TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "SILLY"

 

Howdy do! Welcome. We have more stories by the talented Tuesday Tales writers today. We're writing to the word prompt "silly". I have the second installment from my new book-in-progress. Don't forget to leave comments. The authors love to hear from you. After you read my story, bop on over to the writers. Find them HERE. 

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Proud of her brother for his accomplishment, she kept her mouth shut about him being thirty-two. Her father had no such qualms.

“It’s about time that boy got the damn degree. He’s been at it long enough. Geez, I coulda built me two, three, maybe even four houses all by myself in the time it took him to do that dang thing. Readin’ all those silly books. At least now he’ll be able to get a good job.”

“And marry Kitty Caldwell,” Charlie put in.

“Yeah. Maybe get to havin’ some grandkids,” Tom said, a half-grin on his dry lips.

Her gaze settled again on Professor Garrett. He preferred to be called “professor” instead of “doctor.” He’d said he always looked around for a man in a white coat when someone called him “doctor”. Charlie wondered why he didn’t look around for a woman in a white coat, but she kept that to herself.

She noticed the other professors who would be presenting honors from different departments sat with their wives. Not Professor Garrett. He took his position alone. Charlotte wondered why he wasn’t married. Maybe his wife was sick.

“Don’t you go getting any ideas about Professor Garrett,” her father said.

Charlotte felt heat rush to her face. She turned away, hoping he wouldn’t see.

“I got eyes, girl. I see the way you look at him. He’s forty. Too old for you. Widowed, too. So just forget it. With all the boys going to this college, you’d think a pretty girl like you would’ve picked one out by now,” Tom said, giving his head a little shake.

“Please, Pop. Be quiet!” Charlotte wanted to crawl under her chair. Fortunately, Professor Garrett didn’t hear. Or if he did, he didn’t turn around. She let out a breath. Sometimes her father could be a bull in a china shop. She grinned. Maybe all the time.

“I mean…”

The band stuck up the national anthem. Everyone stood up.

“Shhh,” Charlotte said, welcoming any interruption of her father’s opinions on her life.    

When the song concluded, everyone sat and the president of Kensington State, Mac Caldwell, took the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, students, faculty, parents, family, and friends. It is my honor to present the very first Ph. D. degrees from the University.

Charlotte didn’t hear the rest of his speech. Her eyes filled. All she could think of was Corey and his achievement. Pride in her brother filled her heart, along with a sadness that her mother couldn’t be there to see her son’s success.  

That's all for this week. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "FRUIT" - NEW STORY!

 

Howdy do! Welcome! This week the glorious Tuesday Tales writers are writing to the word prompt "fruit." I am starting a brand new story!! Yes, the first new one in a long time and I'm thrilled. I'm so pumped. I hope I can devote lots of winter indoor-days to writing this tale. I don't even have a name for the book, but I do know that it will be book 10 in the Pine Grove series. 

So here's the beginning of the book. Pardon my writing as it has not been edited or proofed yet. I hope you like the story. If you do and you want to read more, please leave an encouraging comment. Those always motivate me to go to the computer. Thanks for stopping by. 

When you're done with my excerpt, please visit the other TT authors. Find them HERE. 

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Charlotte Emily Anderson stood next to her father in the fifth row, at the garden where the Master’s degrees were to be presented. English professor Dr. Mark Garrett walked right past them. He didn’t recognize Charlotte and only gave a brief nod to her father.

Ever since she did the renovation of his office at Kensington State University, Charlotte had developed a huge crush on Dr. Garett. He didn’t recognize her because she always tucked her long dark hair under a painter’s hat and wore worker’s overalls. And she answered to the nickname of “Charlie”. Her gaze followed his attractive form to the front row.

Her father had insisted she dress like that when she worked a job.

“Don’t be flauntin’ your goods around men, Sister. You’ll be working alone there without me or your brother to protect you. And men get ideas. Besides, these men expect a man to be doing carpentry and painting walls, not some delicate flower.”

“I’m no delicate flower, Pa,” Charlotte had responded, pulling herself up to her full five foot eight inches.

“Well, your mother, God rest her soul, thought so.”

Her mother had died before she could see the fruit of her loins turn into a tomboy. Her father tried to teach his son, Corey, Charlotte’s older brother, his trade. But the boy ignored his father and spent his days under a tree reading literature while his sister finished each project.

After three years of letting her brother pass off her work as his, Charlotte spoke up. There was a terrible row. Corey stormed out of the house, then her father followed. When his son went off to college to study literature, Tom Anderson settled himself on hiring his daughter. That’s when she got the nickname “Charlie.”

Tom did carpentry for the university in exchange for free tuition for his son. There wasn’t money to send his daughter. Besides, she preferred woodworking to reading tiresome stories written by people long since dead. Besides, he needed her to keep his business going to put food on the table. He was getting too old to do everything himself. That was just fine with Charlie.

 

That's all for today. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES WORD PROMPT "COLD"

 

Welcome to Tuesday Tales, where authors write stories to word prompts. This week's prompt is "cold", kind of appropriate for January, wouldn't you agree? We have more of Sam's story this week, but from Becky's perspective. Uh oh. Becky is not happy. Don't forget, when you've finished reading my story to hop on over and read the great stories by our talented crew. You'll find them HERE. 

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The Bloodgoode sisters always angled to get things for free. “The poor family of Fitch’s pastor shouldn’t have to pay,” Charity had said over and over again. 

“We give you a lower price,  Charity, but everybody has to pay something. We have to pay for things. And so do you."

“Pastor’s money doesn’t go far,” Catherine mumbled.

“Why don’t you do some needlework and sell it. Or take in laundry?” Becky said, working to stifle a smile.

“Take in laundry? A pastor’s daughters? Pish tush!” Charity blustered.  “We’ll take a length of that grosgrain ribbon. In blue,” she said, pointing.

“Be content to be proud and do without,” Becky quipped, pulling down the ribbon and measuring it.

A nasty gleam glowed in Charity’s eyes. “Of course we’re proud. No one has toyed with our affections just to leave us high and dry,” she said, a mean grin pulled at her lips.

“What?”

“Hush, Charity. I told you not to mention that,” Catherine said, her voice as fake as her demeanor.

Becky looked up. “What in heaven’s name are you two talking about?”

The sisters looked at each other, giggled, then leaned in closer to Becky. “We don’t like to gossip or anything,” Catherine said.

“You don’t?” Becky cocked an eyebrow.

“But news is news. And we figured you’d want to know first.

An uneasy feeling stole up Becky’s back.   “No, no I don’t.”

“Oh yes  you do,” Catherine continued, cutting off Becky’s escape by grabbing her arm and holding it fast.

“Stop,” Becky said, struggling under the young woman’s iron grip.

“Sam Chesney asked Violet Wilcox to marry him and she said yes!” Charity blurted out, then covered her mouth with her hand.

Becky felt heat rush to her face. “It’s not true,” she muttered.

“Oh, I’m afraid it is,” said Catherine, nodding.

Becky felt faint. She heard a ringing in her ears and her heartbeat jumped. She grabbed her shawl and headed for the back door.

“What about our ribbon?” Asked Charity.

“Take it. Take it. It’s a gift. Just leave. Leave now!” Becky said.

Blood drained from her face as fast as it had gathered there, leaving her lightheaded. She yanked her arm free, ran out the door, and continued as fast as her legs could carry her, impervious to the cold wind but not to the cold hand that gripped her heart. 

That's all. Thanks for stopping by.

TUESDAY TALES - SUNNY

 

Welcome to another Tuesday Tales day. Brrr. There's snow on the ground. It's so great to be able to stay inside and cozy up to these wonderful stories. Today we have another episode of "Sam's Decision". Don't forget to bop on over to the other authors and read their terrific tales. You'll find them HERE. 

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Early the next morning, Sam took the bright sunshine as a good omen. He finished his breakfast in three gulps and set out to Violet’s house.  With the sun on his shoulders, he walked quickly, easily making his way along the now familiar path.

After a firm, confident rap on the door, he shifted his weight, waiting to be let in. Finally the door was opened.

“Sam?” Violet said. “Come in.” She tugged on his arm and he stepped across the threshold.

“Morning, Miss Violet.” Sam looked around, surprised to see they were alone.

“Morning. Can I get you some cider?” she asked. “Do you want to sit by the fire?”

Without the sunshine on his back, his body shivered slightly. Was it from the cold or nerves.

“Yes, thank you. You’re mightykind,” he said, taking a chair by the fire.

Violet rushed out and returned quickly with a mug of cider and sat next to him.

“Violet, I’ve come to see you on a matter of great urgency,” Sam said, pushing to his feet.  

“Yes?” Her brilliant turquoise eyes made contact with his.

“It’s about what we discussed.”

“Oh?” she raised her eyebrows.

“About being a farm wife. I’ve spoken to your father…”

“You have?”

“Yes. And he said the decision is yours.”

“What decision?”

Sam put down the cider and took off his hat. He twisted it as his mind searched for the right words. “About becoming a farm wife.”

“Oh? Who’s asking?”

Sam grinned. “Oh come on, Violet. You know it’s me.”

She blushed. “Yes, I do. But I want to hear you say it.”

Sam took her hand in his. “Will you, Vi? Will you marry me and live on my farm?”

Her hand was soft and smooth. He stared at it, wondering if it was strong enough to do the work of a farm wife.

“Well?” he asked, joining his gaze with hers.

That's all for this week. Thanks for stopping by. Please leave a comment -it makes my day! 

TUESDAY TALELS - WORD PROMPT "YEAR"

 

Welcome!

This week of the beginning of the new year, our word prompt is "year"! Not very original, but fun nonetheless. We have more about poor Sam's fate this week. When you're done, bop on over to the other writers of Tuesday Tales. Find their wonderful stories HERE. 

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“Sit down, son. How nice for you to pay me a visit,” Abiel said, taking the comfortable chair by the fire.

“Yessir,” Sam said, taking off his hat.

“Something on your mind?” Abiel prompted.

Sam twisted his hand in his hand. This was it. The moment of truth.

“Yessir. I was fixin’ to ask your daughter, Violet, to be my wife. If you don’t have any objections,” Sam blurted out.

Abiel raised his eyebrows. “Violet marry you? What are your prospects, Sam?”

“I’m fixin’ to take over one of Mr. Fitch’s farms,” Sam twisted his hat in his hands. “It’s already got a nice little house. Potatoes and carrots planted. I got seeds for squash, and plenty more. It’s got apple trees, too. We’ll have a big harvest in the fall. My sister’s gonna give me some chickens, too. So, we’ll have plenty of food. Violet won’t go hungry. I’ll take care of her. Take care of her real good.”

“You think so?” Abiel tamped down the tobacco in his pipe and lit a match.

“We’ll get flour and butter from the Inn. My grandma always has some to spare.”

“I see. And you think she’ll be happy there?” Abiel puffed on the pipe, drawing in the flame from the match.

“Yessir. She said she wanted to be a farmer’s wife.”

“You won’t work her too hard, will you?” Abiel cast a severe glance Sam’s way.

“No sir. No sir. I’ll take care of her.”

“I see.”

“I love her, Mr. Lee,” Sam lied.

“You do? Pretty quick, I’d say.”

“When love hits, you don’t need years to see it. At least that’s what my grandma always says. Said she knew she’d marry my grandpa same day she met him.”

Abiel nodded. “I see.”

“Do I got your permission, Mr. Lee?” Sam untwisted his hat then twisted it up the other way.

“If Violet agrees, you have my blessing.”

“I do?” Sam’s voice went up an octave.

“You do. See you do take good care of her, Samuel Chesney. She’s the apple of my eye.”

“I will, Mr. Lee. I will. I promise.”

“You’re a fine lad. I believe you. Now run along. It’s late.” Abiel Lee stood, tapped his pipe on the brick of the fireplace and yawned. Sam took the hint and scooted ahead to the door.

Once outside, he let out a breath. He’d done it. Now all he had to do was make the proposal to Violet. After what he’d just been through, that seemed easy.

 

 

That's all. Thanks for stopping by!

TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "HOLIDAY"

 

Welcome to Tuesday Tales, where writers create stories to word prompts. This week our word prompt is "holiday". Rather fitting, don't you think? I have another installment from "Sam's Decision."  Don't forget to hop on over to read the other stories by our talented writers. You'll find them HERE.  

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After dinner, Caleb raised his eyebrows and stared at Sam.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Martha asked, her sharp glance darted back and forth between Caleb and Sam.

“Nothin’, Grandma. Thanks for dinner. I best be goin’.”

“Goin’ where?”

“Now, Martha, let the young man be,” Caleb said, pushing away from the table.

“I’ll help clean up, Ma,” Abigail said.

“Fine.”

Sam slipped out the door and set his feet in the direction of the Wilcox home. As his mind worked, her slowed his pace. Somehow he couldn’t get up much enthusiasm for the task at hand. He recalled how he counted the minutes until Becky opened the store the day he decided to propose to her. He’d been all het up, his breath comin’ quick, his heart thumpin’ like a racehorse on the home stretch.

Now he kept a steady even pace as he plotted out what to say to Mr. Wilcox. His breath was even and steady as was his heartbeat.

“Is this what it is to be a man?” he asked himself in hushed tones. “Doin’ the right thing?”

He knew it was, but that didn’t make it any easier. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Violet Wilcox. He did. She made his blood run hot and he could barely take his eyes off her beauty. But she didn’t capture his heart like Becky did.

“I’ll learn to love her. That’s what  Caleb said.” Resigned to his fate, he plodded ahead. “It ain’t like I’m going to the gallows.” Yeah, but it also wasn’t like a big holiday neither. He finally arrived at their door. He swallowed, then raised  his fist to knock on the door. Mr. Wilcox answered.

“Why, Sam, how nice for you to come for a visit,” Abiel Wilcox said, as he took Sam by the arm and ushered him inside.

Maybe this was a little like a turkey felt the day before Thanksgiving, Sam thought, as he stepped across the threshold.

Thanks for stopping by. 

Tuesday Tales - Word Prompt "Shady" - December 10

Welcome! Tuesday Tales continues this week with more of "Sam's Decision". Today we have the story from Violet's perspective. When you're done, hop on over and read the works of the fabulous Tuesday Tales authors. Find them HERE.  

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Across town, Violet stepped across the threshold of her home quietly. The fire in the main room still burned. She saw her father in his chair snoring, his chin resting on his chest. Trying as hard as she could to move without making a sound, she bumped into a chair hiding in the shadows.

“What? What? Who’s that?” Abiel Wilcox started awake.

“Tis me, Father.”

Abiel knocked his pipe against a wooden bowl and set it down on a small table. “Violet?”

“Yes,” she said, casting her eyes to the floor, She shivered, trying to cast off the ugliness of her shady behavior with Sam.

Abiel pushed to his feet, brushed off some telltale tobacco bits from his vest and stretched his arms up before turning to face his daughter. “Well?”

“It’s done, Father. It’s done.”

Abiel approached her. He cupped her chin. “I’m sorry child, but it was the only way.”

“He’ll be round to see you soon, I reckon,” she said softly.

He nodded. “What’s done is done. We have to make the best of it. You might like farm life,” he ventured.

With full, angry eyes, Violet shot him a look, then stormed out to her room and slammed the door.

Once inside, she ignored her sleeping mother and threw herself on the bed, sobbing.

“Zeb. Zeb. Where are you?” she said into her pillow, muffling the sound as best she could.

Her mother awoke and turned on her side. She stroked her daughter’s back.

“It’s best this way, Violet.”

“No, it isn’t, Mother. It isn’t.”

“I’m sorry dear. You have only Zeb to blame. He led you on. I know you believed his love was true. This is for the best. You’ll have your own house and a man who loves you. That should be a comfort.”

Violet wiped her face and pulled the covers over her. She knew her mother was right. Marrying Sam should be a comfort. He was a good man. She’d have to work hard, but together they could build a life for her child. Yes, it should be a great comfort. But it wasn’t. It simply was no comfort at all.” 

That's all this week. Thanks for stopping by!