Fay Risner's Blog, page 14

Second Hand Goods

What do you think of when you hear the words second hand goods? When I read those words, I thought of days gone by when clothes were hand me downs from child to child in a family. These days maybe …

Source: Second Hand Goods

Second Hand Goods

What do you think of when you hear the words second hand goods? When I read those words, I thought of days gone by when clothes were hand me downs from child to child in a family. These days maybe second hand goods are the same as someone’s junk is someone else’s treasures like the items found at a garage sale or a yard sale. How about Thrift Shops that sell gently used clothing? All that logic seemed reasonable to me.

While researching about the Amish I found the mention of second hand goods. To them it means a woman who is going to have a baby or has had one out of wedlock. That woman is not prized by Amish bachelors for a wife. Of course, there are always Amish couples that marry and in six or seven months a baby is born. The story goes around that the baby came early. No questions are asked.

Amish women or men don’t talk about a woman’s pregnancy outside of her immediate family. When the community attends worship services or some frolic where others are present, the practice eyes of those who have been through several childbearings can see women with expanding waists and fuller skirts. Baby quilting frolics are held with no one in mind, and the quilts are laid back for the events. After the word spreads of a baby born to a family, visits are made to view the baby and give gifts like baby soap, powder, cotton diapers, new bath towels, wash cloths and flannel blankets.

The month of rest and gaining strength for the new mother is probably the only time she misses two Sunday worship services which occur every two weeks. The only other excuse for missing a worship service is if she is ill.

So with those facts in mind, I wrote my ninth book in the Nurse Hal Among The Amish series. By the end of April, I should have the editing done and be ready to put the book and ebook on the market. Along with the story featuring on a woman considered second hand goods, Nurse Hal and Emma are both expecting babies. To upset their lives in this book, a Englisher in a red sports car is cruising the Amish farming community, trying to pick up young girls. The sheriff of Wickenburg, Iowa has been looking for him after six attacks on women in town, but so far the man has alluded the law.

I’m enjoying using Amish pictures sent to me by a friend for covers. This book’s cover is three pictures blended together to make Adam Keim’s Furniture Shop. In the background, behind the trees you can see Adam and Emma’s house and Adam’s mother’s home, Lovina Keim. Since this is the last year that Emma Lapp Keim will teach school I added, in the text, a picture of her Amish school. A real phenomenon of nature to me is a picture of a huge boulder that was spit down the middle by a tree that sprouted and grew through the rock. That rock and tree play a big part in the story for Priscilla Tefertiller, clerk in Adam Keim’s Furniture Shop.

If you aren’t family with my Nurse Hal Among The Amish series, the stories are about an English Home Health Nurse, Hallie Lindstrom. She was sent to dress a foot wound for John Lapp, a widower with three children. They fall in love and Hallie Lindstrom struggles with the strict rules in the Amish Ordnung. Join my look at life in an Amish community from the view of an English woman. Here’s your chance to try books one to eight before I’ve published Book nine Second Hand Goods.

Enjoy reading,

Fay Risner

Critiques on my Short Story Submission to Future Learn

This was my last week of the writing course I was taking online at Future Learn. I enjoyed the eight week free course, submitting assignments and getting other writers thoughts about what I had written. I didn’t struggle to hand in a freshly written paragraph and short story. I used from what I already had so it was easier to get the assignments done. Now on to finishing my next Amish book about Nurse Hal.

My last post was about the character paragraph I handed in and the critiques I received. That paragraph was part of my first Amazing Gracie Mystery series book titled Neighbor Watchers. So the next assignment was to write a thousand word short story using the character. I took an excerpt out of another Amazing Gracie Mystery book titled The Chance of A Sparrow. The excerpt is from the first chapter, but I tweaked what I submitted to Future Learn by omitting some of the passages and changing the very end to make the complete short story.

So here is the short story that gives you an idea what my book is like.

Melinda Applegate’s soft voice held concern. “Gracie Evans, what”s wrong with you? Stop rubbing that rocker arm. You’ll wear a groove in the wood.”

That beautiful, spring morning everything came alive in 1904. On the breeze, Gracie’s nose picked up fresh cut grass and purple hyacinths.

She was too melancholy to express her feelings. Instead, she groused, “I’m listening to them unhappy robins.”

Melinda responded, “That’s the way robins always chirp. Loud like some folks I know.”

Gracie frowned. “Best I remember, country birds didn”t sound that sharp.”

Melinda smiled at Gracie tentatively, not sure how to answer without upsetting her.

Rocking back and forth for momentum, Gracie propelled herself to her feet. “I”m fixin” to take a walk.”

Worried about her friend, Melinda asked, “Want me to go with you?”

Gracie grumped, “I’m not fit company for myself let alone anyone else.”

With her hands clasped behind her back, Gracie shuffled beside the Locked Rock, Iowa Victorian mansion and through the backyard.

She stopped by the angel statue near the gazebo. The pan in the angel’s hands did double duty. Full of water in warm weather, and in the winter, the pan held corn. She

read the sign dangling over the angel’s arms, Bird Bath — 10 cheeps — No Refunds.

Gracie didn’t like the changes in herself. Living in town after she”d spent her whole life on the farm wasn”t like she thought it would be. Restlessness, loneliness and uselessness welled up in her. Her wish was strong to have the days back when she was fiercely independent.

Rubbing an itchy, gnat bite on the back of her hand, she stared at the red bump nestled between the brown spots and blue veins. It reminded her of the worse change of all. She”d grown old and past child bearing age. Now that she lived in the retirement home, she”d convinced herself her future was bleak. She hated feeling this miserable and didn’t have a clue how to make her life better.

Sparrows flitted in front of Gracie. Busily moving forward with business, they dipped down, filled their beaks with grass clippings and flew back to build nests. She wondered why it had to be that birds had new families every year to keep the parents company when humans only had one family in a lifetime if they were lucky.

Even then when children grew up, they left the nest. People aged alone. It didn’t seem quite fair to folks that nasty sparrows had it better. Sparrows didn”t have to be alone as long as they could build a nest and lay eggs that hatched.

By grab, Gracie couldn’t do much about the set up of nature, but she felt like complaining to someone.

Across the street was the church. Touched by the morning sun, the bronze bell in the belfry glinted like a beacon beckoning her. As Gracie crossed the street, she patted the gray braids wound around her head and smoothed the wrinkles out of her calico dress.

Tightening her grip on the railing, she climbed the church steps. In the reverent stillness, she grimanced when her high topped shoes caused loud, hollow taps. She opened one of the double doors. The hinges groaned. The sound echoing through the building reinforced her despair. She was drowning in a bottomless pit of depression and so helpless she couldn’t stop sinking to the bottom.

Easy as she could, Gracie shut the door. Normally, she stayed toward the back during Sunday service, but today, she had the church to herself. Best time to come when she didn’t have to worry about the hand shakers getting in her way. Gracie marched down the aisle and plopped into the front pew.

She intended to have a serious talk with God now that she”d made up her mind to complain. Since he hadn’t been paying attention to her concerns lately, she worried that it might be because he”d become hard of hearing. She could sympathized with him. If she felt old, think how old God must feel.

Gracie faced the cross behind the pulpit. She clasped her hands together, licked her lips and spoke loudly to make sure God heard her. “God, this is Gracie Evans. I’ve had plenty of time to ponder how things work in life. Don’t mean to complain, mind you.” She hesitated. It occurred to her she should be truthful. After all, this was God she was talking to, and she figured He pretty much knew what she had on her mind before she did.

“That’s not exactly right. I do have a bone to pick with you so now that I have my pump primed I”m giving you an ear full. You did a right fine job creating the world and all the creatures, but seems to me, you had too many irons in the fire when you made everything in seven days. Maybe you should have taken more time to think about some way to improve on humans before you quit.

Take sparrows. Did you ever stop to think sparrows get a chance to have two families a year? That’s ever year, mind you, but humans only get one chance in their lifetime. Now take me. All my family’s gone, and I”m alone. That’s not your fault. I made the choice to say no when Millard ask me years ago, but now I’m in a retirement home with no family, wasting away the last of my days. I”m smart enough to figure there’s not much you can do about it after you have everything created, but I just wish you’d have thought to give us lonesome human beings the chance of the sparrows.

I had to get that off my chest. Much obliged for listening God. Amen.”

Gracie stood up, her heart lighter and her back straighter than it had been in weeks. She”d made God aware of His mistake. It was His problem to fix if there was a way.

Submitted by reviewer number one

What were the strengths and weaknesses of the character portrayals?

This is a lovely story with a strong main character. I do find the writing a little difficult to follow as it seems to me some it meanders on, although that could be your way of showing how the old lady talks. I’d love to see it laid out properly, but it’s possible to see through that to a charming old lady who has a chat with God and actually sorts her own problems out. Hallelujah!

Were there any very clear, or any confusing, elements of the story which related to approaches taught on Start Writing Fiction?

I’m not sure what else to say about this because although the story is brilliant I still feel there is room to make it even better. The idea of sparrows having two families a year and us being so restricted is great … although I think coping with my one family was quite enough.

Did the story have a plot, causality and conflict? How did it engage you?

The story has loads of promise and is gently gripping. I could engage with it and although I’m on a different continent understand how she feels. I don’t know why Gracie’s alone or where her family has gone so there’s room for more of course, but perhaps this is part of a greater whole where that is revealed.

Submitted by reviewer number two

What were the strengths and weaknesses of the character portrayals?

This portrayal of an aging woman reluctantly living in a retirement home with all her family flown the nest was very well drawn. Her move from town to country was well expressed as was her mild depression.

Were there any very clear, or any confusing, elements of the story which related to approaches taught on Start Writing Fiction?

The setting was good, as were the characterizations.

Did the story have a plot, causality and conflict? How did it engage you?

The plot was unclear, focusing on Gracie’s depression, and the causality could perhaps have been clearer. The only conflict seemed to be that of age resenting the loss of youth, but these were minor details as the story was engaging and thoughtful.

Submitted by reviewer number three

What were the strengths and weaknesses of the character portrayals?

Good start Fay. On the porch with the rocking chair and grumbling sets the scene nicely and great dialogue between Melinda and Gracie. One doesn’t need much description for the reader to get a visual image of Gracie. Actually, having read the whole story, there was a bit more description of the Sparrows than of Gracie, but the story didn’t need a description. Gracie’s words and actions gave a good account of what she was like.

Were there any very clear, or any confusing, elements of the story which related to approaches taught on Start Writing Fiction?

It was a nice story, and a bit sad, but meant to be so.

Did the story have a plot, causality and conflict? How did it engage you?

The story was a lifetime of regrets I think. Regretting that she didn’t have a family, regretting her loneliness and old age, and frustrated that God hadn’t fixed things so that life had been better for her. An interesting story with a touch of humour at the end when Gracie talks to God. I think that Fay should be happy with this piece – well done.

Submitted by reviewer number four

What were the strengths and weaknesses of the character portrayals?

Lovely old lady. Feeling her completely. Nicely portrayed through her inner thoughts and some well placed physical descriptions and mannerisms.

Were there any very clear, or any confusing, elements of the story which related to approaches taught on Start Writing Fiction?

The story is clear, and well told.

Did the story have a plot, causality and conflict? How did it engage you?

Gracie’s is feeling the unfairness of getting old and being alone at an old-peoples’ home. I am following the story, and it is well told. Not quite sure if Gracie’s inner ramblings are engaging enough. Her talk with God is strong, but could it be more profound? I don’t know. I feel you have a good and powerful story here, but I would love more depth and dimension. Good luck!

Submitted by reviewer number five

What were the strengths and weaknesses of the character portrayals?

The character of Gracie was well developed and her voice was very rich, distinctive and clear. I felt the character was a little bit stereotypical and I felt a lack of empathy with Gracie despite the fact her complaint should have aroused sympathy. I wonder if she came across as a little too self-pitying.

Were there any very clear, or any confusing, elements of the story which related to approaches taught on Start Writing Fiction?

I wasn’t too sure about the Millard reference, perhaps that side story could have been expanded and I was a bit confused by the sentence ‘By grab, Gracie couldn’t do much about the set up of nature, but she felt like complaining to someone. ‘ There were a lot of short sentences and the reference to the bird table sign should possibly have been in quotation marks to make it clear it was a sign, although that may have been misreading it.

Did the story have a plot, causality and conflict? How did it engage you?

The story certainly had a plot, albeit a gentle one and there was a conflict in that the elderly Gracie being unsettled and unhappy about her lack of family and lonely life. It very much felt like a life not lived which is always very sad. The story did engage me although I found the comparison to the birds’ lives a little laboured.

Actually what the other writers didn’t know when they thought there should be more to the story was that this story came from a book with a more involved story line. Simply put, Gracie has spring fever. She is depressed because she is missing her farm and the only home she’s known. She wishes she could spend some time at her farm if only for a little while. Her wish comes true when the renter asks Gracie to farm sit for a month while he takes his wife and daughter to visit her ailing mother. Gracie is happy to accept his invitation, but that is when her problems begin. She finds a naked Indian swimming in her farm pond, finds out a neighbor man is missing when she reports the Indian and men’s clothing are scattered on the pond dam like a farmer would wear. The sheriff comes to investigate. Gracie is shot at, and her nearest neighbor just happens to be Millard Sokal. Years ago he proposed to Gracie. She turned him down and he married another woman. His wife recently died and he is seeking another wife, preferably Gracie. She can’t seem to get rid of the man and his eagerness to court her once he finds she is living at the farm.

Now if this sounds like a story you would be interested in paperbacks are on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Smashwords.com. Ebooks can be found on the same sites plus reviews about my Amazing Gracie Mystery series.

Hope you take a look at my books and enjoy reading them,

Fay

Two New Reviews for Neighbor Watchers

Source: Two New Reviews for Neighbor Watchers

History Of A Lincoln Highway Iowa Gas Station

This gas station, southwest of Keystone, Iowa on highway 30, started in 1937 way before I was born, but stories about it weren’t hard to find. I was a CNA at the Keystone Nursing Care Center. The residents told me in the 1930’s gas was ten cents a gallon and rationed with coupons during the depression and World War 2. The station became a place for the farmers to gather and play cards on Sunday afternoon. My older brother, Bill Bullock, found out when businesses and farms were failing during the depression, a second generation farmer started this gas station in a chicken house. His parents had homesteaded the farm in the 1800’s. The farm had been a dairy, a chicken hatchery and a crop farm.



The round pump, about ten feet tall, had a handle on the side that cranked swirling, redish-orange gas into the glass cylinder. Travelers asked for gas by the gallon. The attendant filled the cylinder to the gallon measure marks on the glass then pumped the gas.

Behind the station were one room cabins for travelers to spend the night. Since a chicken hatchery operated on the farm so I’m not sure if the cabins had been chicken houses like the station, but that’s what they became later. My parents had a flock of hens in one and the other was a brooder house.

Under new a owner, the station had to move back when the DOT made improvements to the highway. Until then highway 30 was a dirt road with foxtail and weeds growing on the sides. The chicken house was torn down. A new gas station was built further west to accommodate the highway improvements (the wider, paved road and ditches) and to make more parking space.

Around 1950, the gas station burnt, and the owner built a new one which he rented along with the house. Living right by where they worked was convenient. The second couple to work in the gas station were my grandparents.



Inside, the counter, a saloon bar, had a trough along the back where bartenders slid drinks complete with wooden bar stool seats on metal stands. The bar stools swiveled. I remember going around and around on those seats. A chrome foot rail went the length of the counter. This usual find came out of a turn of the century hotel in Keystone that closed up. It was being torn down to make room for a city parking lot and what was inside was given away.



By the time my parents closed the station, the 1903, made in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, National cash register’s keys were barely readable. Smells of floor sweep, spilled oil and tracked in gasoline lingered in the station.

The farm land was separated from the four acres the white station with red trim set on with the house and outbuildings. All owned by Rudy Pingel who rented out the acreage. My parents, Bill and Sylvia Bullock, took over from my mother’s parents, John and Veder Bright in 1961.

The towering pump had been replaced by two enclosed pumps topped with crowns. Gas was 30 cent a gallon. An added storage room held stacks of oil and pop cases. One wall had a work counter covered with tools for Dad to use to fix cars and tires.



Up front, an ice cream freezer with two black lids set at the end of the counter. Dad built shelves for can goods, put in bread and potato chips racks, and a refrigerator for milk. Some shelves held Iowa souvenirs, knick knacks and woven rugs made by Mom, plus produce from our garden laid on the counter.



My parents turned the station into a convenience store long before Casey’s, convenient except for the restrooms, but on warm days no one minded the double outhouses as customers admired the abundance of flowers planted by Mom along the sidewalk. Cold weather or in a blizzard like in the picture was another story.

In later years, people said they felt they stepped back in time when they entered the station. In front of the bar set the three chrome stools with red seats that Dad replaced the wooden ones with. John, and I, along with many a child, swiveled on those when we were bored.



Pictured is the pop case and the cash registor

The pop bottles cooled in a build in, wooden case with sliding lids, usually an extra place for farmers to sit during their morning gathering to drink coffee and talk farmer talk. The pop case was built by a high school wood work shop. Next to the case was a green, wooden booth. My brother and I played cards, ate snacks or did homework there.

A large, glass case with sliding doors had a shelf full of nickel candy bars. Boxes of penny candy set on top. When my grandparents owned the station, they sent shoeboxes of candy to us at Christmas from that candy case. John and I looked forward to our box each year which Mom doled out to us so the candy lasted longer. Mom gave the children a tiny, paper sack for their selections. They liked the little sack as much as the candy.

Every day except Sunday, the farmers gathered for Mom’s sandwiches, individual, cream pies and quarter coffee. At a lull in the conversation, they could always count on Dad to furnish a tale. Dressed in his blue Amoco uniform or his blue overalls, he’d sit on his red stool at the end of the counter which replaced one of the hotel bar stools, puff on his pipe and relive his youthful days in Missouri. One customer said he didn’t mind hearing Dad’s humorous stories over. They got better with the retelling.

Mom would wait on customers inside dressed in a print cotton dress and an apron. The station always smelled of her good cooking whether it was bacon and eggs at breakfast or a delicious smelling lunch. We ate supper at the house.

Store hours were 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. or longer, seven days a week with Sunday often being the most profitable day when town grocery stores and gas stations closed. Sometimes at the end of the day, that last customer, most often a farmer, walked in with a flat, but Dad never turned down a customer no matter how late the hour or how tired he was. Dad kept a galvanized water can filled to cool down hot radiators, and he did minor repairs on cars. Once, he fixed a problem with the spring out of his ball point pen. Try that today on these computerized cars.

We got excited when a movie company considered using the station for a Richard Gere movie. The scouts took a bunch of pictures, but we were turned down. If possible, we all managed to be on hand to wait on gypsies and carnival workers. One of the gypsies usually argued over the change, distracting us while others filled their pockets. The Grayhound bus made stops to pick up and let off passengers. The other passengers went to the restroom and shopped for snacks and souvenirs. A final improvement, indoor restrooms, was added which was much better during the winter.

Mom dreaded the hobos hanging around. She sent them packing right away. That didn’t keep them from stopping. What Mom didn’t realize was when she wasn’t looking my good hearted dad slipped the hobos food.

Belle Plaine’s Funk seed corn plant workers rouged and detasseled corn in the summer. They stopped for pop and snacks. A buckeye tree in the house yard shaded two picnic tables for them and other travelers. A quart jar, a message container, set in a flower bed on the station’s east side so crew leaders could communicate with each other. No CB or cell phones in those days, but we had a phone. Also, crank phones with batteries hooked to a line between the house and the station.

A tin box nailed to the yard fence was the drop off for the Cedar Rapids Gazette. People picked up their newspaper after church and stopped in for bread and milk.

Winters made business slow. After a snowstorm, Dad did a lot of shoveling. Usually, one of the neighbors came on a tractor to clean the driveway. Now and then during blizzards, my parents unfolded the couch in the kitchen and slept there. Once in awhile, a stranded traveler stopped to wait out the storm with them.



Mom started weaving rugs from old clothes as a way to make money. She sold those at the station, too. After my parents retired, Dad gardened in the summer but in the winter he didn’t have anything to do so Mom bought another loom so he could weave rugs, too.

The most memorable time was a blizzard in the early eighties. My husband, Harold, our son, Duane, and I lived in a trailer on the property. My husband worked for the DOT. One Saturday, my parents had forty some travelers straggle in, guided to the house by the yard light working as a beacon in the snowy haze. Some put their cars in the ditch and walked in. Some drove with their head out the window, getting frost bite on their ears. It registered 80 below when the snow stopped, and that was before we knew about wind chill. One man went out to start his car, came in to warm up and his glasses lens shattered when the warm air hit them.

During snowstorms, I didn’t see my husband until the highways were cleared. Early Sunday morning, I called the DOT shop, thinking I had some pull. I insisted that he get highway 30 open so that our house guests could be on their way. He told me the snow plows were working as fast as they could, and I’d have to wait. It was Monday before travel was safe.

My mom and I had just bought groceries for two weeks. My supply and hers were eaten in two days. Which was all right because those people were so appreciative, they left plenty of money to cover food and phone calls. One carload from Arkansas said never again would they come to Iowa in the winter for a wedding. I’ll bet they have never forgotten that blizzard, either. Summer time was the profitable time. Vacationers stopped. We were full service so my younger brother, John, and I received a dollar a week to wait on customers inside, pump gas and wash windshields, but we cost our parents more than that in eaten merchandise. We’d moved from a farm near Schell City, Missouri in the Ozarks. My brother and I were lucky to get a bottle of pop when we shopped on Saturdays so to be thrown into the midst of so many treats was awesome. Our wise mom told us to eat all we wanted. We did at first, and to this day, I don’t care for candy or pop although I haven’t given up ice cream yet.



Last day at the station in July 1987.



Dad on his last day pumping gas. Just as we were used to seeing him in blue overalls, getting ready to light up his pipe

In 28 years, the station was never robbed. At night, Dad left the empty cash register drawer open so anyone could see from the window. My parents closed the station for good in 1987 when Dad was 75 and Mom 73. The neighbors gave them a retirement party and told my parents how lost they’d be without the station to meet at each day after fifty some years. My parents lived on the acreage until they passed away.

Now we live in a self serve world. Gas pumps beep at me when I slide a card through a slot instead of the me running over a rubber hose that signals an attendant inside the station. I wait for the words PUSH START to pop up, pay $3 a gallon and wash my own windows. There’s no friendly gent in a blue uniform to help me, no smiling lady in an apron waving at me from the window to invite me in and I’m sure this farming community still misses that as much as I do. Since there isn’t a gas station on the highway in the fifty miles between Cedar Rapids and Tama so do the weary travelers, even those that have never seen that old fashion gas station. Makes me glad I have my memories of what it was like in the good old days.

Improving my Writing In The New Year 2016

I’ve been encouraging one of my brothers to become a writer of more than just his Christmas letters. So he thinks he needs to learn more about this craft. He has signed up for the writing course at FutureLearn which is free and encouraged me to do the same. So I did. It is an eight week course which will take up some of my time while I’m working on the next Nurse Hal Among The Amish book and quilting. I’m sharing the latest email with you so if any other writers would like to try the course. I’ll be sure and let you know the first of April how I measured up.

Hello Fay,

Thank you for joining The Open University’s course, Start Writing Fiction. Welcome to this course, I am your lead educator and am looking forward to us getting started on 18 January 2015.

You can find my profile and follow me on FutureLearn.

This course is suitable for anyone with an interest in creative writing. Even if you have already studied this topic, there will be much that is fresh in it.

The eight-week course will run online and consists of a variety of audio and video clips, articles, discussion and assignments. You will have an opportunity to purchase a Statement of Participation at the end of the course that provides a physical and digital record of your achievement.

In the first week, you will start keeping a writer’s notebook to help you capture and develop your ideas.

You will explore the difference between fact and fiction and take a look at some characters from George Orwell and Zoë Heller novels. You will hear from writers including Alex Garland, Monique Roffey, Louis de Bernières and Michèle Roberts talking about how they started to write. And you’ll start to write your own characters and stories.

If you can’t wait for the course to start…

Help us improve your online learning experience – please fill out our pre-course survey.

Explore related content on OpenLearn (the OU’s home of free learning) where you’ll find valuable resources to prepare you for this course. Visit the Start Writing Fiction area on OpenLearn.

Take a look at The Open University’s formal qualifications in Creative Writing or our Creative Writing module.

Try some creative writing tasters and starter exercises–including activities to do with observations, people, research and ‘writing what you know’.

Connect with other learners

There will be plenty of opportunity to interact with other learners on FutureLearn once the course begins. In the meantime feel free to let people know you’ve joined this course by using the hashtag #FLfiction16 on social media. Follow @OUFreeLearning to find other learners before the course begins.

What next?

We are really looking forward to starting the course and having you on board. We will contact you again just before the course starts on 18 January 2016.

If you have any queries or feedback at this point, FutureLearn will be able to help if you email feedback@futurelearn.com

Best wishes,

Dr Derek Neale

The Open University

Start Writing Fiction Lead Educator

Find out more about The Open University.

Need support? Try our FAQs

Lastest Ebook The Cavorter On Preorder At Smashwords.com

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/601141

In November, I entered the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Write Month) Contest and wrote over fifty thousand words before the end of the month. Now I am about ready to release my historical book The Cavorter. The ebook is on preorder at Smashwords.com and due out February 9th

Chapter 1

Cordelia Cobb Germundson looked down at her scrapbook and ran a finger over a black and white family picture, looking for inspiration. All ten children were gathered on either side of her parents. They had to squeeze together to get in the picture.

“You can see Mama and Daddy weren’t helping much. They had a good size space between them. You’ve heard it said that a picture is worth a thousand words. Just look at my folks trying not to touch each other. They hated to be close, and that picture says it all.

This picture was taken when I’d just turned fifteen right after we moved to Northern Iowa in 1900.”

Cordie gave a long sigh as she looked at her granddaughter. “Before I get into what happened in my family, you should know there were moments way back in the family history that any of my great grandchildren would be proud to know and brag about. If they should need to make a family tree for school that would be the relatives to tell about.

The Cobb family started out in Germany. If you look the name up on the computer, the Cobb lineage goes way back.”

“Cobb doesn’t sound German,” Jane commented.

“Emigrants, when they got off the ships, sometimes changed their names at Ellis Island when they signed in. They varied the spelling of their names to please the British colonies.

In 1747, the first Cobbs, Adolph, and his son, Job, decided to come over to America. Adolph was a widower and Job was a single, young man. When they landed, they were broke after paying their passages on the ship. They needed money to buy land.

The only way to get the homes they wanted was to join the British army to fight in the French and Indian war. The British army was fighting the French who had some help from the native Indians.

The British Army won that war after seven years. Once their service was over, the soldiers were given deeds to land as payment for being in the army. The two Cobb men served under General George Washington.”

“No kidding! I am impressed,” Jane marveled.

“When the war was over, Adolph and Job Cobb were given deeds to land in Virginia. Course that was a wilderness to be conquered if they expected to make farms out of their land.

At first sight, people mistook the Cobb men for brothers, but they realized differently when they came closer and saw the gray strands threaded through Adolph’s black hair. Both men weren’t quite six feet tall and broad at the shoulders, stocky and muscular which was a sign they were used to hard work.

Adolph and Job had adjoining farms with Little River rambling along one side their farms. Job married petite, fair haired Sara Bitterman, just before he left Maryland for Virginia and brought her with him.

In the spring of 1766, the two men worked hard, clearing farm land and plowing the rocky ground to put in crops. They worked from daylight to dark.

Sara tried to keep up her end of the marriage duties as she saw them. She raised food in a garden that deer continually grazed and rabbits gnawed off. She kept the house as clean as she could considering she lived in a log cabin with a dirt floor.

It was easy to get homesick when she thought about her family. She missed so much she left behind in the four years she’d been away from Maryland. Things like her parents, her three siblings which were a brother and two sisters, going to church and a social life with her friends.

She was lonely living in that wilderness after growing up in a bustling city. The mail was so sporadic, and her husband only went to the village a couple times a year for supplies. That’s when he picked up the mail that was old news by the time Sara got her family’s letters.

Neighbors were far a part. Other women were in the same predicament as Sara. They had too much work to do at home to spend time visiting. Most of their earlier lives were spent giving birth to one baby after another which tied them down.

Right after the birth of Job and Sara’s first baby Job taught his wife how to shoot a powder gun. Cherokee Indian raiding parties were in the area, and he knew she needed to protect herself when he was in the field all day.

One day when he was hunting, Job ran into Horrace Simmers, a thin, tall man of few words, out in the timber. The man was searching for his wife, Jessel. They had only been married two months when the Indians kidnapped her. Looked like the tracks headed south. Horrace had walked fifty miles, tracking the Indians. Finally, he turned around and came home.

Horrace told Job he flat out gave up. He reasoned his wife would be dead by the time he caught up with the thieving Indians. They had too much of a head start. If he ran into the Indians, he most likely would be the one dead since he’d be outnumbered.

The Indians headed south to North Carolina. They made dark haired, brown eyed Jessel Simmers walk the whole way through the wilderness. When the Indian raiding party reached their village, the braves gave their captive to their chief as a gift. What a time she had of it trying to survive the jealous squaws and the advances of the chief.

It was May of the next year by the time, Sara Cobb had her second baby. At the same time, Jessel escaped her captors late one night in North Carolina. Jessel walked toward home, determined to live long enough to make it. She lived on bird eggs, berries and plants. With so many wild animals prowling in the timbers, she slept in trees and caves. The worst fear in her mind was the Indians must be tracking her. To prevent getting caught again, Jessel walked in cold stream water or brushed her prints out with a branch while she walked backward.

After five months of walking in the dangerous wilderness, she arrived home. Enough time had gone by that Jessel knew her husband would have cause not to be real happy to see her when he took a good look at her.

Jessel stumbled into her cabin, feeling relief that her long ordeal with the Indians was at last over. She really didn’t expect just how harsh her husband would be after Horrace’s initial surprise at seeing his wife wore off. He pulled Jessel into his arms before he took a close look at her. He felt before he saw his wife’s swollen belly.

He shoved her away from him. “Leave this house and never come back. I’m not about to raise an Indian bastard.”

Jessel pleaded for his understanding as tears ran down her face. “How can you say such a thing, Horrace? None of what happened to me was my fault. What was I supposed to do? When those savages busted into the cabin, I was outnumbered. They surrounded me. One big buck picked me up and carried me off. I hit him and screamed your name, but you weren’t close enough to help me.”

Horrace turned his back on her and stared into the fireplace flames. She had the feeling when his back stiffened her words weren’t going to make a difference to him.

“I didn’t ask to be taken captive by Indians and accosted repeatedly by the chief. Husband, did you think I went with them willingly?” Jessel asked bleakly.

Horrace shook his head. “I knew what happened was none of your doing. I took out after you, but the Indians had too big a head start on me.

Maybe you should have stayed with the Indians at least until after that bastard was born. No one here would have to know about your condition. They would think you were brave for escaping and praise you. I could have taken you back then.”

“You’re not thinking clearly. I couldn’t stay with the chief much longer. He’d kill me after the baby came. Maybe his five wives would have beat him to it out of jealousy. They threw rocks and clubbed me with branches as it was.

I wanted to escape. Anyone in my place would have. I knew it would take me months to walk home. If I was to make it here before winter, I had to start when I did. Once I’d been there for a spell, they let me have some freedom. I slipped out of the tent one night like I was going to relieve myself in the bushes and kept walking. When I was far enough away the Indians wouldn’t hear me, I ran for my life.”

Horrace wheeled around to face her. His face had turned flinty cold. His voice sparked with anger. “You might have been better off if the Indians had killed you rather than come back here in that condition. Didn’t you realize you’re not going to be any better received by the other settlers here when they find out you’re carrying an Indian baby than you are by me? Now go!”

“Where am I to go?” Jessel cried.

“That’s your problem,” Horrace’s voice, cold as the night would be for her, stalked across the room and opened the door.

“Could you at least spare me a warm blanket to put around my shoulders during the day and cover up with at night,” Jessel pleaded.

Horrace stalked over to his rocker by the fireplace. He snatched up the brown blanket he put around his shoulders at night while he sat by the fire.

Pulling the blanket tight around her to block the chill, Jessel walked away from the cabin, wishing she’d been able to convince her husband to let her stay.

The trees were showing their fall colors. The days were fairly warm, but nights held a chill. Jessel spent the first night back home curled up in a cold, damp cave by Little River.

The next morning, she headed for the trading post. It was late afternoon before she arrived. The owners of the trading post, Hiram and Mildred Holmes looked surprised to see her. At first, they appeared glad she had survived. When the blanket gaped open, they had a good look at her. The couple changed their minds and attitude.

Jessel said, “I can see by your faces you know what a problem I have. I’ll tell you the truth. Horrace threw me out of the cabin when I came home yesterday. I need a job and a place to live. Is there anything I can do here?”

Gray haired Mildred, sixty years old and wide at the hips, shook her head in sympathy. Her three chins jiggled as she said, “We’re right sorry for your troubles. Why, we was for sure you had been killed by those savages.”

“I would have been if I stayed with them much longer, Mildred. It was just luck I was able to escape in the night,” Jessel explained.

“Yes, yes, but we don’t have work for you. We can’t let you stay here and work for us. In your condition, it would be bad for business. Public opinion of the Indians is so low no one would want you around as a reminder of what the Indian raiding parties did to their folks and property. Especially with you expecting a savage’s baby.”

With her hands over her face, Jessel sobbed. “How could people treat me so mean? It wasn’t my fault what happened to me.”

Mildred responded, “I understand, but there’s not anything I can do about it. Hiram, do you agree with me?”

Through tear filled eyes, Jessel looked hopefully at the old, hen pecked, skinny man. Hiram looked away from her and agreed with his wife. “Quite right you are, Mildred.”

Jessel walked out on the porch. She shivered as the cold air hit her. She eased herself down on the top step and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself.

She hid her face in her lap, feeling as low as an ant. She hoped maybe someone would come by that would take pity on her. How could there be so many hard hearted people in the area? Surely someone could lend her a helping hand. She hated the thought of going back to the cave to spend the night. It would be after dark before she reached it. She’d be willing to work to repay any kind person that helped her. All she could do was wait and see. Maybe Horrace and the trading post couple were wrong.

A blacksmith was working across the street in the blacksmith shop. The smithy was a tall, muscular black by the name of Moses Washington. He looked up from his hot forge and took notice of the woman shaking as she sobbed. From where he was, he could see she was very distraught. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. He stopped working, tossed his sledge hammer down and walked across the road to see what was wrong.

Jessel heard the heavy thud of footsteps coming toward her. She raised the tail of her ragged dress and wiped her eyes. Her hope rose in her.

“Ya don’t look none too happy, little lady. Is there some way ah can help y’all?” Moses had sympathy in his deep, soothing voice that rumbled like gentle thunder as he stared down at the distressed woman.

“I sure wouldn’t turn down help, but you need to know why I need it.” Jessel rushed to explain her situation.

Moses felt so sorry for her he suggested, “Sure nough y’all need a roof over yer head. Y’all is welcome to stay at my cabin until ya can figure out what ya want to do. Once ya have made other arrangements ya can move on.” Moses knew what it was like to be an outcast even though he was a free man. He wasn’t always treated by the whites like he was free.

Jessel gave the offer serious thought as she studied the stranger towering over her. She didn’t know anything about him. He looked so overpowering, and he was black. On the other hand, winter was coming soon.

The fall days had a nip in the air. Last night, she’d spent a miserable night chilled to the bone in that horrible cave full of bats. She couldn’t live there after the baby came. She wanted in where it was warm in the worse way.

She had to think about this baby she carried. Her harmless, newborn baby didn’t deserve to be mistreated. The baby needed a warm place to grow strong.

“Look, Missus, make up yer mind quick like. Ah’s got work to do,” Moses insisted roughly.

So Jessel made her decision on instinct about this imposing hulk of a man eying her soulfully. She had to trust him and worry about later one day at a time. After all, her reputation couldn’t get anymore soiled living with a black man than it already was now that she was carrying an Indian’s baby.

“I thank you kindly for your offer. I want to accept it,” Jessel said as she held her hand out to him.

Moses took her hand and helped her up from the step. His kind voice put Jessel at ease. “Let me walk with y’all to my cabin so ya make it there all right. It’s not far away. About a quarter of a mile from the trading post, but ah don’t want ya to get lost.”

“Moses, you understand in two months I’m going to have an Indian baby, don’t you?” Asked Jessel.

“Ah done seed dat myself,” Moses said as he took Jessel by the arm and held on firmly so she didn’t fall on the rough potholed road. “Ya best clear dem eyes of tears good, girl, so ya can see where y’all be walkin’.”

The first thing he did when they reached the cabin was build up the fire in the fireplace. “Ah ain’t home all day. The cabin be mighty cold when the fire goes out. There’s plenty of wood in the wood box to keep the fire burnin’ until ah gets back home. Ya makes yerself at home. I seed ya this evenin’.”

After he left, Jessel took a good look around at the large, one room cabin. She noted there was only one bed, and it was small at that. How on earth did a man the size of Moses fit on it?

She wasn’t about to take the bed of a hard working man who had just been so kind as to put a roof over her head. Jessel spread an extra blanket on the floor next to the fireplace to use for her bed and put her blanket on top for her cover.

After that, she made supper. Luckily, Moses had laid in a good supply of provisions in the flour cupboard. He’d been hunting recently, too. Hanging just outside the door in a large oak tree was a fresh deer carcass that she cut steaks from and cooked in the fireplace.

She noticed a good supply of acorns under the oak tree that the squirrels hadn’t carried off yet. She’d pick them up first thing in the morning. If Moses loaned her a hammer, she’d make acorn flour.

That evening, Moses was delighted to see Jessel’s delicious supper. He ate heartily and rubbed his full belly as she stood up to go wash the dishes. “Ah gets tired of my own cookin’. It has kept me alive, but ah cain’t cook good enough to out do y’all, Jessel. Ah’s about to pop from what all ah ate.”

When Moses built up the fire in the fireplace, he noticed the blankets spread near it. “What ya put the blankets here fer?”

“That’s going to be my bed,” Jessel said quietly.

“Ya ain’t in no condition to be layin’ on the hard, cold floor. Ya kin take the bed, and ah be sleepin’ on the pallet,” Mose said firmly.

Jessel tried to protest. “You’re doing enough for me by feeding me and letting me stay here where I’m warm. I can’t take your bed away from you. You’ve worked hard all day, and you need your rest.”

“Shucks, ah work hard, and that’s the reason ah cain sleep anywhere ah lay my head. Now ya start thinking about that baby soon to be born. Ya need that bed worse than ah do.”

“I just don’t think it’s right,” Jessel argued.

“Fine,” Moses bargained. “Ah tell ya what. Ya do this my way for right now. We’s gonna discuss which one of us gets the bed again after the baby be born.”

Jessel realized it wouldn’t do her any good to argue with him. She had to admit that bed felt much better than the branches and leaves she’d slept on for months.

The last of December, early one morning during a blizzard, Jessel felt her first contractions. Before Moses realized Jessel was in labor, he looked out the door at the blinding snow and decided to stay put. Not much he could do at the blacksmith shop. He reasoned the snow would be blowing across his forge, putting the fire out. Besides, no customer would come out in this storm to get anything fixed.

While Jessel was washing dishes, she doubled over and groaned. Instantly, Moses understood what was wrong. He put Jessel in bed and told her to relax if she could. What started out as a twinge turned to hard pains later in the day. She spent most of the day fighting painful labor.

Jessel was grateful to have Moses help her with the delivery. He kept the fire built up so the cabin was warm even though a storm raged outside. He made sure water boiled, and saw to her needs.

Late that night, the baby was born. The delivery was fairly easy for a first baby. For that, Jessel was grateful. The tanned skinned baby was a girl. Jessel named her Lucky, because she felt they both were lucky to have a roof over their heads on that stormy, winter night. Moses smiled when she told him the reason for the name she picked.

Christmas is here. Have a good one and a great New Year.

Fay Risner

Latest Entry In NaNoWriMo Contest finished on time

Source: Latest Entry In NaNoWriMo Contest finished on time

Latest Entry In NaNoWriMo Contest finished on time

From the NaNoWriMo Site November 22, 2015

You, wonderful author, have officially written 50K of your novel during NaNoWriMo 2015.

After all your hard work this month, you’ve finished a draft of your novel. We’re so incredibly proud to

add your wondrous work to the shelves of “The NaNoWriMo Library”!

My Lifetime Achievement Total NaNo Word Count up to 2015 is 256,710 and this novel has 50, 495 words in it. Now comes the editing.

Leona’s Christmas Bucket List

Another Christmas book I’ve written is Leona’s Christmas Bucket List.

The thought for writing a bucket list into the story came from an incident at WalMart. I was in the women’s bathroom, trying to use the new fangled soap dispenser after the store had remodeled. I pushed all over that dispenser, trying to get soap. A shopper walks up to the sink beside me. I looked over as her hand filled with soap. “How did you get the dispenser to work? I can’t figure this one out.” She’s grinning at me, and I’m feeling foolish for not knowing while she explained that the dispenser is automatic just like the stools and towel dispensers are now. Put your hand under and the soap comes out. I did it and was tickled to see my hand fill with white foamy suds. The helpful and cheerful woman said, “There now you can mark that one off your bucket list. We both laughed. As I dried my hands, I thought about her remark. I knew what a bucket list was from watching a movie about two old men with a bucket list. Why did that woman think I had a bucket list or that I should have one? Just for the record that was the only time I got that soap dispenser to work. Others must have had the same problem and complained. Anyway I like to think that is what happened. Since then the dispensers have been exchanged for the ones with a lever to push which I understand. Also, for the record, I haven’t needed to make out my bucket list yet, but I had a story I was itching to write and using the bucket list for my main character who was ill went well in the story. The year I published the book, a nephew who is quite a poet sent out a poem that I liked so I asked him if I could include it in my book. The title sounds like the book would be sad, but I promise you more smiles than tears as you read this holiday book. I’m adding the first chapter to this post. Read it and enjoy.

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Leona%27s+Christmas+Bucket+List

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/296517

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/Leona’s+Christmas+Bucket+List?_requestid=257759

synopsis

When Leona Krebsbach found out just before Thanksgiving she didn’t have long to live, she took charge of her life like she always did. She bought a small spiral notepad and titled it Christmas Bucket List. On each page of the notepad, Leona listed something she needed to get done while she still had time. Details like her funeral headed the list. She didn’t want to leave anything for her daughters to have to worry about after she was gone. She kept her illness a secret until after Thanksgiving when she had all but one thing completed on her bucket list. Finally, she was as ready as she was ever going to get. She called her daughters and invited them to a tea party. Now was the time to tell them. At her age with a long life behind her, Leona Krebsbach should have felt better prepared mentally for the end. She should have been ready to go, because she would be with her beloved Clarence. If only she had managed to atone for that one regretful time that happened so many years ago. If that didn’t weigh on her, she knew her mind set would be different, but she couldn’t change the past. Even if she wanted to, she didn’t have enough time. She reasoned her bucket list wasn’t designed to do that unless a miracle happened.

A Winter’s Pace

By Shane D. Herman

The summer air and springtime flowers have quickly been replaced

By that time of year more cold and frigid

A kind of arctic place

The ice nips at your fingers and bites at your toes

As falling snowflakes kiss at your face

So light up the tree and hang all the stockings

And drape all the holiday lace

As Christmas approaches with unbridled cheer

And the people shopping make haste

It is when friends and family come together as one

That makes this a season to embrace

So from me and mine to you and yours

And everyone else in the holiday race

I invite you all to take in the moment

As we all move at a Winter’s Pace.

Chapter 1

Goose feather size snowflakes glittered in the street lamp’s golden glow, floating lazily like crystalline down. The ground outside the basement window of Limestone City, Minnesota’s United Methodist Church turned white in a hurry. The scene made Leona Krebsbach imagine angels in Heaven with a wing shedding problem.

Suddenly, the elderly woman felt light headed. She leaned her thin frame against the window sill for support and frowned. Please not now. The sinking feeling brought annoyance with it. Here in church of all places. Why couldn’t this wait to happen until she was home? Why did she have to be bothered while she wanted to enjoy the winter view?

Leona knew full well the weak spell made her face head on, that after years of watching similar scenes, this would be the last time she’d see a first snowfall. She wouldn’t stand at this basement window ever again, gazing out at the dead grass between the church and the parsonage as the ground turned white.

Out of all the snowfalls in a winter, she aways favored this first quiet, slow snowfall of the season. Quiet except for the banging of the lanyard against the flagpole in the post office yard across the street.

Heavy nostalgia built as agonizingly as any pain might in her chest. At least, she hoped that was the cause of the unwanted pressure. With all the twinges she’d had lately, she couldn’t be sure these days if she needed to brace herself for the end right away or not. So far the twinges had been false alarms.

When the feeling passed, Leona sighed deeply and straightened back up. She took a deep breath and tried to bolster herself to face the fact she had to get ready for far worse moments yet to come.

She had already decided she didn’t have any intention of immediately taking to her sick bed and going quietly from this world. Not as long as she had the energy left to keep up her winter’s pace.

No telling how long she would have stood at the window, mesmerized by the gently falling snow, if Pastor Jim Lockwood hadn’t cleared his throat softly.

Slowly, Leona turned to face him. The minister gave her a warm smile. He probably wondered why she hadn’t left yet so he could lock the church basement exit door and go back home. The rest of the bible study group had cleared out some time ago.

Leona admired the dark haired, dark eyed young minister. He was just like the son she’d wanted to give her husband, Clarence, and couldn’t.

She wished Jim Lockwood could grow old as pastor of this church while her grandchildren needed guidance, but she knew that didn’t usually happen. After a few years, ministers always got the call to go far away to another church. They moved out of the lives of the parishioners that had grown fond of them, leaving the congregation to have to get used to another minister.

At her age, Leona knew she was a fine one to talk about getting used to changes. She figured out a long time ago she shouldn’t mind changes in everyone else’s life if the changes were for the better.

In fact, she always looked forward with excitement to the new changes she made in her own life over the years. Like the time when she went back to school at the community college to learn to use a computer so she’d be able to carry a conversation with her grandchildren. She had to learn about the digital age after her grandchildren said her typewriter was as extinct as dinosaurs.

These days when she made herself think about the changes ahead of her she wished time could stand still. She knew that was an impossible thing to ask the Lord to do for her, but she still wished just for a short time she didn’t have to face the inevitable.

Putting off telling everyone that needed to know wasn’t going to make a difference. She was pretty sure if she kept her illness a secret that wouldn’t stop her death from happening. That would be a cruel thing to do to her family. She had to suck in how she felt and get up the courage to tell everyone that mattered in her life her days on earth were numbered. The twinges she’d felt lately were just a warning signal to prepare her. Her disclosure better be soon.

At her age with a long life behind her, she admonished herself that she should feel better prepared for the end than she did. If only she had managed to atone for that one time she regretted so many years ago. If not for that moment in time, she knew her mind set would be different, but she couldn’t change the past no matter how much she would like to do it. No bucket list was designed to take care of a tall order like that one, especially on such short notice like the one she’d been given.

Leona gave the minister a wan smile. “You been standing there long?”

“Didn’t want to sneak up on you and startle you while you were deep in thought,” he said as he crossed the room to look out the window with her. “You looked very pensive. Are you thinking about anything in particular?”

“Several things. Life for one,” Leona said. “I was thinking how the seasons are like my life. I remember with fondness the spring time of my youth with loving parents and siblings. In the summer of my life, I married a wonderful man and raised two great daughters. Sharing the years of fall with a loving husband, that left me too soon, gave me many memories to keep me warm in the winter of my life. I’ve lived a long time and have been truly blessed thanks to God.”

Pastor Jim put a hand on Leona’s back as he stared at the snow. “You always manage to have a parable or story to fit the moment. Beautiful outside, isn’t it? God designed nature to paint everything white in time for the holidays. If only the snow covered landscape could stay pristine all winter instead of turning a dirty brown.”

Leona chuckled. “I know exactly what you mean, but no way can we criticize the dust that blows in from the fields. That dirty farm land is what makes the income for farmers and businesses around here. Not unless you’re willing to make due with smaller collection plates.”

“Smaller collections are a given this time of year anyway. Especially with the way the economy is now. The whole community has had to learn to make do, but we must keep praying that times will get better soon.” Pastor Jim gave Leona a sincere look. “I’m sure you know how to make do better than my generation. You had experiences in your life with tougher times then the rest of us will ever know. Times when you had to make do.”

Leona sighed. “I expect that’s right. Make do and do without sometimes, too. That’s something younger people today have no idea how it was. If the same thing happened to them, I fear they wouldn’t know how to cope with the struggle.

During the depression in the thirties, I saved everything, even broken items just in case I had a use for them or needed parts off the junk for later on. Clarence and I were savers just like the Krebsbachs before him and my family before me, the Palmers. My daughters would tell you I still save too many useless things even now when I shouldn’t worry about finances. That’s why my house has so many cluttered closets, and the outbuildings still hold things that Clarence couldn’t bear to throw away.

When I was first married, Clarence and I didn’t have money to buy writing paper so I could keep in touch with my parents. They were just two counties over, but we didn’t have time to go see them as much as I would have liked. Sometimes, it was a matter of not having enough money in the budget to buy gas for the car.

I wrote my mother as often as I could. I made do by tearing pages out of old Sears and Roebuck catalogs. I’d write my letters on the margin. Even then, I still had to sell enough eggs to pay for the envelopes and stamps.”

“I’m sure your parents were happy to hear how Clarence and you were getting along no matter what your message was written on,” Pastor Jim assured her.

“In those days, faith in the Lord, a good husband, loving family and friends put our struggles into perspective. I always felt rich in ways that counted. That rosy outlook is what kept Clarence and me going and looking forward hopefully to a promising future. That outlook paid off as you can see,” Leona told him.

“Well put. I’m working on a Thanksgiving sermon to emphasize that very thing, wise lady. We should all learn to count our blessings just like you had to do in hard times, and I’m sure you still do now. When days are difficult, we have to learn to look forward to better days.

Once a lesson is learned, we don’t soon forget it, do we? My parents saved many things just like you did. No one knows how to save these days, and we do need to learn to recycle more than we do. I hear all the time that this nation is a country of wasteful people.”

“Clarence always said you can look in the review mirror and lament the past. Or, learn from hardships faced by others, meaning our parents, and do a better job in your life time,” Leona said sagely.

Pastor Jim nodded agreement. “A wise man, your Clarence. If you don’t mind, I’d like to quote you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Have a good attendance at bible study today?” He asked.

“Yes.” Leona fiddled with the straps on her black purse.

Assuming she was nervous about the drive home, Pastor Jim cautioned, “Drive carefully going back to the farm. Doesn’t take long for a wet snow like this one to make the roads slick. With night coming on, black ice is hard to see when it forms on the salt brined pavements.”

Leona glanced out the window. The snow hadn’t let up. If anything the flakes were coming down faster. “I’m a safe driver. I’ve had long years of winter driving practice to prove it.” She clutched her purse to her waist and turned to face the minister. “Pastor, I’m not ready to leave yet. I’ve been waiting for you to show up, because I have something I need to talk to you about.”

“You sound serious. Now we must be going to get to the real reason you were so pensive when I came in. Let’s sit down.” Pastor Jim took her elbow and led her over to the black folding chairs lined up around one of the long white tables. He pulled out two chairs and held onto one until Leona eased into it.

Leona plopped her purse and bible onto the table. As Pastor Jim sat down, she shifted the chair to face him. She had to look him in the eyes so she could use his strength to get her words out. “I need to tell you this will be my last time leading bible studies.”

“What? Th — this is so sudden. I hate to hear you want to stop. What will we do without you?” He blurted out, flustered.

“Don’t worry.” Leona patted his hand reassuringly. “I’m not leaving you in the lurch. I took the liberty of asking Becky Smallwood to take my place. I thought I would make my leaving easier on you if I help you find someone else.”

“Thank you for thinking about me. Becky’s okay, but just the same no one can take your place. You’ve been the best teacher for the job for so many years,” Pastor Jim said adamantly. “Besides, I’ll miss talking to you on Wednesday nights.”

“I appreciate that. I know I’ve been as predictable as this snow, showing up here for years. Don’t worry. Becky will be a fine teacher. She is very knowledgeable about the bible and a fast learner.” Leona licked her lips, mustering up the courage to continue. “Things have to change from time to time. That’s just the way life is. Sometimes, we aren’t given a choice so we have to make the best of it.”

“Did someone say you can’t lead bible study anymore? Tell me who it is. I’ll have a talk with that person right away. I don’t want you to stop teaching,” demanded Pastor Jim.

“Actually, I was talking about you in regard to your accepting this change. You’re right though. Someone did let me know I had to stop teaching bible study classes.” Leona paused, giving the minister an amused look. “I wager you talk to that someone every day, Pastor. Just the same, no amount of your pleading or praying will change the fact that I have to quit. What I need to tell you now is the hardest part, the reason why I’m quitting.”

Looking into her sad, brown eyes, Pastor Jim’s brow furled. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Probably not. Don’t feel bad though. I’ve had trouble facing this myself so I know how you will feel when you hear my news. It’s time to start talking about this problem out loud so I picked you to be the first. I want to practice on you. I hope you don’t mind.

I need to face this dilemma I have head on, but it has been hard taking the first steps. So in order to help me stay motivated, I’ve made a bucket list.”

“A bucket list,” Pastor Jim echoed.

“Yes, I have many details I have to take care of right away. Actually, I don’t have much time to do get them done you see. One of the first details on the list is now taken care of, finding my replacement for bible studies.”

“Making a list to remind you to get things done for the holidays is fine, but calling this list a bucket list might be a poor choice of words,” Pastor Jim reproached.

Leona gave him a doleful look. “No, I used the right words.”

“What’s wrong?” Pastor Jim croaked.

“I’m going to die soon. I have liver cancer,” Leone said bluntly.

The young man combed his hand through his hair and fixated on the floor. “I’ve felt something was wrong for a while now. You’ve lost weight, and your complexion is pale. I hated to bring it up. Knowing how efficient you are, I prayed you were on top of the situation and going to the doctor.”

“Your prayers must have worked. I did get checked out. The doctor said there wasn’t anything that could be done for me. You see I didn’t have much warning. Apparently, I’d had the cancer for some time and didn’t know it. The doctor said I have only a short time left to live.” Leona rifled through her purse and brought out a small spiral notepad with Christmas decorations scrawled over the cover. “So just to show you I’m not joking, this is my bucket list, and I have to get the list completed as quickly as I can. Actually, I’m calling this a Christmas Bucket List, because that might be my deadline,” she said with dry humor.

Pastor Jim combed his shaky fingers through his dark hair again. “I want to do anything I can to help you. Is there some of that list I can take care of to help you complete it?”

Leona flipped through the notepad pages. “On page two of my bucket list is get details out of the way for my funeral to take the burden of details off my two daughters. Of course, I want to ask you if you will conduct the funeral service here.”

The minister took her hand. “That’s a given, dear friend.”

“Good. Now for scriptures, since I’ve lived in the country my whole life I’ve always been partial to the twenty-third psalm. You can pick the rest of the scriptures you want to fit into the service. The two songs I want the choir to sing are Amazing Grace and How Great Thou Art. If my girls have a hymn they like, they can add their favorites to make them feel better if they want to do that.”

“All right. Done,” Pastor Jim said briskly as if they were planning details for a soup supper.

While she read the items aloud, Leona was busy checking off the details in her notepad. “I was going to ask Becky Smallwood to sing a solo, but I didn’t have the heart to heap bible study duties on her and burden her with my demise and performing at my funeral all at the same time. So maybe she could lead the choir.”

“What did you have in mind for her to sing just in case?”

“Becky nails any song she sings. How about The Wind Beneath My Wings?” Leona asked. “I think everyone likes that one.”

“That would be a super choice and fitting for you. Please allow me to work on these details in this bucket list of yours,” Pastor Jim insisted.

“All right. I still have to contact the pallbearers I decided on to make sure they are prepared when Arlene calls them. I’ve already been to the funeral home, made arrangements there for the visitation and settled the bill. The casket I picked out is very pretty. It’s dark pink with roses on both sides the handles.” Leona stopped to catch her breath.

“You have been very thorough, I see. Not that I’m surprised. This is just the way you tackle everything you have always set out to do. Head on,” Pastor Jim said softly.

“Yes, I’ve managed my life the way I wanted until now. I don’t see any reason to leave the details of my funeral for my family to have to do,” Leona assured him. “Besides, there’s some comfort in knowing how my life will end, and what will happen at my funeral.”

“Not many people have your courage to face the end, planning like this, dear lady,” Pastor Jim said admiringly.

“Well, it took some doing to get to this point. I’ve reasoned with myself about dying. You see, I’ve done my best to live a decent life. At least for the most part, I think my family will be proud of the way I lived. I think I know where I’m headed, and that’s a comfort,” Leona said, pointing a finger toward the ceiling. “Carrying out my final details for my daughters so they won’t have to gives me peace of mind.”

“I can vouch for the honorable way you have lived your life. I’m as sure as you are that you will go to Heaven.

I’ve always admired your self control that allows you to take charge of any task. Even at such a difficult time in your life as this one. You have the presence of mind to make your final plans by yourself, and do whatever else needs to be done. You always handle adversity head on, because you’re a very strong woman,” Pastor Jim complimented.

She cocked her head to the side. “I think the modern term the grandchildren and my daughters use for me is control freak. I’ve always put myself in charge, and I figure on doing that until the end so I know everything is done right to my satisfaction and goes smoothly.”

“When it concerns the end of your life, no matter what anyone would say I will stand with you on this. I think you’re entitled to run the show the way you want it,” he joked with a weak smile.

“Thank you,” Leona said as she reached over and patted his arm. “Somehow I just knew you would be on my side.”

Pastor Jim looked worried. “Always, dear lady. This is upsetting to me to say the least. How is your family taking the news?”

With averted eyes, Leona said, “They don’t know yet.”

“What! Your daughters need to be told. You should do that soon, before they hear the news from someone else,” Pastor Jim cautioned.

“I will. So far the people that know, I told to keep this to themselves until I’ve had time to tell my family. I’m dreading that so much, but I plan to tell them right after Thanksgiving is over.

Arlene will want to smother me with kindness or boss me around. Diane will be a basket case that we’ll all have to take care of. So why spoil the last holiday we’ll have together for the rest of the family,” Leona explained.

Pastor Jim nodded. “I understand that, but you’ve been their rock for all these years. This will seem like a sudden blow to your daughters and hard for the whole family to absorb for a while. I guess you will not be able to come to church soon. Where will I find you for visits? The farm?”

“No, my health will decline fast. I’ll need medical care very soon, and I don’t want to burden my daughters and their families. Right after Thanksgiving, I’m moving into The Willows, a hospice house on the outskirts of town. Come there to see me whenever you have time.”

Pastor Jim took a deep breath before he spoke. “Can I borrow your bible? I didn’t realize there would be a need to bring mine with me from the parsonage just to lock the church door.”

Leona handed her worn thin bible to him.

“Let’s pray,” he said, already bowing his head.

She glanced out the window. The wind moaned a wailing cry as it whipped around the building, churning the snow into a furious haze. She needed to head for home right away. All she left home with was her handbag, and a prayer that this winter day would go well. She wasn’t sure that would be enough to guarantee her a safe return home the way the storm had intensified. Other winters, she had always put an emergency supply kit in the car, but she hadn’t gone to the bother this time.

“I appreciate the prayer, but you know you don’t have to pray for me right this minute. I’ve accepted what is coming, and I certainly do expect you to be by my side to bolster me later on when I weaken,” Leona insisted.

Gripping her bible in his hands, Pastor Jim said, “And I will be very glad to be there anytime you need me, dear lady. Just bear with me this once. I’m not only praying for you. I have to pray for strength for me so that I will be able to help you. I’m not going to be able to take your news too well until I get used to it,” he said, his eyes a misty blur.

Leona laid a frail, blue veined hand on the pastor’s strong one. She said with a touch of humor, “Can you make it a short one, Pastor? I need to head for home soon. Like you said the roads will be slick. You see I can’t die in a car wreck today. I haven’t finished all the arrangements for my funeral yet, and I still have to complete the rest of my bucket list.”

A few minutes later, Leona turned off the tree lined street and drove down Main Street. She noticed the last minute shopper hustle that always went on the day before Thanksgiving. Almost every parking place had a vehicle in it. That wouldn’t change now until after Christmas shopping was over.

Loretta Abbas hustled along the sidewalk, her arms loaded with bags. She stopped by her car and looked up as Leona drove by. Loretta fumbled with her car door, got it opened, set the bags on the back seat and managed to wave at Leona all in a heartbeat.

Loretta was probably in a hurry to get home before dark, too. Seeing the woman was a reminder that Leona needed to call her. She wanted Loretta to head up a coat and clothes drive from one year to the next for the Indian Settlement. If Loretta turned her down, maybe the woman would be kind enough to find someone that did have time to volunteer.

Suddenly, Leona felt maudlin about not being able enjoy the Christmas holiday. She had always looked forward to Arlene and Diane’s yearly visit right after Thanksgiving. They spent a day with her, putting up the tree and decorating the house just like they did when they were children.

Leona relished buying just the right gift for each member of the family and baking Christmas cut out cookies with the grandchildren. She made a large amount of fudge and divinity so the girls could take a box home. After a few failed attempts over the years, Arlene and Diane gave up trying to make candy. They told her they would rather enjoy the candy she made.

The effort Leona put forth to make the holiday special for her girls and their families when they came home had always been a labor of love.

After this, the girls and their families would have to make due with special memories from this Thanksgiving. She wouldn’t be doing anything about Christmas except taking care of her bucket list if it wasn’t done by then.

Suddenly, Leona realized she was coming up to the grocery store parking lot. If she was going to make pumpkin pies, she needed more milk and eggs. Leona stepped on the brakes and fishtailed. She negotiated the turn into the parking lot and realized the lot was full of cars. Near the entry door, Leona spotted an empty handicap parking spot. She shouldn’t park there. She wasn’t legally able to, but she considered this an exception. She had to be careful. Falling on the slick concrete and breaking a hip wouldn’t enhance her Thanksgiving plans.

Luckily, Leona found one shopping cart left in the corral. She grabbed it and took off for the milk and egg section. By staying in the middle of the aisles, she dodged past the other shoppers, lingering along the sides.

There weren’t too many jugs of milk left. Leona put one in her cart. She thought better of that and picked up another. Her grandchildren drank milk. She was reaching for an egg carton when someone tapped her shoulder.

Leona turned and found her son-in-law, Steve, grinning at her. “Fancy meeting you here, Leona.”

“I guess. Looks like most of the town is in here right now. I was lucky to find one shopping cart not in use.”

Steve nodded agreement. “Me, too. So about ready for the big day tomorrow?”

“You bet and looking forward to every minute of it,” Leona assured him.

“I thought you might be.” Steve turned serious. “Leona, how you feeling these days?”

Leona questioned sharply, “Where did that come from?”

“My secretary said she saw you coming out of Dr. Crane’s office last week.” Steve shrugged. “Arlene hasn’t mention you not feeling well so I thought I should ask.”

Leona fumbled around with the egg carton, trying to find just the right place for it in the cart.

“Leona, are you stalling?”

“I might be,” Leona said stiffly.

Steve came along side her cart so he could see her face. “There is something wrong, isn’t there?”

“Steve, you’re a dear to worry about me. I plan on talking to Arlene and Diane right after Thanksgiving about my doctor visit. Can you keep what your gossiping secretary saw to yourself until then?”

Steve grinned. “Sure.”

“Promise me. I know how hard it is to keep from telling Arlene something like this, but this is important to me,” Leona implored.

“All right, I promise, but only until after Thanksgiving. I might break my promise if Arlene doesn’t get an explanation from you soon,” Steve said earnestly.

“Now aren’t you the hard taskmaster,” Leona teased.

Steve shrugged. “I’m just concerned about you. Is there anything I can do for you until you talk to Arlene?”

“Just enjoy tomorrow with me,” Leona said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll handle the rest in my own good time.”

“Fine, but like I said make it soon. You’re right. I don’t like keeping secrets from Arlene. You know, driving isn’t great tonight. Out in the country it has to be hard to see where you’re going. You want me to take you home? We could leave your car in the parking lot, and Jason could drive it out tomorrow as we come,” Steve suggested.

“Certainly not. If it’s hard driving now, then you would have to come back to town by yourself. It will probably be even worse after dark. I don’t want to have to worry about you making it home.

I’ll be careful. This isn’t my first experience at driving on slick roads you know,” Leona chided. “Now I best get to the checkout lines. Might be a long wait for my turn. See you in the morning.”