Tag: literature

Wellspring of Love

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excerpt

“That’s all, Dad. We’re not going out anywhere, I promise.”
“Fine. Give Lyssa’s clothes back to her. Now sit down and let’s get
started before everything gets cold. All right, Bobby, go ahead.”
Once again they joined hands around the table and bowed their
heads for Bobby’s shortened grace.
ͣͣ
With the twins settled in their beds – but not without complaining
that it was still light outside – Tyne returned to the kitchen to pour
two cups of freshly brewed coffee. She added fresh cream and carried
them outside to where Morley sat on the porch swing.
“Where’s Bobby?” Tyne asked as she handed him a mug and sat
down beside him.
“Doing a final round in the barn and taking Sparky for a run.”
Tyne sighed. “Poor old Sparky. I don’t think he’ll be with us much
longer, do you?”
Morley took a sip of coffee and shook his head in the negative.
“No, I’m afraid not. He’s lived longer than most big dogs live. But he’s
not suffering, just losing energy and his zest for life.”
Tyne placed her hand on Morley’s where it lay on his knee. “It
will break Bobby’s heart when Sparky dies. They’ve been inseparable
since the day I brought the kids home for what was supposed to be a
temporary stay with us.” She laughed lightly with the memory.
Morley took her hand in his big one and squeezed it. “Almost ten
years ago. Can you believe it? I sometimes wonder how we did it all
with everything that went wrong that first year.”
Tyne smiled and turned her head to kiss him on his stubbled
cheek. “You know how we did it. Only with prayer and God’s faithful
guidance.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes as the swing moved gently back
and forth. The only sounds were the familiar bawl of a calf in the barn,
and from the chicken house close by, the rising and falling murmur of

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562917

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763327

In the Quiet After Slaughter

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– There’s something about these chips, Mr. Cameron says.
– Not as good, are they? Mrs. Cameron agrees. Aren’t as crunchy
as ours.
– Nowhere near, Reggie Cameron replies. He extends an open
hand for further testing.
In the back seat, Larry lifts a buttock and releases a burst of sharp
anal burps. He elbows me and says, Do your parents allow you to
behave this way at home?
The postman reported seeing a naked woman in the park. Later she
was spotted atop the Kennedys’ garage. She twisted her ankle in the
jump. A crowd gathered.
– Get the butterfly net! someone cackled. It’s escaped again!
Almost everyone laughed.
After the ambulance had left and the looky-loos dispersed, Mrs.
Cameron knocked on our door. Kids had nicknamed her Meat on
account of her bulk.
Camping will do the boy good, she told my dad. The two of them
sat on the stairs watching her Reg give the Impala a good scrubbing.
He buffed the chrome until it gleamed.
– I used to be a little nutty myself, she said.
We got one of the last campsites at Oceanview Resorts in Birch Bay.
Mr. Cameron pitched a family-size tent while Mrs. Cameron barbecued
some burgers. Larry and I erected a nylon pup tent.
– If I get any broads in here, Larry said, you’ll have to take a walk.
We lifted our bicycles from the roof rack and took a spin. Some of
the other vacationers had motorhomes and vans, but many, like the
Camerons, were sleeping under canvas. Most vehicles at the campsite
bore Canuck plates.
After lunch we drove into town. Birch Bay consists of a smattering
of stores and clapboard cottages facing Juan de Fuca Strait. Droves
of oiled tourists fanned out on the sand. The main road was clogged
with slow-moving cars blasting loud music.
Well it’s been building up inside of me
For oh I don’t know how long . . .
We parked the car and fell in with the procession of shoppers.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562874

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897971

Prairie Roots

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ridiculously low prices; even the children may not have fetched
much, being offspring of immigrants. Life was indeed a struggle,
as the first four boys arrived into their care.
My initial memories of that farm include a vague vision of a gray
two-storey frame house and chickens all over the yard. The chickens
I remember looking at in some puzzlement, from an upstairs
bedroom window, and wondering as to their relationship to me. I
also remember the big blocks of “relief” cheese which mother sliced
on the kitchen table; however, I do not remember whether or not I
liked it. It seemed to me that the weather was always sunny, perhaps
because we were only let out when the sun shone.
My most vivid early memory is associated with the 1938
Beeston school Christmas concert at which time I was three and a
half years old, having been born in May of 1935. I remember not
the concert itself, having slept through most of it, but being awakened
in my Uncle Mike’s arms by the noise of Santa’s arrival. Obviously
my name was called and my Uncle hastened forward with
me to see Santa, who scared me half to death before presenting me
with a red toy truck. I have liked trucks and have been leery of
long-haired men ever since!
We lived in our home until the spring of 1940 at which time my
parents bought a 320 acre tract of virgin land from the Hudson Bay
Company, seven and one half miles north of Hubbard. Where is Hubbard,
you ask? Half way between Goodeve and Ituna or, to locate it another
way, about 100 miles northeast of Regina. The new land had not seen a
plough. The neighbors had pastured cattle on it over the years, otherwise
not a tree had been cut nor a stone picked. All this was about to change.
But first a house had to be built to …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562900

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897920

Jazz with Ella

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ILLEGAL INTENT
ULYANOVSK, JULY 18, 1974
Maria’s eyes were dreamy and romantic as she twisted her own “first promise” ring. “They were such a cute couple,” she sighed. “Did you see how he looked at her—with so much love?”
“I only hope she feels the same way,” Jennifer said.
“I can’t believe he just walked out of that park without a backward glance,” said David. “I couldn’t do it. Leave my life behind, my family back in Canada…”
Jennifer, Ted, Maria and David had gathered at a dinner table aboard ship where they were reasonably sure there was no bugging device. They had determined this the day before by the simple expedient of dousing the table “accidentally” with a pitcher of water. A waiter had immediately stripped the table and replaced the cloth while they watched.
“We have to be cautious,” said David, indicating the room at large. Only a few other diners were present and the dinner had been delayed once again. “Our first item of business…”
“Excuse me. Have we elected you leader?” Ted asked.
“Could you at least listen to me? Our first item of business is how much we tell the others—here’s Hank now and he looks as if he wants to sit here. And then there’s Lona, who some of us mistrust, and we should decide that before she arrives.”
“Everyone’s got to know,” pointed out Maria, “except Natasha, of course. Don’t you think people are going to miss Paul? Though maybe not everyone needs to know about the second part of the plan, about Volodya…”
“Agreed,” replied Ted. “But there will have to be a few of us who know about the second part so that we can help.” Jennifer thanked him …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

The Circle

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“Thank you, Hakim; I’ll be in touch when I’m in L.A. Bye for now.”
He has committed himself to the task he and Ibrahim discussed the last time
they were together. This makes Bevan Longhorn feel more relaxed and peaceful
inside. His good, old friend, as he calls him, is right and Bevan knows what needs
to be done, before the end of the year.
Hakim’s mind flutters to a variety of things, as he tries to figure out what the
Admiralmeans by his crypticmessage about needing to see Ibrahim before the end
of the year. He shreds themessage and then sits at his workstation and opens the line
to communicate with his uncle. It’s no later than ten o’clock at night in Baghdad.
“Hello my dear uncle; are you there?”
“Hello, my dearest son. I’m here doing some paperwork; Mara is in bed already.
How are you?”
“I’m good; Talal is flying today via New York. He is flying with American
Airlines, flight number A3552. Expect him in Baghdad by four o’clock in the
afternoon, tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll have Rassan pick him up; is Emily Roberts with him?”
“Yes, of course. Bevan sends his regards.”
“Oh, thank you, my dear boy. Please tell him hello when you see or talk to him,
alright?”
“Yes, my uncle, everything else is the same here. Bye for now.”
About 12:30 p.m., Hakim and Jennifer start off to pick up Talal and Emily.
Jennifer is still jittery and Hakim tries to calm her down.
“Come now, baby, relax. You behave as if you are the one who is traveling;
it’s Talal and your mother. They’re going to be just fine and will have a good
time, you’ll see.”
“I know. I know all that; yet, my mind doesn’t know how to stop worrying.
What do you want me to do?” she looks at him distressed.
“I know what you need; when we get to the airport I’ll show you. Don’t forget
you must be strong and relaxed for your mother’s sake.”

Emily is still very upset about the idea of flying on such a long trip. Talal goes to
the bar and pours two glasses of wine.
“Come, my love. Have some wine. It will relax you; we’re going to be fine.
Don’t worry; you’ll make Jennifer worry if she sees you like that. Then she’ll have
a hard time while we’re away.”
Thinking about Jennifer and with wine in her system she feels better in a
matter of minutes, and when Jennifer and Hakim come in, they find Talal and
Emily relaxing on the couch waiting for them.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

The Unquiet Land

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and, unlike Padraig, who did his best with what physical strength he had, Michael was a farmer to his finger-tips: strong and tireless, with an instinctive knowledge of the land and its needs, bred into him through countless generations of farming ancestry. For these very different characteristics Caitlin loved them both.
Michael was late today and that was unlike him. He knew how much Caitlin hated unpunctuality and he never showed up late for anything without good cause. Something had delayed him. Caitlin stood up from the rock on which she had been sitting and started along the footpath to the harbour, hoping she would meet Michael on the way. A strong breeze from the sea flicked her 1ong, black hair and flappered her skirt like a flag on a pole as she strolled along the path. Tussocks of grass bent over in the breeze like peasants in potato fields. Seagulls sliced the wind with bladed wings. Shags skimmed over the waves, and gannets plunged for fish like suicides. The air smelt of sea-wrack and salty pools.
Then Caitlin thought she heard her name being called. She stopped and turned and saw Nora hurrying towards her. She waited till Nora arrived beside her, breathless and smiling, almost laughing.
“You seem to be in good form today, Nora,” Caitlin said.
Nora linked her arm through Caitlin’s, and they dandered on towards the harbour. “Oh Caitlin, Flynn’s back. He’s back for good. We’re not going to live in Dublin after all.”
“Well, no wonder you’re in good form,” Caitlin said. “I’m glad you’re not leaving. I’d have been lost without you.”
The girls sauntered along in silence, arm in arm, almost mirror images of each other, save that Caitlin wore an old blue cardigan and Nora a brown, woollen coat. An unbiased observer might have said that Nora was the prettier of the two. There was a hardness to the line of Caitlin’s mouth and a certain insensitivity in her eyes, both of which were absent from the gentler, softer features of her sister. Otherwise they bore the physical characteristics of twin girls. As they approached Purdy’s Point they stopped to watch the waves break on the black dike and the wrack-covered rocks. Nora kept her arm entwined in Caitlin’s but she said nothing.
“What’s on your mind, Nora?” Caitlin asked at last.
Nora hesitated, her eyes still fixed on the choppy sea. Then she turned to Caitlin and said, “I was wondering about you and Michael.”
“What about me and Michael?” Caitlin asked, though she knew well what was coming.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

Ken Kirkby – Warrior Painter

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The Promise that Propelled a Life
“But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep…”
(Robert Frost, Poet)
~~
Ken worked at a number of jobs on the lower mainland but never gave up
his fixation on the north. It is unlikely his sense of destiny remotely hinted
that the path he was on would directly consume thirty years and several
fortunes, the majority of which would be spent in one of the major cities of
the world. It was enough that his mind was filled with his dream of this vast
and empty land.
Many thousands of Canadians made their home in Vancouver and
environs, and it frustrated him that he’d not found anyone who had been to
the Arctic, or even expressed more than a passing interest in that inaccessible
land that made up one-third of Canada.
The city was not a good fit for him, and within a year, he was leaving
it behind. He worked for several seasons on the construction of the WAC
Bennett Dam at Hudson’s Hope—an experience that has stood him in
good stead both through the workplace challenges he met, and the lasting
connection he made with WAC Bennett himself.
This odd association resulted in a piece of useful advice offered during
Ken’s long battle on behalf of the Inuit. The Premier of British Columbia
recommended that if all else failed, Ken should practice “Legislation by
exhaustion—the last man standing wins.” Over the years, Ken found it fit
his style admirably.
While working in Hudson’s Hope, he fell in love with a beautiful First
Nations girl and crumbled in broken-hearted despair when she was taken in
a tragic accident on the eve of their wedding. Tormented and withdrawn, he
took refuge in the compelling images imprinted into his brain by Francisco’s
tales of the Canadian northland. These seemed to offer some promise of
respite and became the catalyst that drove him into the Arctic. By the time
he was twenty-five, he had lived several years with the Inuit and travelled
by foot, boat and dogsled from Coppermine, NWT to Baffin Island and
back. In the process, he gave his promise to an Inuit grandmother …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562902

Arrows

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When he had finished with my face, he gave me an appreciative
look and nodded his satisfaction. Then, he extended the gourd to me
and told me to do the same over the rest of my body. I was reluctant
at first, but after a spell he left, and I began to feel the itching ease.
Good enough for me, I thought, and proceeded to do as I was told.
I was squeezing the last of the sap and applying it to my groin
when Guacaipuro appeared, still wearing his perpetual scowl.
“Mareoka,” he said.
Apparently he was resuming our conversation. He extended his
hand, palm upward. I looked at it stupidly and then at his
countenance, failing to grasp his meaning.
“Mareoka,” he repeated. He thrust his hand toward me again. I
felt as though there was a tiny monk running amok inside my head,
looking in every corner for something related to this one magic word
that was the gateway to his witchcraft.
“Ah! Mareoka!” I slapped my forehead, as if I suddenly
understood.
For the first time, Guacaipuro smiled, as if he had finally won me
over. From the pocket of my habit I extracted my copy of the New
Testament that he had previously rejected by tossing it onto the
ground. I offered it to him again. “Mareoka,” I said, solemnly.
If I was agreeing that Mareoka was superior, it was only to allow
me the freedom to prove to him otherwise. I hoped God would
forgive me.
“Tamanoa,” I said, pointing to my friend.
Guacaipuro was more interested in the strangeness of the book. I
seized the opportunity to take advantage of my newfound
respectability by untying the ropes. Guacaipuro did not appear to
object. I moved slowly, deliberately, until Tamanoa was able to
stand beside me, free.
Guacaipuro shook his head, dissatisfied. He took the rope and
tied Tamanoa’s wrist to my wrist. This was his compromise
solution. I must not allow my servant to run away. As soon as I
gleaned his intent, I yanked hard on the rope, jerking Tamanoa
beside me.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562848

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Swamped

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up six more cents, leaving a good sixty thousand share purchase
order on the low end. Eteo turned to Logan with a grin, “They obviously
like the stock all of a sudden. Let them buy as much as they
like, but keep an eye out for when they look like they are going out
in case they plan to do that soon.” Logan just nodded and walked
back to his desk.
Eteo’s phone continued ringing all day long because of Platinum
Properties. Even Mario called again, almost at the end of the trading
session, to say how pleased he was that Eteo decided to stay with Platinum
for the long run. Eteo asked him to pass by for a minute or two
after the market closed and Mario agreed and said he would bring
the Nostra Ventures subscription forms with him. Half an hour later,
Mario Messini was sitting in Eteo’s office, his face gleaming with satisfaction.
He waved the forms at Eteo.
“How many copies did you say you needed? I only brought one
of each.”
“No worries, I’ll make some,” Eteo assured him. “Let me see,” he
mused as he studied the forms and thought about who to involve in
this. “Two for Robert and three for me, five altogether.”
“I have to admit, Eteo, that I liked your aggressive buying at the
end of the day,” Mario said. “It up-ticked the stock at once and left it
looking very good for tomorrow’s opening.”
“What can I say,” replied Eteo, smiling. “I like the company, and
I certainly like its trading pattern over the last two weeks. I’ve talked
to my people, and most of them will stay. Some even bought some
extra stock today, but I should also let you know something. Just between
us two. I have your word, right?”
Mario nodded yes.
“The boss is buying most of it.”
“Connors? Hell no! Are you sure?”
Eteo told him about his meeting with Bradley Connors while
Mario shook his head.
“I don’t know whether to take that as good or not,” he finally
replied.
“I know what you mean, but look at it this way. Even if the boss
has a short fuse, as everyone says, at least for the next few days…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562976

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

Fury of the Wind

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what she had been through since four o’clock that afternoon the
condition of the interior of the house had afforded the most welcome
relief she could imagine.
Ben did not look up so she spoke above the voice on the radio.
“I hope you won’t think me rude if I retire early, Ben, but I’m extremely
weary.”
He nodded. “Be turning in myself soon.”
“Very well. Good night.”
He looked up then and smiled briefly. “G’night.”
In the bedroom she closed the door firmly behind her. There
was no key in the lock. After a moment’s hesitation she carried the
chair from beside the bed and shoved the high back under the door
handle.
She took a cotton nightgown and a hair brush from her overnight
bag, removed the dress she had worn for three days on the
train and hung it, along with her underwear, on a two-inch spike
in the bedroom door. When she had pulled the nightgown over her
head she went to the window, pushed the lacy white curtains aside
and raised the sash. If the flies wanted to come in, so be it, because
she could not stay in that room without fresh air.
Twilight lingered, streaking the western sky red. There were no
outbuildings on this side of the house. The wind of the daylight
hours had diminished to a light breeze in which a field of wheat
waved gently. The faint sweet scent of goldenrod wafted in through
the window. On a fence post a robin sat to warble its evensong.
To the right of the house stood a clump of poplar trees surrounded
by scrub brush. Through them, Sarah discerned the outline of
a small rooftop. Realizing it must be an outhouse she experienced
a moment of panic when she suddenly felt the call of nature. Why
had she not thought to go out before she readied herself for bed?
She didn’t feel inclined to dress again but she certainly had no intention
of embarrassing herself by running into him as she passed
through the kitchen in her robe and slippers. Besides, who knew
what wild animals or species of snake may lurk in the bushes in the
fading light?
Only one hope remained. Sarah quickly got down on her knees
and lifted a corner of the counterpane to peer under the bed. Yes,
there it was – a white chamber pot. She sat back on her haunches…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530