The Lights Went Out - a short story-

Howdy Folks,

This is a short story about the innocence of love - I wrote it for a contest a while back. The first words had to be, "The lights went out." I shared it about a year ago, but we've had so many folks join our Coffee Clutch since then, and lots of folks told me it touched them, so I thought I'd post it again ...  I hope you enjoy ...

Kessy, Saturday & me writing (I wrote this story in the barn with Kessy)

 The Lights Went Out 

 

The lights went out as just as she raised the wine glass in a salute to her reflection in the wine bottle. That's okay, it would be easier to remember him in the dark. She thought of his brown shining eyes and how they'd always warmed her when she lost herself in them. The way they glistened when he smiled. No matter the situation those eyes had never failed to reassure her. To comfort her. She took a sip and ran a quivering finger around the rim of the glass.

They say the first anniversary is the worst. She laughed. Who are they, and did they ever go through it or are they just the appointed ones who tell everyone how and what to feel without having a clue of the richness of love that had been theirs. He'd been gone three months now and tomorrow would have been their fifth anniversary…And his twenty-ninth birthday. Peter loved to celebrate his birthday. She felt the corners of her mouth curve. He'd always wanted to open his present before going to work. Peter made a big deal about everybody's birthday that's why it had been so natural, and fun, to be married on his.

A loud blast of rain pelted the kitchen window and a brief flash of lightning lit the room to shine on his present waiting on the table. The room seemed darker after the flash. She touched the bow on the box, then pulled it to her. He sure would have gotten a kick out of this year's present. She'd bought it six months ago, a little bottle of beach sand with a tiny mermaid inside perched on driftwood. A Kansas boy, Peter had never seen the beach. She had planned to fix that this year. In the bottom of the box lay all the paperwork and a brochure from the Anchor Kitchen bed and breakfast.

     

Some people are given a lifetime to share together. Some never find their soul mate. She and Peter were perfect together and they new it the instant they met. All their friends said so. She grinned when she thought of girlfriends' frequent threats to steal him away. Jealousy gripped her as she thought evil thoughts about how unfair it was to give them such a short time together. Her throat tightened, her eyes let go a stream of tears as she cursed God for creating the perfect match…and then tearing it apart. How could he? Why would he? She gulped a swallow of wine and ground the heels of her hands in her eyes, "What am I supposed to do now?" 

     

She looked around the kitchen, in the flashes she saw his boots sitting on the mat by the door. She hadn't been able to put them away. Hadn't been able to deal with much that she should have by now. Take it day by day, they say.

     

Day by day. That made her smile. Peter had said that too. On their wedding night when she was so scared she started to cry and she'd asked, "What are we going to do now?" She remembered his confident smile when he told her, "I guess we'll take it day by day."

     

"That was Peter," she told the darkness. "Count on him to make everything alright." She poured some wine and through blurry eyes asked his boots, "How do we make this alright? What do I do now Peter?" She dropped her head onto her arms and sobbed. "I don't know what to do." Her voice broke as she begged. "Tell me what to do…Where do I start?"

     

A thunderclap so loud it rattled the house preceded a burst of light brighter than any before it. After her eyes adjusted to the darkness she noticed a hint of morning's glow in the kitchen window.

     

Shuffling tiny feet turned her toward the living room doorway. "That was a loud one Mommy!" Their daughter announced as she scrambled toward her. "Today is Daddy's birthday! Can we open his present for him? If we hold it up really high will he be able to see it from Heaven?"

        *********************

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

We'll Sort This Out – Pt 2 –

Howdy Folks,

 Back in January I wrote a short story, "We'll Sort This Out" about a boy fleeing a bad home situation set back in the homestead times – You can find that story (HERE) – Of and on I've gotten requests to continue the story. Over the weekend another friend asked if there's more to it, so I thought I'd tell a little more …. Hope you enjoy. Let me know if you want more.

Kessy Saturday & me writing a story

We'll Sort This Out – Pt 2 

Frank's hand was kind. His smile comforting. New feelings for the boy, and they confused him. He was hungry and the soup smelled good. Often he had snuck away to lay hidden in the trees and watch this tiny homestead from atop the hill. Now he was with the friendly looking man and woman he had watched from his hiding place so many times. So many times he had wished the kind woman would hold him. Wished the tall man would find him. But each time the boy knew better and turned to walk slowly the miles back to the house, and the whippings he'd receive for being gone. But he never said where he'd been. Not to his father, and not to his sister. She was younger and might not understand.

"Come now, let's get a bowl of soup in you." Frank scooped the boy from the floor, swung him over his shoulder like a sack of grain and marched to the front room, stopping by the wide table in front of the fireplace. "Martha, is there corn bread to go with your territory famous turkey soup?" He slid the boy into the chair nearest the fireplace then sat next to him, still holding his tiny hand.

"It should be just about ready." She knelt by the big stone fireplace, raised the lid on a small black kettle and waved the air to push the delicious smell of baking corn bread their way.

"Oh boy, we'll have a feast tonight!" Frank's eyes beamed. "Are you hungry young fella?"

Yes, of course he was hungry, and it did smell better than anything he could remember. He watched Martha dip a bowl full from the swinging kettle. Frank took it and set it in front of the boy. He stared at the bowl, watching the steam float up. The smell and warmth of it filled his nose. His eyes ran tears down his face. He knew at that moment his sister was getting no food, or at best old potatoes. A beating for sure. She'd pay the price tonight for his disobedience.

"Go on young fella, dig in!" Frank dipped the cornbread into the soup and offered it.

That was all he could stand. He pushed back from the table, bumping into Martha. "I can't," he sobbed.

Martha whirled and held him, "Sure you can, we have plenty." They slid to the floor, she rocked him. "Don't be afraid, you're safe here." She reached for the cornbread and held it for him until he took a small bite. "There, quite good isn't it, if I do say myself." She stroked his hair and hugged tighter.

"Never tasted any better I'll bet!" Frank smiled and snared a chunk for himself. "Sit back up here and dive into this turkey soup. You'll sleep grand tonight up in our loft, with your belly full of Martha's cooking."

He wiped his eyes on the big shirt sleeve. It was Martha's blouse they had dressed him in, nothing else in the cabin came close to fitting him. He pushed the loose sleeves back, picked up the bowl, and drank the warm soup down, not wasting time with a spoon. Then held it out for a refill.

Frank jumped up, "I'll fill her up for you," and using the bent, long handled spoon did just that. As he sat the full bowl in front of the boy he leaned on his elbows and grinned. "Hits the spot and warms every inch of you doesn't it?"

The boy gulped it down, dragged his sleeve across his mouth and jumped to his feet. "I want to stay here … But I can't … "

Martha held him. "Of course you can. At least until Frank has a chance to visit with your father and work things out."

He pulled away. "I need to go now. If I don't get back he'll hurt my sister."

Stunned silence filled the room. Only the boy's hesitant breathing and crackles in the fireplace made any sound.

"Sister?" Martha grabbed Frank's arm. "You have a sister? Frank what …."

"I shouldn't have run, but … I need to go … I need to …."

Frank put his hand on the boy's shoulder, "Hold on here young fella. I've never seen anyone but you and your father around your place."

"I do have a sister, she's eight. She doesn't go outside too much. She, well since mother ran, she hides a lot in the house. She's okay if I'm there, but …."

Frank swung open the door, fierce howling rain swept into the room. Fighting against the wind he forced the door closed. "Traveling is out of the question tonight, son, but I promise, I'll ride right over in the morning and look into this a bit deeper."

"My sister."

Martha hugged him, "She'll be alright, I'll bet they're in bed already."

The boy jerked free, "It's not alright, I should be there!"

"Son, I'm truly sorry, but there's no way to make it in this weather in the dark. But rain or no rain I'll head out in the morning. I give you my word."

The boy studied their worried faces. His eyes burned, his heart pounded. "I shouldn't have left without her, but it was so cold and the rain."

Martha wrapped him in her arms and together they climbed the ladder to the open loft above the fireplace. It was warm there. She laid with him in the bed of blankets. She held him until he sobbed himself to sleep.

He woke as she climbed down the ladder, but he didn't call out. He watched the flickers of firelight on the cabin's walls and listened to them talk. He could not understand much of what they said, but he knew it was him, his sister and father they talked about. He worried for his sister. The rain pounded the tin roof making it hard to listen. Maybe, when Frank and Martha fall asleep he could sneak out and run to her. And bring her back.

*******************

To read Pt 3  CLICK HERE

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

"We'll Sort This Out" a short story.

Howdy Folks, 


I wasn't going to post a blog today, but so many friends sent so much love and kindness I felt I had write a story to say thanks. So I wrote this story for you this afternoon. Your kindness and friendship means the world to Robbie & me. God Bless and be safe!

"We'll Sort This Out"

Finally the sun burned through the heavy fog like haze, lifting its chilly, dreary cloak. With a happy gleam yellow and silver rays drifted down bringing a cheerful glow to the yard and woods around the barn. Even though the rays warmed him, now that the fog had lifted, his hiding place behind the fallen oak, a short distance from the barn, seemed not as safe as it had just moments before. There was still too much activity in the barn to run and hide there. Where to hide? His young mind wondered.

Crouching low in the mud, leaning against the cold tree he stayed put. Wet, cold, tired, he tried to sleep.

It had been a long night of running. His little body craved warmth and rest. His short legs had done all they could but now, they begged for rest. Not everything is easily understood by ten year old boys, but not being wanted was something he could understand, and one more whipping wasn't needed to make the point. So when the belt came off, and was once again swung his way, his legs carried him away.

As quickly as it came, the sun was gone again. The sky, crisp and blue a second ago, now loomed dark and gray. Cold rain replaced warm yellow rays. He had to get to the barn. He worried even if he remained hidden by the big tree, his chattering teeth would give him away.

The small barn door swung open. A tall man carrying a lantern and bucket stepped out whistling as he shut the door. "Thank you girls," the tall man called into the barn as he started away. The boy could almost smell the milk in the bucket. His belly was empty, it hurt. He watched until the tall man was in the house then dashed as fast as he could for the barn.

Waiting a second for his eyes to adjust he stood just inside the door, already feeling the warmth. A cow chain rattled in the dark. As his eyes focused he saw three cows and two horses in their stalls, munching hay. One horse was lying down; it was toward that horse the boy moved.

He crawled alongside the sleeping horse, pulled straw around his legs for a blanket. The horse nickered softly. Sleep came quickly.

"Hey there, young fella," the tall man said, his jolly face held in the warm glow of his lantern. "Who do we have here?"

The boy cringed, then grasped the outstretched hand and pulled himself to his feet. But did not speak. He studied the cheerful face, the big smile shinning down on him.

"You're the little fellow who lives over at the Clark place, aren't you?"

The boy nodded.

"What brings you to hide here in my barn?" The tall man offered a seat on a stack of hay.

Turning back to the horse, the boy tried to be brave, but fear was building inside. Not fear of the tall man, or the barn. But fear of having to go back. He should have kept running. Tears washed his cheeks, a sob broke his voice, "Could I stay here? Please."

The tall man dropped to one knee, "Why sure," he wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulders. "We can sort this out together. How about a big bowl of hot soup? I think Martha has a kettle cooking on the fire."

The boy recognized the look of understanding on the tall man's face and heard himself say, "You won't tell them I'm here will you?"

"Not if you don't want me too." With a smile and a nod the tall man led the way to the house.

"Martha," he told his wife as they entered, "We've got company tonight."

"Why Frank, wherever did you find this young man?" The boy caught the smile and the wink she tossed toward Frank.

"All huddled in the barn, wants to bunk here a spell."

"I see. Well you look mighty wet and hungry. Let's get you out of those wet cloths and a bowl of hot soup in your belly." Martha led him toward the back of the big room, past the blazing fireplace. The warmth touched him. The warmth of the fire, and their kindness. It was a new feeling.

Then he heard a horse outside and a man's voice he was far too familiar with. "Inside the house … You have something that belongs to me."


Fear gripped the boy. "Don't let him take me back. Not yet." He pleaded with Martha. She looked at Frank.

"Inside the house!" Came the bellow again.

"Be right there," Frank answered. Turning to the boy, "Are you afraid to go home?" Tears and a quivering nod told Frank all he needed to know and he turned, snatched the rifle from its pegs and strode to the door.

The boy clung to Martha as she tried to comfort him, they could not make clear the words Frank said, but they heard the horse start away and the man yell, "This ain't over farmer!" Then they heard Frank's reply,

"Yea, maybe it is."

When he came in, he knelt next to Martha and the still shaking boy. He ruffled the boy's hair and with a smile told him, "Like I said, we'll sort this out."

************

Since posting this I've continued the story ... You can find PART 2 ( HERE) 

Gitty Up ~ Dutch

"A Tale Of A Skunk's Tail"

Howdy Folks, 
 

On the farm I grew up on as a foster kid, I usually had some time to myself on Sunday afternoons between lunch and milking. I often used this time to explore the meadows, woods and streams. It was a beautiful farm nestled in a small valley surrounded by forested hills so nature abounded there. Being the only youngster there my romps were solitary, unless I took the farm dog, Skippy along. He was a great pal, my best friend for a lot of years. Never knew his breed but Skippy was at least half collie.

One beautiful early spring Sunday when I was about 12, Skippy and I set out for what we called the far meadow. It was one of my favorite places way at the North end of the farm, at least a half hour's walk from the house. Some folks might call it a glade. The cows kept the grass short, and there was never many weeds there so it looked like a well manicured lawn with a sleepy narrow stream meandering through it and shaded by about 20 ancient hickory trees. This truly was a magical, peaceful place, and thinking back I suppose the magic touched me there as I can remember several childhood adventures taking place under those hickories by the stream.

As this particular adventure starts I'm laying on my back taking in the sun, Skippy snuggled beside me. From where we lay we had a view across the stream, out over the meadow with the woods far off as a backdrop. I think I was telling Skippy a story when he started to bark. Following his stare I saw something, an animal of some sort, waddling down the hill toward the stream. It looked funny because it was bouncing and rolling all over the place.

The cows had wandered way up to the woods so it was just Skippy and me watching this silly animal. I coaxed Skippy to come along to investigate. He was a good guard dog, from a distance. Always ready to bark, but always keeping plenty of room between him and whatever danger threatened. He stayed behind me as we advanced. The closer we got, the sillier the animal looked flipping, rolling and waddling.

Soon I realized it wasn't one animal, but two! Two skunks were scampering along climbing all over each other in some kind of spring frolic. They were having the time of their life, and so involved were they, they never noticed Skippy and me. They would waddle a few strides then one would climb atop the other and they'd commence rolling down the hill a few feet. Then the other would climb on top. I think they were young skunks perhaps on their first spring adventure.

I was able to get right up on them, they paid no attention to me as they frolicked. I remember Skippy, who was a wise dog, stayed well behind me and had stopped barking. I stood right over them intrigued by their silliness, and anyone who has ever seen a skunk up close knows they have adorable faces. And the tiniest feet.

It was about that time I remembered being told that skunks can't spray you if you grab them by the tail and hoist them up. They must have heard me thinking that because right at that second, they stopped fooling around and looked up at me. Both of them.

Without hesitation I decided to test that tail snatching theory and I grabbed the littlest skunk. An adorable almost black little fellow. He twisted around to look me in the eye.

Then it happened! I don't really remember the next few seconds, but as the spray hit me full in the chest I understood pretty quickly that not all advice is accurate … And that skunk tail tale is not true! Not only can they spray while you hold their tail, they can spray, twice. You see I was so surprised I held onto that squirming little black ball of fur longer than a boy should. It was Skippy barking and howling that finally jerked me back to my senses and I dropped the little fellow, who calmly walked away, right back to his friend.

My eyes started to burn and the trek back to the house was a blurry one. I stumbled along, Skippy dancing and barking all the way. Maggie, the woman who raised me, could smell me before I even got to the porch and she hollered out the front door for me to shed my clothes and sit in the water trough for a while before coming in. We didn't have plumbing or electric in the house, so the best I could do was wash up in the trough and at the wash basin. Skippy kept barking all the while, rubbing it in.

There was lots of teasing at supper and milking time that night. Ol' Bill, Maggie's husband, said he'd have never told me that if he'd thought I'd test it. But they way he laughed every time he told the story for the next ten years, I think it went just the way he planned. I did get to skip school for a week, they said I smelled too skunky.

Gitty Up

Dutch Henry

"The Lights Went Out"

Howdy Folks,

This is a short story I wrote for a contest. The first sentence had to be, "The lights went out." It's about the innocence of love. I hope you enjoy.

"The Lights Went Out"

The lights went out as just as she raised the wine glass in a salute to her reflection in the wine bottle. That's okay, it would be easier to remember him in the dark. She thought of his brown shining eyes and how they'd always warmed her when she lost herself in them. The way they glistened when he smiled. No matter the situation those eyes had never failed to reassure her. To comfort her. She took a sip and ran a quivering finger around the rim of the glass.

They say the first anniversary is the worst. She laughed. Who are they, and did they ever go through it or are they just the appointed ones who tell everyone how and what to feel without having a clue of the richness of love. He'd been gone three months now and tomorrow would have been their fifth anniversary … and his twenty-ninth birthday. Peter loved to celebrate his birthday. She felt the corners of her mouth curve. He'd always wanted to open his present before going to work. Peter made a big deal about everybody's birthday that's why it had been so natural, and fun, to be married on his.

A loud blast of rain pelted the kitchen window and a brief flash of lightning lit the room to shine on his present waiting on the table.

The room seemed darker after the flash. She touched the bow on the box, then pulled it to her. He sure would have gotten a kick out of this year's present. She'd bought it six months ago, a little bottle of beach sand with a tiny mermaid inside perched on driftwood. A Kansas boy, Peter had never seen the beach. She had planned to fix that this year. In the bottom of the box lay all the paperwork and a brochure from the Anchor Kitchen bed and breakfast.

     

Some people are given a lifetime to share together. Some never find their soul mate. She and Peter were perfect together and they new it the instant they met. All their friends said so. She grinned when she thought of girlfriends' frequent threats to steal him away. Jealousy gripped her as she thought evil thoughts about how unfair it was to give them such a short time together. 

Her throat tightened, her eyes let go a stream of tears as she cursed God for creating the perfect match … and then tearing it apart. How could he? Why would he? She gulped a swallow of wine and ground the heels of her hands in her eyes, "What am I supposed to do now?" 

     

She looked around the kitchen, in the flashes she saw his boots sitting on the mat by the door. She hadn't been able to put them away. Hadn't been able to deal with much that she should have by now. Take it day by day, they say.

     

Day by day. That made her smile. Peter had said that too. On their wedding night when she was so scared she started to cry and she'd asked, "What are we going to do now?" She remembered his confident smile when he told her, "I guess we'll take it day by day."

     

"That was Peter," she told the darkness. "Count on him to make everything alright." She poured some wine and through blurry eyes asked his boots, "How do we make this alright? What do I do now Peter?" She dropped her head onto her arms and sobbed. "I don't know what to do." Her voice broke as she begged. "Tell me what to do … Where do I start?"

     

A thunderclap so loud it rattled the house preceded a burst of light brighter than any before it. After her eyes adjusted to the darkness she noticed a hint of morning's glow in the kitchen window.

     

Shuffling tiny feet turned her toward the living room doorway. "That was a loud one Mommy!" Their daughter announced as she scrambled toward her. "Today is Daddy's birthday! Can we open his present for him? If we hold it up really high will he be able to see it from Heaven?"

Gitty Up,

Dutch Henry

       

"NOT YOUR RUN OF THE MILL BAD DAY" - Part 2

Not Your Run Of The Mill Bad Day - Part 2

(If you missed part one please read yesterday's, Nov 14, post first)

Yesterday we left our story just about when the real fun was about to commence ... Here's how the day finished up.

It was about that time, a quarter mile from the ranch house, that I remembered how Hot-Shot hated wagons. Now this ain't just any ordinary hate, no sir. As you know horses can be funny about things they take a dislike to, only his dislike wasn't funny. The reason I happened to remember Hot Shot's wagon phobia at that moment was there, right smack in front of the big house, sat a line of three wagons. Two of them had canvas covers flapping in the breeze.

That's also about the time I noticed all the men resting on the bunkhouse porch. If Hot-Shot put on a show, I'd never live it down. And it was a sure bet once the show started they'd be cheering for Hot-Shot! ... I decided right then I'd have been better off riding up to the house on a quiet mule.

I could see Molly standing on the porch of the big house waving to me. Even a quarter mile away she was the most beautiful girl in the world! Well, I set myself deep in the saddle and talked to Hot-Shot, trying to convince him those wagons were nothing to worry about. He must've been in a hurry to get to the house because he sure picked up the pace. And I think I would have done a fine job of convincing him to forget about those wagons – If one of those big ol' black clouds I'd never noticed hadn't sent down a thunderclap that shook the ground like an earthquake, setting the terrifying wagons to rocking.

About that time the second bolt hit! Hot-Shot spun and kicked the closest wagon with both hind feet. I reckon I could have ridden that out, but above Molly's screams, and the boy's hoots and cheers the clouds sent down another thunderous crack. Suddenly it was dark as night, and the skies dumped buckets of rain along with lightning bolts and thunder so violent it seemed God wanted to tear apart the world. Hot-Shot was certain it was the wagons making all the fuss and he bucked and kicked and spun in a fashion that no man could sit out ... And I didn't.

On about Hot-Shot's tenth launch I went airborne and landed in a heap straddled across the first wagon tongue. Hot-Shot headed for home, Chester hid under a wagon, the boys danced, hooted, and yelled, "Thanks for the show!" Molly ran through the rain and fell down beside me, her pretty blue calico dress getting all soaked and muddy. With a tender kiss and soft words she gently helped me gather myself up.

I didn't suffer any broken bones in the incident but was pretty banged up. Molly steadied my legs and guided me up the steps onto the porch. We spent the day right there, Molly tending to my cuts and bruises, me dining on the finest fried chicken. Along about dark I asked that sweet gal to marry me.

That was a number of years back. Chester's been gone awhile, ol' Hot-Shot's been put out to pasture after giving us a few good sons and daughters. Molly and me, well we've raised a few sons and daughters too ... Yes Sir, I reckon you could say that sometimes when a day starts out going all wrong, it ends up going just fine.

God Bless and here's hoping you have a day as good as this!