Fay Risner's Blog, page 22

March 23, 2014

Latest Book Release-Christmas With Hover Hill

ImageElizabeth Winston grew up not caring about Christmas. This Christmas is going to be much worse than the holidays she and her brother, Scott, spent with her divorced parents. Her former boyfriend, Steven Mitchell, showed up to pester her about renewing their relationship now that his marriage has ended. Elizabeth always looks forward to sharing Christmas with her brother, but he says he has a business trip during Christmas. His present for her is an expensive and obnoxious robot man by the mane of Hover Hill. Just her luck to be stuck with a mechanical man to share the holidays with. Elizabeth is fit to be tied when she figures out the robot was planted by Steven to brainwash her into taking him back. She slipped out of town with the robot, leaving her old life behind and walked into a new set problems. She wanted to hide but that isn’t easy in a small town like Wickenburg, Iowa. Gossip about her flew faster than the rumors that came out of the Silver Dollar Tavern. Susie, at the Maidrite Diner, bragged she got a look at the handsome man that Elizabeth is shacking up with. The minister’s wife complained a local farmer, Bud Carter, hasn’t been to church in a month of Sundays. Holly, from the Antique Store, said the reason why is Bud’s spending more time at the newcomer’s house that he is his place. The grocery store checker said Elizabeth acts like she’s hiding out from someone. If Steven comes looking, with all the attention Elizabeth is getting, all he has to do is ask and get directions from anyone in town to the old Carter house.


The paperback book can be found in Amazon, Smashwords or B&N. The ebooks can be found in Nook and Kindle.


This is my first post on this site. In January, our transformer blew one cold night and a surge damaged my computer. So I was without for a few weeks while my computer was in the shop and again when I had to buy a new computer. Now that I am ready to blog I found my blog at Blogger is gone. You can still see my posts but I can’t use the blog now. So here I am.


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Published on March 23, 2014 11:59

February 11, 2014

The Courting Buggy-Number 6 in the Nurse Hal Among The Amish series book reviews


I have a list of readers that want me to notify them when my latest book is published. When I emailed people that the book is on its way to their house, I ask them to write back to let me know how they liked the book. Well, some of the first reviews are back for The Courting Buggy and I want to share them with you. Now the reviews are coming in from readers who bought Nurse Hal Among The Amish book six - The Courting Buggy. I always ask them to let me know what they think of my books so I can pass their reviews on to everyone else. Yes, I did get The Courting Buggy on my kindle and read it. It was really great. When is the next one and does Emma ever get married? I got the book in the mail yesterday. I was like a little kid. Couldn't wait to get to the house to unwrap it. I read up to the church service where Aunt Tootie smacks the spider. That was funny. Thanks for getting it to me so fast. I will enjoy it like the other Nurse Hal books. Nurse Hal came through just fine yesterday! I like your bluebird sticker on the paper wrapping the book. Looked through a little bit, and this book looks like it will be very good!! I am as far as Jim wanting to buy the red courting buggy. And was amused by Aunt Tootie and her enemas. I still say your characters are more realistic than the others. Fay, I couldn't put this Nurse Hal book down - absolutely great - story line was magnificent and I could picture myself right there. Thanks so much for writing such an interesting book. I am so glad I met you. The Nurse Hal was full of one delightful episode after another!! So funny all the mishaps Stella and Tootie had. And the story of the Sneak Upons! And Jim trying to get them to ride in his buggy. And Tootie trying to avoid washing the slop pail. I think this may have been the best book yet. The next review came in for Tread Lightly Sibby which takes place in Houston Co. Missouri right after the Civil War and Ella Mayfield's Paw Paw Militia which is a story about a woman bushwhacker in Vernon Co. Missouri during the Civil War. I absolutely loved the book about Sibby - couldn't put it down. Are there any others like that? I'm on the Paw Paw one now. Thanks for writing such awesome books. Oh my yes, of course I want the next Nurse Hal book!!! You always have the most unique plots for her stories, and I always enjoy and anticipate!
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Published on February 11, 2014 12:09

January 16, 2014

The Courting Buggy-Book 6-Chapter 1

Chapter 1 John Lapp stepped out of the barn and observed the sky. The west was dark from the recent rain, but the sun beat down overhead now. He felt the sun's warmth on his face. It felt good. He closed his dark brown eyes and threw his arms above his head, stretching the kinks out of his joints. The hour before, a black rain cloud poured large, cold drops on him as he ran into the barn. He was thankful to see the sun back. Even more thankful for peaceful calm times like these when all was right in his family's world. Laugher from the end of the driveway caused John to glance toward the gravel road. His two sons sauntered toward him. Daniel's growth spurt had shot him up almost as tall as his brother, Noah. John's youngest son must have found something Noah said funny. He elbowed the grinning Noah who usually was the serious natured one of the two. The boys acted like they were up to something. John waited for them to get to him. “How was your visit with Jimmie Miller?” “Gute,” Noah said. “Jah, we had fun,” Daniel replied. The eleven years old boy had his jacket buttoned shut. The black material moved in and out over his chest. John pointed at Daniel's jacket. “What do you have rutsching around in there?” Daniel asked, “Remember we talked about some day getting another dog?” “Jah,” John answered. “Did you see Jimmie's dog and her litter of pups when we had the Sunday meeting at their farm a month ago?” Noah inquired. “Jah, if I remember right she was a black and tan coon hound with a mess of pups. Ain't so?” John recalled. “Jah, and Jimmie is ready to wean the pups and give them away. He gave us one to bring home on approval.” Daniel added reluctantly, “If you and Mama Hal do not like him we can take the pup back.” “Bring him out of your jacket before he suffocates, and let me see him,” John said. Daniel unbuttoned his coat and handed the fat, cream colored puppy to his father. “He's cute, ain't so?” The puppy's spiked tail quivered back and forth. He let out a series of yips at John like a wind up toy. “Right now he is. Is he pure coon hound?” John asked. “Jah. Bred to Jimmie's cousin Morgan Miller's black and tan coon hound,” Noah said. “I take it you two are planning to take this pup coon hunting when he's older?” John surmised. “That is the plan,” Noah agreed. “It is all right with me to keep him, but this pup is not the breed your Mama Hal might have had in mind when we talked about getting another family dog like Patches. You show her the puppy. If you get her approval then it is all right with me to keep him,” John said. “How about we let Mama Hal name the pup? Think she would like that gute enough to let us keep him?” Daniel asked. “Might work in your favor. Give it a try,” John agreed. “I'm headed to the house. No time better to show the puppy to Hal and Emma.” John trod behind the house and into the mud room with the boys behind him. When John entered the kitchen, Hal marched at him, wringing a corner of her white apron. “I don't know how I could have done such a thing. John, this is awful. I don't know what to do about it.” John stopped short and speechlessly watched his wife pace around the kitchen. Daniel grabbed Noah's arm. He whispered, “We better stay out here until Dad gets Mama Hal settled down. This does not sound gute for our puppy.” “Jah,” Noah hissed solemnly. “I have been pondering this. Maybe we should not bring up that our dog is a coon hound unless Mama Hal comes right out and asks its breed. She can not tell one breed from the other when they are puppies.” “Gute idea,” Daniel whispered back. The puppy squirmed in his arms. He nearly dropped the pup before gathering him in a tighter grip. In the kitchen, Emma was mixing cake batter at the table. Her gray green eyes shifted nervously back and forth from the batter to her upset step mother. Hal made a lap around the room and back to John. “This is just not fair. How could this happen? I don't know how I could do such a dumb thing? Do you, John?” “I can not answer that until you tell me what you did. What did you do?” John implored, wondering what could be so bad to cause Hal's face to flush as red as her hair. “I got a letter from my parents today. They're coming to visit us, because I invited them,” Hal groaned. She grabbed the letter off the table and waved the sheets of paper at him. John looked confused. “What's wrong with that? I like your folks.” At that news, Noah and Daniel edged into the kitchen. Standing behind Noah to conceal the pup, Daniel said gleefully, “Dawdi Jim and Mammi Nora are coming. That is gute news.” “Nah, it's not gute news,” Hal narrowed her eyes at the boys. They quickly ducked their heads and studied their bare feet. Hal continued, “It's very bad news. Why did I do it, John?” “The mystery of that will only be solved if you tell me the whole story. Come sit down.” He grabbed Hal by the elbow and led her to the table. “You are all worked up, ain't so? Now tell me why is it not gute news that your folks are coming if you invited them?” John asked patiently. I was I thankful just a few minutes ago? So much for it being peaceful around here. He took Hal by her shoulders and pushed her down into a chair. “Because my mother asked Aunt Tootie to come with them, and Aunt Tootie is coming. Isn't that awful?” Hal cried, dropping her hands limply in surrender onto her apron. “Who is Aendi Tootie?” Daniel asked. “My mother's sister,” Hal answered. “Does she have a husband?” Noah asked. “Not anymore. She's been a widow for years,” Hal told him. “If your aendi is anything like your mother we will be looking forward to her visit,” John said truthfully. “You hit the nail on the head,” Hal barked at him. “That's the problem. Aunt Tootie is nothing like my mother. She will say or do something to upset people in the Amish community and get our whole family shunned. That's the way she is. She doesn't think what she's going to say. Words just shoot out of her mouth. She doesn't think before she acts. She just does things. Weird things.” Emma took a stab at placating Hal. “Hallie, I do not see how she can be that bad. We will be all right.” “Nah, we won't. I'm sure of it,” Hal declared, rubbing her forehead to ease the throb. “Consider the family warned and calm down, Hal. Surely nothing can happen to get us in trouble in the short time your relatives will stay,” John reasoned. “Wrong! They're going to stay a month at least, and maybe more if they think they're having fun,” Hal groaned. “Maybe it would have helped if Mammi Nora had given you a whiff of a warning they were bringing your aendi with them,” Emma groused as she poured the batter in the cake pan. “Nah, any other relative maybe, but it wouldn't have helped this time. Not when it's Aunt Tootie they're bringing,” groaned Hal with both hands to her face. John said, “Now, Hal, hospitality is a virtue commanded in the bible.” “God never had my Aunt Tootie sit at his table! If he did just once, he'd have given inviting her again second thoughts the next time she showed up,” Hal fumed. John spoke a cautionary slow, “Hal.” Noah interrupted. “When are they coming?” “They will drive in sometime next Tuesday afternoon,” Hal said quietly. John rubbed the side of his face. “That is a week from today. That soon?” “Jah, and there is so much to do. My parents can sleep in the spare room, but where are we going to put Aunt Tootie?” Hal worried. “She can sleep with me,” Emma offered. “Oh, no! Trust me. You don't want Aunt Tootie to sleep with you,” Hal declared. “I do not understand why not. I am sure I will be able to endure her for the short time they are here,” Emma said. “Nah, you will not. Where do you think she got the name Tootie?” Hal exclaimed, slumping in the chair. Emma looked puzzled then her eyes widen. “Oh.” Noah and Daniel put their hands to their mouths and giggled. Hal leaned back against the chair. It appeared she had run out of steam. This was as good a time as any to get Hal's mind on something else. John said, “The boys have something to show you.” Daniel stepped around Noah and stood in front of Hal, holding the wiggling puppy. “Jimmie Miller is weaning a litter of pups. He let us bring this one home on approval. If you like the puppy we can keep him. If you do not like him, we will take him back.” “I see. He sure is a cute little fellow,” Hal said holding her hands out. Daniel gave her the puppy while Noah said, “If you like him, you can name him for us.” Hal studied the boys and then the puppy. “Let me get this straight. If I name him, you get to keep the puppy?” Noah wasn't sure what was the right thing to answer since Mama Hal hadn't been too happy. “I guess that is recht.” “What an honor to be able to name the puppy. Denki, boys. Emma, what do you think of him?” Hal asked. She twisted in the chair and held the puppy out where Emma could see him. Emma put the cake pan in the oven, before she focused on the pup. “He is a sweet puppy right now while he is in your lap. It wonders me the bedevilment he will be full of when he is turned loose on us.” “Sister, that describes all puppies,” Noah defended. Daniel hissed at Emma. “It is either a puppy or another raccoon. Which would you rather we get for a pet?” “No question. The puppy,” Emma relented quickly. Hal held the puppy up, inspecting his chubby body and long ears. The pup sniffed at her, gave her cheek a lick of approval with his pink tongue and yipped in her face. “He's such a pretty cream color. Reminds me of one of Emma's biscuits. I think I'll name him Biscuit.” Daniel's mouth fell open. Noah looked helplessly at his father. The corner of John's lips twitched in good humor at his sons' chagrin. Daniel opened his mouth to protest the puppy's new name, but John stopped him. “Boys, better find a place to settle the puppy so you can help me milk and get the calves bottle fed.” “Jah, Daed.” Daniel sounded dispirited. “Where are you going to put him?” Hal asked. “The nights are still chilly.” “In one of the pens in the barn with clean straw bedding to snuggle in,” Noah said. “He slept in the barn at the Miller farm.” “By himself?” Hal asked. “Nah, he was with the rest of the litter,” Daniel told her. “I thought as much. They kept each other warm at night,” Hal said. “If you find a box big enough Biscuit couldn't crawl out of, he could stay in the mud room for a couple of weeks. At least until it warms up at night. Think that would be all right, John?” “Jah, that would be fine,” John agreed. “Now we have to go to work. Noah, you help me. Daniel, you get the box prepared then bottle feed the calves.” As they walked to the barn, Noah said, “Daed, we can not name the dog Biscuit. That is not a fit name for a dog.” “Help us talk Mama Hal into a different name. One that is for dogs,” Daniel said, tagging along. “It will not be wise for you to back out on letting Hal name the puppy right now. She is upset enough about her aunt coming. She might not take kindly to hearing you do not like her name for the dog. Best stick to your bargain, and be thankful she is letting you keep him. I am hoping the puppy will give her something to think about instead of the company coming.” “But, Daed, how is that going to sound when we take this dog coon hunting with the other boys, and we're calling in the dark timber come here Biscuit,” Noah groaned. “They are all going to have a good laugh at us. That is what will happen,” Daniel complained. “I expect they will,” John said, chuckling. That night during supper, Hal quietly worried about all that needed done before next Tuesday. She pushed her food around on her plate, hardly eating anything. Daniel rose in his chair enough that he could reach across the table and pick up the butter dish. Hal frowned. On top of everything else, both boys needed to remember to use manners around her parents and aunt. “Daniel, instead of reaching across the table for the butter, the polite thing to do is say please pass me the butter.” Daniel bowed his head. “Sorry, Mama Hal.” “It's all right this time. It's just that I want us to put our best manners on while we have company with us,” Hal explained. The next few days passed by in a fast whirlwind of activity as Hal and Emma rushed to clean the house and air out the spare room for Hal's parents. When the boys came in one afternoon, Emma sent them to the basement to sweep and clean down the cobwebs. “We are sure going to a lot of work for company,” Noah complained. Daniel grumped, “You would think Aendi Tootie and Mammi Nora do not ever see a speck of dust.” “They do not from the way Mama Hal is acting,” Noah replied as he swiped the ceiling cobwebs with the broom straws. When the boys appeared back upstairs, Emma cornered them again. “Make up the fly bags and put them around the doors and windows. We do not want a lot of flies in here.” Noah asked, “Mama Hal, you have enough pennies to put in the water?” Hal rifled in her purse and gave the boys what pennies she had. Emma went to the pantry and found a box of quart baggies she laid on the kitchen table. The boys put six pennies in each bag and filled them half full of water. Once they had the amount they needed, they tacked the fly bags on the outside of the house. Finally one morning after much thought, Hal announced as she wiped dishes, “Aunt Tootie is going to sleep in the clinic bed.” “Are you sure?” Emma asked. “The clinic is so far away from the rest of the family at night.” “There's nothing wrong with that. For goodness sakes! It's not like I'm sending her to the barn to sleep. The clinic is attached to the house after all,” Hal declared out of sorts. “I know, but what if you need that bed for a birthing?” Emma considered. “We will deal with that when and if it happens. Maybe we'll be lucky and not have a birth while our company is here. I can't think of anyone that's due this soon.” “Just the same we should treat your aunt like company. Besides, she is a lot older than me. She can have my bed. I can sleep in the clinic. That way if we have a birthing I will be the one without a bed which I will not need if I am assisting you,” Emma declared logically. Hal gave in. “All right, if that's the way you want it.” Emma fixed the mop bucket and mopped the kitchen's black and white checkered linoleum. She tossed the dirty water out the back door. As she hung the mop pail on a nail and the rag mop beside it, Noah and Daniel charged into the mud room. Emma eyed the squirming puppy warily in Daniel's arms as she snapped, “Watch your step! I just mopped that kitchen floor. It is slick.” “We will,” Daniel said. The boys tiptoed into the kitchen. Hal smiled at them as she dried her hands on her apron. “How is the puppy doing?” “He is growing fast, ain't so?” Noah said to Daniel. “Jah,” Daniel agreed. “Want to see him come to you, Mama Hal.” He put the puppy on the floor. “Now call him.” Hal slapped the side of her leg. “Come to me, Biscuit. Come here.” The puppy slipped and sprawled out several times on the damp floor before he finally slid to a stop in front of Hal. She leaned over and patted his head. “You are so cute.” The nervous puppy licked her hand repeatedly, suddenly squatted and relieved himself. The amber puddle spread out around his hind paws, ran under his front paws and flowed toward Hal. She stepped back to keep the pool from running under her bare feet. The puppy yipped as he pattered around her, leaving his wet tracks on the clean squares. With her hands on her hips, Emma's disgust couldn't be missed. With a glance at his sister, Noah said quietly, “Grab Biscuit, Daniel.” As Emma's heavy footsteps came behind them, Daniel told Hal, “We need to go now.” Instantly, Emma was beside them, pointing to the puddle. “That is not a gute thing. I just mopped the floor. I did not want to do it over, but I will have to, ain't so?” Her stiff finger wavered toward the pup as she snapped, “Get him out of this house. He does not belong in here.” Noah rushed at the puppy. Biscuit dodged under the table. The puppy crouched down, shivering as he tried to figure out what went wrong. Daniel told Noah, “I will crawl under the table on this side. You watch for him on the other side.” Daniel went at the pup on all fours. Biscuit scampered out of hiding and bumped into Emma's bare feet. She scooped squirming pup up and held him at arms' length. “I have him. Take him to the barn. He can not stay in the mud room anymore. Take the box away. It smells as bad as this dog does. They both need to be gone before company comes.” Paperback on sale with others in the Nurse Hal series at Amazon. Ebooks sold at kindle, nook and smashwords.com
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Published on January 16, 2014 12:30

January 7, 2014

It's Just A Picture


It's Just A Picture You look at this picture, and probably what you would think is it's just a picture. Maybe next you think who would want to take a picture of an old buggy anyway? You see a picture. I see a book cover. That picture is what is on the cover of my latest Amish book The Courting Buggy-Nurse Hal Among The Amish. My husband and I were looking at what didn't sell at an Amish equipment sale. I had my camera along. My objective has been to find something Amish to use on my covers that didn't involve close ups of Amish people. I was thrilled when Create Space Self Publishing put in a cover creator on the publishing site. At the time, I thought I'd use that with their pictures and never again struggle to make a book cover in my Photo Shop. I have used several of the book covers furnished by Create Space for other genres I write, but for the Amish books, I use the cover templates that have a square for a picture. If I run out of pictures, then I know I can use the cover template ideas. By the way, I love how easy the Cover Creator works. So I took several pictures the day I took the buggy one. I always take several different angles and later choose which one I want to use. The one I picked has my husband in it. I actually liked another angle of the buggy better but decided to go with the one my husband was in. I made the cover and told him to look at it. I said something strange cropped up just like the picture of the surfer with the large shark in the surf that they didn't notice until they looked at the picture. I asked for his approval. He said he didn't know about that. I told him it would be all right. He wasn't Amish. So I have had the pictures to use for the last three years and no story to match. It has taken me almost three years to come up with a story to go with that Amish courting buggy. I waited until November and entered the National Novel Writing Month contest. By the end of the month I had over 54,000 words which put me over the finish line. The month of December I edited the book and the first week of January I published. I wish all my books could be done that easy. The Courting Buggy - Nurse Hal Among The Amish-Book 6 is on the market now at Amazon, kindle, Nook Store and Smashwords.com. If you read my book leave a review somewhere for me. That helps others get interested in my books. Also, I sell the books I write from my home so you can contact me at booksbyfay@yahoo.com I've ordered a shipment due in about two weeks so I let some of my readers know by personal email. I'd be happy to add to the list anyone that wants to know I've a new book released. The books I mail out are author signed by me. I like the feed back I get from everyone I email. The latest one is, "You always have the most unique plots for Nurse Hal's stories that I always enjoy and anticipate!" If you haven't tried one of my Nurse Hal Among The Amish series see what you're missing. So now I'm working on another book already, and this one has another one of the equipment sale items as the cover. It is a Cinderella Coach. I took that picture because the coach was an oddity. Look what I came up with to use the picture later on. I'll be sure to let you know more later about Christmas With Hover Hill.
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Published on January 07, 2014 08:23

January 1, 2014

The Courting Buggy - Book 6 in Nurse Hal series ready soon

Happy New Year Everyone! I'm starting the year right by publishing a new Amish book. Number Six in the series Nurse Hal Among The Amish. The Title is The Courting Buggy. The book will be ready very soon. You can check out this link to read the first chapter. https://www.createspace.com/Preview/1... Cover back - Nurse Hal invites her parents to visit the Lapp farm near Wickenburg, Iowa to get acquainted with their two little granddaughters. She is in total turmoil when she hears she's going to get more company than she bargained for. Jim and Nora Lindstrom are bringing Nora's sister, Tootie, with them. Nurse Hal is sure her family is going to be shunned when scatterbrained Aunt Tootie does or says the wrong thing around their Amish friends. With all the scenarios that Hal imagined, she didn't come close to dreaming up the things this a little plumb off center aunt could do to get them in trouble with the Amish community. John Lapp invites Jim to go to the salebarn with him and his sons. He wonders if that was a wise thing to do when Jim buys a courting buggy and horse. The man is as excited about his purchase as he'd been about his first jalopy. However, Jim has doubts about the horse on the first ride home. Mike has traffic fright so he stops when traffic goes by him. Jim has to hide that fact from Nora. She made up her mind right away that she didn't like the courting buggy and doesn't want anything to do with it. She would be even more upset if she knew the horse had a problem. An elderly neighbor, Peter Rogies, has Alzheimer's disease. Before Nurse Hal can educate his family about how to care for the man, Aunt Tootie takes a liking to Peter. They go for a walk and end up on Lover's Lane in Jim's courting buggy. The next time the couple go for a walk they get lost in a timber in the dark. It would be just a matter of time before they succumb to the elements if the search party doesn't find them. What else will Aunt Tootie do to complicate Nurse Hal's Amish way of life? Lots of things and not all of them in The Courting Buggy.
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Published on January 01, 2014 12:50

December 4, 2013

National November Writing Contest Is Over


I can breathe a sigh of relief now. After my month long writing marathon, I made it over the finish line with over 52,000 words. This is my fourth year and I do enjoy the challenge. Not only that the reward is I have a rough draft for my next Nurse Hal book and am working hard on it now. Look for the book in the market soon. I'm struggling with the title but as the book unfolds now I think I'm going with The Courting Buggy. When I first saw the courting buggy that will be on the cover, my thought was of teenage Noah and my intention was to write a book about him to go with the book cover picture. It surprises me sometimes the twists and turns my imagination takes when I work on a book. Somehow the courting buggy has become a buggy for all of the Lapp family to appreciate. So in the coming days I will be busy working on this book and looking forward to Christmas.
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Published on December 04, 2013 14:56

November 19, 2013

Holiday book-Leona's Christmas Bucket List

The back of the book cover reads: Leona Krebsbach had lived a life that made her family proud. She raised her children and volunteered tirelessly in community groups and her church. Strong willed and always sure of what she wanted out of life, Leona was an example of the way to live for everyone that knew her. She told bible parables and Leona parables as examples to teach the honorable way to live with a strong Christian faith. When she finds out she will die soon, she takes charge of her final days by making a Christmas bucket list, so named because she knows she has very little time left. She takes care of every detail including her funeral arrangement so her daughters won't be burdened. At her age with a long life behind her, Leona Krebsbach thought she should feel better prepared for the end. She has one regret that bothers her. If only she had managed to atone for that one time so many years ago. If not for that awful time, she knew her mind set about dying would be different, but she can't change the past by herself. Her bucket list wasn't designed to do that. It would take a miracle so she decides to go to her grave without confiding what is bothering her. First chapter of the book 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.” Look for the paperback at Smashwords and Amazon and the ebooks at Kindle Store, Nook Store and Smashwords.com
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Published on November 19, 2013 08:12

November 12, 2013

A Veteran's Book About The Vietnam War








My posts will be far and in between this month while I work on a book in the National Novel Writing Month Contest or known as NaNoWriMo. This is my fourth year of entering the contest and I am a little over the half way mark for my 50,000 words finish line, but I spend my time writing for the contest and have only that on my mind. My focus right now is to come up with a full book which I can later edit and publish at Create Space Self Publishing.
That doesn't stop me from thinking about all the veterans that served our country. We can't imagine what they went through in battle with their lives in danger or those that lost their lives and what their families have gone through since as they sorrow from the loss of a loved one.
Books from veterans are on the market. We need read them and educate ourselves to what it was like for those brave military Americans. One such book has been written by Mickey M. Bright about his three tours of duty in Vietnam. He battled not only the enemy but the substance abuse vises of the day along with many of his comrades in arms. His is a honest look at life under fire. You can buy his paperback book on Amazon or through Smashwords.com. The ebook version is in Nook Store, Kindle Store and on Smashwords.com.
Whether I make it over the finish line with this book or not, it will be published sometime next year. This is another in the Amish series titled Nurse Hal Among the Amish. The book is Noah's Courting Buggy.


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Published on November 12, 2013 08:28

October 27, 2013

Rememering Childhood Westerns & Combined Stringbean Hooper Westerns book

In the Ozarks near Schell City, Missouri reading books was an activity on evenings in the fall and winter when night came early. I remember the bare bulb suspended at the end of wires that disappeared into the ceiling and the string beside it that was used to turn it on and off. The heating stove divided the dining room and living room and broke the silence with its crackling and hissing as the wood Dad chopped heated the room.





First we listened to the radio programs my parents liked. John and I turned our chairs around at the table and stared up at the small ledge the radio perched on. A ledge too high for us to reach without standing on a chair. The radio was one in a list of do not touch items. During the day while Mom worked she listened to soap operas. At night after Dad and Mom came in from milking, we listened to westerns such as The Lone Ranger and Cisco Kid. Fiber McGee and Amos and Andy were all right, but more for laughs then cowboy and Indian stuff. As soon as those programs were over Dad shut the radio off.



There were times Mom had the quilting frame spread across the living room floor, and we all had to quilt. Other times, we put together a puzzle on a card table. If we'd acquired any books new to us we read only western paperbacks. Usually written by Zane Gray and Louis L'Amour. John and I had comic books about super heroes, too. In the parking lot next to the A&P Grocery Store in Nevada, Missouri was a one room shack filled with used books and comic books. The man traded two for one or you buy the books. We traded our comics back in and then bought a few.



So everyone picked up a book and settled in on those cold winter evenings. In the late fifties, my Uncle Sam gave us a black and white television. Wouldn't you know Dad found all the western programs that were so popular like Rawhide and Wagon Train. Not that we minded.





One genre I wanted to write when I started publishing my books was westerns just because I knew my parents would have liked that. My first western was The Dark Wind Howls Over Mary, a Stringbean Hooper Western. I gave a copy to my Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Harold at Cabool, Missouri. Aunt Bonnie gave Uncle Harold the book to read without telling him where she got it. He opened it up and read a portion, looked at her and said, “Hey, this is a pretty good book.”



She grinned as she said, “Now look on the front and see who wrote it.”



One western wasn't enough. I sent Stringbean and his wife, Theo, on an adventure across the country to California in Small Feet's Many Moon Journey.



Now I've put the two books together and am selling them for the price of one book in Amazon, kindle store and nook store. So if you are the fan of westerns here is your chance to get a bargain. Below is an excerpt from The Dark Wind Howls Over Mary.







Sheriff Stringbean Hooper figured there couldn’t be any other place much prettier in the middle of summer than this portion of the state of Montana. That’s what he would say if anyone bothered to ask his opinion which he didn’t expect to happen. No one else much cared what he thought.



The sky, a vast, robin egg blue, was dotted with a few, wispy, cotton mounds, lazily drifting from one horizon to the other. Circling high in a graceful arc over the sheriff’s head, an eagle screeched, breaking the silence. The waist high, prairie grass, as bright a green as it was going to get all summer, stretched out as far as the eye could see, waving gracefully back and forth in the breeze. Velvety, purple smudged foothills rose in the distance. The elusive, jagged, snow capped Rocky Mountain range towered behind them.



The countryside looked peaceful, but looks could be and were often deceiving. If he ever let his guard down in this wild country, he might wind up dead. The events of this morning made Stringbean more sure of that than he had ever been before. He felt trouble brewing way down deep in his gut.



Stringbean let his black and white, appaloosa horse, Freckles, pick his careful, skillful way through the grass. The horse tromped through a field of pink, bitterroot blossoms cupped skyward. The sheriff thought those flowers was extremely pretty. Ever so far along the trail, tall spikes, bursting all the way to the top with yellow blooms, shot up from the middle of large, wide, fuzzy, dull green leaves. He couldn’t put a name to that plant, but he liked the looks of it just the same. A village of prairie dogs perked up and scolded with sharp chatter, warning him not to ride any closer. He did just for orneriness to watch the dogs dived into their dens.



Happy to be alive, meadow larks trilled from the leafy cover of the aspen trees. Mourning doves cooed softly to their partners and were answered in the shimmering, hazy distance. A flock of chortling prairie chickens ignored the rider passing by, preoccupied with strutting their mating dances.



By mid morning, Stringbean breathed deep, inhaling the crisp, clean air filtering down from the mountain tops off the thawing snow. White patches still glistened on the highest peaks just above the purple haze that hung over the mountain’s cover of yellow pine. The ever present wind funneled through the valley, battering Stringbean’s black hat brim as he rode directly into it. He tipped his brim down to keep the wind from whipping his hat off. That helped keep the bright sun out of his keen eyes too so he could see where he was headed. Still in all, he figured he didn’t see a reason to complain. The snow cooled gusts, moaning over the prairie, made for a brief relief from the summer sun that beat down on him with an increased intensity.



Nearly forty years old, Stringbean earned his nickname back home in Missouri because of his tall, rawboned features. Brown hair and dark brown eyes ran in the Hooper family, and according to what most women told him he was easy on the eyes. He took their word for it. Listening to the rhythmic clip clop of his horse’s hooves on the hard packed trail relaxed him as he cantered along with one hand resting on his hip. It didn’t matter to him if he wasn’t going but a few miles. The ride relieved a little of the wanderlust in him that he had been born with. Trouble was, he knew down deep in his gut that this would have been a better day to be out for a ride if it hadn’t been for where he was headed. Very few places he dreaded going as Sheriff of Sully Town, but this sure was one of them.



Swiping the sweat beads that popped up on his suntanned forehead with his shirt sleeve, he hoped by the time the afternoon grew unbearably hot he’d be headed back down the trail toward the office. He cleared his throat and spit. It would have been nice to have a cool drink of water now and then to settle the dust, but he wasn’t about to ask for one where he had to stop. He mentally kicked himself for not thinking to fill a canteen for the ride. It was his own fault that he got in such a big hurry and forgot that little detail.



Just never know each morning when a fellow got out of bed how the day was going to turn out. Stringbean’s plan had been to laze around with his feet up on the desk, drinking as much coffee as he could before the pot cooled off. In the summer, it heated up the office way too much to stoke the stove just to keep the coffee warm.



He had figured to take it easy most of the day, watching the comings and goings on Sully Town’s Main Street from the sheriff office’s large, front window. On Mondays, town stayed pretty quiet. He didn’t figure he received enough wages to walk up and down the street, showing himself all day long when no trouble was brewing. Early in the week, ranch folks tended to stay home to work, having just been in town for church on Sunday. Toward the end of the week, women showed up in wagons or buggies to do their trading. On Saturday, farmers crowded Main Street, walking along side dust covered drifters and cowhands, headed straight to the Silver Dollar saloon. That was when he had to be on the alert for trouble way into the night. Once the cowhands got liquored up, no telling what kind of a ruckus he would have to break up. So on Monday morning, he generally figured he would stay put in the office and take it easy. Since his routine hadn’t changed in two years if anyone needed him, they knew where to find him. Sure enough, that was what happened.



After tossing the stack of newly arrived wanted posters he just went through out of his way, he relaxed back in his chair with his feet, propped on his desk, crossed at the ankles. He had just taken a sip out of a full cup of coffee when the town doctor, Doctor Clarence Strummer, burst through the door with such force it slammed against the wall. He looked as wild eyed as a spooked bronc. Startled by the sudden interruption to his quiet time, Stringbean dropped his feet off the desk and sat up fast, slopping coffee all over his clean, gray, cotton shirt. He groaned, but not from the coffee being hot. Since that was his third cup, the thick, black brew had cooled down considerably which was a good thing. Problem was, Stringbean only had two shirts. They happened to be just alike, but the other one was at the laundress, Ginny Holstead, getting washed.



“Tarnation, what’s got yer pants on fire?” Stringbean snapped. Jerking his red handkerchief out of his back pocket, he rubbed the numerous, dark stains spreading across his chest.



The doctor stalked across the room. “Sorry about that, Stringbean. I got a problem. I can’t find my wife anywhere. She’s missing,” he cried, wringing his hands together.



At the distressed sound in his voice, the sheriff stopped rubbing the stains to give Doc a good once over. Usually, he was neatly dressed with his thick, black hair combed back from his high forehead and slicked down to his ear lobes. Not this time. His hair spiked out every which way like he had just crawled out of bed. Without his suit jacket on, he looked a fright in a wrinkled, not so white shirt. Looked as though he had slept in it. No sir, Doc didn’t look his dudie self at all.



“Just settle down yer horses. Tell me what happened,” Stringbean ordered, pointing to a ladder back chair in front of the desk. “Let me get you a cup of coffee. Looks to me like you could use one.”



The tall man plopped down and rubbed his forehead like he had a headache. “Last evening, Mary Alice said she was walking over to the Sullivan ranch to visit her folks before dark. She intended to spend the night. I had to go out on a call at the Bar M to check Slim



Stevens’s broken leg I set last week.”



“I’ll be dern. Slim Stevens broke his leg?” That was the first time Stringbean had heard that news. He handed Doc the coffee.



“Yes, but he’s getting along fine.” Doc’s dark brown eyes narrow as he gave the sheriff an irritated glance for interrupting him. “Anyway when I came back home last night, my wife had already left. This morning, I rode over to the Sullivan ranch in the buggy to pick her up like I told her I would. Her father says she never showed up. So I don’t know where she is.” Doc combed his fingers through his hair, frazzling it even worse in every direction. He took a drink out of the cup and made a face.”



“All right. Take it easy. What’s your problem now?”



“You call this brew coffee. Why, it’s worse than any medicine I give out,” complained Doc as he set the unfinished coffee on the desk. “What you going to do about my wife?”



“Never claimed it was good coffee. Don’t hurt me, and I drink it all the time,” Stringbean said, defensively. “Now about your wife, I’ll start checkin’ with the neighbors out yer way and see if she stopped at one of their places to visit. Chances are that’s just what she did. Which of



the neighbors would she be most likely to visit?”



Doc growled, “The old Indian witch that lives behind me. Never have seen what Mary Alice finds about that old woman to like. She visits Maggie Dawson on a regular basis, too.”



“Kind of agree with you where Matilda Vinci is concerned. I’m not lookin’ forward to visitin’ her. She’s just a little bit too spooky for me, but I’ll go see both them women. You best head back home. If she just decided to visit somewhere besides her folks, she might already be home by now,” Stringbean reasoned to calm Doc down.



“Sure thing, Stringbean. I hope you’re right. Mac’s having a fit, because I don’t know where Mary Alice is. He’s not one to have mad at you, if you know what I mean.” With that Doc left out the door, leaving a trail of dried, clay chunks from his shoes.



Stringbean frowned when he saw the mess. He had already used floor sweep that morning. He considered once a day his quota for cleaning the office. While he swept the mess out the door, he wondered where the doctor tracked in clay. Then it came back to him, Doc said he had been to the Bar M ranch. That red dirt must have come from there.



The neighbor back of Doc Strummer’s place was Matilda Vinci, a middle aged, medicine woman. That’s where Stringbean headed when he left the office. Captured by the Sioux when she was a youngun, Matilda became a member of the tribe. After her brave was killed in the Little Big Horn fracas, Matilda showed up in Sully Town, sprouting amber braids and dressed in a beaded, rawhide gown. Folks distrusted her for the first while. It didn’t take long for Matilda to get herself some store bought clothes so she looked like other white folks. A loner, she settled down on the prairie to homestead forty acres.



One thing led to another, and soon folks learned that gruff, old woman, using her Indian



shaman ways, was better than no doctor at all. That reasoning didn’t make being around Matilda



Vinci any easier as far as Stringbean was concerned. Depending on her mood, some days she acted like a medicine woman. Other days, he would swear she seemed to be instilled with witch’s powers.



Only way to get to her place on horseback was down a cow path near Doc’s house that wound back into the timber that joined Doc and Matilda’s place. If he didn’t count her wolf dog, Matilda lived alone. She liked it that way. Her log cabin was right in the middle of a large clearing. With that sassy dog to warn her when someone rode in, not much chance that anyone would ever be able to sneak up on the old woman. Her mutt heard Stringbean’s horse a quarter a mile away. The dog yapped to tell Matilda that Stringbean was riding in long before he reached the clearing. The sharp barks echoed against the bluffs along Mulberry Creek on the far side the timber and right back at Stringbean, unnerving him even more.



The sheriff moseyed across the clearing, pretending a confidence he didn’t feel. Growing increasingly jittery, he neared the front of the cabin, not knowing if a rifle was pointed at him or not. The door stood wide open. The interior of the cabin was pitch black. No way to see, but he suspected Matilda was probably leaned against a back wall with a rifle aimed at him.



The mangy, gray-black dog, his neck hairs standing on end, pranced back and forth on the lean-to porch, barking roughly. No one would make it through that cabin door if Matilda didn’t call the dog off unless they shot that mean mutt first. Stringbean considered doing just that for the pleasure of putting that yapping hound out of his misery, but a gut feeling warned him, he would be the next one shot if he tried a fool trick like that.



As he studied the watch dog, he came to the conclusion that Matilda and that wolf dog made a good pair. He had the same kind of glittering, black eyes and snaggle tooth sneer as her, but at least, a fellow knew where you stood with the hound. Beat never knowing what the lady of the house’s mood would be from one moment to the next. Her best mood was cranky, and her worse was down right dangerous.



“Hello, the house,” the sheriff called.



Dark gray smoke chugged fast and thick out the cabin’s rock chimney. He got a whiff of something bitter stinky on the breeze. It made him wrinkled up his nose. The medicine woman was brewing up potions for her putrid smelling poultices. Some folks swore by what she handed out for cures. They thought she had better healing skills than an educated doctor. Just the smell was enough to make Stringbean glad he stayed healthy around her. For sure, he wasn’t curious what Matilda's medicine tasted like. He didn’t even want to find out what ailment a potion that rotten smelling would be used for.



Looked like he guessed right. The wrinkled, leather skinned woman edged slowly out onto the porch, carrying an infantry carbine aimed right at Stringbean’s gut. It passed through his mind that she might have picked that old carbine up at the Little Big Horn when she went to find her brave’s body. Not that he considered asking her. He figured getting nosy about her past with the Indians held a certain, death wish.



With restless eyes, Matilda checked around the clearing to see if the sheriff came alone. She lowered the weapon slightly. “Hush, dog!” She yelled. Pointing to the end of the porch, she ordered, “Get away.”



With his scruffy tail between his legs, the dog cowered. He slinked to the end of the porch and leaped down into the grass. He sniffed the ground and turned in a circle three times. When he had found the best place, he slowly laid down and curled up in a ball with his chin on his front legs. One eye shut, but the other stayed open, aimed right at the sheriff.



Stringbean vowed silently that just the harsh sound of that old healer’s threatening



command would have been enough to make him turn tail. She wouldn’t have to shoot at him. The scowl on her face was added incentive. Sweat beads from the edge of her braided, amber streaked, gray hair dripped down Matilda’s cheeks. The top of her faded, calico dress darkened with a spreading, sweaty wetness across her chest. Evidence that she had been standing over the cookstove for some time, stirring a kettle of boiling who knows what. The foul, steamy smell floating out the door grew stronger by the minute. His stomach turned over. Being up right close made Stringbean positive, he didn’t want to ever use the old woman’s medicinal services. Matilda reached into a pocket on her skirt. Stringbean tensed. He didn’t know what would be in her hand when it came back out. Turned out to be a large, red handkerchief. She made a swipe across her glistening face. If he had been in the presence of anyone else, he might have felt a little sheepish -- no a lot foolish -- at acting so skittish all the while that old woman gave him the evil eye.



The sheriff tried to take a deep breath, slow and easy like, so the cross, old healer wouldn’t notice how uneasy he felt. He wanted to put up a good bluff. “Howdy, Miss Matildie. You know me, I reckon?”



“Sure, I know you, Sheriff Stringbean Hooper,” snorted Matilda, propping herself against



her porch wall. She glared down her beak shaped nose at him like a hawk sizing up her prey.



Leaning forward in the saddle, he rested his right arm across the pommel. Putting forth as good a front as he could muster, he looked her right in the eye. He was determined not to act as though this cranky, old woman scared the bejeezus out of him even though she did.



“You expectin’ someone in particular?” Stringbean asked, nodding toward her rifle. Seemed to him she was being a might over cautious for a woman who should be used to having folks stop all the time for her potions.



Matilda lowered the rifle even more. “Reckon not. What you want here? Look plenty healthy to me.” She leaned her head to one side and studied Stringbean like she could see right through him.



“I wondered if you had seen anything of your neighbor, Mary Alice Strummer, in the past couple days?” He asked, trying keep his voice easy going.



Matilda paused to think back. “Not since a couple weeks ago. I came across her in the timber while I was gathering woody nightshade leaves to make an extract. Mary Alice was picking raspberries.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why you ask?”



Stringbean scratched an itchy bump on the side of his head where a mosquito nailed him in the timber. “Seems Mrs. Strummer has been missin’ since last night. The good doctor is worried about his wife so I’m out asking around.”



“The good doctor is worried, is he?” She squawked sarcastically in her harsh voice and snorted.



She sounded full of sour grapes to the sheriff. The way he heard tell when he first came to town, that old woman had a good business as a healer until Doctor Clarence Strummer showed up in Sully Town a few years back. Since then Matilda had been reduced to mostly midwife duties which cut her income considerably. Stringbean didn’t have all day or the patience to listen to her complain about Doc Strummer. Besides something about the way she sized him up had him feeling mighty skittish. She looked like she was ready to put a curse on him for talking favorable about Doc. With the way Matilda looked at him, Stringbean wanted to get down to business and get the heck out of there. “You didn’t see Doc’s wife yesterday?”



“I just told you I haven’t seen her for days,” Matilda bristled. Then she changed her mind and added, “You might ride over east of Doc’s place to the Dawson ranch. Talk to Maggie



Dawson. Mary Alice visits with her on a regular basis I hear.”



“Much oblige, ma’am.” Stringbean touched his hat brim, clicked to Freckles and turned to leave.



“Oh, Sheriff Hooper,” Matilda called, walking to the edge of her porch.



Stringbean pulled up on the reins. He twisted at the waist to look back at her rather than turn his horse around in case Matilda had that carbine pointed at him again. At least if he had to leave in a hurry, he figured he ought to be headed in the right direction.



“If I were you I’d find Mary Alice real soon,” she said, giving an uneasy glimpse toward the timber between her cabin and Doc’s house. “Yesterday I knew something was wrong. I felt the dark wind howl over Mary Alice.”



With that said, she whirled and disappeared through the open door which signaled the hound the sheriff’s visit was for sure over. He rose up and came back to his post on the edge of the porch. The mangy, gray hair on the back of his neck stood up. He started a growl that rumbled deep in his throat, slipped through his bared, snaggled teeth and out his snarling lips.



As far as the sheriff was concerned, the mutt shouldn’t have bothered to get that worked up. Stringbean couldn’t have been more ready to leave on his own. That dog didn’t need to tell him twice.



Still watching the cabin, the creeps soaked through Stringbean when the old woman faded into the darkness beyond her door just like she disappeared in thin air. Stringbean consider himself a fair to middling smart man. He knew it was the darkness of the room that made her hard to see. At least, he wanted to think that was it. He supposed Matilda counted on the fact that most folks weren’t smart enough to figure that out. She liked keeping everyone off guard about her spooky powers, whatever they be.
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Published on October 27, 2013 08:49

October 22, 2013

Apples & More Apples & Excerpt from Poor Defenseless Addie-Mystery series book 7

Whose idea was this orchard we started? It was 22 years ago. I say it was my husband, Harold, who thought of fruit trees. He says it was me. He remembers when his brother, Aubrey, gave me the plum tree sprout at the edge of his yard. It came from his neighbor, Mrs. Kosta's old tree so that tree bears her name. The pear trees came from a pasture we rented close to Hannan Lake. I started them from seed in a flower bed so the three of them are Stolte's trees. Harold's mother gave us a peach tree that came up in her garden. The rest were purchased and planted by Harold. So it must have been a joint decision to have an orchard.





We waited for what seemed forever to see fruit on our trees. The old fashion apple trees had grown tall before they bore apples. The dwarf trees didn't take as long. So after all these years and two spring freezes that took away the fruit, this year we have a bumper crop of apple, pears, plums and just a few peaches. Give it time. We have two young trees growing fast. We didn't miss a bumper crop of peaches off the old tree in the garden. Harold's mother gave us all we could pick at her house.



I've canned since I was old enough to help my mother. It was just part of what I was brought up to do. We plant a garden that has a variety of vegetables so I can what we can't eat fresh and the extra fruit, too. What's different about this year? An over load of fruit on each tree. Some limbs leaned to the ground and others broke off. Harold climbed a ladder with his fruit picker with a determination to get every pear or apple. On the extension ladder he could reacher higher, but the wind blew the limb. The ladder slid. Harold landed on the ground. Thankfully, he wasn't hurt, and after that he used the step ladder.



I managed to keep up with Harold's efforts and can all the pears. Then the first tree of apples were ready. Harold picks the downfalls up. He lined up buckets of apples on the small back porch leaving just enough walkway for us to get into the house. Then he started placing buckets on the front porch.



After days of canning 5 or 6 hours a day, I suggested we take my 93 year old Aunt Liddie in Centerville, Iowa apples. She puts them in the freezer for winter. We needed the break anyway and had a fun visit with her and my cousin Lawrence. She said a bushel would be enough. I slipped her three bushels in the feed sacks.



I mentioned to my aunt the amount of fruit I'd canned and had more to go. I may have sounded like I was complaining. She smiled at me. “I always loved to can. I thought it was fun.” Well, sure. I think I thought it was fun about 50 bushel of fruit ago.



Someone else said canning always gave her a sense of accomplishment when she was done. I agreed with that. I felt like I had accomplished something about the time I had all the apples canned on the back porch. That feeling only lasted until Harold reminded me daily of the bucket count on the front porch which kept increasing.



Still I'm plugging away at this fun endevor which is giving me a sense of accomplishment until I run out of jars or can lids. One thing is for sure, I can look at my filled shelves in the basement and know that we're going to eat well this winter.





I wrote book seven in my Amazing Gracie series “Poor Defenseless Addie” last November in the Nanowrimo contest. I had six months to edit the book and publish it through Create Space. All I had to do was write 50,000 words in that month. I've done it successfully two years in a row, but a holiday in November makes it a little more difficult.





The story is about an elderly woman in Locked Rock, Iowa. Her son comes to visit, and each time Gracie Evans and the other residents come to visit Addie she has bruises on her. They suspect elder abuse from Addie's son and worry about Addie.



Here is an excerpt from that book.







Gracie came to Addie's rescue. “Now seems to me, I remember my father saying anyone can count the seeds in an apple. No one can count the apples in a seed until you plant it and grow the trees.” Addie put on a big smile as she nodded she agreed. Madeline and Melinda grew quiet, pondering the saying while Gracie changed the subject. “How long does your son plan on staying with you?”



Addie shrugged her shoulders. “He didn't say.”



“You know you would save us a lot of trouble coming here to visit you if you would just move into the mansion with us,” Gracie said bluntly.



Addie stretched up to glare at Gracie. “Leave my home! I never want to do that. I was born here, and I figure to die here.”



“Gracie!” Melinda scolded. “What a thing to say to her.”



Madeline patted Addie's arm and tried to rephrase Gracie's suggestion. “What Gracie so crudely meant was you would like living with us. You can have all the tea you want and three good meals a day. You wouldn't have to work anymore.”



“Or, wait on that good for nothing son,” mumbled Gracie.



“I read lips, Gracie. That wasn't a nice thing to say about my kin,” Addie complained.



“She's sorry if she hurt your feelings,” Melinda said and looked sharply at Gracie. “Tell her you're sorry, Gracie.”



“I'm sorry. I know you cain't help what kind of kin you get,” Gracie said loudly.



Addie made a clucking sound with her tongue. “I'm not sure that's much better of an apology,” Addie said, looking at Madeline. “But knowing Gracie Evans, I best take what I can get.”



“I'm afraid we have all learned that about Gracie in so many ways. You do know that we all are worry about you, including Gracie,” Madeline said.



“I thank you for that, but don't worry.” Addie paused then said in a strained voice, “Wonder where Homer went?”



“He's picking apples. We saw him from the kitchen window when we fixed the tea,” Melinda said.



“Perhaps, you better leave before he comes back in. When he's tired after he's been standing on that ladder, he can be really grouchy,” Addie said.



“How does she tell the difference when he isn't grouchy?” Gracie mumbled.



Melinda said, “Careful now. Don't make Addie mad again. Come over here and help me out of this chair.”



“Addie, we'll go now. About the apple cake recipe, we can come back for it again some other time when you're feeling better,” Madeline said.



“Sure. Any time,” Addie said. “Maybe next time you come back, like I said, I'll feel like baking another apple cake to share with you.”



As soon as they were out of the house, Melinda gave a heavy sigh. “I hate to say it, but I am so glad to be out of there before Homer came back.”



“So am I,” agreed Madeline. “What a difference in attitude Addie has now.”



“How so?” Gracie asked.



“Before she always hated to see us go, and today she was asking us to leave,” Madeline said. “What does that tell you?”



“That she's trying to protect us from that man,” Gracie said in frustration.



“We have to help poor defenseless Addie before something happens to her,” Melinda said woefully, looking over her shoulder at Homer on the ladder.



Gracie stopped walking and turned to stare at Homer. “We should just march over there to that man and demand he get out of town right away before we turn him into the law for harming his mother.”



“Oh, I don't know about that, Gracie,” Melinda said.



“That sounds dangerous to me,” Madeline agreed.



“Not so much if we all stick together. We have to act like we aren't afraid of him,” Gracie blustered. “Let's go do it before we lose our nerve.” She marched back across Addie's lawn toward the trees with Melinda and Madeline behind her.



Melinda whispered to Madeline, “This isn't a good idea. I'd lost my nerve the minute Gracie told us what she wanted to do.”



“I did, too,” gulped Madeline.



Gracie stopped abruptly not too far from Homer's ladder. Madeline and Melinda bumped into her, causing her to give them a stern look. The three of them put on their best I mean what I say faces as they looked up at the large man on the ladder. He was so busy he didn't have a clue they were around.



Finally, Gracie said gruffly, “We want to talk to you, Mr. Homer.”



He looked down. His face, outlined by his mop of greasy, black hair, turned fire engine red at the sight of them. “What do you want?”



“Like I said, we want to talk to you. Come down off that ladder,” Gracie commanded, pointing a stiff finger at the ground.



Homer tromped down the ladder faster than any fat man has the right to move and stalked toward them. When he came out of the shade of the apple tree, the west sun struck him in the face. His dark eyes turned an evil fiery red in the sun's reflection as he focused on the women.



Behind Gracie, Melinda muffled a frightened eek. Madeline mumbled a quick prayer. Gracie looked straight ahead with her hands on her hips, but the closer the man came and the more threatening his size appeared, the weaker her resolve grew.



Homer towered over all three of them huddled together like mice cornered by a mountain lion. “I thought I made it clear you aren't wanted around here.”



“You did,” Gracie said.



“Why don't you three old hags head back where you came from and leave us alone,” he stormed.



“I said we had something to say to you,” Gracie allowed. “And we figure on saying it.”



“Mr. Homer is busy now. We're interrupting him, Gracie. Maybe we better wait until another time when he isn't busy,” Melinda whispered in one ear.



Madeline whispered in the other, “This isn't working. Please change the subject quick.”



Gracie didn't take long to decide with Homer glowering down at her. “Spit it out so I can go back to work.”



“We --- we were wondering if we could buy a pail of apples from you,” Gracie managed to get out.



Homer snorted. “You were, were you? That's what this is all about? You got a quarter on you.”



Gracie dug in her skirt pocket and pulled out a quarter. She held it out to him. Homer snatched it and turned to leave. “One more thing.”



Homer twisted and gave Gracie a dangerous glare of exasperation. “What is it now?”



“Gracie, no,” Melinda whimpered.



Madeline elbowed Gracie in the ribs.



“All right,” Gracie whispered out of the side of her mouth. She focused on Homer, paused a minute to think and asked, “Do you have to pick out the pail we take or can we do it?”



“Just get a pail and get out of here. Don't even bother bringing the pail back. I don't want to see you again,” he stormed.



Gracie grabbed a five gallon bucket of apples. As she lugged it to the end of the lawn, she groused, “You two each owe me eight cents. I'm not going to get stuck with the whole cost of this bucket, because you two don't have any backbone.” She set the pail down. “Another thing. You two are going to take turns carrying this bucket home, too. I can't get it all the way there as heavy as it is.”



“Aunt Pearlbee isn't going to be happy with more apples,” Melinda said. “She hasn't cooked up the others Addie gave us.”



“Now is a fine time to tell me that. What did you expect me to say?” Gracie asked. “I could tell the two of you weren't going to stand up to that man with me. Melinda, I'm sure Homer heard that weak screeching noise you made when he came at us.”



“That was a sneeze,” Melinda defended. “I can't help it if I had to sneeze.”



“How about you, Madeline. Last thing that sounded like we could stand up to that man was you breaking into prayer,” Gracie said. “Lot of good that was going to do to protect us again a man without a religious bone in his body if he was going to beat us up.”



“Oh, brother! I was scared. I knew right away we were in trouble if we said what you wanted to about him leaving,” Madeline said. “Are you going to tell me you weren't scared, Gracie?”



“Nope, I cain't do that. To tell the truth, I darn near wet myself when that man got so close I could see his nose hairs.” Gracie conceded softly, “Reckon that plan was a bad idea.”







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Published on October 22, 2013 08:00