Calico Connections – written to the prompt ‘green’

This week I’m writing for Tuesday Tales, a small group of authors that write each week to a word prompt or a picture prompt. My current project is Calico Connections, set in 1934 Athelstan, Iowa, where a group of women and girls created some real-life stitchery squares that remain all these years later.

This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘green.’

Enjoy the snippet here, then go check out the other delightful tales you’ll find at Tuesday Tales.

The next morning Sarah was up and in action long before the rooster even crowed. Slipping softly out of bed, trying not to wake Frank or the children, she felt her way into the dark kitchen, walking cautiously to avoid loud bumps and stubbed toes.

Running her hands along the wall that led to the kitchen doorway, she followed the turn which housed the counter and cupboards. Her fingers ran to the first drawer without conscious thought, and she pulled it open, poking about until she found the box of matches. Striking a match brought instant light to the room. As dim as it was, it was enough to find the kerosene lamp sitting in the middle of the table and the wick was lit long before the match ran out of flame.

Carrying the lamp, she made her way out the back door into the inky blackness. The sun was just barely beginning its ascent in the eastern sky. The barest blush of light lit the far horizon, not even enough to stir the roosters yet.

By the time she made her way down the dirt path to the outhouse and conducted her morning business, she opened the privy door to see that the morning sun had inched a mite higher in the sky. One lone rooster just barely croaked a rusty feeble cry in the distance.

She grinned at his feeble attempt at greeting the morning.

Little boy’s not ready to face the day either.

She wished she would have been able to sleep a tad longer. But if she were going to get Edward’s birthday cake baked before the heat of the day set in, she knew she had to get this early jump on the day.

The kitchen was so blasted hot in these hundred-degree days without firing up the stove. But it wouldn’t do to have a yard full of youngsters appearing for a birthday party and not have any cake to serve them.

As she passed by the garden area returning to the house, Sarah thought how she usually loved to stop and admire the lush plants that provided so much nourishment and food for the family. Right now, it was too dark to see much of the garden, but she knew what it would look like once the day brightened. Lanky growth with leaves falling off. Too much brown and not enough green. Plants barely hanging on in the horrid, unusual heat.

And that was on the days when there weren’t fresh dust storms to content with. On dust storm days, the whole world was blasted with brown, hiding all specs of color.

Sarah eased the back door open, carefully stepping inside still carrying the lit kerosene lamp to find a small shadow sitting at the table in the dark kitchen. As she sat the lamp in the middle of the table, it illuminated the small face with the cropped hair sitting there with a grin on his face.

“Edward! What in the dickens are you doing up and about so early?”

Check out the other delightful tales you’ll find at Tuesday Tales.

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