Brother Ambrose softly hefted the bag of newly ground rye over his shoulder muttering yet another prayer.
Everyone was at Matins, so he was safe. This would make many loaves of bread for the orphan children in the village.
In the seven years he’d been at the monastery, he’d stolen countless bushels of food. If the abbot, discovered his theft he’d be punished for a year, he was sure; but, aye, it would be worth it to see the foundlings eat.
His only justification was that somewhere out there one of those foundling children might be his own.
“The first and best apple pie I ever ate was in this diner.”
“Really? I thought Grandma’s was your favorite.”
I scowled in confusion.
“My dear, Lily got her first job here when she was only sixteen. I came every day. She made the apple pies herself from her mother’s recipe.”
“You married her for her pie,” I laughed.
I pretended not to see his eyes mist up.
Grandpa had us, but I knew he was lonely these days. He still comes to the diner every day.
Memories, I suppose.
But now he orders only coconut cream pie.
“Look at you.” Sara stamped her feet and closed the door behind her, shutting out the icy winter wind. “You look cozy. Nice fire, and what a gorgeous view.”
“Thanks. I love watching the horses. Oh look, there’s deer too. Have some tea and a slice of cake. Here’s a blanket. Curl up here in the other chair beside me.”
“Wow. You’re going all out here. Love all the candles, and those socks. You’re Grandma made those for you, didn’t she?”
“Yes, a few years ago.”
“You’ve certainly created an atmosphere, haven’t you? I love it.”
“Yep. I’m celebrating hygge*.”
Esther stopped at the foot of the stairs and thumped her cane on the concrete.
“What the hell am I doing?” Her voice grated in unison with the rusty gate.
She stopped again on the top landing and wheezed a long breath.
“Fifty-three years,” she muttered.
In the doorway across the little alley, a chrome walker appeared in the doorway pushed by a hunched man in a gray tattered sweater and plaid slippers.
“Well, gosh damn.” He squinted. “Esther? Is that you?”
“Still living in a dump, I see.”
“And you haven’t changed a bit, sis.”
“Nor you, brother.”
I’m back after taking a few weeks to write for NaNoWrMo. I made my 50,000 on Day 15, but I’m still writing until the end of the month just to see how far I can go. I wasn’t sure I could do it, but I did! Whoohoo! And now for my story… Enjoy!
“I had shoes like that once.”
“What did you do with them?”
“I threw them off the Tallahatchie Bridge.”
“I wore them every day until Billie jumped off that bridge.”
“But why throw your shoes into the water?”
“A remembrance, I guess. Billie loved those shoes. He liked that they made me taller and he didn’t have to bend as far to kiss me. He was over six feet tall, you know.”
“Why did he jump?”
“People have lots of theories, but no one knows. I don’t know. Some people speculated we tossed our baby, but that ain’t true.”
Well, WOWIE, ZOWIE! Tracy at Snagglewordz (don’t ya just love that name?) selected me for this award.
I don’t know whether to lower my eyes in humble appreciation or jump up and down for joy. This is the second award I’ve received in the short life of this blog. I feel so blessed. Perhaps I’m doing something right (or should I say write)! Read more
Much appreciation to A Side of Writing who chose me to receive this award. I’m rather late in accepting and thanking Conrad. It is an honor to be chosen by peers to have a blog that people find interesting enough visit regularly and to nominate for an accolade such as this. Thank you, Conrad. Keep up the great work on your site. Read more