Just in the Nick of Time!

I bet you thought I forgot about doing my writing challenge last week, didn't you? Truth is I did not forget, but my computer was out of commission and due to the weather the local library was closed so I didn't have a good way to type up and submit my "Hands" story. But I did write it in my notebook and now on the last day of my "week" I am getting it up for you to see. This past week I also read through and edited the proof copy of Prince Charming's Search. Now the edits are complete and it's available through my estore though the official release date is Valentine's Day.

But without further ado, a "hands" short story. Check by tomorrow for a "red" story...

Her fingers repeated the familiar up and down pattern of her stitches. "Idle hands are the devil's playground," her mother used to say. As a result, Ida's hands were almost always busy doing something. Today as warm sunshine poured through her open window, Ida's hands were cross-stitching. Long fingers once quite nimble trembled slightly as she repeated the pattern. Up and then down. Up and down again
As her fingers worked, Ida's mind wandered. Her hands, now gnarled with age, scars and pesky arthritis, had in her younger years been smooth, nimble and fair. Her skin showed a lifetime of work like old leather, soft yet deeply tanned and spotted. Her nails were neatly trimmed and now a shocking shade of turquoise her mother would never have approved of. Proper young ladies did not paint their nails such outlandish colors. Courtesy of her teenaged granddaughter, Ida now had nails her mother would faint at. Though she had fussed and argued at the time, Ida couldn't help but admire the subtle sparkle of the nail polish. It was pretty, though she never would have admitted it to Kayla, and awoke in her the girl she was before.
For a few moments, her hands were still as she looked out the window. Her memories transformed her back into a youthful blonde with sparkling eyes and a zest for life. The perfume of wildflowers tickled her nose as she cut the stem of a daisy with her fingernail, enjoying the green stain it left behind.
"Aren't you done yet?" her little sister asked.
"Nearly. It takes time to make a daisy chian crown, Beth." She continued looking for flowers to add as her hands kept working. Pulling the last stem through, she placed the crown on her sister's head, smoothing the fiery curls with her fingers.
"Do I look like a fairy princess now?" Beth asked excitedly.
"Better. You look like a prairie fairy princess," Ida replied.
As Beth skipped away giggling, "Priaire fairy princess," over and over, Ida smiled and continued picking flowers. Her long fingers twirled the stems before piercing them and weaving them together into a second daisy chain crown. The sun shone down on her, warming her from head to foot.
With a smile she placed the crown on her head and called out to Beth, "Now I'm a prairie fairy princess too!"
"Bit old to be playing princess, aren't you?" a voice behind her asked.
Her hands clenched into fists as she turned to see a boy her age grinning down at her from horseback. "That's none of your concern, Thomas Randall."
Amusement danced in his dark blue eyes. "My humblest apologies, your highness," he said with a mock bow.
She heard her mother's voice calling her name. Glaring at Thomas, she took old of Beth's hand and snapped, "Apology not accepted," before running toward her house. Thomas' laughter echoed behind.
Old Ida laughed as her fingers resumed the up and down pattern of her stitches. That Thomas always was a little infuriating. It was one of the things that led to another scene in her life.
Up through the fabric and then down. Up again and down again.
Her memory shifted to a scene a few years after the daisy chain incident. Her hands felt warm and secure in those of Thomas Randall. His skin was rough and calloused from working the fields. But the warmth and love she felt seemed to smooth out the flaws until she couldn't think of a more perfect place for her hands to be. They stood together on the old bridge watching the sun sink to the horizon.
"I don't a lot, Ida. But I would give it all to spend my life with you. Will you be my prairie princess?"
Joy swelled in Ida's heart, but she couldn't help teasing the man who'd spent their childhood mocking her. "No." She waited just long enough for his face to fall before smiling, "I'd much rather be your prairie fairy princess."
His relieved laughter filled her ears as he squeezed her hands. "Of course, my prairie fairy princess."
Up through the fabric and then down. Up again and down again.
She remembered a perfect spring day when Thomas slipped a cool, golden band on her finger.
Up and then down. Up and down.
Days spent in the fields and gardens side-by-side with Thomas flitted by. Her hands lifted babies and then held little toddler hands. Her hands pulled weeds and planted seeds. Her hands kneaded bread dough and scrubbed floors.
Up and down. Up and down.
Her old hands held a single rose over a dark casket. The golden band on her left hand felt cold as sad raindrops mingled with her tears. Her fingers released the rose, watching it drop down into sweet Thomas' grave.
Up and down. Up. Down.
A knock on the door interrupted Ida's memories. "Mrs. Randall, your granddaughter is here to see you," the nurse said.
A smile spread over Ida's face as a young version of herself walked in. "Good afternoon, Grammy. How are you today?"
"I'm fine, darling. How are you?" she asked, embracing her granddaughter as she bent toward her.
"I'd be better if Bryce would leave me alone," the girl fumed.
Ida chuckled. "You've got to watch out for the ornery ones. You're liable to marry one of them, Kayla."
"Oh, Grammy, he's nothing at all like Grampa."
"Tell me about him, then," Ida replied, her hands resuming their dance with the needle. Up and down. Up. Down.