Fat and Sassy: Family Picture Day

Welcome to TUESDAY TALES. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘mirror’.

In Fat and Sassy we’ve jumped ahead a few years. Bea is a grandmother now and a quick glance in the mirror reminds her that the years are marching along.

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“Bobby pins … where’d I lay those bobby pins?” Bea asked herself, rummaging around the top of the dresser. She picked up a brush and ran it halfheartedly through her hair. Brushing a lock back, she glanced in the mirror and stopped. She slowly laid the brush down all the while intently peering at her image. When did I get to be so old? I’m going to turn forty-two this year, but I look like an old woman. She leaned closer and examined the lines etched at the corners of her eyes. She ran a finger along the sides of her mouth and pursed her lips. Her hands strayed to the silvery locks framing her face, pulling strands out as if amazed at the changing colors.

“I look like my mother,” she grumbled to herself. “Or more like my granny.” She picked up a brown plastic hair comb, pulled her hair back and stuck the comb in her locks. “I don’t have time for this frumpery,” she mumbled and headed out to the main room, not looking in the mirror again.

Papa sat on the sofa, holding a steaming coffee cup between his hands. “What are ya muttering about, gal?”

“Nuttun important,” Bea replied. “You remember that Mae’s bringing little Patsy over this morning and we’re gonna take a four generation picture, don’t you?”

“Ayep. I recollect. That’s a why I’m wearing my Sunday suspenders, all fancied up for this photograph you’ve got yore mind set on.”

Fat and Sassy: Fire on the Ridge

Its TUESDAY TALES. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘hill’. Return to TUESDAY TALES for more great story snippets.

Fat and Sassy:

The Jones’ family has finally settled in one place without several moves a year. The newest addition, Alvin, brings the children up to six – three girls and three boys. The spring of 1947 introduces a new threat to the young children – Southern California wildfires.

Spring 1947

Plumes of black smoke billowed over the ridge before lifting off in rolling waves upwards as high as the children could see. One by one they stopped running and playing. They stood mesmerized – heads tipped back, gazing at the advancing monster creeping over the crest of the foothills north of their home.

Little noses wrinkled in response to the acrid smell filling the town, replacing the usual sweet scent of orange blossoms.

Bill propped a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the bright afternoon sun. “What’s that?”

“Fire,” Mae replied. “It’s a forest fire. My teacher told us about them last week.”

“Mine too,” Helen said. “She even put a poster up in front of the room.”

“Mine didn’t,” Bill said.

Mae shook her head. “You probably weren’t paying attention. I’ll bet you were talking to your friends again. The posters are all over the school. You know, the ones with Smokey Bear that say ‘Remember – Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires’.”

The faint hint of sirens in the air sounded louder. The children gathered on the sidewalk. Their heads turned to the west in time to see the city’s two fire engines racing up Glendora Avenue, lights flashing, horns blaring.

“We’ve got to tell Mama,” Helen yelled. They ran towards the front door, falling inside pell-mell over each other.

“Mama …. Mama … there’s a fire on the hill,” they shouted in unison.

Alvin’s startled cry rose from the crib inside the front bedroom.

Bea sat her mending down on the air of the sofa and pushed a wisp of hair away from her eyes. A soft sigh escaped her lips. “Now see what you’ve done. You’ve waked the baby up.”

Fat and Sassy: Another baby brother

Welcome to TUESDAY TALES. For our first prompt of the new year, we’re writing to the prompt ‘toes’.

When we left Fat & Sassy right before Christmas, Mae had a Christmas program that Bea couldn’t attend, because of the new baby, Evan Lee. For this prompt, we’re jumping ahead a few years. Much to the family dismay, little Evan – who was premature – died at only a few months old. Three years pass before another child joins the family. Join us today for the birth of Alvin Dale, then return to TUESDAY TALES for more stories.

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October 4, 1946

Mae skipped to the corner of Leadora and stopped. She called back to Helen who was lagging behind, “Hurry up slowpoke.”

Helen giggled. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“You know we’re supposed to walk together. Where’s Bill?” Mae hollered back.

“I don’t know,” Helen said. “He disappeared with his friends as soon as the school bell rang.”

A few blocks later, Mae still in the lead, stopped and yelled to her sister, “There’s cars at the house. I think one is Dr. Hightower’s car!”

Helen hurried to catch up with her older sister and they ran to the house together. “It’s Uncle Floyd’s car too.”

They jumped up the step and flung the front door open. “Whoa, there. Slow down,” Casey said, sitting on the couch with Uncle Floyd, watching Tom and Ida playing on the floor in the middle of the room. “Where’s the fire?”

The girls came to a screeching halt. “We saw the cars,” Mae said as the girls hurried over to Uncle Floyd and enveloped him in a huge hug. “Why is the doctor here? Where is Aunt Gene?”

A smile filled Casey’s face. “They’re both with your Mother right now. You have another little brother.”

A baby’s cry sounded from the bedroom, as if on cue.

“Can we go see him?” the girls asked in unison.

“Not yet. Soon. Why don’t you fill up our coffee cups while we’re waiting?”

The girls hurried to their room and dropped their school books on the bed. Returning to the living room, Mae and Helen picked up the men’s empty coffee cups and headed towards the kitchen, heads swiveling towards their parents closed bedroom door. By the time they returned with steaming cups of coffee for their father and uncle, Aunt Gene appeared in the doorway holding a bundled, bawling little boy.

She walked across the room, turning to show off the newborn she carried so carefully.

“Alvin Dale,” Casey proclaimed. “He’s Alvin Dale Jones.”

The children gathered around, examining the tiny little boy. Dr. Hightower appeared in the doorway, clasping the top of the of his well-worn black leather case. “What do you think of your new baby brother, youngins?”

“He’s so tiny.”

“He’s so loud.”

“Another boy?”

A worried look flitted across Mae’s face. “Is he going to be all right? He’s not going to die like Evan Lee, is he?”

Dr. Hightower crouched down next to Mae. “No child, he is going to be fine. Evan Lee was too early and didn’t have a chance. This baby is fit and healthy. He’s going to be just fine. He’s got all his fingers and all his toes. He’ll be following you around the house before you know it.”

He stood up and patted the top of her brown tousled head. “Go see for yourself. Go meet your little brother.” As the family gathered around Aunt Gene and the baby, they never noticed Dr. Hightower taking his quiet leave.

The Jones family was back to even numbers – three girls and three boys. Glendora would never be the same once the Jones’ girls and Jones’ boys grew up, but no one in the house realized it at that moment, all thoughts were centered around the red, wrinkled little Alvin, the newcomer to the family.

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Fat and Sassy – New house, new baby, new life

It’s TUESDAY TALES. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘bells’.

In Fat and Sassy, the Jones’ moved back to California, despite the broken axle in New Mexico, and find themselves in a new home, one that they can call their own.

Return to TUESDAY TALES for more story snippets using ‘bells’.

216 Leadora. Their new home. Bea and Casey wouldn’t move again for thirty years.

They got moved in and settled just in time for Mae to start to school. First grade. She was excited. She was scared. A lot had happened since the short time she’d attended kindergarten in California before. There’d been lots of moves and another baby sister added to the family.

Bea had conflicting feelings also about Mae going to school. Yes, one child was out of the house for part of the day, which should have been a source of relief. Yet, this child was the little caretaker of the younger ones, so now Bea had to keep track of the four younger children, and get the ironing done before the ladies stopped by to pick up their pressed clothes.

One night after she’d gotten all the children off the bed, Bea slipped inside beside Casey and gave him some unexpected news. “Yore gonna be a Daddy again.”

“Again! Maybe it will be another boy, then we’ll have three of each.”

Mae turned seven on November 10^th. Twenty days later, on November 30^th, her newest little brother, Evan Lee, entered the world. Now they were six, six Jones children, ages from newborn to seven years old.

With another little one in the family, Mae unofficially became the second mother. Bea started taking in laundry for extra money and needed more and more help with the children. Especially since as the kids got older, they were more active and not as confined to the small spaces babies occupy.

After the newest baby was born, Mae would run home after school. She’d stand over the basinet and talk to Evan Lee and make faces at him. One day she bounced in the house. She hurried over to the corner where the baby lay, talking to him and wiggling her fingers in front of his face. Turning to her mother stationed behind the ironing board, she asked, “Mama, we’re going to have a Christmas program at school this Friday. Can you come watch?”

“I can’t git to the school,” Bea replied. “Your brother is only three weeks old. Yore daddy is working. There’s no way I can walk to the school with all your brothers and sisters.”

Disappoint flashed across Mae’s face. “It’s going to be good. We’ve been practicing songs and everything. And we made chains of red and green colored paper and we get to bring them home afterwards, to decorate the house.”

“Do you have a part to say?”

“No. I don’t have any lines. The teacher wouldn’t give me anything to say. She says I don’t say all my words right. But I do get to ring some bells.”

“What does she mean that you don’t say words right?”

“She says I say warsh, but it’s really wash, that there’s no ‘r’. And she says I don’t say wabbit right.”

“I won’t be able to git to the program Ona Mae. But it looks like I’ll have to make a trip to the school when yore Daddy can drive me to have a little chat with yore teacher.”

Fat and Sassy: Lemon Cake

Welcome to TUESDAY TALES! This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘check, or checked’.

In Fat and Sassy, my WIP, the Jones’ have moved back to southern California – again. They’ve finally settled down, without any moves for the past six years. The children are growing and the family is becoming a part of their small community as the base of the foothills.

Return to TUESDAY TALES for more snippets from developing books.

 

1949

Bea stood in the kitchen, holding cupboard doors open with each hand, surveying the shelves in search of ingredients.

Helen walked in, swishing her skirt around from side to side. “What’cha making, Mama? Are you going to make some green beans for supper after church tomorrow? I sure do like your green beans, Mama.”

“Why thank you. I’m glad you enjoy them. But, no, no green beans for tomorrow. We’re having a potluck at church tomorrow.”

“Goody! I like the potlucks at church. There’s always such good food. What are we taking?”

“I was thinking about making Aunt Melba’s lemon cake recipe,” Bea replied, closing the cupboard doors. “But we don’t have all the fixin’s.”

“What do we need? I can help you, Mama. I like to cook and bake. After all, I am nine years old now.” Helen pushed her brown locks behind her ears. “I’m going to be a really good cook one day. I’m going to cook every day. I’ll cook for my husband, and my kids, and even my grandkids one day.”

“I’m sure you will, Prissy. And I’m sure you’ll be a fine cook or baker. We need a lemon cake mix. We have the lemon flavored Jell-o and the powdered sugar.” Bea reached for her cookbook on the counter. “Wait, let me double check.”

She opened the cookbook up, rifling through pages looking for the envelope where she’d written Melba’s recipe on. She sure was glad that her brother, Sam, had married Melba. She was a fine woman and a good addition to the Goss family. “Aunt Melba shore can bake up a fine cake,” she said out loud, not particularly to Helen, just to the universe in general. “Oh dear, I forgot we need a lemon for the glaze. And eggs. We need four eggs too. Check the icebox and see how many eggs we have.”

Helen pranced to the corner where the ancient ice box sat. She looked inside. “Six eggs, Mama.”

“Go get my pocketbook and bring it to me, Prissy.”

When Helen returned with her mother’s pocketbook, Bea rummaged through it until she found her coin purse. Opening it up, she retrieved some coins, counting them into Helen’s small palm. “ … forty seven, forty eight, forty nine … fifty. Fifty cents – that should be more than enough. Run down to the market and get a box of lemon cake mix. Then, on the way home, stop at Mrs. Randolph’s and ask her if we can beg a lemon from her tree.”

“Okay, Mama. I’ll be right back. When I get back, can I help you bake it?”

“You shorely can.”

Helen left the room, repeating to herself, “lemon cake mix … one lemon … lemon cake mix … one lemon …”

Fat and Sassy: Back on the Road Again

Today is TUESDAY TALES! The story of Bea and Casey Jones continues with my current WIP, Fat and Sassy.

Bea and Casey have given Arkansas and Missouri a good try. Work hasn’t been any better. Casey’s brother-in-law wrote of a job opportunity in California. 1943 finds them back on the road, reversing the trip on Route 66 they just made a year ago.

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April 1943

They had to wait a few weeks for the weather to get warmer. With an older vehicle that you cannot totally trust, you do not head out for a cross country move in cold, or hot, extremes. The milder, more temperate climate of spring made for better traveling conditions. The spring of 1943, a year after they had moved to the Ozark hills, they were headed back west on Route 66. Their belongings had not changed. Only the number of children had increased.

“Seems like we just made this trip,” Bea said from her position as co-pilot in the passenger seat.

“Good thing there is plenty of food. Ike and Thelma stocked us up good for the trip.”

“They surely did,” Bea agreed.

They traveled along, Bea busy reading the road signs and stomping on the brakes that didn’t exist on her side of the car. The children were excited to be on the road again, seeing new sights, after being cooped up in a miniscule house for the winter.

The Chevy chugged along through the New Mexico landscape. Casey was almost hypnotized by the road with the wavy mirages floating above the asphalt highway. The children dozed, heads nodding and bobbing.

“Twelve miles to Albuquerque,” Bea announced.

Casey nodded, as if he were paying attention to her running commentary. A loud clang jerked him to attention as the car wobbled and shook. A screeching noise pierced the car’s interior and Bea covered her ears. Casey looked in the rear view mirror and saw a line of sparks flying up from behind the car. He held the wheel tight and eased the limping vehicle towards the shoulder of the road where it slowed to a stop in its last dying moments.

“What in tarnation was that?” Bea asked. Tom and Ida awoke and started bawling. The three older ones in back woke up also, although they appeared dazed and confused and at least weren’t crying.

“Sit tight, Mother, I’ll go see.” Casey walked around the car, bending and peering underneath the chassis at different areas. Bea watched his every move, her head swiveling to follow his progress. He returned with a grim look on his face.

“We broke an axle,” he reported.

Bea held two babies on her lap, rocking back and forth, trying to soothe them. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll have to get the axle repaired, if we can. Or find a new one.”

“Ain’t no stations out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“No there isn’t. Luckily we’re almost to Albuquerque. How far did the last sign say we were from there?”

“Twelve miles. Aren’t you glad now that I pay attention to these things?”

“Yes I am. Twelve miles,” he paused, deep in thought. “Better’n fifty or a hunnred. I’ll have to take the axel into town. At least it’s a large enough town, it’ll be easy to find a repair shop.”

“How ya’ gonna get there?”

“I’ll have to walk. It’s a far piece, but I’ve a done it before. Gonna take me near most of the day. Prolly be dark before I get back, then I can fix it in the light of day tomorrow.”

“We have the money to get it fixed?”

“Don’t know. Guess’n I’ll find out when I get into town. Might use up the last of our gas money though. So, we may be a stayin’ in this part of the state until I figure out how to get enough cash to get us to California. Maybe we should of stayed in Misery.”

“Too late to think that now. Besides, life twasn’t doin’ us any better there.”

Casey ran his fingers through his hair, accenting the worry lines etches around his eyes. “Better get a move on. This thang ain’t gonna fix itself while I stand her flappin’ my jaws. Come on out, Mother. I need you and the chillin’s outta the car while I work on it.”

 

Fat and Sassy: Thanksgiving

Its TUESDAY TALES time! This week it’s a Best of Tuesday Tales. I haven’t participated in the group long enough to have a post that I feel is one of my ‘best’, and since I’m still working on FAT AND SASSY as my Nano project, I’ve added a Thanksgiving post from here.

In Fat and Sassy, we’ve been following Bea and Casey through the early 40’s as they’re moving around in search of work and raising a family. For this post, we’re jumping ahead about forty years. Bea is now a widow, has moved back to California (again), and is staying with her oldest daughter Mae, who is now a grandmother herself.

Thanks for stopping by. Return to TUESDAY TALES  here for more great stories … the best of Tuesday Tales.

November 1984

Being such an early riser, now that she hardly slept at night, Bea was surprised to hear noises coming from the kitchen already. She squinted to look at the clock on the nightstand. Three am! What in the world was Mae doing up that early?

She sat up and slid her feet into the slippers sitting by the side of the bed. Wandering into the kitchen she saw Mae standing in front of open cupboards with dishes scattered across every open surface. “A tornado go through here? And what are you doing up so early, Sister?”

“I’m just trying to get things in order for the day. I got the turkey in an hour ago, so I’m getting the cookware and plates out that we’ll need, before I start on some of the other dishes.”

Bea headed for the coffee pot tucked in the corner, now obscured by the stacks of plates and empty casserole dishes. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Not right now, Mother. Just relax. Later you can peel some potatoes and chop up some celery.”

“I still don’t know why you’re going to so much trouble for Thanksgiving. You’re gonna’ have enough here to feed an army,” Bea said.

“Once everyone gets here, we will have an army,” Mae replied.

Bea settled into an empty chair. She scooted a pile of dessert plates back to make room for her coffee cup.

Mae began pulling cans out of another cupboard and started putting them on the counter. “Olives, cranberry sauce, yams, green beans ….” she said aloud as she stacked them together. “What am I forgetting?”

“Carrots. Are the canned carrots there? I was going to make my Copper Pennies.”

She stuck her head deeper in the cupboard and pulled out two more cans. “Carrots. Here we go.”

A sleepy eyed young boy with tousled hair walked into the kitchen. “When will everyone get here, Mama?” Chuck asked.

“Not until later. Go sit and visit with Grandma Jones while she drinks her coffee.”

The rest of the morning consumed Mae’s time, busy in preparation for the big feast. Big Chuck passed through the kitchen now and then. “Lookin’ good, Mama,” he said to his wife, patting her on the bottom as he’d snitch a bite of whatever dish she was working on at the time.

The roasted turkey was filling the house with its hot, tantalizing aroma as everyone started arriving. Alvin and Phyllis, and their three children pulled in the driveway with a pop-up travel trailer right behind. Sue and her two munchkins, Dwight and Dale, were right behind. Patsy and Greg arrived before the turkey was done. Barely. Patsy lifted Christopher out of his car seat, they grabbed the diaper bag and the paraphernalia that accompanies babies.

“This is a great Thanksgiving.” Bea sat in the living room, surrounded by family. “Two of my children, six grandchildren and three great grandchildren. This is wonderful. I just wish that the rest of the family could be here too. I miss the days when the whole family was together.”

Mae passed through the room, headed to go check the turkey one last time. She gave a slight frown hearing those words, but she didn’t say anything. Years ago the whole family was together, but she didn’t recall any special Thanksgiving traditions. Yes, we had food, but we didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving until I was married and started doing it myself. She hurried to the kitchen and kept quiet. She was too busy to fret over memories from so long ago.

“Everyone come grab a plate,” Mae called out. Everyone filed into the kitchen and bunched all together. Chuck brought up the rear and filled the doorway. “Mama,” he said in his Texan drawl, “you wanna say the blessing?”

Bea leaned up against the counter, the self-proclaimed matriarch, surrounded by her family. “Lord, we thank you for your bounty. We thank you for your grace. Thank you for bringing us together for the day. Be with those that we’re missing. Amen.”

“Amen,” the family echoed. Mothers filled plates for the children, giving them samples of everything, knowing that they wouldn’t eat half of what was there. Everyone passed by the table, filling their plate with the typical Thanksgiving fare. Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, candied yams topped with melted marshmallows, green beans in their special sauce and topped with fried onions crisps, cranberry sauce, green and black olives, fresh vegetables and hot rolls with butter and jam.

As plates were emptied and people sat around in a stupor, Mae announced, “For dessert we have pumpkin pie, pecan pie, mincemeat pie, coconut cake, pineapple upside down cake and chocolate upside down cake.”

Every one groaned and rubbed their full stomachs.

“You have so many desserts,” Phyllis said.

“You know me and a party,” Mae replied. “And why just have one dessert when you can have six?” She scanned the kitchen with all the food to put away later and the dishes to clean up. She was tired. She’d deal with the mess later, along with the childhood memories that were stirred up.

Bea had her own memories surfacing. They’d drift through as she lay in bed later, facing a night that brought its own demons with it. All these years later, to now be without a home, without a husband, without two of the children you gave birth to. Too old to work now. Unable to take care of herself. Advancing age, diminishing health and poverty is a trio to be reckoned with. It is not a kind combination. The day was a day of thanksgiving. The night was a night of fears and achy joints. But it wasn’t night yet. It was daytime, so for today she’d count the blessings in her life.

Pumpkin Butter Baby #2

Welcome to Tuesday Tales! This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘loose’.

This snippet continues from last week’s tale in my WIP, Fat and Sassy. Bea’s in the middle of making pumpkin butter when her baby decides to make her appearance.

Return to TUESDAY TALES for more great stories.

Pumpkin Butter Baby #2

“What’s the matter Mama?”

“Never you no mind. Just go git ‘ur Daddy. Your baby brother or sister is a ‘commin.”

Mae ran out the back door, Bill and Helen right on her heels.

“Daddy …. Daddy!” they called, running past the barn in search of the men.

Bill climbed up on a fence. “There they are,” he hollered. “I see the mules back there.” He pointed to the far side of the field. A plume of dust gave evidence where Uncle Scott led his team of mules plowing under the remains of the last harvest so the field would lay fallow over the winter. Casey followed behind, breaking up the larger clods of dirt.

“Daddy!” all three children screamed in unison. “Mama needs you!”

Casey dropped the pick ax and trotted across the field, heading towards the fence where the children gathered.

“What’s wrong? Your Mama cut herself?” he asked, as he went over the fence.

“I don’t know,” Mae answered. “She just said to come get you. She’s grabbing her tummy like she has a tummy ache.”

Knowledge flashed across his face. They’d have another young ‘un in house before the day was over. He hurried towards the house, children in tow.

Casey entered the kitchen and saw Bea clutching the counter, a grimace pasted across her face.

“Is it time?”

“Near enough.” Another contraction caused her to double over.

“What do you need me to do?”

“First, call the midwife. Then, help me up to the bed. You’ll have to finish the pumpkin butter.”

“I don’t know how to cook up butter’s.”

“You’ll learn today,” Bea informed him. “If I’m a birthin’ all the babies in this house, you can learn to finish up a batch of pumpkin butter.”

She waddled over to a chair and sat down. “It’s not that hard. I just got the last piece peeled. So all you have to do is stir it now and then. Don’t let it burn. Keep the lid on, but keep it on loose, not tight. As it starts getting tender, start mashing it with the tater masher there.”

Casey stood in the middle of the kitchen with a befuddled look on his face.

Bea continued her instructions. “Keep a little water in the pot while it’s cooking down. You might have to add a dab here and there. When it’s all tender and cooked and mashed, then take the lid off and let the water cook out till it’s thick. Then take the pot off the stove and let it cool down.”

“Ona Mae,” she called to her oldest, not that five years old was all that old. “You’re gonna have to keep an eye on the babies. You’re gonna be in charge of them.”

Bea turned to Casey. “Ring up Uncle Shorty and see if he can bring his mom out. She said she’d help the midwife.”

Looking back at Mae, she continued, “Keep your brothers and sisters out of trouble until the baby gets here. Looks like you’re a gonna have another brother or sister soon, born in the same house that you were born in.”

“I was born here too?” Mae asked.

“Yes you were. Same house, same room,” Bea answered. “Aunt Annie was here that day . She gave you your first bath.”

Her midsection twisted in pain and she clutched her belly. Casey raced to her side and took her elbow. “Come on, Mother. Let’s get you up to that bed. Mae, keep the others down here. I’ll be right back.”

Pumpkin Butter Baby #1

It’s Tuesday Tales! This week we’re writing to a picture prompt. Three hundred words, no more.

My snippet is from my WIP, Fat and Sassy. It’s 1942. Bea and Casey Jones, along with their four (and a half) children, moved from Arkansas back to their Uncles Scott’s farm in Missouri in search of work.

Return to TUESDAY TALES for more stories from other talented writers.

 

Pumpkin Butter Baby #1

“Daddy, bring me in a few of those pumpkins before you head to the pasture,” Bea called to Casey’s back.

“What are you plannin’ for the pumpkins?”

“I’m a gonna cook up a mess o’ pumpkin butter. Just set the pumpkins on the counter and I’ll cut ‘em down there.”

“All-righty. How many do you want?”

“Three …. no, only two. They’re large,” Bea answered.

Casey safely delivered the pumpkins to the linoleum covered counter in the farmhouse. A quick trip to the pump ensured that the water bucket was full and ready for Bea and the children to use. Bea refilled his coffee mug and he headed out to the fields, where Uncle Scott had already been hard at work since the sun had peeked over the east horizon. The golden and orange hues from the tree lines at the edges of the farm reminded him of how much he enjoyed seeing the fall colors spread across the country.

Bea rummaged in the storage under the counter in search of a pot large enough to hold her bounty. Finding one she liked, not that the old bachelor farmer had a huge selection to choose from, she poured a dipper of water into it and sat it on the wood stove to start heating up.

Children ran under feet as she cut into the pumpkins. She dug her hands into the innards and scooped the seeds into a bowl, one stringy handful at a time. Chopping the huge orange giants into smaller chunks, she began peeling them. The rind went in the bowl that the chickens would enjoy later. She dropped pieces into the simmering pot.

A spasm enveloped her midsection as a gush of water ran down her legs.

“Mae, run out to the fields and git ‘ur Daddy!”

 

Movin’ On

It’s Tuesday Tales! This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘abrupt’.

Here’s a scene from my WIP, Fat and Sassy. Bea and Casey arrived back in Arkansas with a carload of kids in the spring of 1942. They stay with Papa, in the shanty in the ‘holler’ that Bea grew up in. Not finding work, Casey arrives home with an announcement.

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MOVIN’ ON

Fall 1942

Bea heard the old Chevy chugging along the dirt road towards the house. She shifted Tom to her other hip and reached for the percolator, holding it out of his grasping hands. She placed it on the wood stove to warm up.

“Hush,” she murmured to the baby. “Daddy’s home, now be a good boy. He’s had a long day out looking for work.”

“Mae,” she hollered out the open doorway where the children chased chickens in the dirt yard. “Bring Bill and Helen in and git ‘em washed up. Daddy’s almost home.”

Before the little ones gathered, the car pulled up, gave one last rattley cough and silenced.

“Daddy … Daddy ,” the three children gathered around the car. Little Bill jumped up and down as if springs were under his bare feet.

The children were excited to see Daddy. And young. They didn’t notice the weariness etched in his face, nor the defeat that settled around his shoulders as a cloak.

Casey stooped to embrace the children in his arms. A smile crossed his face and a glimmer of delight shined in his eyes. The world hadn’t defeated him yet. He had his wife and his children.

He picked up Helen, the smallest, and grabbed Mae’s hand. Bill bounced alongside of them into the wooden shanty they called home at the moment. Bea handed him a hot mug when he entered the doorway. He settled down into a rickety chair, careful not to upset the steaming coffee. He bounced Helen on his knee. “We’re moving to Misery.”

“We’re moving to Missouri, just like that?” Bea asked, a frown making it clear what she thought of the idea. “Isn’t that kind of abrupt?”

“I got word from Uncle Scott. He said there’s work up there. He said we can stay with him until we get on our feet. There’s plenty of room on the farm and I’ll help out with harvesting until I find work.”

“When do you intend on moving? I’m about ready to drop this baby. I don’t want to be birthin’ it on the road.”

“Then, we’d better get a giddyup in our step and get there sooner rather than later. We’ll go next week.”

“Humph”, Bea muttered under her breath. “That’s one good thing about not having a pot to piss in. It doesn’t take nuttin’ to pile it all in the jalopy and move on down the road.”