Welcome to Tuesday Tales, powered by a small group of authors, where word prompts inspire passages in the books we’re writing. Today’s word is carry. You may remember a previous version of this scene. Sections of the book are being edited and revised, including the initial gathering that introduced the various ringleaders in this cozy mystery set in fictional Glisten, Georgia. When you finish reading, make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
A family entered the store, chattering loudly and gaily among themselves, and continuing their fun even after greeting Millie. The oldest of them nodded at Granny Ledbetter but gave me no more than a fleeting glance.
Granny hefted her box of goods and headed toward the door.
Panic gripped me like a vise. “Let me carry that for you,” I offered breathlessly, hurrying to help. Was she leaving without telling me the thing I sensed she wanted me to know? Or without saying goodbye or even a final word?
To my relief, she turned at the door and eased the box into my arms. Her dark gaze radiated intensity, and her head jerked fractionally toward the outside. I took it to indicate she had something to say that shouldn’t be overheard.
When we reached her ancient bicycle, parked on the other side of my small SUV, I eyed her. “Let me drive you home.”
She shook her head briskly and pointed to her transport.
I loaded the box into the wooden cart attached to the back of the bicycle, holding my ground beside it. I was determined to stick to her like glue as long as possible. She had something to tell me. She wanted to tell me but also had misgivings, and it was something I had to hear. I knew it in my bones. She had known my mother so well. There had been some sort of connection between them, and that carried over to me. I was certain. She had known my father and also Jack. “Please,” I began, “what were you going to say inside before those people interrupted us?”
Her eyes were so black and fierce they looked like molten coal. The skin tightened over her cheekbones as her jaw clenched. Then, her face settled into determination as she seemed to make up her mind. A hand went into her coat pocket and felt around, pulling out a small drawstring bag. Old and tattered, it was made of tiny patches hand sewn together and gave the impression of a farmstead quilt—but in bag form. Whatever it held was bumpy and irregularly shaped and made the bottom third of the bag poke out.
My heartbeat raced ahead of itself, skipping wildly at the possibilities. Did she have something to show me or even give, instead of just tell?
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed the piece inspired by the word carry. If you haven’t done so already, check out the other excerpts at Tuesday Tales.
Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories
All rights reserved, copyright @ 2024 Flossie Benton Rogers
Excellent way to build suspense. Can’t wait to see what was in Granny’s bag. Great job.