A Hard Road to Travel -- Part 6

The writing has come to a stand still.   I am holding my breathe as I prepare to hear the first round of comments from my five readers on my book.   I've already been reworking the first chapter.   It's interesting to look at it again.   It's been about 4 or 5 weeks since last I read it.

In the meantime, here's another the newest part of A Hard Road to Travel: The Letters of Two Sisters.

 

March 20

 

Indianapolis, Indiana

 

Dear Marianne

 

Hope all is well.   We are doing fine.  It's actually been warm the past few days -- highs in the low 50s.   Snow's starting to melt.   And the tulips are starting to come up.  Our utility bill runs about $60 a month -- that's for the electric, water, and wood delivery.   We were told about 2 months ago that the gas lines would be back up and running.   Now that everything is controlled by the city, it seems to be cheaper.   It used to be about $140 for two different services -- electric and wood -- but now the council ordered they be combined which lead to lots of issues.   We're lucky in a way that we are moving forward into a more communal situation especially after last year when the riots hit.  About 120 people were killed. We stayed inside and kept watch at night.  What a mess that was.   Finally, the mayor and governor called in the national guard.  That's when the "the fences" went up and ids were required.  Lots of scammers "disappeared" -- or at least that's what we heard.

 

Gotta go.  Write soon.  Love to all.

 

Sally

 

*****

 

March 25

 

Keene, New Hampshire

 

Dear Sal

 Good to hear all is well.  Snow is melting here.   The temps have gotten up into the 50s and plenty of sunshine.   Great news -- we heard about our applications.  They have been approved for us to move there.   It will not be until May.   We broke the news to Mama and she is very excited.   She will be glad to be back in Indy.   Let us know about the apartment situation there.  Our next hoop will be applying for gas.  I wished we would have bought one of the electric cars when we had the chance.  Oh well.

 

Anyway, gotta go. 

Love Marianne

Changes to come

After much consideration, I will be changing the title and web address of my blog.   Not to worry, I will keep you posted when I come up with the new names.   Since the my book is The Fingerprint of Jack and the blog hasn't really focused on it, I think it would be better to change the title and web address.

Plus as I mentioned in a previous post, the sequel has a completely different name, plus the short stories on here are more for an adult audience (even though adults love kids books too)...

It just gets complicated.  

As the month of March nears an end, my critics should be almost near the end of my book.   I am hoping for some great comments as well as some honest criticisms.  

A Hard Road to Travel -- Part 5

This multi-part short story fascinates me.   I got the idea from wondering what life would be like after some major national, yet natural, disaster.   Somehow, I just couldn't picture mass destruction.   Too heart-breaking.   One of my favorite writing styles are letters, like de Loclos' Les Liaisons Dangereuses.   I think this type of writing style allows for more imagination.

 

Enjoy!

 

 

A Hard Road to Travel -- Part 5

 

March 7

Indianapolis, Indiana

 

Dear Marianne,

 

Hope all is well and the winter hasn't been too bad.  The winter here has been a little rough.  They say we're having a harder winter because we're getting "lake effect snows" from the new lakes.   We had 3 feet of snow and the temperatures were below freezing for several days.  The kids stayed home from school for 4 days.   I got out all of Grandma's knitting needles and Janet and I are knitting.   We got lots of yarn a couple of weeks ago when we went shopping.  

Do you remember me writing about Karen and Jack, the dentist?  They left several weeks ago and arrived in Reno.   I got a letter from Karen.   She said the trip was long.   The railroad out of Chicago has reconnected with several cities -- Sioux Falls and Des Moines -- she mentioned they have lots of lake front property in those areas now.  She ran into an old friend of hers from Little Rock -- also now has lots of lake front property.   The friend said that Missouri, Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama are mainly gone.  St. Louis for the most part is under water.   She said the arch literally sank into the ground along with most of the city.  She found an article in the Chicago Trib while they were there where scientists thought that the quake caused more sinking than actually shaking.

 

Well, anyway.  I have to go.  I write soon.

Love Sal

 

****

 

March 15

 

Keene, New Hampshire

 

Dear Sal

 

 All is well here except for the 6 feet of snow, but the temps have been about 30.  Mama got a letter from a friend whose visiting in Florida.  She says not much has changed down there except the water levels at the beaches.  Says the beaches out into the gulf about half mile further out.   Her friend told her when the whole area sank it sucked all the water out of the gulf and at first they were about a mile out, but the water level has come back up. 

I was going to ask you about the utility bills there and how much they run.  I've been waiting for a response about our applications.  I haven't heard anything yet.   We have someone interested in buying the house, so we just have to wait.

 

Love Marianne

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan, a stately pleasure-dome decree...

After taking a short break from writing, I am back to it!  

The sequel to my first book, which has yet to be published, is pouring out of my brain onto the electronic pages of my computer.    At first, I thought "I'll never be able to match what I did with the first book...", well, now I'm worried that I may have too much!

Finally I wrote a short blurb about my book, but still have yet to give up any chapters here.  That copyright fear keeps rearing it's head.    I just know you are all waiting patiently!  Anyway, here's the blurb --

"Eleven-year old Sam Henry had no idea how mysterious Mrs. Lottie Steers was when he and his Mom rented an apartment from her.  An old newspaper with a single fingerprint, a book of spells, and a group of unique characters take Sam on an extraordinary trip back in time to come face to face with one of history's most notorious serial killer.  What Sam didn't realize was he would find himself involved in a bigger mystery to help save time..."

Some of my short stories keep waiting for me to finish them --
What really happened in the plains of the now physically divided United States?   Sally and Marianne need to keep those letters coming...  Not to mention, the story I call The Stone Throwers Club...  Or even other partially-outlined books that keep flowing from somewhere in my imagination!

I need a millionaire to take care of me, so I can stay home and write!  

Happy Valentine's Day!

The Next Book and Other Projects

Book Two, a.k.a. The Sequel to The Fingerprint of Jack, is now rolling.   I have outlined some chapters and, like its predecessor, I can tell that it will grow... and grow... and grow! 

I also had a revelation.  At first, I couldn't get past the idea that no one is going to like the book.  Something just kept dragging me into that thought pattern.   Then it hit me and I said to myself...   "You are telling a good story...  That's all that matters!"   That did it!   I gained about a zillion percent in the confidence level.

Anyway...
I am now starting other projects -- some great story ideas, both long and short.   Keep reading, if you're out there, but also be patient.   I am aiming for better writing.

First half of the book...

I have completed the first half of my book... maybe... unless I sit down and start re-reading and decide to change something or add more...  The whole story  and my main characters, Sam and Mrs. Steers, have taken on lives of their own.   When I started, I had no plans for a book.  A short story was all I had in mind. 

How about a brief glimpse of my book?

When Sam Henry and his Mom move into a small apartment which is part of a larger home owned by Mrs. Lottie Steers, local writer and historian.   One day, Sam makes an interesting discovery in the attic -- a newspaper supposedly have the only known fingerprint of London's most famous serial killer.   This one discovery sends Sam and Mrs. Steers into the past... only for Sam to become involved in a larger mystery.

A Hard Road to Travel: The Letters of Two Sisters -- Part 3

A Hard Road to Travel: The Letters of Two Sisters -- Part 3

February 17

Indianapolis, Indiana

Good news, Marianne!   I mentioned to the head of the apartment building that you might be moving here.  She wanted to know what you do for a living.  When she found out you were a former decorator and gardener, she got very excited.  Apparently, there is a need for people with your knowledge in the area.   She said when you fill out the applications to get in, you should put us down as well as the open apartment.  There may be another one opening up soon.   Karen and Jack may be moving to Reno, Nevada.  Jack is a dentist and they are in need of them there.   Karen said if they go, it would take them 2 weeks to get there.   Travel across the Mississippi lakes can be difficult.  Stuff keeps floating up.   I heard the other day that part of the St. Louis arch is now sticking up about 25 feet and that means the water level has gone down.   They'd been tracking it for about four months and the water has stayed down.  I'm amazed it didn't collapse.

Well, gotta go.  Another class at the library -- more on canning and preserving.  Give the kids hugs and kisses from me.

Love, Sal

**** 

February 20

Keene, New Hampshire

Well, this was a surprise.  I just got your letter.  It only took a few days unlike a few weeks ago when it could take up to several weeks.   The postal system has started to come back together and a lot of the individual postmen have organized again.  Plus there's talk about a structured charge system again.  Anyway, I'm writing back asap to see how long it takes for you to get this.  

Interesting about the arch.  I thought they said nothing in that area survived.  Mama still wonders about her cousins there.  We finally had 'the talk' -- they probably never made it since the quake hit so fast.

Write when you can. 

Love, M

Back in the Saddle Again

It's been two since I last looked at my book.   Next week, I hope to return to it.   In the meantime, I did revise my short story, The Piano Teacher.   I see some short story contests in the future with that one.

Let me know what you think of it!   I'm always looking for constructive criticism.

Coming to an End and a Beginning

Goodbye 2011!

The New Year is upon us.    

The year 2011 has signaled a new challenge for me -- writing.   My therapy.  My cleansing of the soul.  My creative outlet.   My goal is to make 2012 all about writing -- the craft, character and plot development, vocabulary building, different styles of narration, etc...   I hope to take a few classes this next year as well.

I have new short stories in the works.   As part of my new year's resolutions, I am planning to edit/revise/expand my previous short stories.

In regards to my book, I am almost done editing the second half.   The editing process feels more like writing than the initial process of getting the chapters and storyline written.

 Hello 2012!

The Piano Teacher -- Part Five

And now the final part of...

The Piano Teacher -- Part Five

"That is correct.  Now let's play it again..."  The nimble fingers of Sarah Hart glided over the ivories perfectly. 

"Sarah, that was excellent."   Frances praised her 10-year old student.  David and Angela sat quietly in the back of the room watching.

David whispered.  "Looks like this one will be spared the Mozart whack."  Angela agreed with a nod.

"That will be all for today.  Keep practicing the pieces that I gave you and I will see you next week."  Sarah gave Frances a hug and said goodbye.   Frances was bright and happy.

"Frances," called Angela.  She and David walked over to her.

"Good morning, Angela.  And you are...  Oh wait, you're David.  I meet you the other day."

"It's good to see you again, Ms. Fitzherld."

"Please call me Frances."   David was surprised at the completely different composure from their previous meeting.

"David wants to talk with you about your music.  He wants to record your playing and make it available to everyone."

Frances' eyes lite up with delight.  "Oh... that would be wonderful.   Will you be using Edison cylinders?  We have one at home."

"Well, no, we'll use something like a gramophone to record them."

"Oh... whatever.  I'm just excited about my music being enjoyed." 

 David and Angela both thanked her and left just as her next student, Johnny Watkins entered the room.

"As you can see, she is very different today," said Angela.

"Yes, I noticed that.   Well, I will be back in a few weeks with my recording devices and we begin."

David shook Angela's hand and they parted company.

The Piano Teacher -- Part Four

The Piano Teacher -- Part Four

"August 14th was the day Frances lost almost everything except for three things.   Frances' parents and younger brother died in an horrific house explosion and fire.   She was at a piano practice when it happened."  

"How awful.  To lose your family all at once."

"Movers had just left with their piano.  It was in need of minor repair before Frances' first east coast tour as an American protege.  She'd planned on using it on the tour.  The bust of Mozart was sitting on the front porch.  Apparently, her mother had taken it out there to clean it.   The bust served as an inspiration to Frances, so it would be traveling with her.  The story made many of the major newspapers."

David refilled his cup as well as Angela's.  He added more cream while she continued.

"So, Frances still has the piano and the bust, but the third thing that she kept... or gained maybe is a better term... wasn't visible at first.  It's only been recently... in the past 5 years... we have noticed that Frances' ability at the piano is still very strong... if not stronger.   She can sit and play music without sheet music.  And not just the classics but new songs as well.  Somehow she has become a living encyclopedia of music."

"Really.  From your notes, I understand she can play any piece of music composition."

"Yes.  She even can play songs that are on the radio right now.   She refuses to listen to one, but can play current hit songs of any genre.  Just the other day, I heard a new song on the radio.  I came in and she was playing it. I asked her how she new it.   Her response was 'It just came to me.'"

"Has someone being smuggling music in?"

"No.  We've watched and limited the staff that sees her."

"And what about the students?

"No, they aren't allowed to take anything in with them."

"Very strange..."

"And how about this delusion that she's killed her students?"

"As you read, it's all in her head.  No students have died.  She just imagines it.  We think it's a form of anger release.  Johnny Watkins left the other day after his lesson fit as a fiddle."

"So, in order to support her care, you have allowed her to provide music lessons to kids."

"Yes, parents pay big bucks and all are very satisfied with her teaching ability."

David scratched his head.  "Strange.  Very strange.  Have you ever thought of letting her... go out on her own?"

"Yes, in fact, we tried to release her, but no family member would take her.  They were afraid she really would kill a student.  Plus, she likes it here."

The Piano Teacher -- Part Three

The Piano Teacher -- Part Three

The next morning, Angela arrived a little late to work. She put her winter coat on the peg board near her office door. The weather man had promised a warmer day, but she wasn't sure that would happen.  Sitting down at her desk, she flipped the calendar to the next day. Tuesday, January 9th, 1937.

As she began to look over yesterday's notes, there was a knock on her office door.  She could see the glass window it was David.

"Come in." said Angela as she motioned with her hand.

"Good morning.  Cold isn't it?  I thought it was supposed to be warmer."

"That's what I thought.   Weathermen can only predict so much.  Did you get the chance to look over the file I gave you yesterday?"

"Yes, absolutely amazing information.  I think this has story major potential.  Imagine one of America's piano proteges here."

"Yes, we've taken very good care of her.   In fact, we've spent more time with her than any other."

"So how many of her students has she killed again?"

"Let's see. After yesterday's count, it comes to 17 all together."  Angela chuckled with a grin.

"Really.  That's a lot.  All the same way?  With her bust of Mozart?"

"Yes.  She won't use any of the others.   We gave her Beethoven and Liszt, but she says they don't have the same weight."

"I see.  She's very particular.  Well, if you're going to use a master of the piano, it might as well be Mozart."  David and Angela laughed over the witty comment.

"Frances is stuck on August 14, 1923.  It's been that day since she arrived here at the institution."  Angela sipped her coffee as she began to tell the tale.

"So what exactly happened that day?"  asked David as he stirred his own cup of coffee.

The Piano Teacher -- Part Two

The Piano Teacher -- Part Two

Angela never flinched as she scribbled her notes.   David glanced at her then over to Frances who smiled and nodded at him.

"May I ask a question?" said David to Angela.

"Sure, be my guest."

Turning to Frances, he said:  "Are you saying that you killed a man today?"

Frances, momentarily closing her eyes, shook her head.  She became fixated completely on David.  "No, I killed one of my students.   Johnny Watkins.  He's ten years old, you know.  I told him once... twice... and finally a third time...  Damn that boy... Just didn't listen...   No hitting the B flat...  Plain and simple...  The music clearly says C sharp..."

Looking stunned, David didn't know what to say. 

"So, Frances," said Angela.  "How many does that make this month?"

"I believe Johnny makes..." Frances rolled her eyes up counting in her head.  "That makes nine all together this month... No wait..."  She recounted.  "No... I'm sorry..." She smiled.  "Only eight..."

David's mouth hung open.   Angela remained stoic.  Frances seemed to enjoy the announcement of her achievement.

David's mouth dropped open. Frances enjoyed her achievement.

Already aware of David's shock, Angela remained stoic and quizzing Frances. 

"What's today?"

Frances snickered.  "Why that's a silly question...  It's August 14th.  I believe it is Friday."
   

"And the year?"

Frances snickered again.  "Why, 1923, of course."   She turned to David.   "I just turned 19 one month ago.  July 14th."

Angela finished a few notes.  "Thank you Frances.  David and I should check on the body."

"Oh yes, do." France fanned herself.   "In this warm weather, it'll start to smell.  Plus the blood will need to be mopped up."   Frances waved nodded as if to say goodbye as they left the room shutting the door behind them.

The Piano Teacher -- Part One

This week has been a whirlwind of writing.   I have completed two short stories and more on my book.  My short stories have very little editing other than spell check.  At some point, I am going re-read these and do some editing! 

This story has 5 parts. 

The Piano Teacher -- Part One

Frances Fitzherld perched perfectly in the chair, wringing her slender hands at the plain wooden table.  Beads of sweat rolled down her temples plastering hairs to her pale skin.   Her teary eyes darted from the two vacant chairs across the table to the door with a single window.  The nervous tension she emitted could have blown the door right off its hinges.   Her thoughts swirled like a tornado.  

I have to tell them...  I must confess...  I did it...  I killed him... I told him if he hit the wrong note one more time that was it...

Finally, a shadow appeared in the window cutting off the light.  Angela Harvey, stepped into the small room followed by a man in a grey pin-striped suit. Frances stood up.  Her thoughts flowed from inside her head out of her mouth into the air.

"I have to confess...  I must... I did it... I killed him... Just like I told him I would..." 

Immediately, Angela took command in a calming, yet stern, fashion.  "Please sit down, Frances.  We'll talk about that in a moment.  Right now, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine.  His name is David Templeton."

Frances, despite her intensity, returned to acting like a respectable lady.  Her hand wringing and her desperation dissipated as if Hyde had let Jekyll return in an instant.

David smiled at Frances.   "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot about you, Ms. Fitzherld."

In a prim and proper manner, she replied in her New England accent.  "That's very nice.  Unfortunately, I cannot return the compliment since I have not heard about you."

"Most understandable."  David was gracious and charming.  She liked him.

Angela laid her notepad on the table.  While jotting the date, she asked:  "So Frances, what did you want to tell me?"

Remaining calm and collective, yet confident, Frances said:  "I killed Johnny Watkins this morning.  I struck him in the back of the head with my Mozart."  

David raised his eyebrows at Frances' statement remaining there through Angela's casual explanation to him.

"She's referring to her bust of the classical composer sitting on her upright piano."    

Frances turned to David.  "Yes, I told him if he hit the wrong note one more time I would hit with my Mozart.  And that's what he did and I whacked him good."

The Bearded Men’s Society – Part Two

The Bearded Men’s Society – Part Two

Finally, the silence was broken.

“What would happen if we all resigned?” said the Canadian. “We could do it. I don’t see why we couldn’t.”

“Ach du himmel! Ve could not resign,” said the German. “Ve have very important job. Millions rely on us. Zink about the global markets… Ze economics… Ze broken hearts…”

The other three just stared at the German. He raised his voice: “You must understand. Ze change would destroy ze whole world economy!”

The door flew open and in stepped Bob, the society’s attendant, followed by a sharp bitterly cold wind.

“Blast! Shut the bloody door.” Shouts came from the group. Bob slammed the door behind him.

“Gentlemen, the last two have arrived. They are getting changed in to more comfortable attire and should here shortly.” Bob walked around the room picking up empty bottles and straightening as he went. “Dinner will be ready shortly.”

The Russian perked up. “Dinner! Great! I almost forgot.” The group agreed dinner would be great.

Bob rolled his eyes and said under his breath: “As if any of you had forgotten.” Overloaded with bottles, he managed to open the opposite door and exited.

The men went back to drinking. Just as the warmth returned, the door flew open again letting in the same cold rush of air. Two men walked into the room.

“Blast it again! Shut zat damned door. We’re not Eskimos.”

The Canadian spoke up: “Finally! We’ve been waiting for you.”

The American and Italian had arrived with the latter speaking first: “Ciao, everyone. We have arrived.”

“La-dada. We were done hours ago. What’s your excuse?” The Russian got up and stood in front of the fireplace to warm his hands.

The American rolled his eyes. “We may have small territories to cover, but we have larger populations.”

The men turned to chatter of comparison and who has the most work cut out for them.

Bob entered and announced. “Dinner is served, gentlemen.” With that they all began to stir from their chairs. In the corner, the grandfather clock started to strike six. They all stopped and turned to look at it.

The American spoke: “Gentleman, the hour has arrived. Our job is done. May I propose a toast?” He had poured himself a glass of whiskey. “To another year of delivering presents and a job well done. I wish us in the Bearded Men’s Society another Merry Christmas. Until next year!”

The Bearded Men’s Society – Part One

Guess where I got the inspiration to write this one...  It's a two part story.


The Bearded Men’s Society – Part One

Four men sat around the large round table, all in their stocking feet with shirts untucked and looking very relaxed. Each drank their choice of liqueurs. They came from different countries. Their individual characteristics could been seen in their mannerism. Yet, they had one thing in common – beards. Each had a beard and each were different -- long, short, full, stubble.

“Ahhhhh… dis vodka really hits de spot,” said the Russian who had the longest beard in the group. His accent resounded from the bottom of his pot belly which hung over his belt with a plain square buckle.

“And I just can’t get enough of this wine,” raved the one with the British accent as he poured more from the bottle. “You know… these nights are getting longer. It’s so bloody difficult to satisfy everyone these days.”

The Canadian stroked his short white beard adding: “I know. I am so tired I just want to go somewhere warm and lie on a beach. You know it’s always winter in the Upper Yukon. And I am so tired of this damned beard... and the cold… and the snow!” He tugged on the end of his whiskers making a face of pain.

The last one just sat there looking at the other three. He lifted a medium-sized beer stein to his lips. After a long swig of beer, he banged the stein back down on the table. In his German accent, he spoke: “Zere is no satisfaction anymore. In fact, zat eez it… more… more… more. Especially those swinehunde in America… Zey just get so greedy.”

“Do dey have any idea of the vork we do?” said the Russian in a demanding voice. “Ve vork all year and vhat spasiba do ve get?”

The Brit added: “Perhaps if the buggers knew there were seven of us that actually do the work!"

Before taking another big swig from his stein, the German said: “Speaking of seven, vere eez zat Italian and zat American?”

“Probably finishing up their rounds,” said the Canadian. “The American has the largest population. And of course, Mario’s taking care of everyone not assigned to a region.”

“Thank god there isn’t a chap for China!" said the Brit. Could you imagine what that would be like? I would be afraid one of us would be reassigned to that area."

“Or even wurse… have it added to our own!” said the German.

“Yeah, not everyone needs us,” added the Canadian. “Some large areas of the world don’t need us. And I just have to say thank you god!”

The room fell quiet of conversation as they relaxed and drank. Now only the sound in the room was the crackling logs burning bright in the fireplace.

The Tale of Oliver T. Horsephat -- Part 7

I will not be posting for the next several days while I take time to ponder, wonder, hither and yon...

And now the conclusion of...

The Tale of Oliver T. Horsephat -- Part 7

Oliver T. Horsephat and Mrs.Olive Treehousen parted company vowing to search their ancestral past for clues to the curse's origin.  Both spent many hours, days, and weeks exploring boxes, papers, journals, clippings, and letters searching for clues.  For Oliver, many boxes were kept in attic, dusty and unorganized.  It wasn't until the forth week of their search that Oliver T. Horsephat found himself standing on the doorstep of the Treehousen mansion, ringing the doorbell, with a small parcel in hand.

Shown to the front parlor by the house servant, he was joined by Mrs. Olive Treehousen.  At once, they both started talking about their discoveries.   Oliver, being polite, stopped and asked her to continue.   She told him of Horatio P. Treehousen's, her great-great grandfather, attempt to marry a young lady who he refers to as "sweet Virginia."  Olive read from an July 27th, 1872, entry from his red-rot-diseased journal where he writes of his sweet Virginia being taken from him.   No last name was given; however the next line provided information about paying a local witch and using her abilities.   Olive Treehousen rested assuredly that the curse began with her.

At that point, Oliver T. Horsephat excitedly opens his parcel to reveal a few letters and proceeded to unfold an July 28th, 1877, letter, from Oleander V. Horsephat, his great-great grandmother.  She speaks of the man she was to marry.  His name was Paul.  The next letter also mentions the same local witch and her curse abilities.  Olive sat stunned.  She informed Oliver that her great-great grandfather's middle name was Paul.  Oliver confirmed his great-great grandmother's middle name was Virginia. 

All at once, a hurried wind blew through every open window.   The journal and the letters both flew about the room.  Oliver T. Horsephat and Mrs. Olive Treehousen both squinted their eyes until the wind died as quickly as it arrived.  They agreed the wind was strange.   After gathering the letters and journal, they had no idea how to proceed and called it a day. 

The next morning, Oliver T. Horsephat brewed tea in the kitchen and had just sat down when the door bell rang.   Upon opening the door, he was surprised by the most angelic face he had ever seen.   He immediately felt his heart strings twinge.   She smiled back at him.

"Hello, are you Oliver T. Horsephat?  My name is Virginia Paulette Treehousen.  I've came to inform you that my great-aunt Mrs. Olive Treehousen peacefully passed away last night.   I stopped by this morning for a visit and she had left me a note to come and tell you personally.  I had no trouble finding you."    For no reason at all, she blurted out that she was 28 and single.   He invited her to tea.

One year later, their son, Oliver Paul Horsephat was born.  Curse-free.

The Tale of Oliver T. Horsephat -- Part 6

And now part six...  Tune in Friday for the thrilling conclusion...

The Tale of Oliver T. Horsephat -- Part 6

Mrs. Olive Treehousen for the first time in recorded history had told a Horsephat about their personal life.   She had crossed a line drawn many years ago.   She let her emotions take over her whole mind, body, and soul.  Oliver sat listening, stunned by this display.   Never before had he heard such information from a Treehousen.

Upon completion of her prognosis and desire to meet a gentler end, Mrs. Olive Treehousen took the first step towards a solution.   She asked, politely, that Oliver T. Horsephat, a member of the rival family, to end the curse that plagued her family.  He sat stunned by her request.  The proverbial ball bounced into his court.  For the first time in his life, he actually pitied a Treehousen.   And furthermore, he felt a twinge on his heart strings.   And to make matters even more exciting, from somewhere in the cosmos, Oliver T. Horsephat's first thought was to break these damned curses.   To make amends.  To clean the slate and start over.   For one very long moment, he saw into his future.

The name Oliver T. Horsephat would be credited with the discontinuance of an age old family curse.  A curse of unknown origin...  That one singular fact jumped up and tap-danced its way across his mind.  What was the origin of the curses?   This could be the salvation of the rivals.  The Treehousens and Horsephats endured these curses so long that, even when he inquired of Mrs. Olive Treehousen, neither knew the origin of them. 

Together, they would have to search for the beginning.  Someone, sometime, somewhere doomed their future.   Whoever that was now became the hunted.   Olive and Oliver both felt the answer to the riddle would be their salvation, not just for them but also their present and future families.

The Tale of Oliver T. Horsephat -- Part 5

The Tale of Oliver T. Horsephat -- Part 5

That morning, Oliver T. Horsephat made also history.  He invited a Treehousen into his home.   Mrs. Olive Treehousen crossed cautiously into the hallway.  She feared being stuck down by an unseen force of Treehousen generations.   He invited her into the room he had christened the "sitting room" and offered her a seat.  

This gesture was then followed by another groundbreaking offer of tea.   She agreed and he exited to the kitchen, leaving the adjoining door open.  This decision was not only to keep an eye on her but also to commence the conversation.   He was suspicious of her since after all she is a Treehousen.  She on the other had eyed carefully all of his movements about the kitchen.  Occasionally, she had to lean forward, to the left, and to the right in order to see him.  Her eyesight was better than an eagle during the day and an owl at night.

Upon returning to the sitting room, he placed the tray on the table between their chairs.   He inquired if she wanted sugar, milk, or both.  She gave a specific procedure for the mixture -- first two lumps of sugar, then fill half of the teacup with milk followed by the tea.   Oliver, on the other hand, just poured the tea and dropped in one lump and then sat back to wait for the opposing team to make a move.

After the first sip, she complimented him on his ability to follow directions and in return he thanked her for it.  And then, like a newly-formed waterfall, she began to cry and told the prognosis of her visit with her doctor.

The Tale of Oliver T. Horsephat -- Part 4

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And now another episode of...

The Tale of Oliver T. Horsephat -- Part 4

Yesterday, Mrs. Olive Treehousen received word from her doctor that she had a slow growing tumor in her lower intestines.  Eventually it would become very painful considering its location and advised nothing but broth.  Between her age and the tumor's location, an operation was near impossible.

She began to fear the future.  Last March, she had turned 81.   She knew the speculation of her age by many people.   This remained one of her favorite secrets.   She believed a lady should never indulge or provide her actual age.  Even her doctor didn't know.   And now, she had some 20 years to go if she was unlucky.

Now Mrs. Olive Treehousen cursed the curse followed by cursing the Treehousens who cursed the Horsephats.  She almost cursed the Horsephats themselves but that may have only lead to more trouble.  She feared her life would be prolonged another twenty years slipping into a lingering painful death.  This possibility sent fear.  She cried.   After contemplating what to do, she made an historical decision.

Now, she stood on the front porch of the rival family.   The time had come to end this damned curse.