Lulu M. Sylvian's Blog, page 2

An Improper Derailment Chapter Thirty Nine

Where Mary almost gets away…

 

 

 

 

 

Catch up with chapter 38…

Start the adventure from the beginning.

Marshall watched in disbelief…

as the rope slithered around the tree branch before slipping away.

The kid fumbled over and over and for all appearances, had no idea how to use his hands.

Captain Forsyth proved yet again to have achieved his status through connections and finances rather than via competency. The man displayed precisely none.

“Stop that!” he yelled. As if his air ship would listen and follow voice commands like a trained dog.

Mary’s pale face appeared, a mask of terror, over the edge of the gondola. At least she had the presence of mind to jump to action. She grabbed a hold of the ladder and it looked as if she was struggling to get her leg over the side. The ship rocked, and she was pitched back away from the side.

“Grab the rudder!” Marshall called out as he ran toward the air ship.

It seemed to float in place, and then dart to the side with a gust of wind. Asif it were playing a game, waiting for him before dancing away, out of his reach.

“What’s the rudder?” Mary’s yells were like a soft whisper as the wind snatched her volume away.

Marshall waved his arms around trying to indicate she needed to move toward the rear of the flying boat. His motions were jerky and not helpful as he was also failing at catching up to the ropes The Profound name trailed behind. “It will let you steer the airship!”

“I know what a rudder does. I can’t tell which of these levers is it. There’s no wheel.” It sounded like she continued to complain about what kind of ship doesn’t have a wheel, but her words got lost as the wind shifted and the airship was carried away at speed.

There was no way for Marshall to keep up with it. Mary was being carried away from him. He needed something as fast as the wind.

In the middle of the commotion a stranger rode into the clearing on horseback. His attention on the airship. “I missed it. I had wanted to see what people were talking about.”

In a few strides, Marshall was next to the horse. He reached up and grabbed the man from the saddle.

“What the hell?” The man’s complaint was ignored as Marshall jumped into the saddle and kicked the horse into action.

The horse was fast, but the damned airship was faster. Uttering more curses and smacking the horse on the flanks with the tails of the reins, Marshall willed them to speed faster.

Luck was on their side. The wind calmed momentarily. The Profound Name slowed, and listed to the side. No longer aligned to the wind, it was buffeted around as it stayed relatively stationary.

Marshall reached out and leaped from the saddle. In a single swift motion he grabbed, and wrapped one of the trailing ropes around his arm.

“Marshall!” Mary called out to him.

“You can’t get away from me that easily, Mary,” he teased even though he was wrestling to climb up the rope while the air ship spun and shifted form side to side in the increasing wind. “Are you all right?”

“I will be.” Mary reached out and grabbed onto the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to help haul him over the side.

She fell back onto her rump as he rolled over the edge and onto the airship.

She gestured with wild hand motions toward the back end of the boat. “I can’t figure any of that out. Nothing looks like any boat I’ve ever been on. I have no idea if this thing even has a rudder.”

Marshall wanted to grab Mary to him and confirm with touch what his eyes told him, she was fine, unhurt. But He needed to figure out how to steady this boat, or they might capsize.

A fall from this height would surely result in a few broken bones, if not worse.

“I think I saw Forsyth use this the most.” He reached up and pulled one of the many levers that occupied this area of the boat.

The airship responded.

“Good.” He adjusted his grip and pushed against it until the airship turned and faced the direction the wind wanted to take them.

“What are you doing?” Mary demanded.

“I don’t know how to land this thing. All I can do is try to keep us from falling out of the sky. You’re welcome to take over, if you like.”

“We have to go back!” She pointed ahead of them. “You have us headed into that storm.”

“Then you had better hold tight, because I can’t get this boat to turn around.”

 

Will they survive the storm? Tune in next time…

©2025 Lulu M. Sylvian

In response to a bad review

Someone wrote a bad review about one of my stories.

It happens. As an author I know how important it is to not respond to the review directly. I still pouted about it. Everyone is allowed their opinion. And I know what I write isn’t for everyone.

But sometimes a review is just wrong. And this one made me angry.

So I’ve turned it into content.

Sorry not sorry, but if the review is going to call my book “nothing but a series of hot wet dreams,” yes, I will use that to advertise a book about a ghost who seduces the heroine in her dreams.

And if a review claims my book has a Black character defending a neo-nazi, I’m going to write a response about it.

I’m not mad the reviewer DNFed (did not finish) the book, that’s their choice. I’m mad they left a damning sentence that is incorrect in a review. What they said that occurred in the story did not. They reported the reaction one character thought was happening.

The Black character is not defending a neo-nazi, but the misinterpretation of markings they want to protect from being taken over by such groups. The reviewer jumped to the same conclusion the FMC did, and that’s what I want to address.

This reader clearly DNFed at the same time the FMC made the assumption that the runic tattoos meant the other character was a white supremacist. The reviewer couldn’t have read the rest of the scene. If they had, they would have learned that the original runes, the written language given to Odin, are not some automatic connection to hate groups. That character’s tattoos had nothing to do with hate groups, but were a significant aspect of his religion.

The character doesn’t even have any of the specific symbols that current hate groups are trying to make use of. He has a small prayer for battle written in runes along the edge of his hair cut. He and his friends, including a Black man, go on to explain that the Norse Heathens they align themselves with are inclusive, and embrace diversity. After all, Loki was a mother—but that’s another story.

The characters even go on to explain how some bastardizations of certain runes are used by those hate groups, but the unaltered rune is not a hate symbol.

There is a group called Heathens Against Hate, and they are very concerned with “misuse of sacred Germanic symbols by alt-right elements within Heathenry.” When I learned about this group, that’s when I got the spark of an idea that eventually became the Berserker Boys trilogy. And that’s what the scene in the book addresses.

The character in question isn’t a reformed white supremacist, because he never was one to begin with. He is a Norse Heathen, and a self-proclaimed Viking. He’s a berserker warrior who shifts into a bear during magical battles. He’s woke AF. He drives an electric vehicle and knows that recycling needs to be done on a massive corporate scale to have impact, but he still cuts up those ring-drink holders because of sea turtles and holds on to his trash so it can get recycled properly.

I’m not going to reply directly to the review, that’s bad form. But talking about it on my blog… damn skippy that’s going to happen.

And if you want to make your own opinions about Berserker Boys and the characters Vik, Wolf, and Scottie, you can now listen to the stories for free on YouTube.
They have been edited/abridged of the spicy scenes to comply with community standards
Ebook available here

Hidden Gods: WIP

 

I’m wrapping up the Second Endings series with the last book Hidden Gods.I don’t have a publication date yet, but its in the writing phase, and I know exactly where this story is headed. There’s dancing, a little danger, and sun screen. IYKYKHere’s a little hint at what’s happening:

I frenetically sketched in my notebook. I had a stacks of them. One waiting to be used, and a second one full of calculations and number crunching.

“I helped you to get a top of the line tablet and you’re drawing with a pencil, in a lined notebook?” Bro teased as he propped himself against the table that was my desk, my center of operations.

“Mark has been showing me how to use a drawing program, but I’m still faster with a pencil,” I admitted.

As I spoke he picked up my GeoTalker, that’s what I started calling the device. He lifted the box frame with both hands— it wasn’t very large. A collection of vacuum tubes and coils wired with a couple of signal LEDs, a mismash of early twentieth century engineering with modern parts. I had used what I could from that fortuitous flea market find, and anything else I could get my hands on.

The pine wood frame— more like a housing cage— was sanded smooth, but I hadn’t had the inclination to stain the wood. Over all it was the size of a hefty cat, and it was showing signs of heat damage with several scorched areas.

“What are you drawing up?” Bro asked, his attention on the GeoTalker as he twisted it back and forth. His hands were just in my periferal vision. They were large and strong, appearing to be perfectly capable. His knees were also in my peripheral, but I was choosing to ignor them. They were nice knees and it took a certain about of will power to not ogle.

Besides, I din’t want to ogle Bro. It’s not that he wasn’t worth a good long gander, he wasn’t Collin. Only Collin wasn’t the one who came to see what I was working on. Collin never made comments about me using a pencil instead of the tablet I spent a pretty penny on. I thought for certain Collin would have been the one interested in communicating with lava. But Bro was the one who came and leaned on my desk and showed off his knees.

To be fair, no one was showing off their knees. Just outside of the heat suits, everyone tended toward wearing shorts. Myself included. Only, I was showing off my knees in a deliberate attempt to gain a certain someone’s attention. I didn’t know why I bothered.

This Month’s Book Boyfriend: Scottie

 

As romance readers we are always in search of the next book boyfriend.
This month I present for your consideration: Scottie.

The himbo, ADHD, gamer, OG pig himself: Scottie. Scottie loves a good running joke, he can’t seem to help it, he’s a pig.
He’s made a name for him self as a content creator, and has a bit of a glow-up through out the trilogy.

But when a very real orc runs off with Maisie, before he can even admit to himself he loves her, he’s off to be a hero.
Scottie appears in the very first of the Berserker Boys stories. Its his turn to prove he can be a hero in the third and last story: Boar.If you’re thinking of having your own Book Boyfriend of the Month discussion group, Berserker Boys is a great trilogy to read.You get three book boyfriends! Variety is the spice of life. And Vik, Wolf, and Scottie are very different men.

Need some good discussion questions? I’ve got you covered!

Discussion QuestionsYou step through a glowing portal… where do you land? A volcano lair? A castle in the clouds? A post-apocalyptic diner?
Maisie and Scottie land in Austratica from the Codex Wars. Good thing Scottie has hundreds of hours of gameplay under his belt.
Question: What game/ what world would you land in and be able to make it through because of your interests?Technology and sorcery collide throughout the narrative.
Question: How are these forces portrayed—are they in harmony or at odds? Does the story lean more toward embracing both, or showing cracks in their alliance?The tagline: “You don’t choose the berserker life. The berserker life chooses you.”
Question: What do you think this means for each character? Is the berserker power a gift, a burden, or both?The protagonists—Vik, Wolf, and Scottie—shift into their berserker forms, merging gamer avatars with real-world selves.
Question: How do these transformations affect their identities? What does the book suggest about the roles we assume, both online and offline?Cosplay isn’t just dress-up here—it’s empowering.
Question: In what ways does cosplay serve as more than a hobby? How does it help characters like Aaliyah or Yeardley connect or find strength?

 

I’m Back!

Thoughts from the Treadmill

There is a perfect space for me to put the phone camera and I can start filming those weekly little author talk videos I want to do. Its about two feet in front of the treadmill and slightly up, so it would have that good down tilting angle. If I put myself out there on video while walking on the treadmill odds are I’ll get put in front of the wrong people who would leave all kinds of snarky comments. I should just flip them off right now before I even start– and yes while walking alone on the treadmill, I flipped off imaginary video comments.

Or I could start a random thoughts blog post series.
This would make good time of my dictation practice—yes it takes practice to dictate your writing, not a lot but some and I am falling out of practice. Or I could just get started. I can’t get to my phone to start dictating while I’m currently walking. I might mess up my step count, I don’t want to do that, I’m going for a medal here. I’ve signed up for those walking challenges that give out cool medals. My husband has simply walked to Mordor and back a couple of times. The medals are nifty.

Thinking while walking is like having your best thoughts while in the shower and you just can’t write them down, and you suffer from threshold memory issues, so the second that shower curtain swishes open and you step over the rim of the tub, all is forgotten.

Yes. I’m talking about me.

Hi, OMG its been like forever since I’ve blog-blogged.

In a nut shell, a couple of years ago my website server tanked, I loss my website just around xmas time, so I really really didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with it. I got a fabulous web guy from a recommendation, and he saved what he could. Between us, he revamped the site. And I let the blog go. I couldn’t see how I was going to save all those blog posts. And since most of them were time-sensitive release announcements, I didn’t see a reason why.

I have a good reason why to be back now. I want my website to be a place readers can find me, especially if they are part of the migration away from certain platforms. I don’t blame them, and I still want to connect.

So why am I on a treadmill all of a sudden? And what does this have to do with writing?

I need to walk, and I’m not a walker.

Why isn’t Lulu a walker?

Chronic plantar fasciitisToe joint replacement, when it gets swollen it hurtsChronic fatigue complicated with long covid issues= no energy

My energy levels are starting to come back, slowly, and so I want to regain some strength and stamina. This round of chronic fatigue has put a damper on my writing. Yes, I get brain fog, but its the being too tired to function thats been getting in the way. I have so many stories I want to write, so many I thought would be done by now (Hidden Gods). I need my energy levels to come back up so I can be more productive, and write more.

So, welcome back to my blog!

 

An Improper Derailment Chapter Thirty Eight

Where stuff happens…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Catch up with chapter 37…

Start the adventure from the beginning.

Marshall managed to wrangle up a log,

with the reluctant help of the kid that stuck around. The kid was so enthralled with the airship he wasn’t even interested in helping either friend get to the doctor about his ankle, or the preacher’s son to find a replacement meal for Mary.

Dropping the log, Marshal dusted his hands together. “It’s not nearly as fine as the furnishing in your home Mrs. Kessler, but it’s the best I can do at the moment.”

“It’s a far sight better than sitting on the ground, I dare say,” Mary commented.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’ve been forced to sit on the ground?” The preacher’s wife asked.

Mary tucked her new skirt around her as she claimed a sitting spot on the log. Her laughter was like the chiming of a Fine China bell. “I’ve had to sit on the ground, and I’ve even sat on the back of a sauran. This trip has turned into quite the adventure. One I never would have dared to dream up in my wildest of imaginations. I’m sorry I don’t have any tea to offer you.”

“My Henry should be back with your dinner some time soon. I hope that boy hurries and beats the storm back here.”

Thick fluffy clouds that foretold of an incoming storm, sailed across the sky.

“How is my air ship, what is going on here?” Captain Forsyth came blustering into the clearing.
“We’ve got The Profound Name tied up pretty securely, captain,” Marshall said.

“Is this contraption yours?” the kid asked.

“Why yes this is my air ship,” Forsyth answered.

“Can I see it? This fellow won’t let me climb on board,” he complained.

“No,” Marshall snapped.

“Tell you what my young man, if you help me make sure she is properly secure, and then you can take a look.”

“Captain,” Marshall barked.

“Tsk, tsk, of course he can take a look.”

Marshall grumbled and stalked away.

“You know, dear, this storm rolling in looks like it will be a big one. You aren’t planning on staying out here are you?” Mrs. Kessler asked.

Mary sighed. “I guess if the ship is tied up well, we would stay aboard. There isn’t a hotel in town, is there?”

“What kind of person would I be if I let you stay in a hotel, or on that flying boat. We have plenty of guest rooms. Why don’t you stay with us for the night?”

Mary’s mouth dropped open. It was a relief to not have to spend the night on a boat during a storm. She had already had a difficult enough time during the hard winds they had encountered already.

“Captain Forsythe, did you hear? We’ve been invited to spend the night at the parsonage. Marshall? Oh here did he get off to?”

“I’d rather stay with my ship,” the captain said. “As long as she is secure, she’ll withstand to storm.”

Mary got to her feet and twisted around until she saw Marshall. She dashed to his side. “Did you hear? A guest room!”

Marshall smiled down at her and patted her arm. He lead her on a short walk away from the preacher’s wife. “I’m very glad to have a roof over our head for the night.” He lowered his voice so only Mary could hear. “I let the preacher’s wife think we are married. We can have a spat later and I’ll sleep in the barn.”

“I figured that out, all ready. I’ll go grab a few things from the ship for the night.” She lifted the front edge of her skirt and dashed for the air ship.

She scampered up the ladder with a surprising ease. The gondola rocked under her feet.

“Grab that rope, boy, secure my ship!” Forsythe commanded from on the ground.

A stiff gust of wind hit The Profound Name. The boat lurched and Mary lost her balance. She fell back against the side. As she hit against a bulkhead she reached out and grabbed a coil of rope, and the rope came loose. It began to unfurl at a rapid pace.

“Why is the air ship moving?” someone yelled.

“Grab that rope!”

Mary staggered to her feet. The gondola rocked back and forth as if being pitched back and forth on a violent sea.

“What is going on down there? Stop rocking the air ship so hard.”

She struggled to look over the edge of the gondola. “Marshall!” She screamed as she realized that she and the boat were floating away and no longer tied down.

 

Will Mary float away on her own? Tune in next time…

©2025 Lulu M. Sylvian

An Improper Derailment Chapter Thirty Seven

Where Mary gets dressed…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Catch up with chapter 36…

Start the adventure from the beginning.

Hand over hand, Mary hauled up the ladder.

Wrapped around a few rungs was a mass of fabric.

“Ooh,” Mary breathed out appreciatively as she shook out the wadded up skit.

It was heavy, and patch-worked. As if it had been made converted from a quilt instead of made from scraps and patched together. She ran her fingers over the fine stitching of the quilting. This had to have come from the woman’s trousseau and been made into a heavy winter skirt out of necessity. Why else would someone cut up such fine workmanship?

“Thank you, Mrs. Kessler!” Mary yelled over the edge of the gondola. “It’s lovely. But this must have been made from something very special. Are you certain you want to give it to me?”

“Now, now, your husband explained of your dire situation,” the pastor’s wife yelled back. “There is nothing so precious or special that it cannot be given to someone in need.”

“But…” Mary began to stammer. “Thank you.”
She spent another few moments admiring how sturdy a skirt made from quilting was. The colors were bright and nothing like the refined muted tones of her costly frock and coat she had commissioned for travel. Also unlike her travel ensemble, this skirt was prairie tough. It would have stood up to trekking across the plains on the back of a sauran.

As much as Mary had admired her fashionable travel wear, she had to admit, the skirt was in sorry shape by the time the spitting saurans had destroyed it. After all, it had merely looked appropriate, but clearly it had not withstood the rigors of any activity more strenuous than sitting perched on a bench in an observation car on the railway system.

Unaccustomed to getting dressed on her own, Mary struggled into the skirt. At first she attempted to step into it. But what remained of her under skirts bunched up and made locating her actual waist near impossible. After wrestling it back off, she pulled it over her head. And for a moment she was swallowed by the volume and had to fight her way back to sunlight and the open air.

The ties behind her proved to be more complicated so she ended up twisting the fabric around to fasten the skirt securely in the front.

Sucking in her stomach, she yanked on the waist band in an attempt to spin the skirt back to front, or in her case front to front. After a grunting with effort and not doing anything more than making her underskirts bunch up, Mary gave up.

She tossed the ladder over the ledge. “I’m coming down,” she announced.

“Hold on there, Mary,” Marshall called out. “Let these young men finish securing The Profound Name. They are almost done. I don’t want you on that rigging when they accidentally let go of one of the ropes.”
While she had been admiring her new skirt, there had been much activity on the ground. Mrs. Kessler had sprung into action. She had sent one of the young men off to fetch the doctor to come look after the one with the broken nose, and the one one the ground with the broken ankle. She then made sure the ones left who could stand helped to secure the airship, as it had been meagerly tethered by a single rope.

“We ain’t gonna let go,” another man called out.

But Mary wasn’t so sure they wouldn’t do something in retribution. After all, she had heard the earful the pastor’s wife had given her son, and the rest of his friends.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you tea, Mrs. Kessler,” Mary called out, determined to play the hostess, even while hanging above the ground in the airship. “When I was set upon, I believe the meal I was preparing got trampled in my hurry to find safety.”

“My dear, please do not worry about that.”

Mary was worried about many things at the moment. However the food and her ability to politely provide refreshments to what she perceived as her guests was at the forefront of her mind. If she continued to focus on the trivialities of manners, then she wouldn’t dwell on the state of undress those young men all caught her in.

It was bad enough for Marshall and Captain Forsythe to witness her wardrobe distress, but complete strangers. It was too mortifying to comprehend. So she chose not to.

“That was entirely the fault of my son and his so called friends.”

“Mama,” the one Mary now knew was Howard whined.

“As a matter of fact,” Mrs. Kessler continued. “I believe these young men not only owe you an apology, but they owe you supper. Howard!”

Mary watched as he shuffled in the dirt to stand in front of his mother. He towered over the other woman, but it was clear from his posture that he was the one being intimidated.

Mary couldn’t make out what his mother was saying.

“I don’t have any money on me,” he said clearly.

Mrs. Kessler’s brows raised as the rest of her face pinched in.

“Yes, ma’am,” Howard said. “Come on Kyle, we need to go rustle up some dinner for these folks.”

“You can climb down now, Mary. It looks like they got the ship secured,” Marshall called up to her.

Mary tossed the rope ladder, and then swung her leg over the edge. She felt shaky. She wiggled her foot around until she found a secure foothold on the rung beneath her. Her arms ached as she lowered herself. The skirt made the descent much more complicated than it had previously when she could see where she was putting her feet.

“I’ve got ya,” Marshall said from below. And then his strong hands were around her middle, and it felt like she was floating as he took her from the ladder and set her on her feet. “You all right?”

Mary gazed up at him. She felt a slight flutter in her chest. She brushed away the feeling as just the anxiety of the afternoon. “I am now.”

She spun and held her hands out to the pastor’s wife. “Mrs. Kessler, how delightful to make your acquaintance. I do so admire this fine skirt. I cannot thank you enough.”

 

Will Mrs. Kessler help Mary out of this traveling predicament? Tune in next time…

©2025 Lulu M. Sylvian

An Improper Derailment Chapter Thirty Six

Where Mary gets accosted…

 

 

Catch up with chapter 35…

Start the adventure from the beginning.

“What the deuce is going on here?” Marshall yelled as he stumbled upon the scene.

Three men were struggling to haul down The Profound Name by its mooring ropes, while a fourth man rolled in the dirt clutching his ankle and groaning pitifully. Above them, in the gondola of the airship, Mary was hurling both insults and whatever small objects she could find.

Marshall dropped the calico skirt he had been carrying and, with two long strides, grabbed the first man by the back of his collar, yanking him off the mooring line. The second and third men were shoved aside with equal force.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed.

“Marshall!” Mary’s voice called down, sharp and clear.

“Are you okay up there?”

“I am now!” she replied, her voice tinged with relief.

Marshall turned his attention back to the man he still held by the collar. He shook him hard, his voice thunderous. “What are you doing? Speak!”

“We… we came out to see the airship!” the man stammered. “This contraption is unlike anything we’ve ever seen, and… well, weren’t we surprised to find a floozy in it.”

Marshall’s grip tightened, his face darkening. He let go of the man’s collar just long enough to draw his arm back and slap him hard across the face. The sound cracked like a whip.

“Don’t you dare speak of her that way,” Marshall growled, his tone low and menacing.

“What were we supposed to think?” one of the other men chimed in. “She’s up there wearing nothing but her skivvies!”

Mary’s voice rang out from above. “And I told you to go away!”

“You hear that?” Marshall snapped. “She told you to go away, and you should’ve listened. But no, you couldn’t just leave a lady alone, could you?”

“She ain’t no lady,” the man spat back. “Only a tart would be dressed like that.”

Marshall spun toward him, his glare deadly. “I said, don’t speak of her that way.”

“What were we supposed to think?” the man persisted.

“You were supposed to think she was in need of assistance,” Marshall snarled. “And when she told you to leave, you should’ve had the decency to listen.”

“Well, then if she’s a lady, what happened to her clothes?” one of them asked.

“I told you,” Mary shouted. “We were attacked by saurans.”

“There ain’t no saurans around here,” the youngest of them spoke up.

“Shut up,” Kyle.

“Shut up. Kevin, you don’t know nothing.”

“We were attacked by a pack of those little frill neck bastards,” Marshall said. “And you know what those little frill neck bastards do? They spit acid. And let me tell you, acid and ladies find linen skirts

are not a good match.”

“She really face off against a sauran?”

“Faced off and I’ve ridden them too!” Mary said proudly.

Marshall smiled as he gazed up at her. She’d always been feisty. It was good to see that she was also feisty enough to protect herself when necessary.

“But we wanted to see the boat in the air!”

Marshall’s voice rose as he loomed over the man. “You don’t always get what you want. Now, get out of here before I make sure you don’t forget this lesson.”

The third man, apparently emboldened by his companions, sneered. “How come you get to be out here? Is she your whore too?”

Marshall didn’t give him the courtesy of a warning. His fist flew, connecting with the man’s face with the force of a battering ram. The man stumbled back, clutching his nose, blood streaming between his fingers.

“You broke my damn nose!”

“And I’ll break it again if you keep talking,” Marshall shot back.

Marshall turned his attention back to the man holding his ankle. “You break your ankle trying to climb up, did you?”

The man groaned, his face pale and sweaty. It was clear his injury was severe.

Mary leaned further over the edge of the gondola, pointing at the injured man. “That one tried to climb aboard after I told them to leave. I pulled up the ladder with the winch, and he fell like a sack of potatoes.”

Marshall’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Good on you,” he murmured, loud enough for only her to hear.

Mary’s gaze softened. “They ruined our dinner too,” she added, nodding toward the smoldering remains of a small fire nearby.

Marshall clased his eyes and took in a deep breath catching the faint sweet scent in the air. “Wild plums?”

“And a hare with decent meat on it,” she confirmed, her tone tinged with frustration. “But it’s all ruined now.”

One of the men muttered something under his breath, but Marshall silenced him with a glare.

“Let me get this straight,” Marshall said, his tone sharp. “You lot show up uninvited, harass a lady, ruin her dinner, and then have the nerve to act like you’re the injured party?”

“Where were you?” one of the men accused. “Why wasn’t she with you?”

“Because the lady didn’t have proper clothing, and I was in town getting her some.”

The mention of the town—and specifically the pastor’s wife, who had provided the skirts—seemed to drain the bravado from the group. One by one, their gazes dropped to the dirt.

“You gonna let us see the boat now?” one of them ventured.

“No,” Marshall snapped. “Now get out of here.”

“But—”

“I said, get out of here!”

The men reluctantly began to retreat, two of them helping their injured companion to his feet. As they shuffled away, a new voice cut through the clearing, sharp and scolding.

“Howard Kessler! What are you doing out here harassing that poor woman?”

Marshall turned to see a slight figure emerging from the trees—the pastor’s wife, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

“Mama?” one of the men whimpered.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, young man!”

Marshall couldn’t help but chuckle as he bent to retrieve the discarded skirt from the ground. Dusting it off, he looked up at Mary.

“Put down the ladder,” he said.

The ladder unrolled with a series of audible clacks, coming to rest with a solid thunk on the ground.

“Here,” he said, wrapping the voluminous fabric around one of the rungs of the ladder. “Get yourself dressed. We’ve got company.”

 

Will Mary entertain company now that she has a proper skirt? Tune in next time…

©2025 Lulu M. Sylvian

An Improper Derailment Chapter Thirty Five

Where Marshall goes shopping…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Catch up with chapter 34…

Start the adventure from the beginning.

Mary crossed her arms and twisted in the dirt giving Marshall her back
with one more loud, “Fine to I can handle this on my own.”

Marshall and the captain entered the very small main street where there was a tavern, what appeared to be a dry goods store.

He cast his gaze up and down the street, looking up and saw a small church at the end of the street.

He ran his hand through his hair. “Well, I dare say Mary is correct. I don’t know how to go about buying women’s clothing.”

“I’m no assistance, young man,” Captain Forsyth blustered. “I’m going to go into that tavern and see what kind of provisions I can find. I don’t see a bakery in this town. Do you think I can find some bread to the tavern?”

“I bet you could find yourself some food there. They might be able to set you up.”

Marshall watched several young women walk into the dry goods store as he spoke. He witnessed several other young women walk out of the store carrying packages. They saw him and giggled before scurrying away.

“I think I’ll start.” He tipped his head toward the shop.

Wit a hurumph, the captain headed toward the tavern.

Marshall dusted off the front of his shirt, it didn’t help the cleanliness, before he crossed the dusty road and pushed through the front door.

“How can I help you today, sir?” asked the clerk. His white front shirt was tucked into a clean apron, and he wore a stiff collar.

“Howdy,” Marshall said in response. “Where could I get a woman’s skirt?”

Hours later, Marshall sat in the cozy living room of the small rectory next to the small church. In his hands he balanced a fine bone chine tea cup.

“…and you just left your wife there?” the Rector’s wife asked as she cast her gaze over his shoulder and outside.

“Yes, ma’am. My wife would die of mortification is anyone from polite society saw the damage those saurans did to her clothing. I can’t thank you enough for having for having one of your skirts fixed up for her.”

“It’s not as if we have a fashionable dressmaker in this town, let alone one who sells ready to wear clothing. You’re really traveling in that construction we saw floating?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s an airship and the captain is an old old family friend of my wife’s. She has been without a proper skirt for days. Well, it’s not as if she is completely immodest, ma’am,he legs are properly covered. But she is used to being a proper lady from Chicago. Her grandfather lives in San Francisco, so the fact that she had to throw her prettiest travel frock over board… I don’t know if she’ll ever recover.”

“I should come and pay her visit,” the pastor’s wife said.

“Oh no, ma’am. I think my poor Mary might expire of embarrassment. I’ve had to come out here to get a skirt for her. She’s the kind of woman who would be afraid to let her face be seen in this town if anybody knew of her circumstances.”

 

And what has Mary been up to while Marshall is sipping tea? Tune in next time…

©2024 Lulu M. Sylvian

An Improper Derailment Chapter Thirty Four

Where Mary sits in the dirt…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Catch up with chapter 33…

Start the adventure from the beginning.

“Those clouds are looking rather angry,” Mary said

as she pointed to the ominous presence of weather. “What shall we do?”

“Why my dear Mary we will lower ourselves to sea level and strap in.”

“Against what?” she asked.

“Usually there’s a tree or something,” Captain Forsyth said with conviction. “What we need is a town.”

“That looks like a town,” Marshall said pointing into the distance. “And it’s in the direction we’re going.”

“Do you think we’ll make it?” Mary looked at him. He gave her a shrug.

“It’s the same direction as the storm is pushing us,” the captain announced.

It seemed that it took more luck than skill that guided the Profound Name close to the edge of town. Captain Forsyth managed to pull the airship along side a tree that seemed to be more over grown shrub than anything else. He tossed the rope ladder over the side of the gondola.

“Over you go, lad,” he announced while looking at Marshall. “Once you get down there, grab one of the tethers to secure us in place.”

“I won’t be sad to get out of this tub,” Marshall said as he swung his leg over the side of the gondola.

“Be careful,” Mary called out as she watched over the edge of the flying ship as Marshall descended.

They were only a few yards above the ground, but definitely high enough to cause a mischief should he fall. Grabbing the ropes, Marshall jumped the last few feet to the ground. He secured the Profound Name several feet off of the ground.

“That should be high enough than any wandering sauran can’t jump in,” he said, giving the captain a wink.

Forsyth chuckled. “Good thinking my boy.”

Mary threw her leg over the side and scrambled down on her own without once demanding assistance from either the captain or Marshall.

Marshall stood back and watched her with pride.

“Finally civilization!” she declared once both feet were on the ground.

Marshall looked over her shoulder. “I hardly think this qualifies as civilization. However”— he pointedly looked down at her exposed legs— “I think that you might not want to be wandering down Main Street quite like that.”

Mary twisted up her face as she looked down at her exposed legs. “Yes, this is definitely not proper. How else am I to attain appropriate coverage for myself?”

“Why don’t you stay here and let me handle things?”

“I wouldn’t trust you to buy women’s clothing,” she said with a huff.

“Buying clothing and buying a skirt are very different things. I can manage a skirt, Mary.”

She crossed her arms and pouted before lowering herself to the ground with legs crossed, sitting in the dirt.

“I will stay here with Captain Forsyth. You can go shopping.”

“Oh no, I won’t be staying here. I’ll be going into town to buy more supplies.”

Mary pounded her feet into the ground, twisting herself around so she presented Marshall and the captain her back. “Fine, leave me on my own.”

“Now don’t be like that Mary. I’ll try to find you a skirt straight away.”

She didn’t acknowledge either Marshall’s or the captain’s farewell.

She sat in the dirt and pouted. It was very unladylike like. But as she stared at her exposed knees, she didn’t look much like a lady these days. She glanced up at the floating air ship. Should she return to the basket? What if the storm came upon them while she was alone? No, she’d rather hide under the branches of the tree. A flutter of movement caught her eye. A rabbit.

And hadn’t she seen wild plumb trees as the approached the town?

She stood and ineffectually dusted what remained of her skirts off. Finding the simple supplies she needed, she began making plans. She needed to set a trap, and go pick some plumbs.

Will Marshall get Mary a proper skirt? Keep reading with Chapter 35…

©2024 Lulu M. Sylvian