Tuesday Tales is a weekly blog featuring diverse authors who post excerpts from their works in progress based on word and picture prompts. We’re a dedicated group that enjoys reading as much as you do. Today our word is tiny. My snippet is from a light paranormal set in the 1950s. The heroine works hard to make a living in her restaurant and raise her little daughter while awaiting the return of her husband from the Korean War. Please visit the other fabulous authors at Tuesday Tales.
“It’s Friday, Mama, and nothing’s come on the train all week. We should get a letter from Daddy today, shouldn’t we?”
Laura’s throat tightened before she answered. “Very possibly, sweetie. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”
Tiny white gold eyebrows scrunched together in mighty protest. “Our fingers crossed?”
“Like this.” Laura demonstrated. “For good luck.”
“Oh.” Gwennie followed suit. “I will, but I can’t cross them during penmanship. Miss Harris might not like it.”
“Not in class, sweetie, just here at home, and maybe at recess if you think about it.”
“Oh, yes, I can cross them during recess, even while jumping rope!” With exuberance, she hopped up and down, demonstrating the feat.
Laura smiled and patted her daughter’s head. “Very good. By the time you come home, we may have a letter.”
“May I walk down and check the mail after school?”
Laura hesitated. “I’ll do it this time, honey.”
Gwennie took it in stride. “’Kay. Bye, Mama.”
She leaned down for a hug and peppermint scented kiss. “Be a good girl today. Drink all your lunch milk. Oh, there’s Patty at the door. See you at three o’clock, honey.”
After Gwennie set off with her friend walking the few blocks to school, Laura soon got busy with customers. Still she managed to keep an eye on the clock. Gwennie didn’t realize they actually hadn’t heard from Jeffrey in over four weeks now. Until recently, he had always managed to write every other week, at least a few lines, and a feeling of unease had begun to settle in. Each day this week when the southbound had blown its whistle, she had barely given the postmaster sorting time before hurrying down the sidewalk to the post office.
Twelve thirty. Wouldn’t you know the train was running late? When it finally came, she squeezed nails into her palms, waiting on it to slow down and the mail bag to be hooked. As soon as Mr. Henry retrieved the bag, she had a violent urge to run after him, but forced herself to wait fifteen minutes.
When the allotted time had crept by, she trotted down the sidewalk. Impatient fingers twirled the combination and flung open the box. Nothing there. She patted inside. No letter.
I hope you enjoyed my take on tiny. Thanks a bunch for stopping by. Return to Tuesday Tales.
Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic in Romance