe circumstances had driven them there, but they joined this society by invitation and by choice.  An elaborate society of people who abided by their own laws and their own way of life, which became a hidden culture within a culture of society that would judge them for their failures and their present circumstances, and thus they kept themselves invisible to most of the outside world.

We drove the expressway toward the downtown area, then we navigated some back streets, winding ourselves towards the river.  Then she slowed the vehicle down and made a right turn, jumping the curve and following a somewhat muddy path between a bunch of shrubs that were clawing the paint off of Kelly Sue’s vehicle.  We almost got stuck in the mud twice—but she somehow managed to keep us moving, and finally she stopped the car.  The area seemed void of people completely, and I wondered if these people actually existed.

Kelly Sue looked in her rearview mirror then announced, “Jorge is approaching.  I’ll get out first.” She handed me the keys.  “In three minutes, open the trunk and bring me the first bag.  Remember, No eye contact.”

In the moment, I was nervous and curious.  And yet I knew this society of people didn’t trust anyone but their own.  I waited exactly three minutes, opened my door, kept my eyes down and made my way around to the trunk.  I pulled out the first bag of food and carried it to Kelly Sue, who met me half way.  She walked the bag to Jorge who turned and handed it to someone I did not dare look at.  I just kept my eyes down.  Next I pulled out a case of water, and we repeated the same.  Then a few bags of blankets, coats, shoes. 

When I was done. I shut the trunk door and Kelly Sue called me over.  Careful not to look at Jorge, I walked over.  Surprisingly, Kelly Sue introduced me to Jorge.  I gave him a warm smile and a handshake, but not a lot of eye contact.  Kelly Sue explained, “She will be helping me now. Jack is not doing so well.  She may be coming with me for some time, maybe indefinitely.”

Jorge did a surprising thing, he invited Kelly Sue and me to come back to see their community.  We must have walked a half mile, down the muddy banks, then we weaved ourselves back into the shrubs.  At first I didn’t even realize I was in the middle of their colony—but when I finally opened my eyes—the “debris” I thought was just piled up between the shrubs, were actually make shift structures.  And each structure was spaced out into somewhat even areas.  Through quick glances, I seen little eyes peering out my direction—more so I could feel them. It wasn’t an uneasy feeling I had but more of a curiosity.  Still, I kept my eyes forward and realized we were approaching the central building of their village.

We followed Jorge into the central building—which was comprised of cardboard and tarps.  Inside he invited us to sit, and I followed Kelly Sue’s lead and sat on the ground.  He explained we were in their community center—this was the building they distributed the food, clothing, and necessities we brought them.  It was also where they held court, called the monthly village meetings, taught school, celebrated their own holidays, and took refuge during major storms, as none of the individual homes could usually withstand such systems. 

Jorge explained that each member of the society worked, taught their young, and contributed to the society as a whole. This was the price for residency. The citizens were required to abide by the laws of the village and there were consequences for breaking the laws, including jail time and exile.  He then took us around and introduced us to several people who lived there.  I noticed people who were very ordinary, mostly happy, and most of all, appreciative.

While this community of homeless people, were self governing and did not trust the outside world, they were not completely self-sufficient.  They allowed me to see a glimpse of their society only this one time, because they knew that Jack would probably never come back.   They depended on the work of this mission, but they would cut off its support if they felt that trust was ever betrayed.  My glimpse into their world was not only an eye opener for me but also a test, to see if they trusted me. 

Perhaps I passed, because every Saturday for the next three years, Kelly Sue and I brought them the bags and boxes of food, clothing, and necessities they needed.   Jorge was always there to greet us with a hug and a smile, thanking us for our relentless efforts. It was not until I had gotten pregnant with my last child and was eight and half months along that I had to step aside.  My last Saturday, Jorge and several of the ladies met us and after we handed them their bags and boxes, they presented me with a cardboard cradle. It was the most precious baby gift I was ever given.

It has been about 6 years now since I’ve been down to the river.  Kelly Sue is still going down there every Saturday, taking many needed donations.  It is this time of year, I try to get the word out to my friends and family to donate to the mission—clothes, shoes, food, blankets, coats, and cases of water. I think about these invisible people often—and I remember them in my prayers. If I am ever asked to rejoin Kelly Sue—I plan to step up in a heartbeat.

~~~

The following was a fictional take on a true story of a group of “invisible” homeless people who really do live by the river.   Since the holiday season is upon us, remember that there are others in need.  You may not ever see them—but what you contribute will matter.  Happy Holidays!

She had said things.

He was embarrassed that he had pegged her for his type.  He could not have been more wrong about her. 

How could he have known what she was really like? 

Women didn’t act outspoken and forward, it was just not proper.  At least no woman he had ever known had ever dared to act the way she did.  She had pulled him right in too.  Maybe she went to one of those Hollywood shows and seen too much on the big screen? 

He didn’t know, but he knew he wouldn’t ever make the mistake of dating someone like Annabella Dorchae again.

And still it infuriated him because on the surface she was everything he had looked for.  She was beautiful, intelligent, and witty.  He found this to be refreshing and rather alluring.  She was up on all the social gossip, current events, and even foreign politics. So advanced compared to the other women he had met. He could sit and talk to her-and she would end up teaching him a thing or two.  He certainly hadn’t met too many women like her.

She possessed a spunky demeanor and she had that innocent look about her.  He slowly realized the latter was a misjudgment on his part.  She came across as educated and sophisticated, probably from an upper class family.  Precisely why he asked her to dine with him that evening at the country club and later join him in the poker room while he and the guys played a few rounds. He thought it would be nice to have her there—so the other guys could see the diamond he had found.

He picked her up that evening dressed in his finest.  When she came out he noticed she was dressed a little liberally. He had his apprehensions at first, but he only thought of how the guys at the card table would respect him for hitting a home run with this babe.  So he let it slide. 

During dinner all seemed to be going well—she was very flirtatious, friendly, outgoing, and most of all she could talk eloquently with the friends who stopped at their table.  He anticipated the spotlight would be on him and his prize in the poker room for all his efforts.

He wasn’t sure what had changed.  Perhaps she had his number the whole time?   They had walked in the back room, he pulled up a seat, she sat cozily on the arm of his chair.  One of the boys passed him a cigar.  That is when Johnny piped up, “Charley, where’d you find the babe?”

Before he could even answer, she spoke for herself, “His babe doesn’t need for him to answer.  So why don’t you ask her yourself?”  This elicited a response from the other men at the table, “Ooooh, look out. Charley’s got his hands full” and other mutterings.  He felt sorry for her, but he shouldn’t have. Johnny wasn’t put off too much, “Alright then lady, what’s your name?”

“My name is Annabella Dorchae,” she rasped out in her best Bette Davis voice.  “You may call me Bella.”  She narrowed her eyes at the unsuspecting victim, “That is until you make my temper flare, then it will be Miss Dorchae to you. Understood?”  She was serious and flirty all at the same time.  Johnny raised his eyebrows and gave him the old stare.

It took Charley a few steps back. It was certainly unexpected, to have a woman with her boldness accompany him, but he tried to play it off with his best poker face. It wasn’t working as it became all too obvious that he was just as much a victim to her assaults as the other men at the card table.  While the boys sure got a kick out of trying to harass her being so bold and brash, they could not hold a candle to her quick retorts, her witty sarcasm mixed with her powers of intellect and perception.  They had never dealt with such a lady. 

She turned otherwise prowling men into prey. She argued with his friends on their political views, stomped on their religious devotions, exposed them for the chauvinist monsters they were and she even smoked a cigar.  Charley was mortified, because she clearly made it known that she was beyond any of their collective capabilities to handle.  Leaving Charley regretful of his decision to bring her along in the first place.

At least he was grateful because she helped him win a few hands of poker—so he didn’t leave the table broke.  He had to give her that.  She could watch those cards and know exactly when he should fold and when he should raise the a few.  Eventually Johnny accused Bella of cheating—but when she proved him wrong, he got mad and threw down his cards and stormed out.  She also made Frank cry and nobody ever made Frank cry.  And she pissed off George, the owner, to the point he threw her and Charley out of the game.   

George was screaming for them to get the hell out of the room and Bella had no intentions of leaving without a tenacious fight, because she saw the injustice of a cheating poker player and called George on it.  This forced Charley to drag her out of there, forcibly, and testing the limits of his gentlemanliness. It was no wonder George’s henchmen didn’t run them around the back and kill them both. Finally they made it to his car and he told her to “Get in, NOW!”

She complied and he got in the driver’s side.  He was so angry—and for a moment Bella was still.  He tried to start up the car-but it wasn’t turning over.  At which point she started to laugh uncontrollably.  He looked at her—catching the wildness in her eyes—almost in disbelief.

“"Say!  What do you find so darned funny?” he asked in an agitated manner.

“Oh Charley, you are so uptight!” she giggled, “You really should at least loosen your tie.”  She reached over to help him, but he immediately brushed her away.

“Stop that now.  Just sit there quietly so I can get you home in one piece.”

He turned the key again, this time the car started and he drove her as fast as he could all the way home.

He parked on the street, got out to open her door.  And that is when she had gone and done it.  She pulled on the tie he forgot to loosen and she kissed him.  A full mouth kiss—something a proper girl would never do. Then she propositioned him, “Come on Charley, there is more where that came from, all you have to do is follow me through that door.”

His immediate reaction was to follow her—but part of him was horrified by the thought of a woman being so forward, so he stepped back.  “N-No.  Y-you go, go on Bella. Go on.  I think I had enough of the likes of you.”  He backed away, stuttering like a young chap, almost losing his balance and fumbling to quickly get inside his car.  She shrugged her shoulders and walked up the sidewalk towards her door, but not before giving him one last glance over her shoulder.  He shook it off, started his car, and sped off.

He took a drink of his scotch and he sat on the sofa in his apartment—embarrassed by the events that evening. Upset with himself that he let her act in such an ill fitted manner.  He wasn’t sure if he’d be showing his face around the country club anytime soon.

And then for her to kiss him.  For her to make a pass at him like that.  Who did she think she was?  Who did she think he was? And as the minutes passed—the more it bothered him.  He just wanted to give her a piece of his mind. He wanted to put her in her place.  He wanted to… He wanted to… and so he walked across the room, picked up the receiver and he dialed 7952 and waited for the phone to ring.

“Hello?” she purred.

“Miss Dorchae,” he stated with an agitated voice. “This is Charley” his voice was no nonsense and straight to the point, “About earlier…”

“Oh? Yes, yes, Charley,” she acted as if she had to search her memory bank  to place the voice with the name, “So sorry, didn’t recognize the voice.  What is it?”

“I’m wondering if the invitation is still open?”

“Invitation?” she inquired—as if she had no idea what she was referring to.

“Yes when I dropped you off earlier,” he paused, quieted his voice a bit, “You invited me into your house.”

There it was—he admitted he wished he would have followed her inside.  He didn’t act on it-and now he wish he would have.

“Excuse me?” she scoffed, clearly offended by the insinuation, “I’m sorry, Charley.  No such invitation ever existed.  I only invite in those men who can respect what they have found.”

He was confused, after all, what had he done?  He cleared his throat,“I don’t think I understand?  I thought—“

“That’s your problem Charley—the way you think.  So you need to hang up now.  And don’t call back, because clearly you have the wrong number!!” and she slammed the phone.

He quietly hung up the receiver—agitated, embarrassed, and confused.

Trying to trace her last thoughts, Martha found herself staring at the swirl in her cup of coffee.  It seems they were all slipping away these days—those precious memories in her mind.  Like seeds carried on the wind, her memories would scatter. 

 

What was it she was going to do today?  Oh yes, that’s right, she was going to run an errand. 

Where was she supposed to go again?  She stared a little longer, watching the swirls in her coffee made by her little stir. 

The Post Office? No.  That wasn’t it. 

The Grocery Store?  No, she was there yesterday. 

The Bank? Yes that was it, the bank.  But why? 

She really didn’t remember now.  What she did remember is that she was all alone and desperately trying to hang on to any thoughts and memories she knew she should have.   

She would call her son Davy, but he lived too far away.  She’d call Tommy, her youngest son, but he seemed to get so mad at her, like when she brought home that cat.  She didn’t want Tommy to be mad.  She didn’t need the stress.  She would call--

It didn’t matter, she couldn’t find her address book anyway.  And what good would it be?  Most of the people in it had moved or died. 

As she took a sip from her cup, she wished she could go back, return to a time when Joe was still alive and the kids still came around.  She would tell them how much they meant to her.  She didn’t do enough of that back then.  At least it didn’t seem so now. 

She’d call up her sister Orphie and make amends.  Or maybe she already did? She couldn’t remember now. She never did understand why they never got along. Too bad Orphie wasn’t around any more. Oh what she would give to go back and do it right.

And she take better care of Joe.   She’d make him quit those cigarettes.  If only she could have convinced him—he wouldn’t have died such a painful death. Her heart ached at the thought.

Most importantly, she would take lots of pictures and write things down.  She never thought she’d have these moments when her memories went missing—and how it only came back to her in bits and pieces.  She never thought she couldn’t recall the names of her kids and grandkids.  She never thought she’d forget where she was going to go that day.  It seemed now, when she pulled out a paper and a pen she could hardly remember what she needed to write down so she wouldn’t forget.

Finishing her coffee, the thought floated by, “The Bank,” and she latched onto that thought before she dared to forget again.   She stood up slowly, letting her hips, knees, and legs adjust, and then she grabbed her walker.  She went into her living room and grabbed her purse and her keys and headed for the door.

“Where you going Mom?” came the familiar voice.

“I have to go to the bank and run an errand.” she hollered back without turning around, heading out the door before she forgot.  “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Whoa, wait a second!”  Her voice was really familiar, but she couldn’t quite connect to it.

“No. No!  I have to hurry!” she was out the door and on her way to the driveway.

She looked around.  Where was her car? 

It didn’t matter because the thought she clung to so desperately was gone.

“Mom, come on back inside.” pled the voice. “You can’t go without your shoes.”

She turned and looked.  Staring back at her was a woman that was a spitting image of herself 35 years ago.  Who was this woman? 

“Orphie?” she asked puzzled. 

“No Mom, it’s Gina.” she replied, directing her back inside.

“Gina?” she asked in a puzzled haze.

“Yes, Gina.  You remember, Davy, Tommy, and Gina?”

She faked a smile, “Yes dear, how could I forget?” she paused for a moment, “Where’s my car?”

‘You don’t have a car anymore mom, you stopped driving 8 years ago.”

Now she was more confused than ever.  How would she run her errand…to the----

“I couldn’t have. I need to run an errand.” she insisted.

“Which errand is that?” the girl pressed on.

“I don’t know…I just know I had to go run an errand today.”

“Mom come sit down and let’s have some coffee.  Does that sound like a good idea?”

Martha nodded.  Coffee always sounded like a good idea.

The girl brought her over some coffee and she took her stir—swirling it around.

“How’s your coffee, Mom?” her voice was gentle.

All at once it came to her as she uttered it aloud. “Gina Marie Koslowski”

“You remembered!” Her face had beamed.

“Oh how could I forget?” Martha was on the verge of tears.  “This damn memory of mine. I just can’t find …” frustration over took her and she was getting angry. “Find what I want to remember.  Like the puzzle pieces aren’t there.”

“It’s okay Mom—it is called Alzheimer's.  I don’t want you to worry though, someone is always here to look out for you.  You are never alone.”

She looked at her confused again. “Why are you here?”

“I live here,” she chuckled.  “Besides, someone has to look after you when you go to the bank without your shoes.” she said reassuring.

She found that last part funny, who goes to the bank without their shoes she thought.  Then she looked down.  Trying to put the pieces together wasn’t easy. She insisted one last time, “I have to go run an errand.”

“You don’t have a car.” Her daughter reminded. “You stopped driving 8 years ago.”

She stirred her coffee some more. Eight years ago was a long time not to remember she stopped driving.  What did she remember?  Oh yes, there was one thing she remembered, “Joe died.  He died 12 years ago.”  She was confident she got this right.

She could see the girls face—somber with a tinge of sadness. “Daddy died about 16 years ago Mom,” she said softly.

16 years?  How could it have been that long ago.  She only remembered it being 12 years ago.  She slowly brought the cup to her lips.  She took in a sip.  She could never forget the taste of a good cup of coffee.

“I think I better go lie down.” Martha said.

“Okay, come on Mom, let’s take you to your room.”

Martha followed the girl on an unfamiliar path, to an  unfamiliar bed.  She didn’t remember any of it.  She laid down and her daughter covered her with a blanket.  “Get some rest Mom, I’ll be here when you wake.”

She didn’t want to wake.

She closed her eyes and she thought of her sister, Orphie.  She thought of her three children, Davy, Tommy, and Gina.  She dreamt of her Joe.  A few more pieces of the puzzle began to scatter once again, although she tried to hang on to what she could.  If only she could turn back the clock, and remember all she used to know.

**This was written for BFF 241 Turn Back the Clock.  This is a work of Fiction.**

This is a fictional piece…written for BlogFEST 2012.  The host of the day is Daphne Palmer Romero of My Distant Husband.  It is a picture prompt—picture is shown below. 

I awoke on a brisk fall morning—to find that the waters, although calm, had turned dark.  It was a sign that fall was receding and winter was starting to seep in.  I poured myself a cup of hot tea and I sat down with my laptop near my favorite window over looking the beach.

I could not concentrate, so I shut the laptop and took in a sip trying to rid myself of the undeniable chill that seemed to cling to my skin.  I pulled the throw over my legs and looked out again.  To my surprise, their stood an apparition with his back turned toward me.

He could not have been much more than 11 or 12. Although he was small in stature his presence was strong. He gazed out onto the sea, and  I could see the waves kiss the sand through his form.  

I pinched myself to make sure I was not dreaming—and indeed I was awake.  I sat and I stared for quite some time wondering: Why he was there? What did he want? And a part of me had wondered: If he knew?

As if a channel had been bored into my head, I was immediately surrounded by the sounds of his affliction, “You don’t play fair!”

Betrayal.  Hurt.  Sadness. 

“I thought you were my friend?” 

Torment.

The sea reached toward him in response–this time chopping at the sand in front of him—making an effort for amends. In his state of anguish, the boy did not budge, unmoved by the ocean’s pleas for forgiveness. 

Stubbornly, the boy stood motionless-although his presence was starting to wane. I couldn’t help but wonder why he was so angry at the sea? And as the thought lingered in my mind—it seemed to float out there—and it was answered almost immediately.

The sea was relentless in its pursuit—what once begged forgiveness now demanded to be reckoned with.  The boy shrieked out from his soul and the sea waves started to pound on the shore. 

Despair.

His shoulders slumped and slowly the sea made its way to where he stood.

Fear. 

The ocean unleashed and his form was swallowed up in one strike.  In an instant, the boy was no more. 

Vanished.

The sea settled; the waters dark.  The air still carried a chill.  Another autumn slipping past to make way for a brutal winter.

Jane barreled up the highway—if that is what you would call it. The road was definitely there—but it was continually being washed over by the sands that constantly blew across its path.  The desert was brutal like that.  The strong rays of the sun didn’t help either, her not quite dark enough sun glasses would have to do, although she had a few opinions about the smart-ass that labeled them “standard issue desert eyegear”.  Apparently they had never been out in the desert, in the middle of the day, having their corneas seared from the glare of the sun bouncing off the sand. If she ever found out who the smart-ass was, she would be sure to have a few polite words.

Despite having too much windshield time to think about these less than trivial things, she knew she had an important mission—leading the caravan of trucks that brought logistical supplies to the the men in the field.  In essence, she led the lifeline that kept these men going in this god-forsaken war.  Not that she was against the war—she was thrilled when her country called upon her that she could be there.  She just wanted to be on the front lines, not behind the steering wheel of a day cab hauling much needed supplies and whatever else one could think of. Yet here she was, and what she did mattered. 

Within minutes, she could see the next stop insight.  She pulled out her binoculars to make sure she could identify them, then she radioed back to the rest of her caravan that they were on approach.  As she pulled into stop, she was greeted by some of the uniform’s hardest and finest working soldiers in the field.  Knowing they were desperate to eat the fresh MRE’s on board, so she wasted no time organizing the efforts to unload.  In the most orderly fashion, the supplies for this stop came off the truck a little quicker than they went on.  Her orders were to refuel, and stay there for the night, moving on to the next stop at 07:00 in the morning. 

Setting up camp did not take long.  It was the desert.  You either slept in the vehicle or dug a spot in the sand.  Tonight would be cool, but she couldn’t take another second inside that truck, so she made her bed.  Knowing the boys that were regularly stationed there would take turns being on lookout…she spread out her makeshift cot and a thin standard issue blanket, got as cozy as one could in her situation and counted the stars as she drifted off to sleep.

She sat straight up.  Nothing quite wakes a woman up out of a sound desert floor sleep, like a bunch of men running around, shouting back and forth as they are taking on fire.  Jane reached for her weapon, at the ready, she shouted out to the rifleman closest to her, but he motioned her to stay down and out of sight.  Damn.  All she really wanted was to be a part of the action.  Laying in wait, was not her style.  They took on heavy fire—and she could see off to her left that one of the men had been hit.  Also being trained as a medic—she shouted back to that rifleman that she would bring supplies over to help him out. He somehow signaled the okay, and Jane ran to the back of her truck, grabbed a bunch of medical supplies and then made her way over to the injured soldier.

First she pulled him to a lower lying area, and looked at his wounds.  He was hit in the stomach and the leg.  While the leg injury could be contained, there was no way for her to know if that bullet to the stomach hit any organs or was causing any internal bleeding.  She did what she could with his leg and put some firm pressure on his abdomen.  He was with her every step of the way—and she knew he was fighting, not giving up.  A great sign.  Then they called her over another direction.  Another soldier had been hit.  This time she arrived to see the bullet firmly lodged in his skull and there was nothing she could do for him, but close his eyes and say a prayer. 

She realized she was in harms way. Being dark, she had no idea if she was taking on friendly fire or enemy fire.  She kept low, weapon by her side and raced over toward an ATV.  She paused by the passenger front wheel, realizing this was shielding her from some of the bullets whizzing by her head—but also putting her life in danger, as one strike to the gas tank, would undoubtedly blow her up along with the ATV.  An uneasy feeling—but for now she was safe.   A few soldiers, made their way over to the ATV.  Told her to get inside and stay low.  The commander took the wheel, two men in the back pointing forward shooting at an unseen enemy.  Jane in the front passenger seat, leaning over toward the center trying to stay low.  She wanted to sit up and fire her weapon—but noooo—the commander wanted to keep her safe.  What the hell? She thought. She knew her job was important—driving the lead truck on the supply caravan—but come on already.  She could fire her weapon just as well as any man.  Highly skilled, well trained—but the commander had no idea about her skills as she was part of the supply team and he was going to keep her safe.  Damn it!! This is why she joined the Army…she wanted in on the action.  It didn’t quite seem fair.  But she wasn’t about to disobey now. 

From what she could tell, they were advancing and the enemy was retreating.  Then the firing seemed to come to a halt.  A sigh of relief over came the four in the ATV, and only when she sat up did she see they were following a line of tanks.  No wonder the firing stopped she thought to herself, the bad boys were just ahead of them demolishing the enemy line. But they kept advancing, ever so slowly, something she was sure that would make the enemy regret their advances in the first place.

The first bullet sounded surreal—as it penetrated the sharp shooter sitting directly behind her.  She quickly glanced at her passenger mirror and realized they were being flanked from behind.  “Enemy approaching from behind Sir!” she shouted as the commander’s hand pushed her head down and out of the way once again.  He radioed to gather support to fight the enemy taking up the rear, and the uninjured sharp shooter went to work-defending their position.  The second bullet took out their communications and shattered their radio, spraying shrapnel everywhere. Feeling the hit from that blow, she turned her head toward the back seat, and came face to face with the injured sharp shooter.  Realizing his wound was not a life threatening wound, she quickly grabbed his shirt, tore it off and tied it the best she could around his shoulder to put pressure on the bleeding. 

“You’re going to live,” she tried to reassure him. 

“So are you,” his voice was calm and even.

What the heck was he thinking?  Of course she was going to live.  Was he making a statement because she was a woman or because he thought he was infallible? She didn’t rightly care.  How dare he tell her she was going to live—she already knew that.  Just as the thought crossed her mind, she felt her face flush and her head began to swell, and she didn’t like the feeling overcoming her—then she seen the blood dripping from somewhere all over her standard issue sleeve.  Had she been shot?  Before she could answer herself, the lights dimmed out.

Jane woke a few hours or so later in the medical tent.  She felt the burning of the antiseptic as it seared the wound on her face, and then she realized a medic was giving her stitches.  Carefully moving from one section to the next, the medic pulled out the shrapnel that had embedded itself in her skin, poured on the burning antiseptic and stitched some more.  Jane was convinced this line of torture would resurrect the deadest of the dead.  Damn… that stuff was strong.

“Ah you’re awake” the medic said smiling.

“Where am I?”  Jane inquired.

“Medical Tent”.  He answered.

“What happened?” Still a bit groggy.

“Why don’t you tell me?” the medic asked.

“Well—that would be hard, seeing that I don’t remember anything since I passed out.” She said a bit sarcastically.

That got the medic to laugh at her, “I can see you’re a bit feisty Jane. Definitely a good sign.”

A voice came in from behind her, “They hit our radio.  The blast caused the shrapnel to fly everywhere.” he walked around and she noticed the sling on his shoulder. “Unfortunately, some of it got embedded in your face. And as far as faces go—they like to bleed a lot.”

She looked down at her shirt— Yeah, it was going to take some effort to get all that blood out of her shirt.

“Yes,” replied the medic, “And I have the painstaking task of making sure we remove it all and get you stitched up.  You’re due out at 07:00 and that doesn’t leave much time.”

She swallowed. A battle scar. She never thought she would see action driving a supply truck.  Damn.  She had not realized she had been hit at the time it happened.  She wondered how they made it out of there.  Then she remembered, she had not even shot her weapon.  This just about infuriated Jane.  It was her first time being in the middle of enemy fired and she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be her last.  Still the commander insisted on keeping her safe. Oh how she’d like to have a few words with that man.

About a half hour later, the medic finished up a few last stitches.  27 in all.  He brought over a mirror and she had a hard look at her self. 

Her once pretty face—now had a nice scar in the shape of the letter J.  Fitting, she thought.  She tried to smile—and winced a little from the pain.  Maybe later she could look at herself again, as she lay the mirror down, she quickly admitted that the Commander knew what he was doing.   “I have a job to do,” she felt the determination to do her duty rise up from within.  She got up, thanked the medic.  Then she shook the sharp shooter’s hand—wished him well.  She recovered her weapon and made her way back to the truck.  She had orders to move on to her next stop so she fired up the truck and led her convoy on down the sand covered highway. 

After careful consideration and a few glances at herself in the rearview mirror, she decided there was still time to use her rifle.  She’d been in the desert 3 months and had 12  to go and she already had a battle scar.  So Cool.  The stories she’ll get to share one day. She went for a weak smile…and put on her sun glasses.  “It’s going to be another scorcher.”

**THIS was a fictional story written for the GBE2 prompt to “give Jane a better story”.  In a nutshell, the real Jane got 27 stitches from exhaustion and dehydration from the tail end of a respiratory infection—and when she went to enjoy a glass of wine and email some friends—she found her self waking up to a broken wine glass in hand and blood trickling down her face. (Ouch).  So it was up to us this week, to have a little creativity in our writing, and come up with a better story on how Jane got her scar.  This was my contribution. I will say I am no military expert. I know I probably goofed a lot of the military terminology up—but use your imaginations and go with it.  I hope you could see through any of the mistakes and just enjoy the story!!**

I stood there quite bored with that October afternoon. It was thundering and raining something fierce and a cold wind swept through the drafts of our old fixer-upper home, bringing a chill that was quite undesirable. My husband had to rotate to afternoons to cover another’s vacation—so I knew not to expect him until at least midnight. Lucky him, he had something to do while I found myself bored in our new old home because it was too wet to go out and too dreary to motivate me to do any renovating.

It was nearing Halloween, and ever since I was about 10 and my younger brother Timmy was about 3, he enjoyed pranking me around Halloween. Don’t get me wrong, he couldn’t have dreamed it up himself, he had a little help from my Dad who just delighted in scaring the bejeezus out of me. And as Timmy got older—he became creative in the same way—finding more and more clever ways to try to scare me. I have to admit, he was pretty good at it! While I didn’t really expect him to come this particular evening—given the awful weather—I just knew to be on my toes as far as Timmy was concerned. Never mind that I lived with my husband now—I would never put it past him to get my husband involved.

I flipped on the television. I caught the end of my soaps, a few talk shows and then the news. And as usual, it was nothing but grim reports of what usually hits the news. Of course the weather was the main story tonight. Imagine—having a loved one mentioned on the news because they were killed in a shooting, a fire, or an accident and then in the next breath being told “Our top story tonight is the weather.” I always wondered how these anchormen and women could live with themselves for saying that. Didn’t they know every life mattered or counted?

What caught my eye, especially during the weather report was the flash flooding. Every major underpass in downtown had been subjected to flash flooding, cars abandoned and a few people barely making out perhaps one or two dead. I just can’t imagine it—I guess unless I was there. I had enough of the depressing newscasters, so I hit the remote and turned off the television.

I decided I should cook some food—so I put on a pot of water to boil. Spaghetti was quick and easy to make and quite my style. I popped some wonderful fresh garlic bread in the oven—and in less than 30 minutes dinner was made. Only, I cooked for two, absent-mindedly thinking my husband would be home, of course. I put his plate to the side—and sat at the table and began to eat.

I just about choked on my food when I heard two voices outside my dining room window. All I heard is “She’s MINE! LET’s Get Her!”followed by prank laughter. 

The curtains were long and I had to wipe my hands, before I pushed them back, to discover that there was no one outside the window. Just then lightning stuck and I jumped back a good foot and a half, acutely listening for these voices. And laughter once again filled the room, at my startled reaction.

Then I heard more muffled voices. It seemed to be coming from everywhere. And I had immediately concluded that Timmy had found a way to prank me. I didn’t understand how he managed to get his voice surrounding me as so—until I caught sight of my dusty vent from the central heating and cooling system. Two more bites of food and I raced down to the basement to catch Timmy in the act of shouting through the main duct.

I raced across the basement, pulling the strings to each light bulb, illuminating my way across the damp, cold floor. Only to discover the basement was completely empty, well with the exception of some used moving boxes. With all the lights on, there was no doubt I was very alone in the basement. I turned out the lights and made my way upstairs. I sat down to finish my food and my garlic bread was completely gone. That is just like him, I thought, to take my garlic bread and eat it.

Frustrated, I decided to shout through the house, “Okay Timmy, give up the ghost, I know you are here, come out –come out wherever you are.” I sing-songed it several times through several rooms and not once did Timmy come out. I knew he was there—I knew he was watching me. So I decided to give him a show. That’s right, I slurped up my spaghetti and literally licked my plate with my tongue. At one point, I could hear him laughing at my silliness and I laughed too. He was waiting to really scare me—but this year—I had figured him out.

Proud of myself, I started the dishes. Singing silly songs he would remember from childhood. At one time—he joined in with me—and I pled, “Why don’t you just come out and have some spaghetti? You are not going to scare me! And I know you have to be hungry.” But he wanted to remain hidden..so fine..after so long the game gets old.

I finished up the dishes and retired to the living room and turned on the television once again. Found a good sitcom and plopped myself on the couch. I grabbed and Afghan to keep warm—the drafts were something in this old tinder box.

I had almost forgotten Timmy was there—until it sounded like a rock had pelted my living room window. I rushed over and threw open the curtains and looked outside. Through the buckets of rain and sheer darkness, I was unable to see more than a few feet in front of me. Frustrated, I closed the curtains and turned around quickly, as I had a feeling someone was right behind me.

I think the shock of someone NOT being there scared me more than the thought of someone standing behind me. And to make matters worse, the electricity went out at that precise moment.

I stood in utter darkness. I could hear Timmy’s laughter even louder this time. “NOT EVEN FUNNY, TIMOTHY MICHAEL!” I shouted. “I want the lights back on, now, game’s up!” I fumbled my way across the living room to the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight, then headed to the garage and went for the circuit breakers, flipped them back and forth and there was no electricity. How odd, I thought, how else could he have turned off all the lights?

When I came back in, I peered out the front window—and sure enough all of the neighbors had no electricity either. Well—that must be coincidental. I decided I would fake Tim out and sit on the sofa real quietly so that I could hear him move about the house. So I sat there in all quietness and darkness and I listened. And I’ll be darned, if he didn’t make a peep. But he was somewhere in my house, because I could hear him breathing and I could sense his eyes upon me.

Then, what sounded like a stick hit my living room window again. He must be hiding right here in the living room I thought so I took the flashlight and pointed it very slowly at every part of the walls, to see if I could find his silhouette. I almost turned a 360 when I literally jumped out of my skin when my flashlight caught his blue, bloodshot eyes.

I screamed at the top of my lungs as fear ran the course of my veins then I felt his hands grab my arms. I tried to fight him off—but he was stronger than I was. I stared panicked for a few more moments—until I recognized the eyes that belonged to my husband. “Shhh! Babe—it is just me!” he hushed, trying to reassure me. I shivered. I had never been so scared in all my life—not even Timmy had gotten me that bad---or had he?

“Oh my gosh!! I didn’t realize it was you!” I said.

“I know, I know, it is dark.” He gestured toward the couch, “Come on and sit down.”

We sat down and I confessed in rapid pace as my nerves had gotten the better of me, “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you until later. And Timmy’s around here somewhere playing tricks on me. Throwing things at the window—trying to scare me through the vent system, saying spooky things, laughing at me, and even singing along with my silly games because I knew he was here, but he won’t come out of hiding.” I smiled at him through the ambience of the flashlight lit room. “You know he tries to get me each year, this year he didn’t quite succeed.” Just then I realized the redness in my husband’s eyes—and yes perhaps tears.

“Maybe he was just saying goodbye?” he said in a hushed tone.

Not completely understanding those words I said off the cuff, “Well, he has to escape the house without me seeing him first.”

He seemed to ignore that statement. “There’s a reason I’m home early today, and honey this is going to be difficult to hear.” He said with as much steadiness and strength as one could have at a moment like this. “Your Dad came up to my work place a half hour ago. Timmy died in a flashflood about 5:40pm this evening, driving home from a friend’s house.”

“Timmy, dead?” I denied vehemently. “He can’t be. He’s here—he’s been here all night. It has to be a mistake.”

My husband choked up, “No my dear. He’s gone. Your dad came to get me from work…he didn’t want you alone when you heard the news.”

It was just about that time that a cold wind blew past both of us. While our old fixer-upper home was quite drafty—it was never that drafty. I could almost feel him as he passed by us in the dark. And I heard his laughter once again. Only I wasn’t alone, and my husband heard it too. Timmy had come to pull his last prank ever.

My husband took my hand and at precisely that moment the lights came on—and the drafty old house was eerily quiet and still for the first time that evening.

This was written for The Writers’ Post Blog Hop # 18 Atmosphere.  If you’d like to join us for a weekly blog hop—then check us out on Facebook:

Or on the Thursday Tab of One Stop Blog World.

The stars gaze down, twinkling in all their splendor.  The nascent tide rolls in—waves gently crashing onto the shore.  The wind breezes softly, carrying the scent of the salty ocean—refreshing my mind and awakening my soul.

I find myself in a precarious spot—as I walk along this starlit beach.  Which direction shall I go? My spirit is adventurous and seeks to explore and learn of new places. I want to experience this world, travel, and live life.  I am young and I know no boundaries.  And yet, there is a love so real and so desirable, right here, if I choose to stay.  A love that is steadfast and unwavering, and wants only to be with me.  A love that makes me feel secure and I feel I belong.  And yet, that love won’t wait for me.

So it is a choice I must make—here tonight.  To stay here with the love of a lifetime—or live the life of my dreams.  Will I have regrets…will I feel held back if I stay or will I miss the feeling of being rooted if I go? What awaits for me either way—is unknown and there are no guarantees.  I know my decision will not be easy…for in each there is a loss and a gain. 

I stroll further down the beach and rest on a large rock.  I pick up a few stones and toss them one by one into the ocean.  Each stone I throw into the sea represents a thought.  One stone in the ocean is a thought about staying here and the next throw is a thought about living my dreams.  As each stone meets the water—I feel the weight of my decision as it ripples out from my center.

The breeze turns into a light wind…I feel the chill across my shoulders and long for his touch.  I envision his arms around me, his sweet words whispering in my ear, tickling my soul while shielding me from the cold.  At the same time—the coolness makes my senses come alive, the scent enchanting, the sounds musical, the sight dazzling, the touch riveting, oh I can taste the desire in my soul.

Desire and Love have never crossed my path in such heartbreaking and enchanting ways.  My decision is no closer to resolution. My mind can only be delighted by the here and now—by the wonder of the ocean as it moves mightily beneath the night sky.  I’m torn and I’m whole all in the same breathe.

A couple passes by and breaks the spell. I watch for a moment as they stagger along the edge of the sea.  Happiness is a choice.  Love can come around more than once.  The desires of the heart never fade.  My choice seems to renew a sense of urgency within me.  I climb down from my spot and I turn to leave, for there is no holding back a dream when you’re this close.

 

xxx

**Written for BFF #113—Sweet Dreams and Wishes**

***Also Written for The Writers’ Post picture prompt + use the word nascent***

 

 

 

The water was beginning to boil and she noticed the condensation on the window.  It was brisk outside for this early September afternoon, as the steam in the kitchen made her wipe down the window several times so she could see out. 

Sharon felt the emptiness of being home alone.

Katie now off to college—she wasn’t prepared for the empty nest syndrome.  Sure she had heard of it—never really contemplated it—until it was suddenly her turn.  She thought perhaps she would have been prepared for this because Craig and Devon had left years earlier, making the house a little less full.  But nothing could prepare her for letting the youngest go.  Sure she was only 50 miles away, but the house was still empty, she was still alone.

Her broth was at a full boil—now what was she planning to make? Oh yes, Hodgepodge soup.  She had a separate smaller pot boiling water for the pasta.  Where was that box anyway?  There it was, on the top shelf.  Surely, she wasn’t losing her mind.  It was just the stress—of silence that surrounded her. It really wasn’t supposed to be like this—and she pushed the thought from her mind.

That was when Charley hobbled into the kitchen.  Charley was an adorable, overweight basset hound.  She and Charley had bonded when her husband  suddenly left in June.  They both had taken to eating through this emotionally turbulent time—way too much—and both were in a race for the finish line.  Which one could gain the most pounds by the next phone call from that no good two-timing, I’m off in the Bahama’s with my sexy 20-something of a girlfriend, male whore, would be the clear winner—or loser.  Perspective says a lot.  She was supposed to be on that trip.  That was her ticket he used to take that bimbo.  PUSH-PUSH-PUSH.  No she was not the only one that felt Bill’s loss—poor Charley did too.  You could tell just by looking at his bloodshot eyes.

She poured the noodles into the boiling water…gave it a quick stir and set her timer for 8 minutes.  She chopped up some chicken breast and took her frozen vegetables and added them in the larger pot of boiling broth.  Yes—hodgepodge soup was just what was called for on a day like today.  Something to warm the soul.  She turned the radio on, that hung under the cabinet next to the kitchen window and found a station.  Within moments, she had to shut it off.  It had to be a cruel joke that they would play Strawberry Fields Forever.  Yes a song that was memorable to her and that man-whore of a husband, way back when.

But really, what could she have done?  She kept the house neat and tidy for years.  She worked part-time, bringing in a nominal income. She played soccer mom and PTA president.  She attended social functions with her husband, worked out regularly, gave him the best of her.  It was maddening what he had done.  It hurt.  And yet—all she wanted was for Bill to come home and give her a second chance.

Stirring the pot again she had to chuckle.  But really, would she give him a second chance??  And that is where her heart was conflicted.  Part of her really wanted to…but part of her could never completely forgive him for what he’d done.  Part of her wanted to strangle him and castrate him and make him feel her pain.  Part of her just wanted to walk away.  Another part—just wanted to put things back together the way they were.  But then—how could he not have been happy with the way things were?  How long had this infidelity gone on?  STOP!! Push-Push-PUSH!

She had to push it from her mind and not deal with it. Not tonight.  The timer rang.  She took her ladle and tasted the soup.  Pepper! It needs pepper!! She declared silently.  And she reached to the spice rack to dash in some black pepper.  Stirring again, she tasted it.  Perfect.  Now she would let it simmer for an hour.  Charley gave her that look.  It was time.

She grabbed her jacket and took Charley for a nice walk.  Came back in from the outdoors and fed him a treat.  Something good had come from all of these changes.  She and Charley had made friends.  Both betrayed by Bill—they finally formed a friendship…whereas before…they were both vying for his attention. PUSH PUSH PUSH!  She walked over to check on her soup.  Almost done.

The phone rang and had nearly startled her into a heart attack.  Whose idea was it to turn the volume up that high?  She recognized the number and answered, “Hello…I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever hear from you again?”  His soft tenor voice sent chills up and down her spine. “No, not much, just making Hodgepodge soup.” 

The pushing got easier.

Maybe she wouldn’t be home alone tonight.

She could feel him even though he was on the other end of the line.

She hung up the phone with a slight grin on her face.

“You’ll understand, won’t you Charley?”

 

**This post was written for both the BFF and the McBlogerry groups on Facebook under the themes: Positive out of Negative, Home Alone, Strawberry Fields for Ever and Second Chance.  Interested in blogging challenges—consider joining one of these groups!!

“I want to fly,” said the little boy.

“Fly?” His father seemed puzzled.

“Yes!” exclaimed the boy, “Like Superman!”

“Tell you what,” smiled the boy’s dad, “As soon as I clean off the gutters, I will swing you around and you can fly like Superman.”

That satisfied the little boy for awhile. His dad cleaned, climbed down the ladder, got himself a glass of ice tea, found the lazy boy and took a nap.

The boy didn’t wait. He climbed the ladder with his cape and jumped.

Dad woke up to a loud scream and a thud.

Charlie never liked his circumstances…he didn’t feel loved.  He didn’t feel appreciated.  He gave a lot of himself and it seemed he didn’t get a lot in return.  Today he was going to change that.  Today he was going to break through all the barriers and he was going to taste freedom.  He woke up and breakfast---well—who in their right mind would try any of what they left him this morning anyway?   It didn’t even look good.  He looked around, because he was thirsty and apparently there was nothing left to drink either. 

He decided he needed a fresh start, there was nothing left for him here anyway.  He started to walk, took one look back, and decided he better bolt out of there for good.  Would they miss him?  Probably not.  How he ever ended up there---he’ll never know.

His first mission was to get some real food and something good to drink.  He walked over to the park, where he seen kids playing in the fountains.  He wasn’t sure it would look right if he jumped in with them…after all they were kids…but he went over to the side and got his face wet and took a sip of the refreshing water.  The kids all smiled at him and he smiled back, but he knew the moms would probably freak out a bit so he continued on his walk.

He came upon a path in the woods.  Charlie was feeling adventurous and the path provided some wonderful shade from the hot sun.  He had no idea where it would lead him, but he could feel a taste of freedom he hadn’t ever felt before.  It was freeing to be jogging along that path and enjoying God’s beauty.  He came upon a stream and dipped in his face and sipped in some very cool refreshing water.  Charlie rested for awhile but decided he his hungry tummy wouldn’t let him rest peacefully for long.  So he got up and continued down the wooded path.

He was on that path for quite sometime, and then suddenly it ended.  He made his own path, finding some rail road tracks he crossed them and found himself deposited into a very busy street. This made Charlie really nervous.  He had a feeling he was lost, and trying to get to the other side of the street was quite nerve-racking.  In his daze, he was almost hit twice! 

Then he seen her!! The prettiest lady he ever seen in his whole life.  She whistled at him and he smiled.  This was his kind of lady.  She had pulled over and called for him to come and meet her.  It took everything he had not to run…as if to seem desperate.  Her eyes shone love and her smile told Charlie she could be trusted.  She offered him a ride—and finally he knew he found someone that could appreciate him.   As soon as he got in his seat, she drove them off that crazy busy highway and away from everything he ever knew or saw. 

She took him home and fed him a great meal.   She showed him the way outside and where he could rest his head.  She also introduced him to several friends.  He knew he had found a new place to stay. He knew he was forever in her debt.

A taste of freedom for Charlie was all he needed to live out a very satisfying life. He experienced enough freedom to change his circumstances and thankfully it worked out for the better.  He realized that he might not have been so lucky…especially if his lady hadn’t of come along!!

**Inspired by my friend Karen and her recent discovery** 

Photographs by Duffee © 2011 All Rights Reserved.

The Estelle Series

Story # 8

It took another month for Estelle to recover from being so sick.  By the time she was healthy again, it was time to return to school. This year, Iris the third born, was old enough to start, so each day, Margie, Estelle and Iris would walk to school together.  Estelle returned to doing light chores, and was up each morning at the crack of dawn to get some of them done.  When she finished, she would get her things and walk with her sisters to school.

On some mornings, she simply had too much to do, and Margie and Iris were told to leave and Estelle would catch up.  Estelle didn’t like these mornings, because part of that walk to school, involved a small stretch through the woods.  It wasn’t that Estelle would lose her way, rather there was something mysterious about those woods that spooked the heck out of her. 

She had asked Betsy several times during her recovery why she had these extra senses---why she was able to see and feel that which others could not.  And the answer was always the same, because she was strong enough to handle it.  That didn’t set too well with a ten year old girl, at all; it was a rather alienating burden she felt she carried.

It was the beginning of October, and the rain hadn’t let up since the September’s Harvest Moon appeared in the sky.  Estelle hadn’t finished her morning chores by the time Margie and Iris were ready to leave, so she would have to run along by herself after they left.  By the time her mother told her she had done enough, Estelle grabbed her book and tablet and raced off the path toward the school.

It was a rather dreary morning, the rain pelted her face as she ran toward the school.  Upon entering the woods, the trees gave her some cover from the rain, but a feeling crawled along her back as she raced to get through the wood covered path. As she ran, she was acutely aware of her surroundings.  Every noise, every movement, every scent came over her.  The sound of her feet hitting the ground and the wind whistling as she passed through, pounded in her ears.  She saw everything around her as she ran, and it was caught somewhat in slow motion as it passed her peripheral vision, her eyes caught everything down to minute details.  The smells of pine, cedar, leaves decaying and animals that had left their marks, filled her nostrils, reminding her where she was.

She had another sense too, that someone or something was watching her.  It was as if someone had a birds eye view of her, yet was all around her at the same time.  She tried to pick up speed, but it just seemed to follow her closer.  If she slowed down, she felt as if she would fall prey to what ever it was.  Dread over came her and panic set in..until she reached the clearing at the back of the school property.

Once in the clear, Estelle didn’t have to think about haunted woods, but being late for school meant that she would have to stay after.  And thus, she would have to face traversing the woods alone again. She closed her eyes and wished that she wouldn’t have to go through the woods again alone. 

After school, she told herself that it was just the woods and this was just another one of her senses kicking in fear.  When she reached the back of the school yard and entered the woods, she decided she would walk, just like she did when she was with her sisters.  She kept reminding herself that it was all just silly nonsense.  The heightened awareness returned and she fought the urge to bust out into a full sprint.

About half way through the woods, a clear and distinct voice boomed around her, “Run Estelle!! RUN!!”  And at that point, Estelle took off running like her entire existence depended on it.  She ran so fast that when she reached the clearing on the other side, she ran smack dab into Mrs. Shrock, knocking her over on her backside.  Estelle landed across Mrs. Schrock and each had a look of surprise and utter horror on their faces. 

Mrs. Shrock was carrying a basket full of fresh baked bread and jam, which she had made for another neighbor, and when Estelle flew into her at such a quick pace, the loaves and jars flew everywhere.  Estelle quickly apologized and Mrs. Shrock took a moment to catch her breath.  Estelle scurried over to pick up the loaves of bread and place them back in the basket and then offered her hand to help up Mrs. Schrock to her feet.

“You horrid child!!” she spewed. “I certainly do not want your hand or your help. You hustle along to your home, and stay away from me!”

Estelle was quite shaken, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Schrock” her voice still in shock.  “I certainly didn’t mean to hurt you or upset you.  Please, let me help you up.” Once again, Estelle offered her hand.

Mrs. Schrock refused the hand and got to her feet.  Estelle picked up the basket and its belongings and handed it back to Mrs. Schrock and she snatched it right out of Estelle’s hand.

“You listen to me,” Mrs. Schrock demanded. “Stay away from me and my family. I don’t like witches and I don’t like evil children.  I won’t be subjected to them either.  So get…shooo…go!!  Move along quickly, and stay away you wretch!!”

Mrs. Schrock’s words stung.  She had never done anything to her to deserve those harsh words.  Estelle grappled with why she saw, heard and felt what others could not and why she was seemingly different.  She didn’t like being called a witch and she didn’t like someone thinking of her as evil.  Tears streamed down her face and she ran on home.

She told her mother about running into Mrs. Schrock and what she had said.  Her mother fumed at the thought and decided she would address Mrs. Schrock on her own.  Her children, especially Estelle, had not deserved that, and like a mother hen protecting what is hers, she took off her apron, put on her coat and headed out to meet up with Mrs. Schrock.

Estelle decided to get busy with chores, what ever she could find.  Betsy appeared from around the corner and Estelle made no quams about how hurt she was. “Tell me it is going to be alright?”

Betsy just smiled saying nothing.  Estelle was agitated with that response.  “Well?  Tell me it is going to work out alright?!”

“I don’t know how things will work out, but usually time has a way of straightening out the kinks.” And Betsy wandered off.

Her mother came in the back door hollering “Estelle!  Estelle!  Come here this instant.”

Estelle, fearful her mother was upset with her, ran and was greeted by her mother and Mrs. Schrock at the back door.

“Estelle,” her mother was firm in her line of questioning, “are you a witch?”

“No.  How could you think that?  How can anyone think that? I’m a good Christian girl.” she answered with a tone of disbelief and hurt.

“Do you do evil things?” Her mother kept pressing.

“No, I don’t do evil things.”

Then her mother turned to Mrs. Schrock and scolded, “Shame on you Mrs. Schrock for calling my daughter these awful things.  You’ve certainly fell short of the Golden Rule.  I’m ashamed to call you a sister in the faith.”  And her mother just stared coldly at Mrs. Schrock for the longest time.

Mrs. Schrock, taken back by Estelle’s mother calling her out.  Estelle’s mother held her gaze almost the entire time as if hypnotizing her into some weird form of submission.  Mrs. Schrock looked over at Estelle briefly, then looked away. Finally, she apologized to them both and sank her head and headed home.

Margie and Estelle had prepped most of the dinner, her mother had finished cooking it. They ate as soon as her father returned home from the Mill.  As they were eating, Estelle noticed Betsy pacing back and forth from one room to the next.  She found this awfully curious.

A knock came from the front door.  Her father had answered it and spoke for a few minutes.  Then he returned and announced, “That was Mr. Wojeski.” He paused long enough to sit himself back down at the table. “He just informed me that Mrs. Schrock died suddenly this evening.  Mrs. Wojeski was there when it happened, she’s pretty shook up.  Mr. Schrock is out of town and another neighbor is keeping there kids.”  That was all he said on the matter, but that was all he needed to say.

Estelle locked eyes with her mother.  This was part of their doing.  There was something said between them that was unspoken and unmistakable. Estelle had made an undeniable connection.

~Estelle Series~

Chapter 7

Estelle had no sense of time passing during her times of deep sleep.  She always woke up feeling as if she had just closed her eyes.  What seemed like moments, were hours if not days.  Usually she would come to briefly, when someone was trying to nourish her with hot tea or broth.  Today when she fluttered open her eyes, her sister Margie was trying to get her to take in her nourishment.  Feeling thirsty, she latched on to the cup that was put to her mouth and opened her eyes and tried to focus.  Margie had noticed she was really waking up this time and went to go grab their mother. 

Her mother ushered into the room with a swiftness that told Estelle she had a lot her plate that day.  Behind her, a lady about ten years older than her mother also walked in.  Estelle's mother had her sit up and then she and the lady helped Estelle get into the chair so they could help her change her clothes and the bedding.

"I do hope you are finally coming out of your sleep, Estelle," her mother said while examining her eyes closely.  "But until you do, we have to keep an extra eye on you so you don't slip away from us."

Then the lady who was standing next to her mother offered, "And that is why I am here.  I'll be the one to keep an eye on you while your mom and your sisters are busy."  Leaning in, she smiled at Estelle and touched her arm softly, "My name is Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Betsy."  Estelle smiled, she had no idea how her parents were affording this nurse lady, but she was glad someone would be around when the others couldn't be.

Estelle took some more of the broth from the cup Margie had brought her, but as sometimes happens when one is weak, her hand started trembling.  Betsy, put her hand to the bottom of the cup to help her steady it and her mother turned around and said, "See now, that's better, you drink your broth and we'll get you cleaned up and back in a clean bed.”  Estelle was grateful for her mother and for this new lady that came to sit her. 

It seemed that for the next week, she was pulling longer stretches of being awake but she still needed to take frequent naps.  Betsy was a source of comfort to Estelle.  She kept Estelle aware of everything going on with her parents and her sisters, and even filled her in on the neighbor gossip.  It seemed that Betsy never tired of talking to Estelle and Estelle was just grateful somebody was there to keep her company.

Betsy had told Estelle it was Saturday and that her father would be home early this evening.  Estelle had lost a lot of weight and was very unsteady on her feet, and therefore still took her meals in her room. At first, it was very necessary but now Estelle just wanted to be at the table with the family when she ate.  Betsy was a wonderful person, but Estelle was missing her family.

That evening her father knocked on the door, "Estelle?" he called as he walked in.  Betsy got up to give Estelle's father a place to sit down, and she left the room to take a break while her father was in with her.

Estelle beamed at the sight of her father.  She rarely saw him these days, as Estelle had been sick and her father was working as many extra shifts at the Mill.

"How are you?" He asked.

Estelle just nodded her head as if to say "yes, I'm better."

"Today is your birthday, Estelle.  You are 10 years old.  And your mother, well, she's made a wonderful carrot cake for you.  Do you think you feel up to coming out and having a slice?"

Estelle loved her mother's carrot cake and was thrilled when her father carried her out to the table.  Her parents sat next to each other across from Estelle and her sisters sat on either side of her.  Betsy seemed to be standing back, watching letting Estelle just enjoy this time with her family.

They sang her a happy birthday and her mother sliced the cake, giving Estelle the first piece.  Estelle was so delighted until she seen the boy standing between the two chairs where her parents sat.  Estelle was immediately alarmed and she looked to Betsy who just gave her this great big smile as if to say everything was okay. Still, Estelle wanted to know, who was this boy and what did he want?

She realized that he was a figure like the man in the mirror, only this boy wasn't scary and dark.  And he was younger than the boy with the apple, but not near as creepy.  He appeared peaceful and held a beautiful smile.  He was happy, and he seemed to fit right in.

For the first time, Estelle noticed glances shared between her parents and she figured out why the boy was standing there.  She was totally excited and she blurted out, “It’s a boy!”  Everyone, including Estelle was shocked by her words because they hadn't heard her voice in weeks.

Her parents looked at her rather confused, so she repeated it again, “It’s a boy!” with just as enthusiasm as the first time.  They were still completely puzzled and this amused Estelle.

She began to laugh, almost uncontrollably, repeating once again, "It's a boy!"  Her younger sisters also laughed with her, although they had no idea why they were laughing.  Margie looked terrified, which made Estelle laugh even harder.  Her parents were simply not amused.  They sent a look of disapproval toward Estelle, and she calmed down a bit.   Then she attempted to explain, “Mother, you and Daddy are having a boy!"  

Her revelation seemed to shock them even further, and Estelle wanted them to understand, "He’s here with us right now.  He’s right there between you two. You’re finally going to have a boy!”

Estelle was quickly carried back to her room.  Perhaps they thought she was losing it mentally.  Perhaps they were upset because feeding mouths during the depression was hard enough without the added burden of another child to worry about, or perhaps they had heard enough.  Estelle knew given some time, they'd be okay with this whole idea.  She was so happy that her parents were finally getting the boy they always wanted.

A few moments later, Betsy came into the room and sat in the chair. “I do believe you divulged the information to them too soon,” she offered in a matter of fact tone.

There was a long silence.

“Betsy, you aren’t real either are you?” Estelle inquired.

Betsy looked at her rather puzzled, “Why do you think I am not real?”

“Because mother didn't offer the boy any cake and that told me right away that he wasn't real.  Then I realized she never offered you any cake.  This means you aren't real either. You're just like the others.”

“That is where you are wrong, Estelle.” She cleared her throat and said, “While it is true that very few people can see our energies that does not make us any less real.  We are definitely real; you just have to learn to trust your senses.”

Estelle felt dizzy at the affirmation, if one could call her vision speaking back to her an affirmation.  She had questions, like why were most of what she saw dark beings or creatures?  And did this make her a dark being as well?  Was Betsy dark too or was she actually something good?  And what about the boy? Why could she see him?  Would he turn out to be good or dark like the others?

Estelle looked to Betsy wanting answers, but not sure she was ready to hear them.  She looked toward the window and remembered that man in the window had found her here, just before she had taken ill.  She questioned Betsy as if she already knew the answer, “You chased that bad man away, didn’t you?” as she nodded her head toward the window.

“No I did not; you did that on your own.” Betsy slowly admitted. “But he’s not far off, so I’m here to see that you get well enough to deal with him.”

Estelle was worried now, “Can’t you just make him go away?”

“Ah child, I really don’t want for you to worry, for he is at a distance for now,” she replied. “But, I’m not strong enough to keep him away, should he come back.  No, that will be something you will have to handle once you are feeling better,” then she hesitated for a moment and murmured, “If you are still able .”

Estelle heard that last part a little too clearly, and she didn’t like it one bit.

**Image by Vintage Duffee 2011, All Rights Reserved**

***This story was originally posted to my RedGage Account, which is located here.***