Fiction Friday: The Bandbox Hat

Previously: Sarah Jane leaves her father’s funeral reception. She thinks she sees her long-lost sister Rachael arriving, but Sarah Jane doesn’t go back to see if it’s really Rachael. Instead, Sarah Jane returns to the cemetery and reflects on all the people in her life she’s lost. Rachael. Jesse. Her mom and dad. Then what her future might be in Rosedale. She leaves the graveyard and heads home.

THE BANDBOX HAT

Chapter 15

 

The house was still empty when I barreled through the back door and into the kitchen. An urgency gripped me and my heart raced two steps ahead of my body on the stairs to my room.

The clothes from my closet were dumped on my bed. I pulled out the dresser drawers and tipped out their contents to join the growing mound of khaki, taupe, cream, and white fabrics.

I sank onto the rocking chair in my bay window and stared at the garments.

Funny.

Funny-strange, not funny ha-ha.

I loved watching Stacy and Clinton on What Not to Wear. I could recite the rules for dressing well in my sleep. But I noticed that my own wardrobe was nearly colorless. I wore khaki slacks or skirts to school. My tops were all monochromatic tones of beige or cream.

Just like my life.

I’d been coasting through life. Content to let people I loved leave me behind in the brown dust of Rosedale.

I stood. No more coasting for Sarah Jane Richter.

Once I retrieved my suitcase from under the bed, I shoveled my clothes in, then tossed my toiletries on top.

The rolling bag made satisfactory bumps on my calves as I tugged it down the stairs behind me.

The phone rang, drowning out the thumping of my heart.

Who would be calling here? Everyone we knew was still at the church, eating potato salad and cold cut sandwiches.

It rang again.

I stared at it.

Riiing.

I snatched it up. “Hello?”

“Sarah Jane, where are you?” Of course, Anna wondering why I wasn’t at her beck and call, wiping up spilled punch, setting out platters of deviled eggs, and smiling and thanking people for coming and slipping some twenty dollar bills into Pastor’s hand.

“Obviously I’m at home, since you called me.” I tried to smother the waspish tone to my voice, but it crept out and I knew Anna heard it.

“We need you here, Sarah Jane. Your brothers need you. April needs you.” She must have sensed how close I was to exploding because her voice gentled to a non-Anna tone. Only I knew it was calculated to get me back there and pouring iced tea in 3.5 minutes.

“Tell them I love them, but I—”

“What? That you’re drowning in self-pity, with no regard for what they’re going through? Jake has just lost his father. He’s the head of the family now. Can you for minute forget about yourself and think about all the pressure he’s under? The pressure we’re under?” So much for the gentle Anna. The true one was back and I took comfort in knowing there was no longer a need for me to tolerate her condescension.

I hung up then stared at the kitchen.

What next?

My stomach growled, giving me a clue.

My cell phone sang from my purse, still on the dinette table where I’d dropped it earlier. I ignored it and looked for something to eat.

Inside the fridge I found platters of lunch meats and some macaroni salad, dropped off by solicitous church ladies so the family wouldn’t have to think about dinner. There was also a lasagna and tamale casserole in aluminum pans. Those Mennonite women, always thinking ahead so the mourners wouldn’t have to concern themselves with returning dishes or trying to remember who got the white Corningware or who the Anchor Hocking glass casserole belonged to.

I made two sandwiches and grabbed the lasagna.

It took two trips to load my suitcase and provisions into the car.

My cell phone had been ringing every three minutes while I fixed my moveable feast.

Once I was in the driver’s seat, I turned off the phone and stared down the drive, gripping the steering wheel.

Was this how Rachael felt, all those years ago?

Scared. Excited. Uncertain. But also sure I had to leave.

I could stay and move into the apartment over the garage. Jake had been promising to build it for three years and I was still a “guest” in the main house.

I could stay and continue to teach second grade until my class was composed of this year’s student’s children. I’d could be a multi-generational teacher.

I could stay and wonder what would have happened if I’d followed Jesse to college.

I could stay and wonder what kind of life I would have had if I hadn’t stayed to take care of Mom.

Or I could go and live my life and find out for myself.

Woe! It’s Wednesday: The Winter of Our Discontent

 

 

I live in an area that gets foggy. Not San Francisco fog. Central Valley Tule fog that hovers above the ground, blocking the sun from reaching the earth. Sometimes for a few hours. Sometimes for days. Weeks even.

 

The fog starts in November, continuing sporadically until about March. Something about damp ground, sunshine during the day, then the fog appears. It’s often patchy. I’ve left my house in the sunshine, driven five miles only to be greeted with a wall of white. And the opposite is equally likely. If you’ve gone days with no sun, you can drive a half hour into the mountains to get above it, or a couple of hours west to the coast. It’s not like we’re held captive by the fog.

Someone commented to me recently that they were hating being here in the gray damp.

I know there are real maladies such as Seasonal Affective Disorder, that afflict people who need sunlight and vitamin D and they feel depressed. Those symptoms usually take several weeks to accumulate.

But, I don’t want to be the kind of person whose outlook is dependent on my circumstances. The kind of person who believes:

• If only the sun is out, I can smile.
• If only the sun is out, I can sing.
• If only the sun is out, I can be happy.
• If only the sun is out, I can write.
• If only the sun is out, I can go for a walk.

I’m blessed to be able to do those things no matter what the weather. I can choose to live in the gray or I can take the sunshine with me.

Sure, sometimes I get tired of the mist and drab. But I don’t have to let it dictate if I’m going to have a good day. Bad things happen on bright days, just like good things happen on dark days.

I want to live as if the sun is out today.

Book Talk Tuesday: For Time and Eternity & Forsaking All Others

 

 

Forsaking All Others by Allison Pittman is a sequel to her earlier novel, For Time and Eternity. I thought I previously reviewed For Time and Eternity here but if I did, I can’t find it. It’s likely I decided not to review it “publicly” out of deference to some LDS friends and family.

However, I am a reader and a writer and enough of a grownup to know how to separate out personal feelings about religion and faith when I talk about a book.

So, I best start with For Time and Eternity.

 

Camilla Deardon is intrigued with the Mormons encamped near her family farm in Iowa. Charming Nathan Fox begins to accompany Camilla on her walk to school, against her father’s strict orders. Raised by sincere but emotionally distant parents, Camilla is attracted to the joy and fellowship evident in the Saints’ camp and she soon agrees to join them and to marry Nathan and continue on their journey to Zion. They have two daughters. Life is good for the Fox family, until two events: the loss of their infant son and Nathan decides to take a second wife. Camilla remembers her early Bible teaching and determines that she must leave her now adulterous marriage. She gets lost in a snow storm and is … Yep, that’s the cliffhanger ending.

 

Forsaking All Others picks up immediately. Camilla Fox is rescued by the U.S. Army. She is torn between returning to her beloved Nathan or leaving him and the church.  If she leaves, does that mean leaving her daughters behind? How can she go back to her parents’ home when they have returned unopened every letter Camilla sent?

 

I won’t give away the ending, but I will say that it left me vaguely dissatisfied. I would have liked just a smidgen more of a promise of a ‘happily ever after.’

Pittman writes knowledgeably about LDS history, the early days in Utah, and the battles over polygamy, both in theology and as they were likely played out in the homes of sister wives.

I recommend both books. I’ve also read one other by Pittman, Stealing Home, set in the early days of professional baseball. I really enjoyed that one, as well.

Fiction Friday: THE BANDBOX HAT

Previously: Sarah Jane’s father died. At the funeral, she contemplates how God has abandoned her family in spite of all the good works they do. At the church luncheon afterwards, she decides to go home. On the way out of the parking lot, she passes an arriving Prius with a driver who looks like Sarah Jane’s long lost sister Rachael.

THE BANDBOX HAT

Chapter 14

 

I slammed on the brakes. The car stopped with a jerk and the seatbelt dug into the side of my neck.

My cheeks flamed and I felt heat rise from my gut. It totally figured. Rachael would come back for a funeral but she couldn’t be bothered to be a part of our lives. She turned her back on the gritty details of deciding on a casket.

Rachael took off when she had to decide between raising her son or living her own life. It shouldn’t surprise me that she couldn’t deal with her parents’ illnesses or deaths. My shoulders slumped against the vinyl seat.

I glanced behind me to see the blonde climb out of the Prius and start toward the hall. She didn’t look my way so I couldn’t see her face. I stared, willing her to turn her head. She wore dark jeans, a peasant-style blouse, and teetered on stiletto heels. She tugged the door open before disappearing from my sight.

Should I go back and see if it really was my prodigal sister returned for the funeral feast?

Honk!

I jumped at the horn blare. A minivan wanted to get into the parking lot but I was blocking their way.

I waved and pulled away.

It probably wasn’t Rachael, anyway. Just my imagination playing more tricks on me. After all, I’d been seeing my sister all over town for years now.

Instead of heading home as I’d told Anna, I drove back to the cemetery. The asphalt drives meandered past green lawns and budding trees. From my car, I stared at the place where a crowd had been gathered just a few minutes ago.

Workers had already filled in the hole. A big brown stain marred the manicured fescue where Daddy’s shell had been planted.

My knuckles whitened as I gripped the steering wheel.

God, what are you doing?

Tears seeped from my lids and meandered down my face.

What should I do?

I dabbed away the dampness with a tissue and snorted a laugh. I was nearly twenty-seven years old. I was a teacher. I was single. I had the whole world in front of me. Why couldn’t I seem to leave Rosedale? Rachael had left without even a backwards glance. She left not just her hometown, but her son and her husband. Jesse left his family.

I stared into the sycamore tree that would shade Dad’s gravesite come summertime, not wanting to take that last thought to its logical conclusion.

Jesse left me.

After Rachael, Mom left. Now, Dad. I was left behind again, only this time, my only comfort was my brothers and Anna and April. Two of the boys were the strong, silent types, just like Dad. Nathan was my favorite, but given the way Carlene had clutched his arm, he might not be available to be my strong shoulder much longer. Jake’s first allegiance had to be Anna and April. Even though Anna drove me crazy, I wouldn’t want it any other way. Jake made a commitment to Anna when he married her and this family already had one member who bailed when things got rough. Jake wouldn’t be that kind of a flake.

I was more alone than I’d ever been. Everyone I’d ever loved had moved on, leaving me to clean up after them. Whether it was hurt feelings to soothe, or a messy shared bedroom, or a classroom of hooligans, I’d been cleaning up after someone for most of my life.

My jaw ached and I rubbed my chin as the thoughts and memories continued to flow over me.

Rachael climbing out the window and holding a finger to her lips as Dad called through the closed door. “You girls okay in there?”

“Just fine, Daddy. Good night!” I sang out in reply.

Rachael flashed me a thumbs up before slipping over the sill and out of sight.

Then Jesse. “I’ll be home in a couple of weeks,” he’d promised. It was months before he came back for a visit and then I heard about from Mrs. Grunwald next door. He never called. Not once.

Mom. Growing weaker until she could no longer get out of bed.

Dad. Strong and vital one day. Gone the next.

Who’d be next? Jake? Or someone else? My stomach clenched at the thought of what God had up His sleeve for me. He could take April in an accident. She rode the bus to school most days. No seatbelts. Crossing railroad tracks. She loved the swings out on the playground. And playing hopscotch. She could slip and fall and crack her head on the concrete, the way she skipped out to recess every day.

What would I do without my sweet niece? What would Anna and Jake do?

I turned the key in the ignition, jumping at the grinding noise it made since I’d never turned it off.

I jerked the gear shift and drove at least three miles an hour over the posted speed limit sign of ten MPH. As soon as I exited the cemetery, I turned toward home and pressed the gas pedal.

Book Talk Tuesday on a Wednesday

Bittersweet Surrender by Diann Hunt.

Carly Westlake owns a chocolate spa. She’s recovered from losing a breast to cancer but she’s not quite recovered from losing her husband to a younger, whole-er woman. She’s recently lost her best friend and co-worker in the spa in an accident. Her father also died and her elderly stepmother is moving in. Her life is stressful. She’s also been emailing a new man … sort of. Her brother’s best friend, Jake, whom she had a crush on when they were younger. Jake is moving back to town with his teenage daughter. Carly’s brother’s marriage is shaky due to her brother’s C.J.’s drinking and gambling. Did I mention Carly’s life is stressful? Her best friend who died, Ivy’s husband, Scott, is helping Carly figure out her finances and why a spa full of customers isn’t making money.

If that sounds like a lot, just try being Carly.

It all sounds like the perfect setup for a fun, lovely, sweet book.

I can only give it about 2 stars. If that.

I didn’t love it. Which even I find hard to believe since it’s got all the elements I love in my fiction. Chocolate. Romance. Fun. Purses. Chocolate. A spunky heroine. Chocolate.

But the elements didn’t mesh for me. Carly came off more irritated and petty instead of spunky at the beginning when her stepmother moved in and Scott volunteered to help her lose some weight by working out with her. She was resentful and childish.

The book wasn’t edited well. At one point, Carly uses a deep breathing technique that she learned in her Christian yoga class. Later, she’s at a class with her sister-in-law, but all of a sudden it’s Carly’s first time at the class. The next day she’s sore, again from that first time.  If it was her first time, where did she learn all the deep breathing techniques?

Carly talks about a spa called West Baden in Indiana (the book takes place in Vermont). In the next chapter, she drives 30 minutes to the next town over to check out the West Baden Spa. Those details make it hard for me to get into the fictive story world. I kept getting pulled out to flip back and make sure that I understood the previous comment and then reading the current page again. 

The “hero” that Carly is crushing on, anyone can see that he’s a self-centered jerk, but Carly is sure he’s the thinking about a future with her.

The other reviews I’ve read of this book were quite glowing, so maybe it was just me.

I was furnished a free e-copy of this book from Thomas Nelson, in return for an honest review.

Woe! It’s Wednesday: The Lost Art of Connecting

 

For several years now, I've been writing "charming notes," (thanks to Carolyn See's Making a Literary Life) to authors, editors, and/or agents whose work touches me. 

Some days I spend more time looking for a snail mail address that might reach them than I do writing the note. Today I gave up who I was going to write to simply because she was impossible to contact except electronically.

I did a search for a mega-best selling author instead and BAM! there it was: a PO Box! Yippee!! I could write my note instead of wandering aimlessly in cyberspace.

I often think that one of these days I’m going to run out of writers or editors or agents but so far it hasn’t happened, even though I’ve been doing this for years. Not every day, as Ms. See recommends. In fact, I pretty much skipped 2011 but I’ve been back at it the last month or so.

I’ve received some lovely responses, a book or two, and the quiet satisfaction of having sent something nice out into the ether.

Alexander McCall Smith made my day with his snail mail letter sent to me in response. Same with Sophie Kinsella, Claire Cook, Dean Koontz, and Kristan Higgins. Margaret Maron. Beverly Cleary. I could keep going …

The one person I haven’t yet written to is … yep, Carolyn See.

I wanted to have some months of notes behind me before I added her to my list of notes mailed. And she says you must write on nice stationery with your name engraved or printed on it. I’ve had some made, but now I’m out and I’m just writing on any (nice quality) card I can find.  Then I put it off again because it will feel like an ending instead of a beginning.

But that’s silly. Right? Right.

She’ll be tomorrow’s note. If I can scrape up one more good quality card or sheet of paper.

Book Talk Tuesday: Until There Was You

Loved it!

I mentioned a few weeks ago that I bought this on my Kindle. I’ve loved most everything by Kristan Higgins, except for My One and Only, which made me a bit hesitant to try her latest.

I’m so glad I did. She completely redeemed herself.

Posey Osterhagen is small and spunky with a big family and a bigger dog. She had a high school crush on the local bad boy, Liam Murphy.

Liam left town to follow his girl friend to college. He’s back now, widowed and with a teenage daughter.

Posey is still drawn to Liam, but he barely notices her. Much like when they were in high school.

Posey’s parents seem determined to fix up Liam with Posey’s cousin Gretchen, a celebrity chef called The Barefoot Fraulein.

Until There Was You has all the elements of a perfect Kristan Higgins romance: a spunky heroine, an adorable dog, eccentric parents, and an endearing story.

I’m ready to go back and pick up the one or two novels of hers that I haven’t yet read.