Stories / rmleger.com

Fern Man, part 1

A flutter of wings, a whisper of air, and his heart quickens.

He hears a fern tickling the breeze, making it quiver, puffing out the dusty irritant.

Jonafer pulls on the leather around his waist, cinching it for battle. A flicker of light on the horizon illuminates a small spot in the darkness, near the horizon, near the earth, near the city where the battle rages. Near where he must go.

The sun burns above him, for there are many leagues between his hillside glade and the war. Here the day has already stirred awake. There, the people tremble in their dreams and in their beds.

There he has been called.

He must run. His horse sought peace years ago and grazes still further leagues away, no longer willing to plunge into fire. Now he wanders, seeking healing for wounds that are inside.

Jonafer’s wounds will not heal, not yet. They are too fresh. They bleed still, inside. But he has no choice.

His sword rests, for now, strapped to his back along with his few possessions. He shrugs his cloak over his pack, but not over his head. He will let the wind blow across his face, awakening him, flinging his long dark hair behind him, his steady pace thudding a throbbing in his head, his mind, his heart.

He kneels one last time before the brook that has quenched his thirst, drinking deeply, his waterskin already full at his side.

He turns and begins running, slow, steady. In a few moments he passes the boundary that has marked his seclusion, but he does not pause. He does not want to think about what lays ahead or what he is leaving. It is what must be. He must go.

He cannot outrun the sun, so the land brightens before he reaches it. He steps on his own shadow. His head is up and he does not see the woods thinning beside him.

Three miles further and he sees the brown line of the road to the city, coming from his left, seeming to cascade, fall into the city like a river flowing slowly through high plains, but gathering speed, knowing there are falls ahead, rapids.

His footfalls on the road crunch and he lets the sound beat like a war drum, sounding out a steady march for advancing soldiers. But there is only him. An army of one.

He runs to the top of the first ring of circling hills, then pauses. He leans over, breathing harder than he used to for such a mild pace, but it has been a while. He pulls a long draught from his water skin, then looks ahead. It is not a peaceful sight.

The sun now reveals the city. It burns. He remembers the towers that should be catching the light, but they are not there. There are instead curly, swirling pillars of smoke. The northern edge of the city is blackened, burned, like crushed rubble, like the forest after the torrents of flame have stripped them bare.

His heart quickens, but only for a moment. He has steeled himself for this. This is what they told him. This is why they called him.

He takes a long breath, then plunges back onto the road.

The sun is in his face as he tops the last ridge, but he only stares down, at the city. Without a wasted thought he begins assessing the devastation before him. There to the left he sees a massed army, but it is smaller than he expected.

He adjusts. The rest of the army must be on the west side. He looks right, north. Ashes, burnt timbers, tendrils of smoke, but no movement. That part of the city is gone.

Very well, perhaps he can use that.

Now his eyes try to see over the city walls, looking for its defenders. But from his vantage point, he can see none.

He hopes they are hiding. He hopes they are regrouping. He hopes, but he also fears.

A battle plan begins in his head, is shoved to one aside as another plan surfaces. And another.

There are no good plans. He must assume he is alone, at least at first. Perhaps others will rally to him. But if not, he will still continue.

He lays down his pack, adjusting the sheath of his sword to lay across his back so he can pull it quickly with his right hand.

He decides. He will approach from the north, from the burnt out ruins. He will search for any in the city still willing and able to fight.

Then he will … well, he thinks, all I can do is fight. We’ll see. We’ll just see.

Council Member

Council member* Smith had a decision to make, and it wasn’t easy. He’d been serving for years on the council* and he’d seen tough issues once in a while. Sometimes they were big, sometimes they were small.

For several days he’d been calling council member* Jones and the others and asking them what they thought. Jones had a strong opinion, but Smith sensed that she felt pressured, like her back was against the wall. He had to admit he felt the same way – pressed, pushed, stuck.

He wished it were an easier issue, one that a clear answer. Most of the time, Smith just needed to keep digging into the facts, ask staff to give him more information, separate the bad from the good. Now he felt confused. He thought he saw there was some good on both sides. He thought he’d heard all the voices.

Maybe.

It had been a long day, a long week, a long time. He glanced at the ugly clock on the wall – 6:35. Too late. He’d probably be eating cold supper again.

He scooped up the papers on his desk and shoved them into his briefcase. More homework. Staff had given him some of the things he’d asked for, but they’d said there’s just wasn’t anything clear that they could point to, nothing that laid it all out.

Smith thanked them, but thought they were probably just being very careful. They didn’t want to stray into the Big Arguments, they wanted to pick out the minor points, law this, law that, zoning this, traffic.

Smith knew, though, there was more to this thing. He knew, for example, the people, the voices on both sides, had stopped listening to each other, long ago.

Liability? Yes there was that. That was what Smith kept coming back to. The potential for lawsuits loomed in his mind. He’d seen how other cities had been slammed, crippled in a court room by a sympathetic jury.

He huffed out a large breath, trying to clear his mind as he made his way to his car and home.

Sure enough, dinner was cold, but a few seconds in the microwave warmed it up. Meat loaf. One of his favorites.

He went to his desk and pulled out the papers he’d been reading all day. But in a few seconds he knew the answer wasn’t there. He sighed, stood up and announced to the family that he was going outside for a few minutes.

It was colder than he expected, and he tugged his jacket closed and turned up the collar.

He glanced up, looking for the moon, but it had already set. A dog a few doors down started up a bark, but gave up after half a minute. Otherwise it was very quiet.

He tried to push out the issue, tried to think of happier times, happier days, days when he was young, when the world seemed so simple, so straight-forward.

He suddenly remembered a time when he and his family had been camping, way back in some woods somewhere. They’d made a campfire and done all the camp things – smores, stories, listening to the night sounds. There had only been crickets then. Today there wasn’t even that.

He let out a long sigh, his eyes adjusting to the night.

Just then, off to his right, he saw a movement in the sky. He strained his eyes to make it out and without being totally sure, thought it was probably an owl.

An owl. Wise old owl.

“Got any suggestions, Mr. Owl?” he said aloud, but of course, there was no answer.

The old days, he thought again.

The old ways.

Just then, the street light in front of his neighbor’s house went dark. Smith was startled, annoyed. Did that happen every night? Was it on a timer or something? He’d have to find out about that, he thought. That was sort of his job, he figured.

He thought about going in, but noticed his night vision was beginning to make out the fence surrounding his back yard, the trees.

And then he looked up, and gasped.

Stars, hundreds of them, thousands.

Why, that was the Milky Way! He scanned left and right, overwhelmed, but trying to pick out stars or constellations he knew. He’d studied all that when he was younger, the stars, but it had been quite a while. He could only name a few.

So he stopped looking at the individual stars and tried to just take it all in, all of them, all the stars, all the expanse from way past his neighbor’s house to the left to way down the street to the right.

It was magnificent. He gave a little laugh, at himself. The stars, they had been there all along, just like they always were every night, he just hadn’t thought about them for a while.

A long while.

And he felt the starry blanket covering him. And he wondered, and he remembered wondering, where did all those stars come from?

Chance? A big explosion?

And he got his answer.

The answer to where the stars came from, and the answer to what to think about his issue – the issue at the Council*. The issue that seemed so big, so unanswerable just a few moments before.

And the answers for both questions was the same.

The stars did not happen by chance. He was not in his place on the council* by chance.

There was another Voice. A Not Chance Voice. And the Voice spoke to him**.

Smith reached a hand out, up over his head, palm up.

“Thanks,” he said aloud, then turned and went inside.

 

*Or maybe it wasn't a City Council, maybe it was a School Board, or a Legislature, or a governing body of some other kind. You know?

** It said: 'Remember there is a God, and you are accountable to this God".  Maybe you will want to consider "He is There and He Is Not Silent. I strongly recommend you buy it now.

Mary, an excerpt from The Word of the Bedlamite

Mary

From the age of 6, Mary had begun to explore the dirigibles her father piloted, and her mother maintained. She found it difficult to decide which was more fun, figuring out how to fix a leaking steam pipe or faulty switch, or navigating the giant gas airships through storms and clouds. The family had visited dozens of ports before she was twelve and at times she felt she had gone days without setting foot on solid ground.

All the major ports were familiar to her, but she often didn’t go out much into the attached cities. There seemed to be no need.  Everything they needed could be found at the port villages, exotic foods and bright clothes, weapons to keep them safe, people who knew people who could get them things.

Her father began to teach her to shoot, but the rest of the deck hands helped her perfect her skills. They treated her as a kid sister, or maybe a kid brother as she fought with them just as hard as any of them could handle.

There was one young boy, however, Jonathan Tanner, who worked on one of her father’s ships but who also recognized her as a girl. They were in love, for two months, until one day he shipped out on another liner, leaving her only a note explaining that he had to be moving on to seek his fortune, or some such nonsense. Mary immediately hated him, and wept for two days.

Because she got to be so good at using a pistol or in general, defending herself, her father put her in charge of watching the ship when they’d been in port a few days, all the cargo had been unloaded and the rest of crew wanted some shore leave.

During one of these times, in the port of New Manchester, she’d set up her perch at one end of the cabin where she could see anyone approaching. When it was quite dark, she saw two small figures approach, dodging from shadow to shadow on the docks, but plainly headed her way. She intended to draw her gun but held her hand trying to understand what she was seeing. The figures were too small to be full grown men. Who, then could be approaching?

When the figures were too close to no longer ignore, she moved to intercept them and prevent their escape.

“Halt! Stop right there!” she ordered.

The pair jumped back, startled. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot, mister! We were only exploring!”

Immediately, Mary recognized, these were children.

“What are you doing here? And don’t tell me you were exploring. I don’t buy it!”

She stepped into the light, suddenly feeling the unexpected urge to not frighten the pair. After a moment, out from the shadows stepped a young boy and a smaller, younger girl. Neither could have been more than ten years old.

“Please, miss,” the boy now corrected himself, “we was only looking for bit of food, and maybe a bit of shelter from the night.”

Mary examined them and felt herself softening with everything she saw. The pair were clearly ragged, skinny, dirty, and no doubt, had not recently eaten.

In a much softer tone, she said, “What are your names?”

“Please miss, I’m Jeffrey and this is my sister Nan. We don’t mean no harm. We was wondering, maybe, have you got a bite to eat. We haven’t had anything in three days.”

Mary believed him. His narrow face and his sister’s hangdog look confirmed his words.

She decided. “Okay, come with me, Jeffrey, Nan. Let me get you something.”

She took them aboard the ship around to the galley, deserting her lookout post, deciding this was more important. She fed them, then gave them a bed where they huddled together and immediately fell asleep. She set up a new lookout, where she could keep an eye on her young charges and, at least a little, on the port.

When her parents returned, she explained what had happened to them, and she was surprised when her father wasn’t surprised.

“Yes, these kids, they’re everywhere, in every port. I’m a little amazed you never noticed them before, Mary.”

“Dad, they’ve got nothing. Somebody needs to take care of them. They’re just kids.”

“I know Mary, you’re right. Somebody should take care of them. But who?”

Mary only took a second to think. “I will,” she said. “I’ll take care of them, dad.”

“How Mary? We’re never in one port long enough to do anything for long.”

“Well… I don’t know…but I’ll think of something.”

And she did. From then on, in every port she sought out the children rummaging through the streets. Most of them were wary of her, so she started by just giving them food, which they never refused. When she could, and there was room on board overnight, she gave them a place to sleep that was at least safer than the back alleys and abandoned buildings. 

In a few months, at the more common ports, some of the kids began to seek her out. When she had to leave, she left them with whatever money she could manage.

When her parents died, she was left in charge of the ship as a pilot, but could only find smaller jobs, transporting small amounts of cargo and sometimes people.  Often her customers had to be in desperate need of a pilot/mechanic to convince them to hire a woman.

She continued her practice of protecting the children but had less opportunity since she was making less money per trip and was barely making ends meet herself. When she had nothing else, she roams the streets acting as best she can as a guardian of the children. That was how she met Gerry, who wasn’t doing that consciously, but just by being kind to the kids and by his bulk, he became a natural protector for them.

... 

[Read the rest of the story in The Word of the Bedlamite, available on multiple platforms, like Amazon,  and Many Other Places.]

Dream

Excerpt from Joy, Peace, Hope, Love, a Christmas Advent Collection:

 

And no one will take your joy from you.

I felt really bad, but I guess it’s my own fault. What can I say? It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Well, first you should know that Kevin dumped me. I don’t know why. He said I was drinking too much, but I don’t think so. Besides, I think he really liked it. He seemed to anyway. If I was drinking I wouldn’t say no. Well, I guess maybe, I couldn’t, but you know. Don’t guys like that?

Ginny and Babs said I should go out with them, you know, to forget him. The jerk. They said I should just show him what he was missing. That’s what they said. Thinking on it now, I guess that wasn’t really good advice, but I was feeling bad, you know.

So I said okay. We went out, someplace, I don’t remember where, someplace Ginny knew. I think it was a Country bar. Pretty sure. Yeah, there were a lot of cowboys there, I’m pretty sure. I think I remember the band – they were pretty good, and we were all dancing. A bunch of guys asked us to dance. Some of them were buying us drinks.

Yeah and like there was this one guy, Tommy, he was all nice to me and stuff, buying me a couple of drinks. We were laughing. Ginny and Babs found some guys, but they looked over at me to see if I was okay. I guess I was then, you know, laughing and stuff. Anyway the night went on and I don’t remember too much. I think I remember leaving the place and going outside.

Well, anyway, here I am, home, in bed. My head is spinning. I can hear people outside, or maybe it’s just music next door. It’s dark. I guess I kicked off my shoes.

There’s noises in the hallway. Someone. Someone is there.

I should get up to see who it is, but I can’t seem to make my arms and legs move right. The room may be spinning.

My eyes get heavy and I’m kind of fading. I think I must be dreaming.

Yeah, I’m dreaming.

There’s momma. She’s talking to daddy. No, they’re arguing. Again. I think I’m about ten. I can’t figure out what they’re arguing about. Their voices are getting louder. Daddy is shouting something now and he gives momma a push. I don’t think he meant to. Momma kind of falls back and bumps her leg hard on the chair. Daddy yells something else at her. He grabs his coat or something and goes out. He slams the door. Momma has tears in her eyes, but she suddenly sees me. She stops crying and comes over to me. I guess I was crying or something because she says, “It’s okay, honey. We were just arguing a little. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” But I know it’s not okay. It never is. I guess I stop crying.

But now … I’m grown up … in my dream. No, that’s not right. I’m just older. School – high school, I think. Yeah. There’s my old friends. It’s a party. It’s … oh yeah … some dance at the school. There’s Jonny Nester. He’s my date. We’re having a good time, but something happens. I start to feel funny. I don’t remember.

Well, I remember … waking up in that hotel room. How did I get there? Where’s Jonny? My head hurts, and my stomach feels like I’ve gotta throw up. Somehow I roll out of bed and make it to the toilet just in time. After I throw up, I feel a little better. I think I’ve gotta get out of there. I can only think to call momma. While I’m waiting for her, I start to feel funny, but I can’t figure out why, what’s the problem? I hurt.

Then I realize.

Momma takes me home, but we don’t talk in the car. When we get home, I just hug her and cry.

Is this still my dream? What’s that noise? Am I alone in my apartment?

But I remember, or maybe I dream, about my old boyfriend Kevin, who just dumped me. He was really cute, my boyfriend I mean, and I liked him a lot, but, I don’t know, it didn’t really seem like he liked me, you know. I think he liked being with me, sometimes, but I don’t know. Something didn’t feel right. And like I said, he seemed to like me drunk.

Drunk, like I was tonight. And that guy, at the bar, the country bar, what’s the guy’s name?

Didn’t he take me home? I don’t remember.

And there’s that noise, I think.

Wait a minute. I have all my clothes on. Only my shoes are on the floor. I manage, somehow, to get up on one elbow and look out my bedroom door. I can just see the front door closing, I think.

What’s happening? What happened?

I get up, wobbling a little by my bed. Then I remember.

We, Tommy and me, were standing outside the bar. I … I remember Tommy had his arm around me, but it wasn’t like that. He was holding me up.

Oh yeah, I remember. I guess I was drunk.

Tommy stuck out his hand, and I couldn’t figure out why, till a cab pulled up. He’d called a cab over. We got in. He told the driver something. I think I faded out a little, but then we were at my house. He told the cabby to wait. He walked me in, my arm wrapped around his shoulders. He sort of steered me to the bedroom. But then he just plopped me on the bed. He took off my shoes. He pulled a blanket over me.

Then he left.

He left.

I remembered all of it.

Now I made my way to the front room, wobbly. My house keys were on the little table there.

I heard a car starting off. The cab. I sort of rushed to the window, but it was already gone by the time I got there.

I turned around and then I saw the note. His note. He’d left me a little note. It said, “I had a great time with you tonight. Hope I can see you again. I’ll call you in the morning, Tommy.”

I stared at it.

And I realized. He’d just taken me home and made sure I was in bed. Then he left.

Did that mean he was mad at me or something?

But then I remembered the note.

I started to cry, like I cried with momma when daddy hurt her, or when Jonny hurt me after the dance.

But these were good tears.

This Tommy … I think … I guess … he’s a good guy. And he likes me.

Carte D’Affaire

Excerpt from Sea Lanes, available in paperback and ebook.

========

Roberts’ carte d’affaires was simple black on white, with his name, email and phone. Not everyone had their own IP address yet, though the email was close. He had a webpage with thoughts and stories, but it was little read. He tried from time to time to attract attention to it, but mostly let it be. They will come when they come.

Roberts handed his carte to the driver, which was unusual, but Roberts knew this driver was unusual, more than just a driver. This man was an agent, that is, an agent for Robinson, whom Roberts desperately needed to contact.

“Please tell your employer that it’s a matter of great importance, and that I was referred by Father Proteus. Your employer will know who that is.”

The driver’s face showed no expression, still, but he accepted the carte, putting in his inner jacket pocket. He waited. Was there anything else?

Roberts said, “I’ll be staying there, at the Stanton.” He pointed across the well-lit square to the tall, elegant hotel, a landmark in the city for almost a hundred years. A few people wandered through the square, enjoying the night air, drifting to the river walk and back. The shops weren’t open this late, but the coffee shop was lit, and delicious smells drifted to where Roberts and the driver stood.

Roberts wondered if the driver had a name. Clearly the dark, tall, smartly dressed man didn’t intend to give it, so Roberts let it go.

The driver turned without another word and climbed into the Rolls, driving off sedately, very unobtrusively.

It had been a somewhat disappointing meeting. Roberts had wanted to talk to Robinson directly, but he had to admit, that rarely happened.

He glanced around the square again, trying to regain his situational awareness. He chided himself for being so lax, again, but he was no spy. It was absurd that he’d allowed himself to be roped into this situation, but there it was.

He was somewhat familiar with the city. And there was no one else. And Mrs. Madison had insisted. There was no point in arguing with Mrs. Madison.

He made his way around the edge of the square, passing cuddling couples or various ages and a pair of aging gentlemen who didn’t speak, but puffed furiously on long cigars. Roberts liked the smell.

In his room, he stretched out on an easy chair pointed to look over the square and the Versa River beyond. There was no moon this night and the street lights far below were dimming. By adjusting his view, he could mostly block them out and see stars. The city only went a short distance this direction. Beyond, the surrounding hills were dark. Roads dissecting them were little traveled during the day, almost not at all at this time of night.

His gun lay on the low coffee table beside him. That much, at least, he knew to do – keep it near.

He suddenly realized he was tapping his left heel nervously. He pushed the fear down in his thoughts. Be prepared, he told himself for the forty-seventh time.

What else could he do?

The money was in the hotel safe. The diamonds were in his walking cane, but stuffed so they wouldn’t rattle, but were ‘available’.

Mrs. Madison must have known he would be nervous about all this, and, for some reason wanted him anyway.

He wondered if he could sleep, decided to just lay down, and didn’t stir till the sun came in the window. He was annoyed that he hadn’t been more careful, or hadn’t set the alarm. He dressed, ordered breakfast, then returned to his perch overlooking the square, which was already filled.

His hotel room phone, not his cell, rang.

It was the driver. Robinson would see him this morning. Could he come now.

Of course he could. He wouldn’t leave Robinson waiting. He took the cane, and the gun, but left the cash in the safe.

The Rolls moved slowly out of the city and into the surrounding hills, but before long turned off the main road. This was clearly a private drive. A hundred yards in a steel gate opened in front of them, then closed quietly behind. It was another half a mile through thick woods that opened on the well-tended grounds of Robinson’s estate. They pulled into a courtyard and to a gateway that surely had been the stables some time in the past.

So Roberts thought, but he quickly had to adjust when a tall, sandy-haired man in riding attire walked out to meet them.

Roberts extended his hand, surprised to actually be meeting Robinson like this.

Robinson was grinning. “So how is Proteus? Or should I say Mrs. Madison? It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to the old gal.”

Roberts prepared speech flew out of his mind. No sense pretending. “She sends her regards, and I’m afraid, she sent me also.”

Robinson clapped him warmly on the back and gestured to the main house.

They sat in a sun room of sorts, and coffee and toast appeared as soon as they sat.

Roberts was taken aback but the cordial greeting. Robinson sipped his coffee until the room cleared of the servants and then addressed Roberts.

“This isn’t your regular line of work, is it Roberts?”

Roberts smiled. “No sir. I guess that’s obvious.”

Robinson, clearly enjoying himself, said, “Diamonds in the cane then?”

Roberts could only grin sheepishly.

Robinson grinned widely. “You don’t even know my man has your gun, do you.”

Roberts reflexively slapped his empty jacket pocket.

He gave up. “Why don’t I just tell you what Mrs. Madison wants, er, that is, what I would like to ask you for.”

Robinson grin straightened slightly. “Please,” he said simply.

“She, we, believe there’s a plot to kill the king. The Radison Mob, we believe. We, some of the department, is having a hard time believing they would attempt such an outrageous thing. But the intelligence, what little intelligence we have, is solid.”

Robinson’s face went blank. Roberts couldn’t tell if he believed him, but he went on. In for a penny…

“Can you help us?”

“What is it you want from me, Mr. Roberts?”

Robert gave a long sigh. “Where and when.”

He immediately saw that Robinson would not, could not tell him that.

“If not that, can you help us find Colonel Radison?”

Robinson stared hard at Roberts, and the latter felt like his very brain was being probed. He gulped nervously, suddenly feeling the warmth of the room. It was very quiet.

Finally Robinson picked up a piece of toast and bit one corner, washing it with his creamed coffee.

There was a long moment of silence, during which Robinson silently worked the toast, and continued glaring at the uncomfortable man in front of him.

“I’ll help you,” he said finally, “but only you.”

Roberts blinked two or three times. Then he sighed again. “Mrs. Madison said you might be trouble.”

“Trouble?” Robinson raised an eyebrow, but Roberts was beginning to understand his host.

“I’ll do what you say, sir,” Roberts said finally, “at least, as much as I can.”

Robinson smiled again. This was why Mrs. Madison chose Roberts. She knew Robinson wanted to be in charge. This would work.

Gargoyles

Part of my upcoming book about Christmas Advent, Joy, Peace, Hope, Love:

 

Felix turned the rug over, the edge, to look at the back, the stitching. To most people that was the ugly side, but to Felix it told a great story of the quality, the workmanship. This was a nice piece, it was expensive but worth it.

He looked up out the front window and saw cars beginning to fill the street. It was still half an hour before opening, but he wanted to be ready. There was a lot of preparation and cleanup to do some days. And it hit him again. It would have been easier if George hadn’t left me.

George had taken off, that’s what Felix called it, three years ago. Just left, just like that. Starting a new career, a new business.

Ha!

He just wanted to get away. George and Felix had been partners for fifteen years. Fifteen years in the rug business and he just takes off. Wants to do furniture, he says.

Felix’s new clerk and salesman, Ronald, was adequate, Felix thought. He was learning. He was pretty good with the customers, they liked him and he was learning the rugs.

But it wasn’t like George. George really knew the business. He knew where to go to find the product. One of their favorite brokers was in France, in Paris. That broker could get terrific Persians and Afghans and great prices.

But Paris was where George had discovered the old shops, the shops that sold the fine well-crafted tables and chairs. On this one trip, Felix had left his wife Bunny at home but George had taken Augustine.

Felix couldn’t blame them for wandering off together. It was Paris, after all. Augustine, George called her Gus, had studied art in college, and Paris was like the trip of a lifetime. And they went into shop after shop of antique or period furniture.

Felix could see something in George’s eyes as they met for dinners. A new excitement about work, about finding and selling these treasures, these beautiful pieces.

Felix walked around and saw the cathedrals, the ancient architecture, the massive stone buildings that had stood for centuries. And in every building he entered, when everyone else was looking up at the art work and paintings inside, the gargoyles outside, he was looking down. Down at the rugs.

Maybe that’s what did it, he thought, he was looking down. He didn’t see that George wanted to go.

Three years.

He wondered from time to time how George and Augustine were doing. They’d stayed in Paris, at least for a while, though Felix had heard that a few months ago they’d moved back to the States.

Opening time came and Felix pressed the button to roll up the security screen, then put the sidewalk signs out, like every day. It was late spring, the days were warming and there was more foot traffic, more people stopping in to the cool rug store.

By noon they’d sold a very nice red Persian to a lady whose address Felix recognized as being in the high-end side of town. It would be for their informal parlor, the lady said. She loved it, and Felix felt glad he’d made another customer happy.

Then George walked in.

He stood for a moment at the door looking around. Felix spotted him instantly, but didn’t know what to do. Greet him? Ignore him?

Ronald started towards George, but Felix nodded at him to hold him up. Then he went to Felix and held out his hand. He intended the greeting to be formal. It felt like the best he could do.

George though, ignored the outstretched hand and gave his old partner a huge bear hug, smiling and slapping him on the back.

“Felix, my old friend, it’s so good to see you again!,” George said.

“George,” Felix said simply.

“How are you doing, my friend?” George continued.

Felix just nodded, at a loss for words at the enthusiasm of George’s greeting.

George released Felix from the hug and looked around the store eagerly. He knew all the corners of the place, all the stacks of exotic carpets. He walked to several, feeling the textures with one hand, spinning round and round to see the large pieces hanging on the walls.

“Just like always! Gorgeous stuff everywhere! The place looks fabulous!” George said with enthusiasm.

Felix warmed a little. “What… what are you doing here, George?”

“Oh, Gus and I are in town and I had to look you up. It’s so good to see you again!”

Felix gave another small smile. “It’s good to see you too.” Felix felt himself untensing, thinking maybe it really was good to see him.

“Listen Felix, I’ve got a proposition for you. A business proposition. Can we meet for dinner tonight to talk about it?”

Felix nodded, though he wasn’t sure why.

That night, George and Augustine embraced Felix and Bunny at one of their old favorite restaurants and began chatting away. Felix could tell he was the only one feeling awkward.

George’s business was thriving and he had customers on both sides of the Atlantic.

“But what we need is some partners to help these people fill their rooms with beautiful things. Not just furniture or paintings but rugs too. There’s so many homes that want an old masterpiece to anchor the room. Some also want tapestries!”

Felix couldn’t believe it. George wanted to be partners?

“It wasn’t long before I knew I had to talk to you, Felix. There’s nobody better in the rug business. I know together we can make these rooms glow. We can make these customers the happiest people in the world!”

That was a little strong, Felix thought. But then George always believed in making the customers happy by making their homes warm and welcoming.

“So what do you say, Felix? Are you in?”

Felix stared at the drink in his hand, then at the table, then his eyes drifted down, as they often did, to the carpet beneath them.

And he remembered. This restaurant was their favorite because they’d dared to put carpet in the dining area. Hard to keep clean, but it warmed the room instantly. But so did the chairs, the tables, the side buffets, the art work.

He looked at George. He suddenly realized there was another reason a room felt warm, inviting, friendly, loving, accepting.

It was good people. Good friends. Warm hearts in good friends.

Felix held out his hand.

“Sounds like a great idea,” he said.

Henry, also known as Hank

Once upon a time there was a kid. This kid liked to look at things. He liked to see what they were doing, and he would wonder, why were they doing that?

One time he saw an ant carrying a leaf. He kneeled down, then got lower, so he could see what the ant was doing. The ant seemed to be following a trail, though the boy couldn’t see it. Sometimes the trail zigged or zagged, but the ant kept moving. Once another ant came the other way on the trail and the two ants stopped and touched, like they were telling each other something. The boy wondered what they were saying. He leaned in closer, but he couldn’t hear anything. Finally the ant, still carrying the heavy load, went under a brick and the boy couldn’t follow it anymore.

He got up and brushed himself off, a little annoyed that he couldn’t see what the ant did with the leaf. He went inside the house and asked his mom, “Mom, why do ants carry leaves?”

The mom was wiping off the kitchen counter top after having washed the dishes, but she looked at her son and saw that he was really wondering about the ant.

She said, “Which ant?”

He said, “What?

“Which ant? I don’t know what that ant was doing because I don’t know who he was. What do you think he was doing?”

The boy wrinkled up his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “How could I know?”

The mother smiled at him and with one finger tapped gently on his forehead. “You’ve got to think,” she said. “Maybe you don’t know what this ant was doing, but I bet you could tell me about another ant, an ant named … “ she paused, waiting for him to tell her.

“Oh, Henry,” the boy said. “The ant’s name is Henry.” This was important because the boy’s name was Henry, though everyone called him Hank.

“Okay,” the mom said, “why don’t you figure out a story that tells me what Henry did with his leaf.”

The boy, Hank, sighed, then said, “Well … okay.”

So he went to his room and starting thinking about Henry the ant. He played with some of his toys, his rocket ship and his tanker truck, but he kept thinking about Henry.

After a while he came back and saw his mom was doing something with the laundry.

“Mom, mom, I know what Henry did with the leaf!”

Mom blinked for a second, then remembered. She put down the clothes and went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Hank jumped up next to her.

“Okay, tell me,” she said.

And Henry, Hank, told her about how Henry the ant was building a boat, and he needed the leaf to make a sail. As soon as the boat was finished, Henry the ant said goodbye to all his friends and sailed out on the ocean. There was a big storm, but Henry held on and the wind pushed him to a desert island where there was this one big palm tree and a bunch of crabs on the beach and there was this lady ant who was in the middle of the island with one of her feet stuck in the mud, so Henry went to help her. He pulled and pulled and got her out of the mud and they sailed away and then they sailed home and they got married.”

Mom smiled. “Ah,” she said, “so that’s what happened to Henry. That’s why he needed that leaf.”

“Yup,” said Henry, the boy, “that’s it. Thanks, mom, now I know why ants carry leaves.”

Mom held up one finger.

Henry corrected himself. “Oh I mean, now I know why one ant carried a leaf.”

Mom nodded.

“I guess it depends what the ant’s name is, huh, mom.”

“Yes, I guess so,” she said.

Books available on multiple platforms

So excited. Now have three books moving to multiple platforms, at least in ebook form. So all those Barnes & Noble, and Apple fans have access too. Yippee!

Mirrored Memories

Sky Trails

Tracks

 

The Professor

From the upcoming revision of my Advent book, Joy, Peace, Hope, Love, the story of The Professor:

This I call to mind, and therefore I have hope.

Doctor Benjamin scooped up the remaining ungraded exam papers from his desk and stuffed them into an envelope and then into his bulging briefcase. It was past 6 and he didn’t want to keep Diane, his wife, waiting any longer than usual.

He draped his overcoat on his arm and closed his office door behind him. On the long corridor walk to the parking lot he saw Dr. Smythe and Dr. Lattimer. They nodded briefly, but there was no smile, just a cold look.

A number of students noticed him and waved. One called out, “Hey, Dr. B!” Joseph Benjamin smiled back and lifted his briefcase as a kind of wave. The kids smiled at the gesture – he was always working!

He thought again how he could tell Diane about the letter from the tenure review board. Turned down again. This was the third time, and though his lowered expectations helped him weather the disappointment, he wasn’t sure how Diane would take it.

Well, there was always next year. And then again, maybe he should think again about some of the other colleges out there. One Christian college in the Midwest and one in California seemed interesting. He’d have to ask Diane. Again.

In the meantime there was plenty to do here. This was a secular college and he was teaching the classics. The kids seemed to like the studies, and heaven knew they needed grounding in some of the fundamental, most thoughtful works of mankind. As he often reminded them, they weren’t the first to arrive on the planet. They needed to find their place among some of the great thinkers and the great thoughts.

Driving home, he sighed. Probably another hour and a half of grading papers, wouldn’t hurt to glance at tomorrow’s lesson plans again. Thankfully, Diane was content to have dinners and most of the weekend with him. And she liked to sit in the living room reading or knitting, with the door open to his study so she could look up from time to time and smile at him. Sometimes she fake-coughed and cleared her throat to get his attention. He loved it.

The knitting was because of the impending disruption to the household – the baby.

As he collected his stuff and went in he grinned at seeing her near the door, belly starting to bulge. He dropped everything just inside the door and scooped her up with a huge hug and kiss.

“Hey honey,” she was finally able to get out, “dinner’s almost ready – meat loaf.”

He smiled, gave her another little kiss, and dropped his stuff in his study. He washed up and joined her in the kitchen.

Before he could set up the subject, she said, “Did you hear from the tenure board today?”

A long sigh. “Yeah. Not this time.”

A frown wrinkled her brow. “Those guys better get their act together! Don’t they know what they’ve got?”

He sighed again. Hearing it from her broke down his defenses a little. “Yeah, they know. They’ve got a workhorse, grading papers every night, trying to keep the hooligans from overturning the applecart in every class…” He trailed off.

She got another look on her face. A mild scold.

“I know, I know,” he said. “They’re not that bad. Truth is, I guess most of the time, I’m the hooligan!”

“As I’ve often said,” she grinned back.

They sat and ate, chatting about not much in particular, though often the conversation drifted to baby things – how was she feeling (pretty good), did she talk to her mom about the baby (mom couldn’t wait), did it look like they needed anything else for the nursery (they couldn’t possibly put anything else in there).

Joseph cleared the plates and started the dishwasher. Diane often protested, but not today. She was glad to put her feet up while he finished.

She sat on the couch and grabbed her book – this time a thriller. He gave her a little kiss on the way to his study. He unpacked everything and got to work. It was a bit mind-numbing and he felt part of this mind drifting.

Drifting off to the letter from the board.

He knew what the problem was. Same as usual. In among the classics he always insisted on teaching about some of foundational elements that the early Christian leaders had taught.  Paul, Aquinas, the Gospels. That irked the department heads no end. They had their agendas and pushed them hard.

Thing was, Joseph knew better. He knew the kids needed grounding in bedrock truth. It would be only there they would be able to stand steady against the wash of whatever the latest trendy fad was.

But it meant he was rarely invited to the other faculty’s homes. The Christmas Party sure, but that was about required. It was the little get-togethers, the tennis games, the trips to the department head’s summer home. Those unsent invitations stung, somehow.

He bent over the exams, checking with a red pencil on the errors. Not too bad for this group, he thought. Guess he was getting through.

A bit more than an hour later he finished, stuffed everything back in his briefcase and went out to join Diane. He always shut his study door behind him, as a way to sort of get away from all that.

He sat beside her on the couch and while she usually dropped her book right away, this time she held up one finger. Wait a minute, it meant. This was a good part.

He smiled, loving how she got into her books. A little jealous he couldn’t join her.

Suddenly he had a thought. “Read to me, honey. What’s going on?”

She blinked, grinned, and then immediately dove into the narrative, dramatically acting out the scene and all the characters. 

He had no idea where in the story all those things fit, but, he suddenly realized, it didn’t matter one bit.

He adjusted his position on the couch, and leaned in, letting her enthusiasm wash over him.

It was wonderful.

The Stars Are Signs

Excerpt from upcoming novel:

The stars  are signs. That’s their purpose.

Mud leaned back from the eyepiece and stretched his back, stiffening up in the cool night air. Fortunately the moon had set hours before and the sky was equal parts deep black and splashed with thousands of spilled diamonds. It was hard to concentrate on just one object on a night like this, though – he chuckled to himself – that was made easier by the pain it was to program the telescope, and then wait for the dome and the scope to align correctly.

His colleague had been willing to grant him the time, however, because the school was hurting just now, leaned out by budget cuts, threats of nasty winter weather, and the newer, more powerful scope that just started working at the university in the east part of the state. Mud was glad the novelty was still elsewhere. This scope, nearly forty years old, was still excellent. Mud had read how the mirror grinders were the famous Zalinsky brothers, master craftsmen and zealots about their work.

He took a quick sip from his thermos, careful to turn his head so his warm breath wouldn’t fog the lens even for a few seconds.

He leaned in again, adjusting his eyes to focus on the upper right quadrant, where the computer had told him there might be something. He tracked from the bright star in the upper right, then left, then down in a triangle pattern.

In the middle of this area there should be a smaller star, and if the calculations were correct, transiting across its face was …

He saw it!

Little more than a crescent shadow, a bite out of the star’s whiteness.

He held his breath, focusing, wanting to make sure, but there could be no doubt. There was the massive shape that the computer had posited might be a planet.

He grinned, then double checked and triple checked his settings. Yes, exactly right. He recorded all his data.

Well, that felt good, he thought. I’ve discovered a planet. A minor planet to be sure, but, as far as he could tell, one that no one had ever seen before. That meant, he grinned again, that he could name it.

He’d thought about it. He would call it RoseZalinsky, after his wife and the Zalinsky boys. Seemed only fair. That would take a while to be official, of course, after the Minor Planet Center gave it a number, and he’d gone through the whole process, but he’d always remember it by his pet name.