Category Archives: Fiction Series

Seasoning – Part 5

Vincent Van Gogh’s Avenue of Poplars

“I will Henry. You know I will.” Helen clucked while lifting her teacup from the saucer to blow the dust off. “Your situation has gotten entirely out of hand Henry. I know that if she were here…”

“Don’t you dare speak her name! You can’t possibly know what she would have wanted. What she wanted, what I wanted, what we both wanted was a long happy life together!”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive Henry…”

“Yes you do Helen! I told you, suit yourself. I’m finished.” Henry stood up to leave the room.

“Well Henry you should know I’ve made arrangements to employ a housekeeper. She’s coming today and starts her duties on Monday. I do expect you to be cordial. She will be staying in the guest wing. I understand that she not only cooks and cleans, but also has an affinity for gardening. By the looks of things out back, she will have her hands full.”

Henry stood motionless.

“A thank you is commonly uttered by the receiving party at this point. Honestly Henry you are a bloody mess. My visit did not come a minute too soon. By the way, I’m staying as well, until Hannah, that’s her name, gets things running smoothly.”

—————

Across town Hannah swept her long brown hair into a twist on the top of her head. Her bags had been sent ahead to her new assignment.

She had spoken briefly with Helen who explained that she would be working for her brother Henry, a widower, providing cleaning and cooking as well as tending to the garden.

Gardening was Hannah’s first love. She grew up on the grounds of the Waverly Estate in a quaint server’s cottage with her parents. Her mother ran all of the household affairs and her father kept the grounds. She learned housekeeping from her mother and dutifully assisted her when she was old enough, but it was in the garden with her father that she discovered her true calling.

This, her first solo charge, was a dream come true! She donned her overcoat, kissed her parents goodbye, and headed through the towering poplar trees along the driveway to the street where a taxi waited.

 

 

This is installment number 5 of a continuing series for Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge. Read previous parts HERE.

 


Seasoning – Part 4

Henry puttered around noisily in the kitchen. “Tea…where is the tea?” he muttered while rummaging through each cabinet and drawer. “Damn Helen! Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone. Always prying where you’re not welcome!”

In the parlor, Helen scanned the perimeter of the room. The plant stand near the window caught her eye. Whatever once lived in this dry pot of soil was now a sad, brittle bunch of leafless stalks. It reminded her of the wheat fields of her youth, golden and ready for harvest. But this poor plant was clearly dead. “Well, this is fitting.” She huffed.

Henry nearly dropped the tea tray when he entered the room and saw Helen standing near the window. She was in that spot. Gathering his wits he asked, “What were you saying Helen?”

“Oh, there you are Henry. I was saying… that it is fitting that you have dead plants in the parlor. It goes with the rest of the decor.”

“I’ve been meaning to do something with that. I hope you like your tea black. I’m fresh out of cream.”

“It’ll do.” Helen swept dust off the sofa before taking a seat. “Sit Henry.”

Reluctantly, Henry plopped into an armchair across from Helen, releasing a cloud of dust that caused him to cough. “I wish you had called before coming.”

Helen burst into a boisterous cackle, “Oh Henry! That is rich! I have tried to call you, and I’ve written. I am here, Henry, because you have ignored every attempt I’ve made to contact you! Quite frankly, we’re all worried about you.”

“Who’s we? Well it doesn’t matter. You can tell everyone I’m fine.”

“Enough Henry!” Helen’s voice shifted. “You are not fine! And I am not leaving until I am sure you are fine.”

Henry slouched in his chair, “Suit yourself.” Secretly a part of him was relieved. Though he was loath to admit it, seeing her there, in the light of day covered in dust, proved she was right.

—————————-

This entry is fourth in a series prompted by Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge. Read previous chapters HERE.

A note about the painting by Vincent Van Gogh:
The Van Gogh Museum’s Wheat Field with Crows was made in July 1890, in the last weeks of Van Gogh’s life, many have claimed it was his last work. Others have claimed Tree Roots was his last painting. Wheat Field with Crows, made on an elongated canvas, depicts a dramatic cloudy sky filled with crows over a wheat field.[90] The wind-swept wheat field fills two thirds of the canvas. An empty path pulls the audience into the painting. Of making the painting Van Gogh wrote that he had made a point of expressing sadness, later adding “extreme loneliness” (de la solitude extrême), but also says he believes the canvases show what he considers healthy and fortifying, the storm and crows powerfully offset by the restorative nature of the countryside.



Seasoning – Part 2

It had been three winters, three springs, summers, and autumns. The seasons melded together without her light there to breathe life into them.

Henry spent his days working from darkest dawn to waning dusk, the minutes gnawing at his heart, tumbling into hours, days, years. Grief is an unwelcome squatter that has overstayed its visit.

He ate his meals out, avoiding the kitchen when he was home. Dust had settled like a soft wooly sheath on the furniture and floated in the streams of sunlight that slipped through the shuttered curtains.

Henry managed to keep up appearances in public with a ready smile and affirming nod. From the outside he appeared to be getting on with life. The house too held its facade intact with its gleaming white-washed siding and welcoming portico.

Those who ventured past the gate though, realized something was amiss. The garden, once vibrant with fragrant blossoms, had been overtaken by thistles and brambles.

“I must see to the garden,” Henry often mused. In truth, he had grown accustomed to the weeds.

kat – 16 July 2016
(175 Words)

Part 2 of Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge inspired this week by this painting, La Porte by Henri Duhem. You can other Parts HERE.


The Letter – Part 10 

Well…I’ve been meaning to put a lid on this little story that had its start as a single flash fiction story for a few weeks now. I wasn’t sure how I’d end it until today. Thank you everyone who has followed along this far. Who knew I had it in me? Certainly not this flash fiction, poetry writer…me! It’s been fun. I hope you like the last chapter. To read the other chapters click HERE

The Letter – Part 10

Laura plopped on the edge of the bed as she hit the speed dial on her phone.

“Come on Grace. Pick up. I’m not letting you do this on your own.” The call slipped into Grace’s voicemail. Laura hit the redial button. “I’m not giving up Grace. You might as well pick up.”

Laura hurried downstairs. Voicemail…redial… She rushed out the door, locking it behind her and got into her car. “I think I know where you’re heading Grace.” She hit redial again and turned right toward Commerce Street. Voicemail…radial. “Come on Grace!”

Grace was turning into June’s driveway when she finally relented, accepting the call.

“Where are you Grace?!”

“I’m sitting in June’s driveway. I’m sorry Laura. I thought it was best not to drag you into my drama.”

“Are you kidding me? After all we’ve been through? I know the truth Grace. Mom and dad told me. Everything. She’s not worth it Grace. Please don’t do anything you might regret. I’m almost there. Wait for me.”

“What exactly do you think I’m going to do Laura?”

“Well I know what I’d like to do…”

Grace chuckled, “I’m not you, thank goodness. Ha! Don’t worry Laura, I’m just planning to confront her. Give her a chance to come clean. If she can’t tell me the truth once and for all, I’m done. With her…with this town. There’s nothing left for me here.”

“Uh, well you have me, us!”

“Of course I do Laura. That’s not what I meant. But as for family, my parents are both gone. It’s just me now.”

“And if she does tell you the truth? What then?”

“Mmmm…if she tells me the truth, I’ll listen. But I need time and space to figure all of this out. Either way, I am so ready to get home.”

“Okay Grace, that sounds like a plan. But promise me this. Don’t leave tonight. I’d worry about you. Come over to the house. Have dinner with us. Spend some time with the kids. They miss you. Oh, they’ve grown, Grace. You won’t believe it. And they do love their Auntie Grace. What do you say? You can stay in the guest room and get a fresh start in the morning.”

Silence.

“Grace?”

“Okay Laura…I promise. I’m so tired.”

“I know you are sweetie. I’m almost there.”

“I’m going in Laura. This, I need to do alone. You understand.”

“Yeah, I get it. But I’ll be right outside. I just turned down her street. Almost there. If you need me I’ll be right here.”

When Laura pulled into June’s driveway, she noticed Grace’s empty car.

——————–

June hadn’t expected to see Grace this afternoon. As soon as she opened the door, Grace rushed by her into the parlor.

“We have to talk June.”

June had been dreading this moment all week.

“Can I get you some iced tea Grace? Just made a batch.”

“No.” Grace sat on the settee, motioning toward the arm chair across from her. “Sit.”

“Well what brings you over for this visit Grace?”

“You know June. You’ve always known. And now I know too.”

“Know what?” June sat down, her voice taking a somber tone, “Of course I know. Yes Grace I’m sorry that you had to find out the way you did. That I’m your mo…”

“My mother died last week June. And two years ago Dad too. You know about the letter mom left me in the kitchen. Well that old house is full of letters.”

June flushed, remembering the letter that Annie had addressed to her.

“Dad wrote me a letter too June. I think you know what it said. He spoke of you.”

June sat silently looking at the floor.

“Well, would you like to say anything? I’ve waited all week for you to be ready to talk to me about all of this.”

“I know my dad is responsible for his part. He said as much. Told me how sorry he was for what happened, except…”

Tears collected in the corners of June’s eyes.

“What I can’t figure out is how you could do such a thing. To your own sister! How do you live with something like that?”

June froze. She couldn’t speak. She clasped her hands on her lap and stared at the floor avoiding eye contact with Grace.

“Well, I kind of figured this would be your response. Guess what? At least I asked. That’s all I can do.” Grace’s voice shifted into business mode. “I’ve finished packing the house. I told the auction company to price everything out. There is nothing I want from that house. I told them everything goes.”

June shifted in the chair, the flush had faded.

“Well, I guess that’s that then. I’m headed back home. Don’t try to call me. I wanted to give you a chance to tell me in your own words. To tell the truth, but apparently you are incapable of the truth. I’m really sorry about that. But I’m not sorry for you. Actually I feel sorry FOR you June. You’re pathetic. I’m done!

Grace bolted from the settee, out the door to the driveway. Laura was waiting, just as she said she would be.

“I’ll follow you Laura. Let’s get out of here!”

Inside, June sat stoically in the parlor. She knew Grace. She meant what she said and she was stubborn…like her. June knew she would never see Grace again.

—————

At Laura’s there was a flurry of activity. The kids vied for a spot next to Grace on the sectional while Laura tossed a salad and slid a frozen lasagna tray into the oven.

There was laughter and giggling, stories about their school day, and a string of silly, never-ending knock knock jokes.

Grace sat there, taking it all in. Laura was right. She still had Laura and Danny and these kids in this town that had grown so strange to her this past week.

Sometimes the family we are born into is not the family we end up with. Grace knew that now. As everyone gathered around the table for dinner she felt it. It felt like coming home.


The Letter – Part 9

If you’re just joining us, you can catch up on the rest of the story HERE.

 It wasn’t like Grace. She was a “pick up on the second ring” kind of girl. After 5 failed attempts to connect with her friend, Laura was worried. Attempt number 6 lapsed into Grace’s voicemail box just as Laura pulled into the driveway. The front door was ajar so she let herself in.

The house was eerily quiet. Afternoon sunlight flooded the emptiness with pale dust speckled streams of light. Laura rushed from room to room calling to her friend, “Grace, sorry for popping in on you, but you didn’t answer your phone and you know I hate it when you ignore me!” Laura’s lame attempt at humor was more for her own sake. With each empty room she grew more worried.

Her heart was racing by the time she entered Annie’s room. It was empty, like all the others, no sign of Grace. Laura scanned the room. The bed linens were neatly folded on the end of the mattress, labeled boxes were stacked near the closet. Nothing seemed out of place except for the crumpled envelope on the floor.

“Oh god!” Laura muttered, as she reached down to pick it up. A freshly penned note on the nightstand caught her eye. “What is it with this family and letter writing?!”

“Laura,


If you’re reading this, thanks for being such a good friend. You probably have news for me. Well, if your parents were honest with you, you might. I already know what you came to tell me. Dad left me a letter too. After reading it I knew what I had to do. June needs to hear from me what I’m guessing my parents never had the heart to say. They were both too kind. I’ve packed my things. I’m heading home. There is nothing in this house I want or need. Forgive me for not giving you a proper goodbye. I’m okay. Really I am. If you’re ever in the city, look me up. You have my number.

I love you girlfriend,

Grace”