Since I started posting this story on this blog my writing mind has emerged and has been pestering me a bunch. The thing is, I love to write more than any other craft I do, but I have found over the years that I can write and do other things as well. When I have a story brewing, I tend not to notice or hear people, conversations, life around me... I kind of get drawn in to whatever is going on in the story inside my head. I can sew and write, I can crochet and write, and I can walk and write. Pretty talented eh!
In this case I haven't been writing per Se: instead I have been plotting... Here is what I plot - not one but 3 sequels to Winter Wheat.... (my Mom's fault she always told me to dream BIG)! I even have titles... Spring (something); Summer(something); Fall Rye!! The first sequel will feature George and Sue. WWII ? He's a RAF pilot, she is a WREN. Lots and lots of research here... all the other characters will be present in the story... maybe we loose one or two. (Sorry)! Third book - features Raymond and Ann-Marie, and we definitely loose a major character (Sorry again). Fourth book - Emilie is an old woman, reflecting on her life and family.
So I ask you, how will I ever participate in a intelligent conversation with anyone for quite some time to come with all this going on in my head?
Today we are finishing chapter 23, it was a short chapter and moving on to the second last chapter of the book....
It's a long weekend, and I'm giving you all a break this weekend... enjoy this last weekend of summer, and I'll meet you back here on Tuesday morning... Be safe everyone!
Karl folded the letter, slipped it back into the envelope and tucked it carefully into his breast pocket. He rose swiftly from the chair, and headed out to the barn as if the devil his self was at his heels. He had to chew on this awhile before he broke the news to the rest of the family.
He was angry as hell with the young lad, but at the same time he thought he understood a bit of what George must be feeling. Seventeen was a difficult age; you were a man in your own heart, but still a boy in the minds of others. George was more man than many his age, Karl realized, as he remembered the way the boy had kept his family safe during the time he had gone to the mountains to work. Even with all the grief and confusion he must have been feeling at the time, he had carried his responsibilities through right up to the day Karl had returned home in spring.
The boy had not let him down – not once, and yet Karl felt like he had let George down terribly. He should have seen how serious George was about his dream to fly; he should have talked more about it with him, maybe he should have even encouraged him to pursue that dream, but not until after he had finished school and at least turned eighteen years of age. Yeah – he’d let him down - he could see that now. Oh he had no doubt that George could take care of himself – he was that type of kid, but Karl reckoned that he could have made things a lot easier on the boy, if only he’d listened more carefully to him.
He sighed deeply as he went about his morning chores, taking more time than usual to complete his morning work. He was putting off returning to the house and his waiting family, but he knew that very soon they would discover that George was gone. He bent over and wearily lifted the two full pails of milk, and knew the time for procrastination had come to an end. He had a story to tell, and he knew he’d need to keep a firm grip on his emotions once his tale was told.
With a heart as heavy as the pails he carried, he slowly made his way to the house, and his awaiting family.
Emilie was so sick, she was sure she was going to die. So much made her upset these days. It had started with Georges’ leaving home, and continued when Raymond had fallen off the horse and broken his arm. She blamed herself for both incidents even though Karl reassured her time and again that both events would most likely still have happened even with her intervention.
She didn’t believe Karl for a moment, if fact he was really starting to irritate her in many ways, she thought with a start. He was constantly haggling her to slow down, to rest, to take a break. She looked exhausted and was snappy, he said. Snappy? What was that? If she was snappy, then he could only be described as irritating!
Her head swam, and her stomach heaved and she cursed everyone and everything as she slowly lowered herself into her little rocking chair and rested her head back and closed her eyes.
“Oh what’s the matter with me?” she sing-songed, as she set the chair in motion, and then wished that she hadn’t.
“Mamma?” Annie-Marie’s softly spoken word startled her, and she guiltily rallied from her misery and reached for the child that waited at her side.
“Oh darling, come here to Mamma,” Emilie crooned as she lifted the small child to her lap, and cuddled her close. “Are you as tired as I am, sweetie? Maybe we should both lie down for a sleep until the other children get home from school.”
Annie-Marie stuck her finger in her mouth and nodded her head as her heavily lidded eyes threatened to close.
Plucking the finger back out of the child’s mouth, Emilie set the child on the floor and then rose from the chair. Hand in hand the pair made their way to Karl and Emilie’s bedroom, where they immediately cuddled together on the bed and fell asleep.