Tuesday Tales: A Merry Chase

"Chase" is our prompt this week as we head out of the Memorial Day holiday weekend and right back into everyday life. We're diving into summer and my stories based around the Pythian House, a very real place located in Springfield, MO continue.  For anyone just joining in, the Knights of Pythias operated twenty homes for elderly, widows, and orphans at one time.

Be sure to visit all the other Tuesday Tales offerings this week - you can link to each of them from the main Tuesday Tales blog here:

http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com

And now - my story for this week,

A Merry Chase

 by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

           

            On Everett Brown’s arm, Katie strolled through the gates of the Pythian House with far less trepidation than she’d experienced alone.  As they moved toward the majestic structure, she wondered if it might be best to enter through the rear and thus draw less attention to her return.  With any luck at all, maybe no one noticed her absence.  When she suggested as much to the professor, he nodded. “A capital idea, Mrs. Lafferty for I think it best if no one noted your flight.”

            “Why not?” Her curiosity wasn’t feigned.

            Mr. Brown cocked his head as he looked down at her. “Dearest lady, I don’t think the Pythians want their widows or orphans to bolt.  Nor do they encourage much interaction with the community at large.  Besides, Dr. Patterson and the staff are none too fond of me for inquiring about the welfare of several of the boys last year.  I fear they thought me an intrusive troublemaker at best.”

            Katie Lafferty considered herself a keen judge of character and she’d bank what little she still owned Everett Brown was neither. “How ridiculous!”

            Before the Latin master could respond, three boys darted from the kitchen door and dashed across the lawn with speed.  They carried two of the pies Katie spent the afternoon baking and headed in the general direction of the orchards.  Their intent seemed obvious – enjoy the purloined dessert beneath the branches of the gnarled apple trees.  Poetic justice of a sort, she thought, just as the second child cannoned into her.   Despite Mr. Brown’s efforts to catch her, she tumbled onto the ground.  Although the lawn stretched out, emerald green and lush, she hit a bare spot, muddy from recent rains before her arrival.

            “Are you hurt, Mrs. Lafferty?” Mr. Brown cried as he offered a hand so she could rise.

            “Nothing but my pride, sir,” Katie said with a smile which faded as she stared down at the skirt of her housedress.  Mud streaked the calico.   The boys, who halted after the unplanned tackle, gazed at the dirty garment with round eyes. “And I’ve soiled my dress.”

            “Water will take care of the mud,” Everett Brown told her. “I imagine these lads can tell you where the pump can be found.  We’ll get you spotless if damp in no time at all.  So, Theodore, Walter, and Adam, where can the lady wash up?”

            The smallest of the trio, a boy whose hair grew down to a peak on his forehead spoke first, “There’s a pump ‘round back.  I can show her.”

            “Very well,” Mr. Brown said.

            As they rounded the back corner of the structure, however, Mrs. Tillman burst from the kitchen.  By her red face and huge frown, Katie surmised the woman was angry and she was correct.  When the kitchen manager caught sight of the boys, she used a single finger to make the motion to accompany her pronouncement of   “Shame, shame, shame.  You boys are nothing but common little dirty thieves. Dr. Patterson will be quite put out with you all and I imagine the strap will be used.”

            “They don’t deserve that!” Katie cried without thinking. “They’re just hungry little boys, that’s all.”

            Mrs. Tillman’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the woman. “Mrs. Lafferty! You have no idea of how we run this home or our expectations for the children in our care.  You’ve no right to interfere.  I had a feeling you’d be trouble when you walked into this home, I did.”

            Before Katie could open her mouth, the woman’s gaze noticed the mud splattered skirt and the presence of Mr. Brown.  A wordless cry of outrage came out of her mouth and Mrs. Tillman said, “I swan! You’re up to no good yourself, your nice dress Mrs. Rose provided you out of the goodness of her heart all covered in mud and in the company of this reprobate schoolteacher yet! This Pythian Home operates on Christian standards, I tell you and your wanton behavior won’t be tolerated.  Why, Dr. Patterson might go so far as to make you leave, you shameless woman.”

            A hundred thoughts rushed through Katie’s mind.  At the moment, leaving sounded more pleasant than staying although she had nowhere in the world she could go.  Mrs. Tillman’s tirade upset her and the woman’s insinuations she and Professor Brown had been up to no good rankled.  All of the mud covered the front, not the rear of the skirt, since she’d fallen face down.  If she’d been doing what the kitchen matron seemed to think, it’d be her bottom covered in mud.

She parted her lips to point out this fact but before she spoke, Everett Brown did.

            “Mrs. Tillman, on behalf of this lady, I ask you do not malign her spotless reputation.  I’ve just become acquainted with her and do not know her well but I have no doubt she is a fine, upstanding citizen without blame.  I merely escorted her back to the home as any gentleman would.”

            As Katie sent a silent ‘thank you’ his direction, Dr. Patterson appeared in his shirt sleeves at the back kitchen door.  He surveyed the situation and shook his head.  In short order, he sent the boys to his office to await discipline and turned toward the remaining adults.

            “Mr. Brown,” he said. “I must ask you to return to the school and to not make a habit of coming onto our property for any reason.  To refuse would be to further damage the relations between our home and the school where you are employed.  A word to the local superintendent of schools might result in another placement or removal.”

            His barely veiled threat rankled but Katie, sensing her scolding would be next, kept silent.  Color flushed Mr. Brown’s face but like her, he appeared to wish not to cause any further dissention. “Very well,” Everett Brown said.  He bowed with a sweeping flourish. “I bid you all farewell.”

            Katie caught his wink, offered behind Dr. Patterson’s back and squelched a grin.  She’d see more of the Latin master, she had no doubt, and encouraged by his action she turned to face her own tongue lashing.  To her surprise, when she faced the home’s director, he failed to meet her gaze and what he told her carried much less sting than expected.

            “Mrs. Lafferty,” he said. “I realize you’re new here and it’s just the first day you’ve spent with us.  Because of this, I’ll say little but I must insist in future you adhere to the rules of this home and maintain all Christian morals.  If you do not, there will be consequences.”

            With that, he turned and headed indoors.  Mrs. Tillman stared at Katie for a long moment, shook her head and retreated into the kitchen.  Katie knew she’d made an enemy but she weighed it against the friend she had in Mr. Brown.  She headed for the pump where she did her best to wash away the mud and headed indoors, up the women’s dormitory.

            Another woman might be penitent but not Katie.  As she lay awake long into the night, she was much more the hoyden, sometimes wild girl she’d been as Katie O’Neill and much less the respectable matron, now widow Mrs. Lafferty.

             

Tuesday Tales: The Drudgery of Pie

Pie is the prompt and fit right into the tale I'm weaving based on the actual Pythian House, one a series of homes for both orphans and the elderly once found across America.  Founded by the Knights of Pythias, the homes provided a place to stay for those who had no where else to go....which worked for some but maybe not as well for my young widow Katie Lafferty.  We shall see.

Be sure to see what my fellow authors came up with for the "pie" prompt this week - each week a talented group of authors writes short, original fiction to the same prompt.  Here's the place to start to catch them all -

http://Tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com

And here's my tale:

The Drudgery of Pie

            Her arrival didn’t create much of a stir.  The director of the Missouri Pythian House, Dr. Patterson welcomed her in a casual, offhanded fashion and turned her over to the matron in charge of the widows.  Mrs. Rose – the woman’s actual last name – assigned Katie a bed near the back of the large dormitory room for women on the second floor.   Her trunk arrived from the railroad station in time to be tucked beneath the bed, her few possessions inside.  Mrs. Rose clicked her tongue against in teeth in apparent disapproval of Katie’s new dress and handed her a faded, well-worn calico housedress to wear instead. 

            “Everyone works,” Mrs. Rose announced in such faux sweet tones Katie thought she might well choke. “We each have our chores to make this home run like clockwork.  Your nice dress would be ruined in a very short time so I’ll hang it away in the community closet for now, if you don’t mind.”

            Katie nodded.  Somehow she didn’t think an objection would go very far at all.

            “Very well, then. Do you have a preference?”

            “A preference?” Katie asked.

            “Would you like to work in the kitchens, in the laundry plant, or with the infants?” Mrs. Rose replied, tapping one impatient foot against the floor.  A gleam in her eye suggested some jobs might be less favorable than others.

            “I’d like to work in the kitchen,” Katie said and hoped she wouldn’t regret her choice.

            “Get changed into the housedress and as soon as we serve dinner at noon you can get to work.”

            Dinner proved to be boiled beef and overcooked potatoes with the last of the summer’s sweet corn.  Katie stared at her plate and tried to summon up enough of an appetite to eat.  Around her the babble of too many voices, old and young, evoked anxiety and she struggled not to weep.  Across the table, an old woman who smelled of stale urine cuddled a doll and tried to feed it potatoes.  Another elderly widow stared at Katie and asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be with the children, little girl?”

            Katie swallowed a chunk of less than tender beef whole.  “No, ma’am, I’m a widow, not a child.  I just arrived and I’m still trying to get settled here.”

            “Where are you from?” asked a small woman, younger than the others but still a generation above Katie.

            “Kansas City,” Katie replied.

            She managed to eat a little but afterward a sturdy matron came out of the kitchen and stood by her chair. “You the new woman?” she asked.

            Katie nodded.

            “Then roll up your sleeves and let’s get started.  I run the kitchen.  Do you want to do dishes or make pies?
            In her old life, before everything turned sour she loved making pastry.  “I’d like to make pies.”

            Three hours later, arms aching from rolling out dough, Katie regretted her choice.  More pie pans than she could count rested on the heavy work table and another woman, a tired lady who smiled and said, “Just call me Becky” filled them with sweetened apple slices, dusted with cinnamon.  Two other women peeled, cored, and sliced apples with the routine speed of machines.   Making pies for Louis, even as a girl at home for her mother, proved enjoyable.  Katie remembered singing as she baked for her husband, delighted to fill the house with the pleasant aroma of baking pie.  This task, however, was drudgery. 

            By the time they stopped for supper, a light meal with some kind of thin soup made from the leftover beef and potatoes, Katie lacked any desire for food.  The overheated kitchen turned her head and she struggled against a dizzy headache.  When Mrs. Tillman, the one who oversaw all kitchen duties, told her she could go the dining room to eat, Katie ducked out the back door instead.  She hurried down toward the gate, away from the hateful place, using the trees along the way for cover.  School dismissed hours earlier, she knew, because she heard the children when they returned home, separated by gender and unable to speak to any child of the opposite sex.

            In her haste and desire not to be found, Katie crossed the street and sat on the steps of the Tefft School.  She buried her head in her hands and allowed the breeze to clear some of the cobwebs from her mind.  Katie inhaled the fresh air and calmed over time.  Her headache eased. When she lifted her head, she stared back at the Pythian Home and wished she didn’t have to return.  As she rose to go, however, lacking options, the door behind her opened and Professor Brown stepped outside.

            “Mrs. Lafferty?” he inquired with surprise. “Have you abandoned your new lodgings so soon?”

            For whatever reason, Katie liked the man and trusted him.  She usually did neither with strangers but Everett Brown evoked something deep within.  With honesty, she said, “No, but I wish I could. I was about to return when you came out of the building.”

            The professor sat down beside her on the steps. “I take it things did not go as well as you hoped?”

            “You might say so.  I’ve made pie crusts until my shoulders hurt,” she said. “And I feel more like Cinderella than ever in my life.”

            He tossed back his head and laughed aloud. “You’re the most refreshing female I’ve had the pleasure to encounter in some time,” he told her. “I’m sorry for your troubles, dear lady and if you’ll permit, I’ll escort you back across the street like a gentleman, though I’m not one.”

            The first smile in a very long time crept across her lips and Katie Lafferty nodded. “I’d like that,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Brown, thank you.”

           

Running For A Reason: Picture Prompt Tuesday Tales Edition

Welcome to another round of Tuesday Tales! This week's we're doing something a little different and are writing our short fiction (word limit this week only 300 words) to a picture prompt.  We were able to choose and I chose this one below.

Before you read my story or as soon as you finish, check out what other authors did this week here:

http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com

Running For A Reason

            Running hard and fast, her breath caught but Elizabeth knew the gate must be near.  As familiar with Central Park as with the streets of her neighborhood she’d find it.  And when she did, she’d be home free with the rich woman’s purse in hand.

            Her skirts slowed her speed and next time she vowed she’d nick a pair of her brother’s trousers.  Dressed as a boy, she could be a real thief.  Up ahead she saw the arch cut into the thick stone wall and ducked through it just a police man in blue, his brass buttons catching the sun followed her trail.

            Once through the wall, Elizabeth idled down to a stroll, pulling her borrowed finery – the nice sailor style dress and button up kid shoes – into place.  With any luck at all she might pass for an uptown girl out for a walk although she lacked the necessary chaperone. 

            The cop blew his whistle and darted through the same opening.  Fear caught her heart and strung it tight but Jimmy reached out from within a bush to snatch the bejeweled ladies bag out of her hands. “Run, Lizzie,” he suggested and she took her brother’s advice, dashing away down the street, away from the park while the cop shouted, “Stop her! She’s a thief!”

            No one tried to halt her.  In the summer of 1910, most people had other things on their minds and in their hearts.  On her way back to the Lower East Side, Lizzie wished she could shed the dress to splash like the other kids in the open fire hydrant.  Maybe, she thought, when I get home, maybe.

            And with any luck at all, Jimmy’d get enough from the purse to buy supper and some medicine for Ma.  Fingers crossed,  she hoped so, anyway.

Tuesday Tales: Arrival at Pythian House

Wow.  It's Tuesday again and time for some new Tuesday Tales written to the prompt of "finger".  I just got back from a little trip away to Springfield, MO, not far from home but still a wonderful place to spend some time.  One of the places I visited (in addition to speaking to the Ozark Romance Authors group, a great bunch!) was what's called the Pythian Castle.  Since I've come home, people who saw the image on my Facebook page have asked if it's a church or what so I'll give a brief history so my tale will make some sense.

The Pythian House was built by the Knights of Pythias, a men's fraternal organization once very large.  At one time most of Congress were Pythians and so were four Presidents.  One of the things they did was to provide homes for their elderly, their widows, and orphans.  It was a sort of insurance but the Pythians built twenty or so homes across the US for this purpose.  The one in Missouri was built in Springfield in 1913 and starting accepting residents in 1914.  Later it became part of the US Army during WWII when it beccame a service club but it's now owned by private individuals.  The place is about 40,000 square feet - very large and spacious and is being restored.  It captured my imagination and here's the first Pythian Tale....Arrival.  I hope to build on this.

Before you begin, don't forget the other Tuesday Tales
at http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com

Arrival

Autumn 1915

            Her toes in the too tight buttoned up shoes ached by the time she walked the distance from the train depot out to the Pythian House on the northern edge of Springfield.   Katie wished she hadn’t chosen the shoes but her worn out boots with holes in the soles looked ridiculous with the new black on black striped suit with the pleated skirt.   So she begged the shoes from a neighbor but bought the hat, a jaunty little black tam with a defiant feather attached.  Maybe she should’ve done what the well-meaning preacher’s wife suggested and worn traditional mourning, the long dark veil and shapeless gown but Katie was twenty-five, not sixty-five.  By rights, she shouldn’t be a widow on her way to live out her days far from home at the opposite end of the state but Louis left her destitute. 

            If her late husband, fifteen years her senior, hadn’t been a Pythian himself, member of the noble order of the Knights of Pythias, Katie would have been headed for the county poor farm, a place worse than this.  She paused at one of the two iron gates and stared up the tandem sidewalks leading to the massive structure.  The home for Pythian widows, orphans, and elderly members resembled a fairy tale castle far more than any orphanage or old folks refuge she’d ever seen but castles had dungeons or so she’d always been told.  Even the fairy tales said so. 

            The local order of Pythians provided her train ticket and the necessary paperwork to show Louis had been a member in good standing, that he’d paid his dues so she would be provided for as his widow.  If there’d been children, which for the first time, Katie thanked the good Lord there were not, they’d come along too, to spend their childhood days in this place.

            “You’ll find it very fine,” Pastor Charles told her. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about Pythian House since it opened last year.  You’ll have a home.”

            Katie had a home, a nice one, until two months ago when Louis’s cough, the one she worried and fretted over for so long, turned out to be tuberculosis after all.  His final weeks passed with slow torture and ended with a hemorrhage of blood.  Louis’ law practice turned out to be deep in debt, her cozy little house near the Paseo mortgaged and the motor car he bought months earlier repossessed by the automobile dealer.  Her home went to the bank and was sold to satisfy the mortgage, her nice furniture including the maple bird’s eye bedroom suite Louis bought and everything else but the clothes on her back went to pay debts.  Even her dainty little gold filigree wedding band went.

            She tried to get a position but as a lawyer’s widow, prospective employers saw her as far too genteel to work in service, as a maid or domestic or shop girl.  Katie lacked the stamina to work in a factory and so she packed her trunk with the few things she possessed.  She endured the hellish train journey and walked out to the Pythian House.  Now that she was here, she wished she hadn’t come.

            Maybe the Pythians back in KC send word she would be arriving but maybe not.  Now she debated whether or not she should retreat.   As Katie hesitated, lost in thought, she stared out over the huge lawn stretching toward the building.

            “Miss, might I be of some assistance?”

            The voice startled her but she turned around to find a man, perhaps thirty years of age, behind her.  His neat brown suit matched his serious mien but his dark eyes danced with some inner fire his appearance failed to reveal.  “I’m not a miss,” Katie replied with her usual blunt honesty. “I’m Mrs. Lafferty and I’m a widow, not a wife.”

            “Ah,” he said, understanding dawning on his face. “And you’ve come to stay at the Pythian House, I presume?”

            Her sigh should have shaken the leaves on the nearby sycamore tree with it’s’ force. “I suppose I have.”

            His eyes met hers and he bowed. “Let me first introduce myself.  I am Everett Brown, schoolmaster at the Tefft School across the way.  We’re a new school, built to accommodate the children at the home as well as the growing neighborhood.  I’m the Latin master for the older students.  Please accept my sympathies for your loss, Mrs. Lafferty.”

            He extended his hand to her and she accepted it. “Thank you,” Katie said, choking out the words around a ball of unshed tears lodged in her throat.  “I appreciate your kind words.”

            Mr. Brown held her hand a few seconds longer than might be considered ‘nice’ but she didn’t care, not as long as he failed to notice the hole in the third finger of the glove on her right hand.  She kept it palm down, hoping he wouldn’t.

            “You seem apprehensive about your new lodgings.”

            “I am,” she confessed. “I’m not at all sure about it now I’m here.  Can you tell me anything at all about the place?”

            Mr. Brown nodded. “I can indeed, dear lady but I’ve also left a Latin class to their own devices so I must be brief.  The Pythians conceived a worthy notion to build a series of homes across the nation for their elderly, widows, and orphans.  It is noble indeed and they do well, much of the time.  But I see many unhappy children and those who do not adjust easily to the regimented, disciplined life expected.  You seem young, if I may say so, to reside here.  I would hazard a guess most of the widows will not see forty again and many are older.”

            Katie appreciated his candor. “So, should I bolt or stay?”

            He returned her blunt honesty with the same. “Do you have another place to go? No? Then I would advise you to stay here until your situation changes.  Besides, now I’ve made your acquaintance I’d like to get to know you, Mrs. Lafferty.”

            A blush rose from within to stain her cheeks as warmth spread outward.  Katie hadn’t known such admiration since she was unmarried and as a new enough widow, she didn’t expect to like Mr. Brown as a man so much.  But she did and her feelings were enough for a decision.

            “Then I believe I’ll stay awhile,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Brown.”

            Although he didn’t wear a hat, he mimed doffing one and bowed. “I am at your service, dear Mrs. Lafferty and wish you well.  I’ll bid you adieu as I must return to my students but I hope to see you again very soon.”

            Alone, she stared at the sidewalk and then, with mind made up, Katie entered one of the two gates with purpose and headed for the Pythian Home.   She hurried because if she dawdled she might hesitate again and everyone knew he who hesitates is lost.

           

           

                       

Tuesday Tales: The Picture Prompt Edition

Welcome to a special edition of Tuesday Tales! This week our group of talented authors wrote about a picture prompt of four sexy cowboys.  My little tale is below but be sure to hit the main Tuesday Tales blog for all the stories - and some chose to wrote about two sexy gals in the rain!

http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com

            Bare skin glistened in the summer sunlight and heat radiated off four male torsos.  Elise braked the car and stared at the luscious sight, the best thing she’d seen all day.  Funny how her trip to look for a few old books brought her to this place, tucked away off the beaten paths.

            “Howdy, m’am,” the cowboy closest to the road said.  Elise devoured his bare skin with her eyes, hungry for more.  His blue jeans turned to ragged shreds around both knees and beneath his hat he had the kind of lips she would die to have fastened over hers.  But as she glanced at the three other cowboys, she liked what she saw too.  

            “Hi, guys,” she said. “I’m Elise and I’m kind of lost.”

            “How’d a pretty thing like you end up lost enough to wind up here on the Flying A?”

             “I think we’re scaring her.  I’m Jake, Jake Manning and these ejits are my brothers, Johnny, Jason, and Jeff.  Our granddaddy founded the Flying A ranch but we work the place now.”

            “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said. “I’m Elise.”

            “I don’t reckon we can show you how to get back to the highway unless you do us the honor of coming back to the ranch house for a swim,” Jason, the one farthest away said.

            If she saw much more of the Manning boys’ skin, she might just suffer a heat stroke or yield to temptation.  “I would but I don’t have my swimsuit with me.”

            “That’s okay,” Jeff drawled. “We’ve got plenty for any guests we get.”

            “Let’s go swimming then,” Elise said with boldness and climbed behind Jake on his horse.

            Somehow she thought a swim might just be the beginning and the ending might be something she could only imagine.

           

          

Tropical Prompt: Aloha

It's not Tuesday but here's a new tale.  Some of the same authors who participate each week in TuesdayTales decided to try a new challenge - a 300 word story written from a picture prompt.  The lovely tropical scene at right was our prompt and here's my story.

But first - one more detail - here's the link to take you back to follow the trail to all the others!

http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com

Aloha

A story in 300 words by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

            Long before they were together he’d worn Hawaiian shirts, those crazy, bright, loud shirts screaming for attention, begging for a tropical vacation.  He swore they defined his personality, reflected the man within but Shanna couldn’t see how, not when Ken hailed from the Ozarks, hillbilly not Hawaiian.  Until after they met then moved in together, he’d never seen an ocean, hadn’t left footprints in the sand, or splashed in the sea.  She didn’t think he’d ever held a seashell to his ear to listen to the soft whoosh everyone said was the ocean waves. 

            They met on her turf, not his, in the metro sprawl of Kansas City where his Ozark twang came across as cute and quaint.  In regional repertory theater, his skill at recreating a thousand accents wowed the would-be Thespians and captured her heart.  At first, she thought he’d been in some exotic spot because of the damn shirts but no, he wasn’t. Not unless you wanted to count the hills and hollows exotic.

            But Ken dreamed of those places in a way too reminiscent of the Beverly Hillbillies to be amusing.  Like them, he aspired to swimming pools, movie stars.  He wanted palm trees and surf   so they headed for California.

            But it wasn’t enough to satisfy so they went onward to Hawaii, to the beaches, the beautiful vistas.

            Lauren fit in as herself, no artifice.

            Ken in his loud shirts didn’t.

            On a picnic in a quiet inlet, their boat beached, she realized the tropical dream had become a nightmare and Ken the monster within it.

            Lauren walked the beach, bare feet leaving prints and left him behind, to wait and wonder, beach bag in one hand, passport tucked within, hotel in sight.

             Aloha, she thought, hello and good-bye, one word to say it all.

Tuesday Tales: City Mouse, Country Mouse

Happy Tuesday! If you're here, you've probably been following Tuesday Tales, a weekly effort by a group of talented authors to put up original fiction written to the same prompt.  This week's was "love" and although I've been weaving an ongoing story, this week I came up with something else, a sweet little love story.  Blame my muse - I just go with what it gives me.

Be sure to visit the main Tuesday Tales blog here:

http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com

And now - my tale this week:

City Mouse, Country Mouse

                       by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

             Coffee and a bagel; that was the morning routine as each dawn without fail Mandi made her way through the city streets to the small café.  She, who grew up running barefoot through green pastures, now traveled the asphalt jungle as if it were her native habitat.

            Most days she bought a paper, usually a Post or the Times because she was a city person now, not a hillbilly, not any of those names they called her when she arrived, suitcase in hand from a Greyhound Bus.  

            Mandi lost the twang, took classes in enunciation, learned to dress Boho style, and aped the fast-paced walk that the New York women seemed born to make, that twitching, switching, witch walk in high heels over grates and down sidewalks.

            Now she looked like them, wearing clothes the back home folks would have thought came out of the Goodwill store, probably.   No navy blue starched slacks, no neat Ship And Shore misses blouse for her, no sensible shoes, but open toed sandals even in winter.

            Sometimes, maybe when she caught a stray scent of flowers from a blooming window box or heard the twang of some poor new arrival or saw someone with a head scarf or smelled biscuits baking, she felt just homesick enough to buy a paper from her home state, not from any of the Podunk Ozark towns, the wide spots in the road but one of the big cities, KC or maybe St. Louis.

            Even though those cities had nothing on New York, couldn’t even begin to imagine life in the Village, they had once been the heart of her dream.   Back in high school, silly, stupid, meaningless high school, that American ritual of mating and dating, she thought she would go to Kansas City and maybe draw for Hallmark.   That had been a mundane, middle class kind of dream and she got over it, like an illness.

            Then she toyed with going to St. Louis, did go with her boyfriend, that shy, tow-headed, blue-eyed darling farm boy who had a team of Clydesdales and was in FFA, Future Farmers of America.  His old beat-up Ford truck had a bumper sticker that read “No Farmers, No Food”.   So quaint, so provincial, she remembered and he was so gauche.

            He didn’t like St. Louis, hated the tall buildings downtown and wouldn’t even go up in the Gateway Arch.   He thought they might get mugged when they walked along Laclede’s Landing.  After that trip, he went back to the farm, that heritage, Century Farm, in his family a hundred years and she saved her money, and then left for New York.  

            Now she dated men, not farm boys, men who drove Porsches and didn’t sit out on the porch in the cool of a summer evening.

            However, one morning, Mandi opened up the Kansas City Star, read about a farmer in an accident at the American Royal stock show, saw his name Tommy Doyle, that name she loved once, in black and white and everything shifted.

            Those narrow streets, those Brownstone buildings were strange and she wanted to go home, back to Missouri, back to him.

            She left the paper open to the page, dashing home to get her purse, pack a bag, and go to the bus station.

            Going home, paper left behind, city girl no more.

            Kansas City seemed small but she took a taxi to St. Luke’s but when she walked through the doors, she felt shy and almost bolted, ran back to the Big Apple.

            Mandi didn’t, though.  She got his room number from a volunteer wearing a pink smock and took the elevator up.  She walked down the long corridor, heart thumping, hands cold, and came to the room; his room, Tommy’s room.

            If she took time to think she would never do it so she pushed open the door and walked inside.

            He looked up, pale faced, with one arm in a cast, a bandage wrapped around his head.   For a very long second, he did nothing and time stopped until he held out his hand to her.

            Mandi crossed the room and took it, his flesh warm and solid.

            “Hi, Tommy.”

            “Mandi,” he said her name like a prayer or like it was something very precious. “I wondered if you might come.  Are you home for a visit?”

            Tears blinded her vision as she shook her head.

            “No, I’m home to stay, for good.  I’m back.”

            He smiled.  “I’m glad.  What changed your mind?”

            She had to say it and she did,

            “I realized how much I love you.”

            Tommy’s eyes filled with tears and he squeezed her hand hard.

            “It’s about time.” he said, in a husky whisper. “I love you too.”

If you like my fiction check out my new release:

A Patient Heart

Contemporary romance, Valentine’s Day theme, second chance at love

Rebel Ink Press (Feb 2, 2012)

 Blurb :

As a little girl, Catherine dreamed she'd marry Connor Donavan one day and as teenagers, that dream seemed within reach. Until Connor ended their relationship, leaving town and breaking Catherine's heart. Ten years later, far from the old hometown, Catherine reports for work as a nurse one snowy January evening and learns that her new patient is none other than her old love, Connor. When he recognizes her, all the old feelings stir but a few sparks fly, too. As Connor recovers from an accident, Catherine realizes she loves him more than ever and he seems to love her as well. But after he leaves the hospital and convalesces at her home, his real life intrudes into their quiet time together. Then Connor leaves Catherine behind and she stays until a message sends her speeding to Kansas City, to Connor's club... On Valentine's Day

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Twitter: @leeannwriter

A Page In The Life: http://leeannsontheimermurphywriterauthor.blogspot.com

Rebel Writer: Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy http://leeannsontheimermurphy.blogspot.com

Seanachie Stories – Tuesday Tales And More http://seanachiestories-tuesdaytalesandmore.blogspot.com

Book trailer:   http://youtu.be/Eo4Ttr_7O8Q