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December 20, 1998 Exercise 01: The Other Person:
Inside of us is at least one other person we don’t always show . It may be the 'writer side' of you. It may be you hide away the little boy/girl inside who comes out only to have ‘fun’. Maybe you really want to be a cat. Maybe you are ‘Susie Home-Maker’ through the day, but secretly dream of being a ‘vamp’. Maybe you are the responsible professional who collects Harley hogs and leads a motorcycle gang two weeks out of every year. You know who your ‘other person’ is. (Make one up, if nothing else!) Write about your ‘other person’ in detail, including use of dialogue, dress, etc. Now, here’s the fun part. Create a scene
where this ‘other person’ comes in contact with someone who would be
surprised to see you as your secret self. It may be your minister, spouse, child, boss, friend, parents, etc. You choose and have fun.
MOTORCYCLE MAMA or
I just love to go to yard sales. They're absolutely terrific treasure hunting expeditions. You never know what you're going to find or where it's going to lead you. I've found many things over the years. Collectible porcelain, children's toys, wonderfully raunchy romance books, dolls, you name it and somebody is probably selling it.
One of my little trips took me to a small home on the edge of a cow pasture. I keep telling myself it was the vicinity of the cow pasture and the aroma that was wafting my way that temporarily overcame my normal good sense. In that backyard filled with makeshift tables and a clothesline that bowed under the weight of several decades of clothes, I found a leather vest. It was too tight on me and I suspected that it was imitation leather, but I had to have it. Quickly handing over the dollar bill, I jammed it into under my arm and headed for the car. I threw it into the trunk and promptly forgot
about it. It was almost two weeks later when I was buying groceries that I
found my yard sale treasure. Blushing, I slipped it into the grocery bag between the apples and the pickles and carried it into the house. I dumped it into the clean clothesbasket to go upstairs and started dinner. I didn't get around to putting the clothes away until about nine that night. There in the privacy of my bedroom, I tried on my vest. I had been right at the sale. It was about two sizes too small. In order to get the thing zippered across my ample chest, I had to remove my blouse. Even then, the zipper fell about 2 inches short of the top. So there I was staring at the mirror wearing a black leather vest that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. I had enough cleavage showing to make Dolly Parton jealous. It didn't look good with sweat pants at all. The tight jeans were much better. For that matter, the black boots helped too. Then it occurred to me that from the neck down didn't match from the neck up. I had a definite demarcation line going there. A little makeup—okay a lot of makeup--and a can of hairspray or two and I didn't look half bad. No indeed, I looked horrendous. A wad of gum and I could have just slithered off the back of a Harley. Yeah, motorcycle mama. I hadn't played dress up in some time, and this was fun. I walked up and down in front of the mirror in my new role. That's when my husband walked in--and ran out."Honey, there's a strange woman in our bedroom. Honey!!!" Sighing deeply, I stepped out into the hallway and very carefully
descended the steps. I don't usually wear those boots. The heels are too high. "Jon, stop yelling. It's me. He peered at me from the kitchen archway. "What are you doing?" "I'm trying out a new look." I smiled seductively at him. "Do you like it?" I turned slowly letting him get the full effect. He shot into the living room and pulled the drapes closed. "Be careful, somebody might see you." I slipped the zipper down just a tad. "Yeah, big guy." I breathed the words huskily. "You." I ran my hands down my jeans. "Does this give you any ideas?" "I think I need to take you shopping." He was staring at the vest
with this odd look in his eyes. "First thing tomorrow." So much for seductive. "Tonight, the kids are at Mom's, and no stores are open." I winked at him. "Let's fool around." "What?" He stared at my outfit and backed up against the wall.
"That's adultery." "Oh for crying out loud." I'm getting exasperated. Here I am at my
sexiest and this man is acting like I've got the chicken pox. "We're
married, Jon. That's why I have a ring on." "You don't look like you and if you don't look like you then you
might not be you. If it's not you, it's adultery." His eyes haven't left the zipper. "Besides, if you look like that then what am I supposed to do? I still have my belly." "Huh?" He's lost me at this point. "I never worry about making love to you when you're you because
we match." I shake my head and sit down on the sofa. The heels are killing my
feet and the vest is restricting my breathing. "I have a belly! Well let's see you give birth to two eight pound children and not have a belly." "You're taking this wrong." He keeps checking the back door like he expects someone to come in any minute. "Can we discuss this upstairs?" I smiled at him. "Now, you're talkin'!" "I didn't mean that!" The man is totally horrified. "I meant that no one is going to walk in up there." My smile deepened. "You're expecting somebody?" He was so concerned with the door that he missed the smile entirely. "Jake's coming over to look at that tree stump." "Really?" My smile was so large it hurt my face. "I can get a second opinion on the outfit then." At this point, my tall, strong, and healthy husband almost passed out. "NO!” "He might like it." I was going to be reasonable here. "We're not going to find out!" His voice broke and screeched. I pulled the zipper down a bit more and lick my lips sensuously.
"Then take me." "They might have a 24 hour psychiatrist at the hospital but you'll have to change first." The man is shaking like he's got the flu.
"You really don't like it." I'm getting really upset.
He winced. "You look like you could really hurt me. Damage me
even."
That did it. Angry, I stomped upstairs and changed into my normal
sweat pants and T-shirt and threw myself on the bed. It was almost an
hour before I heard him coming up the stairs. He lay down beside me and whispered into my ear. "You mad?”
"Yes." I was not in the mood for extra words. Luckily, neither was
he.
I found that black vest in the back of the closet yesterday. Now, I just need to get the kids over to Mom's. January 03, 1999 Exercise 02: Christmas Gifts & Relatives:
BEST EVER Each Christmas holds >January 10, 1999 Exercise 03: Walk into Another World The rain brushed silver-gray scratches across the face of the world. It drummed impatient castanet rolls on his/her umbrella as he/she walked on the bridge. Autumn trees seemed to flame, red, gold, even browning leaves somehow glowing against the damp dark trunks. Silvery curtains of rain danced, grey banks of fog billowed and melted away, and when the buildings along the river appeared momentarily, they seemed unusually far away, wavering and shifting as the rain darkened the distance. He/She enjoyed the illusion of movement that seemed to make the end of the bridge shift around in the pouring rain outside the comfort of his/her umbrella. He/She never even noticed when he/she walked from the ordinary world into another one.
Now it is your turn: Who is this person? What kind of world did they walk into? What happens to them? (You can adapt the beginning to fit your story if you need to. . .but not too much. . .the different world stays.) LUCY'S WALK INTO ANOTHER WORLD
The wind brushed silver-grey scratches across the face of the world. It drummed impatient castanet rolls on the old umbrella over Lucy’s head as the horse took his first tentative steps onto the wooden bridge. Autumn trees seemed to flame, red, gold, even browning leaves somehow glowing against the damp dark trunks. Silvery curtains of rain danced, grey banks of fog billowed and melted away, and when trees along the creek appeared momentarily, they seemed unusually far away, wavering and shifting as the rain darkened the distance.
But, on that October day in 1937, it meant little to Lucy as she hunched under the old umbrella and looked down at the boards of the wooden bridge passing beneath the horse’s hooves. If she was aware of the illusion of movement that seemed to make the end of the bridge shift and move, she gave no sign, so lost was she in her thoughts. She never even noticed when she left her familiar world and entered another one.
Lucy’s anger burned white hot inside her chest. Mammy had no one else to send for the doctor. The last baby had come too late in life for her, and the bleeding still continued long after the little grave was dug, alongside the two others, on the hillside. A granny woman was fine for deliveries and woman’s troubles afterward, but this time was different. Daddy should be the one going to the mission hospital to get the doctor, not her, she thought fiercely. Not out drinking and gambling, coming in long enough to start a new life in a woman already worn out from too many pregnancies too close together.
And here she was, fifteen years old, and the old bastard came in last night and told her she was going to marry Everett Smith.
“Everett wants to marry you,” he had said, the liquor strong on his breath, “so I gave you to him.”
She had looked to the bed in the corner for support, anything, to
tell her different, but Mammy had turned her head towards the wall. Lucy knew defeat then, especially with Everett standing there by the fireplace, smiling like a sheep-killing dog. And her brother, Henry, laughing openly at her misery, had slapped Everett on the back and mumbled something that caused the three men to look at her and then laugh harder. She had turned then and ran out to the woods, staying hidden for the better part of the day.
She came back into the house eventually, of course. Who would take care of little John and Mammy if she wasn’t there? Livestock had to be fed, and the garden still had to be tended. But it wasn’t over until it was over, and that sneaking Everett didn’t have her yet, she thought fiercely.
That was when she noticed all the blood on the bed covers. Mammy’s voice was little more than a whisper when she begged Lucy to sneak away on the horse and bring the doctor to the house.
Now here she was, slipping down the road and it nearly dark. What if the horse slipped in the orange mud that churned beneath its carefully stepping hooves? That would serve Daddy and Everett right, if the horse fell and broke its neck and hers, too.
Lord, what would she say when she got there? She didn’t know how to talk to doctors and people like that, people who lived in bright, clean houses and never had to worry about their father giving them away like a sack of potatoes.
There it was. The hospital loomed up out of the fog, it’s red brick facade looking like a wall that Lucy could not possibly conquer. She slipped from the saddle, tied the horse to a post, and hurried to the door before her courage dissipated like the mist that swirled around her. Tugging her coat tightly across her chest she entered the building, coming face to face with the very person she sought. And Lucy was struck dumb.
The doctor, on his way to somewhere else, brushed past Lucy as though she were a post. Well, she thought, I better say something or I will be standing here forever.
“I need a doctor, ”said too loud and to a retreating back. “I need a doctor,” she tried again, as he turned back around, “my Mammy is sick from a birthing, and I need you to go with me.”
“Where to, girl? Who are you?” the man asked gently, taking away the last of Lucy’s gumption, wilting her resolve like a cabbage left too long in the hot sun.
“Lucy Withrow, and I live on the Molly Branch, about two miles up the holler. Mammy sent me to get you,” she finished, lamely.
The doctor looked at Lucy hard then, as if seeing her clearly for
the first time. “Are you old Henry J. Withrow’s daughter? I know him,” disapproval plain in his voice and on his face. “Let me get some things and saddle my horse,” he said, sighing, just like he knew it was a lost cause.
There was not much else for Lucy to do but to turn on her heel and leave. Astride the horse again, she felt somewhat better, at least having accomplished what she had set out to do. That educated doctor didn’t have to like them, he just had to come along. Her thoughts soured in her stomach, leaving a bitter taste, as she led the way back up the road.
The three men standing silently on the porch told Lucy what had happened long before she got to the cabin door and saw Aunt Polly and the two women in the house. Her mother lay on the bed, clean now, but having no need of the doctor anymore. Lucy wailed long and loud, not just for her lost mother but for the inevitability of her future. The doctor patted her shoulder awkwardly, murmuring words of comfort. Lucy, looking past him, saw Everett sidle into the room, trying to look properly mournful, but unable to hide the triumph in his eyes.
Lucy gazed down once again at the woman who had been so thoroughly
beaten in this world. Straightening her spine, she turned to Everett,
giving him a smile that would have melted a rock, so full of venom and purpose. Taking a step backwards, Everett knew then that his wife would never be like the woman lying on the bed. He would marry Lucy, yes, but never, ever would he be able to say that he owned her.
© 1999 Elsie Roark January 17, 1999 Exercise 04:Building Suspense:
In whatever genre you write--whether prose or poetry--there will come occasion when you will want to build a little suspense. The key to suspense is building anticipation. You have to lead your reader into what they just know will be a dangerous confrontation with some type of evil. You need to do it in steps, with each step taking the reader a little closer, moving your story to that final confrontation, to what they know is coming. As an author if you have made the reader identify with your protagonist, then they are going to emotionally identify with the suspense and the danger. Your descriptions of the circumstance, the clues, secondary characters and your main character need to set the mood and create reader anticipation.
Set up your threat early in the story with rumors, or something happening to someone else--refer to the mystery. Build and deepen the suspense by bringing the danger closer--a near encounter, take away the means of escape or protection, you decide. Make your character alone in the situation, or responsible for protecting others, have them be the lone survivor. Make the threat real to the protagonist (and thus the reader), and then throw in a twist that misleads. Keep your reader guessing and reading. THE DEVIL IS IN THE DETAILS
The night hummed, electric with unbridled human energy. An inky black, totally moonless sky made a perfect backdrop for the fireworks and neon lights. Combined with raucously loud music, they turned the street into a parody of a 1970s discotheque. The lights and noise reverberated through and around him, deafening and jagged inside his skull. He ignored it. All his attention focused on her, the one shining in a room full of faceless people.
The band filled the room with sultry music. She swayed with the crowd, her delicate long-fingered hand holding a champagne bottle. Confetti littered her thick curly hair as it came loose from the delicate filigree combs that earlier held it on top of her head. He loved to see her hair cascading down to her waist and reached out a hand toward the frosty glass of the window; impulsively wanting to stroke it as it fell. A golden strapless dress clung to her curves as she laughed and kissed the men surrounding her on the dance floor. He watched her move away from the men and bend over to kiss a lone man sitting at the bar. His painful erection pushed against the hard brick walls of the alleyway. Blood pounded in his ears, his hands shook harder and his breath fogged up the windowpane. His world hyperfocused on her, her alone.
Moist, pink lips formed a husky laugh, then erupted from her when the pesky drunk at the bar grabbed her arm. She distracted him by pointing at the big screen television mounted above the bar. It showed the Big Apple coming down in New York; eternally heralding another New Year, a promise of new hopes.
She drunkenly swayed away from the man's grasp again and turned to talk to the man standing pressed tightly behind. When he leaned forward, rubbing his hand over the satin of her hip and whispering in her ear, her face diffused with intense anger. Her elegant, ring-clad hand snapped up to slap him. Sagging, she let it drop limply to her side and turned away instead. Squeezing past him through the crowd, her tall, slim body made a path to the room beyond. She disappeared from the watcher's view. Shuddering, he waited.
His gaze alternated between the window and the street; knowing she'd appear in one or the other. His breath caught in anticipation of seeing her without a window between them. As he huddled inside a long wool coat in the alley, the crowds on the sidewalks became noisier; their actions more blatantly sexual or violent. Their smells and noises angered him; awakening a sense of violation inside that railed against their very presence in this world.
This moment belonged to him; and to her.
Couples often ducked into the alleyway where he now stood motionless in the shadows. They groped, gyrated and moaned against each other; rutting in the alley like animals. Drunk beyond all self-control, they rarely took long and often left with most of their clothes open or missing, leaving naked bodies exposed to public view. He liked to watch. Sometimes he followed them when they left. But tonight was for her... only for her. Tonight the dream would bring her to him. He'd waited and watched just like the dream told him to, and now, she would be his. His hands oozed sweat worse than ever and his body shook so violently he was ready to explode. He pulled sweaty leather gloves off and rubbed the moisture from his hands; running them over the soft wool collar partially hiding his face. Nervously tucking the gloves into a pocket, he licked dry lips and waited for her, like an impatient teenager on a first date. The thought of finally showing himself to her set panic scurrying around his belly. Frantically putting the gloves back on, he pulled his hat lower to hide his eyes and noticed the snow was falling again.
After eons, she stepped out of the bar, a white fur wrapped tightly around her body and the dim overhead lamp emphasizing the near white cascade of her hair. She stood under the awning, her eyes searching for a taxi. Clinging to the staircase handrail for support, her body shivered with the cold. How he longed to warm her. Soon. Soon.
He poised himself at the mouth of the alley ready to follow whichever way she went. She cursed loudly, realizing the taxis were wisely staying away from the downtown area tonight. She shivered again. The harsh cold seemed to make up her mind for her. She shakily made her way down the stairs on thin-strapped high heels. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn't fall on the icy concrete. She made it to the sidewalk, turned right and slowly moved down the street away from the alley. He stepped out and turned to see if any of the loud party-makers clogging the street noticed his presence. He grinned. Soon. Soon she would be his. He hungrily riveted his gaze on her retreating back and followed. He knew her destination-a cozy apartment three blocks away. Soon. (c) 1999 Sherry Vaughn
>January 24, 1999 Exercise 05: It's All in a Song: 1. Pick a song, any song, Listen to the words. Listen carefully! Sure you can do it! Movies have been made from songs, and vice versa. You are going to write a short story from any song you pick. Include the title of the song and any other info that will be needed to help us recognize it in your story, either at the end or the beginning of your story. RED BARCHETTA
I am often told that things are better now than they were in the past.
Technology and time have made vast improvements in the quality of life, I will admit, but I still long for simpler times. Every aspect of life has become centralized, with much of the population living in city-zones. Travel is very much a thing of the past, as the government has exacted greater controls over the populace with what seem to me like ever-tightening regulations and restrictions. I cite as a prime example what is referred to as the “Motor Law.” This law, passed a little over 50 years ago, required all forms of transportation to be cleaner and quieter, reducing potentially hazardous forms of pollution and noise, if not outright eliminating them. All other forms of transportation were banned, and eventually all of these made their way into junk heaps or were preserved as non-working museum pieces. However, I still find myself wondering what it must have been like back then, and thanks to my dear uncle, I have a way of reliving those days.
My uncle has a country place that no one knows about. He tells me that in the days before the passage of the Motor Law, it used to be a fully operational farm. On Sundays, I would head to the freight yards, avoiding the “eyes” that keep a silent yet vigilant watch for intruders. Hitching a ride on one of the turbine-powered freight movers, I would ride to the extreme outer limits of the city-zone to where my uncle would be waiting.
As the huge “turbo” slows to cross the border, I would jump to the ground and run like the wind, excitement sending shivers up and down my spine in anticipation of the event to come. Down in his barn, my uncle has preserved an old machine for me for the past fifty-odd years. His dearest dream is to keep it as new as it was when it was first made. I strip away the old debris that acts as a camouflage to reveal a shiny car -- a brilliant red Barchetta from what is to me a better, but long-vanished time. My uncle gives me a sly wink as he hands me a set of keys. I get in and fire it up, the willing engine responding with a roar. I ease the car out of the barn, and with tires spitting gravel and a slightly evil grin on my face, commit my weekly “crime.”
I start off slow, allowing the engine to get used to being active, feeling the wind in my hair. I shift gears, listening to the mechanical music and feeling my adrenaline surge as I increase my speed along the deserted country roads. I inhale the various odors I encounter -- well-weathered leather, the hot metal and oil, the crisp scent of the country air. I observe the sunlight glinting off the chrome accents, watching the blur of the landscape, every nerve aware as I continue down the roads, following every curve.
Trouble looms for me ahead, just across the mountainside. I catch
sight of an air-car, made of a gleaming alloy and two lanes wide, heading right for me. I spin the car around, tires shrieking in protest, and begin the deadly race through the valley as another air-car joins in. I ride like the wind, straining the limits of machine and man. As I laugh out loud with fear and hope, I form a desperate plan. I head for the one-lane bridge at the river, hoping to make it there before the giants catch up with me. Pushing the machine to it’s absolute limit, I leave the giants stranded at the riverside as I cross the bridge with mere seconds to spare. I race back to the farm, and at the fireside with my uncle, I dream of simpler times. (c) 1999 Keith Pelletier
January 31, 1999, Exercise 06: Three Little Words:
I am going to give you the start of your next short story, essay, or
poem. It’s only three little words…Ready?
“SILENTLY THEY WAITED.”
There you go. There’s your start. You fill in the blanks. Think about
those three little words. Who waited? What were they waiting for?
Good news? Bad news? Company to come? The baby to render its first
official poo in the potty? What does it mean to them? Now, start
writing.
SILENTLY THEY WAITED
Silently they waited. Twenty minutes left of a lonely vigil. Twenty minutes left of hearts pounding, sweat running down their faces, and bodies cold and wet in the undergrowth. But from years of training, not a sound could be heard.
The report had said he might be alone, sometimes dismissing the Praetorian Guard when he needed to think while he walked along the Tigris. Everyone hoped it would be the same tonight, but if it wasn't, then that was too bad.
Above in the cold night sky they knew the satellite would be sending the images across the globe, the heat camera showing up the ten bodies as yellow and red images clustered around the killing zone, with cutoff points two hundred meters away on each side should they try to escape. The area around them would appear black - until they arrived.
The insertion point had been made from Bahrain, and after endless miles of desert, traveling in the cold of night, and sleeping in dugouts in the day, they'd slipped across the border into Iraq. Now all that was required, was for them to do their duty and return to the rendezvous point, timed to the second to coincide with the first wave of missiles to cover their escape. It always came down to timing. Without it all would be chaos.
The first sign was the red glow, far in the distance along the bank, but still no one stirred - they knew the tricks of night from a cigarette or cigar, it would not give then the correct distance to the target, but the satellite could, and would display the distance on the screens halfway across the globe in descending figures.
Should the Praetorian guard be present they would indubitably storm the ambush; it was the only hope one had to survive a killing zone. To run away to the river would only invite death from the anti-personnel mines strewn across on the other side of the path.
Now they heard voices as figures approached, almost indistinguishable from each other in the melee of gray they portrayed. Everyone hoped his mistress would not be present, that he would not stop to indulge himself of her beauty, whoever the chosen one was for tonight. What they did know was she would be flung away afterwards like all the rest, to be discarded like a worn out plaything, or worse, be given to the guard.
The wind shifted and the voices became clear: laughing, joking, and a shrill voice of a young girl begging to be allowed home. As one they all nodded, accepting the fact she might not survive the onslaught to follow.
Only ten meters now, and trigger fingers twitched. Tonight the guard were being allowed to watch the girl's heartache.
In the White House Situation Room opposite the White House Mess, and in the Crisis Management Center two floors below the Cabinet Office in Downing Street, people held their breath, clutched pens and backs of chairs as the screens before them displayed ghostly figures in a one-sided combat situation.
One by one the enemy were dispatched, falling to the ground without any sign of life or death. There was no sound from the satellite transmissions, radio communications had ceased, but silent praise echoed around each room as one lone figure stood amongst the fallen images.
President Nigel Hawthorn Roberts lifted the secure phone to Downing street as he watched the lone image being dragged away by the retreating soldiers.
"Prime Minister? I do believe your SAS have a conscience."
"They are professionals, Mr President. Would you have rather they killed the girl?"
"No, no. Just an observation."
On the screen streaks of heat signatures flooded the screen. "The missiles are on their way, Prime Minister."
"As is the extraction, Mr President."
(c) Copyright January, 1999 by Chris Curtis. All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced, copied, distributed, published, quoted or used in any form for commercial gain without the express written permission of the author.
February 06, 1999 Exercise 07: They Lived Happily Ever After:
Imagine a couple, who have made a commitment to each other and are either about to be married, or have been married a short time. Names, sexes, etc., are left to your discretion and imagination, as is the way in which they view their (upcoming) marriage and the nature of their commitment.
Pick one of the following. Tell us how your couple comes to terms with this phase in their mutual growth. MAKING AMENDS
Danny Henderson gazed with loving pride at his wife as she cuddled their newborn son. For a women who'd labored all night to give birth, he thought she looked remarkably energetic. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and stroked her silky, black hair then traced her beloved features with the tip of one callused finger. He felt a strange ache inside when she looked up at him and smiled.
"Oh, Danny, he's so beautiful!" Maddie Sue placed a gentle kiss on the babe's furrowed brow.
"Woman, don't be calling my son beautiful," he said in mock ferocity.
"Makes
him sound like a sissy."
"Well, I'll just have to say he's handsome like his daddy," Her eyes were full of laughter.
"Much better!" He puffed out his chest, bird-like, and started to primp his thick blonde hair with his fingers. Maddie giggled at his antics.
Danny eased himself down on the hospital bed beside her and gathered both of them in his arms. He still felt awed when he looked at this woman-child, finding it hard to believe she was actually his.
They had married last December, the week before Christmas. It had been rough on Maddie because she was only fourteen years old and two months pregnant with their son. An unsanctioned pregnancy was a cause for shame, he reckoned It was not a shotgun wedding, but the threat had been implied. There had been no need for threats, though. He had been eager to marry her.
Right after the wedding ceremony in the judge's office, Maddie Sue's parents, Lila and James Carson, literally cut her from their life. There had been no words, no visits, no telephone calls and no letters. When he and Maddie had come face to face with the couple one Sunday after church, the Carson's had averted their eyes and brushed past Maddie as if she didn't exist. She had been devastated and Danny had been furious. He vowed that never again would she be hurt by the cold-hearted pair.
"Danny, do you think Momma and Daddy would want to know about the baby? It might go a long way towards mending our differences," she asked, and he was startled to realize her thoughts were running along the same lines.
"No." A jolt of anger ran through his innards. "They got no rights to you or our boy. The only mending I'm interested in seeing is your own." He gritted his teeth so hard they began to ache.
"But with the baby and everything else that's happened maybe they might be ready to forgive and forget." She sounded unsure.
"I said no. I don't want them within ten miles of you. They was so concerned with their own blasted pride they couldn't see how bad you was hurting. The answer is no." He hardened his heart against the tears he saw welling in her deep blue eyes.
"If you say so," she murmured sounding deeply hurt.
"Look, sweetheart, I gotta get back home and see to the milking. I hate for Ma to have to do it by herself." He leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her slightly reddened nose, inhaling the scent that was uniquely hers alone.
"I'm sorry, Maddie, but those people ain't gonna get the chance to slight you again.
"Okay, but I still think..." she said.
"Well don't think. You and that son of mine get some sleep. The doctor says I can probably bring you both home tomorrow. I love you, girl." He started toward the door and was surprised to hear a tentative knock. Looking at Maddie inquiringly, he went to the door and pulled it open. Mr. and Mrs. Carson stood at the threshold.
Before they had a chance to speak, Danny said, "You got no call to be here."
His sharp tone startled the sleeping infant and he began to fret.
James Carson straightened up and threw out his chin. "Maddie's our daughter," he said.
"Fine time to remember it, Carson," Danny said, his answer laced with sarcasm.
"Please, Danny, we just want to see our girl and the baby," Lila Carson said beseechingly. Danny was surprised to see the woman appeared to have aged ten years since he'd last seen her.
He eyed her with suspicion and stepped back to the bed, placing his arm protectively around Maddie. If worst came to worst he wouldn't mind knocking James Carson on his skinny ass.
"Danny, please..." Maddie begged. "I want to see them. I've felt like some part of me has been missing these last few months. I don't think they came here to hurt me. They're my family." She grasped his arm and made him look her in the face. "No matter what, Danny Henderson, you're my husband and I'll abide by your wishes, but please let me see them just for a moment."
Danny felt trapped. He could never refuse her anything for very long. His prolonged stare at the Carsons conveyed a world of meaning. No words were necessary. With a slight nod of his head, he bid the older couple to enter. He moved away from the bed to allow them some room.
For a moment they just stood there as if not sure what to do next. Lila carried a small bouquet of red roses. She extended them to Maddie.
"Roses! You remembered they were my favorites." Maddie's eyes grew moist and Lila leaned over and grasped her only child in a fierce hug. Their tears mingled.
James Carson stood by clearing his throat, looking awfully uncomfortable.
Danny suspected the man might be fighting a few tears of his own. When Lila stepped back, James reached down and hugged Maddie, quickly, then stepped back, looking vaguely embarrassed.
"I know things have been wrong for us since...well, before the wedding," the older woman explained, avoiding the word pregnancy. "It was just that I hurt so bad for you. Me and your daddy wanted to see you grow up and make something of yourself, not be tied to a dirt-poor farmer scratching an existence out of this God-forsaken land. I wanted you to have better."
"Momma, I couldn't want any better. Danny's a good husband and I know he'll always make a good living for me and our baby. My only regret is losing you and Daddy." She cuddled the baby tighter and patted his tiny bottom to soothe his fussing.
For the first time since her abrupt marriage, James Carson spoke to his daughter. "Maddie girl, we never stopped loving you. It's like your ma said, we only wanted better for you."
Danny snorted from across the room, his patience wearing thin, but the look on Maddie's face held him in check. For the first time in months, he watched the sad expression disappear from her eyes. She needed this and he couldn't deny her.
"Maddie, I'll leave you three alone to work things out. I'll call you later tonight." He started for the door, but was halted by James's voice.
"Danny, I think we was wrong about you. You been good to our girl. I'd like to make some kind of peace with you, if possible." The older man waited for a response with his gray, felt hat clutched between his hands. Danny knew the man had swallowed a huge helping of pride to make this offer.
"I reckon something could be arranged, Mr. Carson. I'm not a vindictive man, I just won't stand for Maddie being hurt no more," he said, willing to try and make amends.
Carson extended his large, callused hand and waited to see if Danny would accept it. He did and they shook. Danny was impressed with the older man's grip.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Don't you want to see your grandson?" Danny was gratified to see the couple turn their gaze upon the baby with eagerness. Giving a thumbs up signal to his wife, he quietly stepped into the hall and closed the door, thinking his in-laws might not be such bad folks after all. (c)1999 JoAnn Garvin
Other New Writers' Choice Selections Page Seven
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