Hey Everyone…
Yesterday evening, I’d sprung-up in darkness, thrown bed sheets aside, and arisen to my feet. I’d rolled an empty dinner cart away and then had skulked to a nearby window, drawn a curtain open, and gazed into a snow-covered courtyard—frosted branches, plowed footpaths, illuminated lamppost bulbs…
Somerville.
Twenty forested miles west of Hunting Hollow—a whispery village where an up-and-coming novel is set—rests Somerville, a town where young inherit bravery, responsibility, and magic.
Yesterday nonetheless, I’d hopped off a northern rail, checked into an inn, and strolled up Main Street to Somerville Book Corral where I’d perused shelves less than five minutes before residents had peeked through a window, cornered me on an aisle, and caught me up on neighborhood happenings. Protagonists I’d known for ages had stopped-by: Ms. Davenport, a high school teacher; Victoria, a young orphan; and Laurel, a storyteller.
Why the locals allow me to pen short stories about their lives only for me to share it with people beyond their horizon I’ll never understand… But I do thank them for it!
Outside my inn window nevertheless, illuminated flurries drifted before lamppost bulbs and amid moonlit snow. I scratched my head. Over the past two days, I’d reunited with several short story characters. But a few were missing; and it wasn’t until I’d finished this evening’s dinner, climbed into bed, and lay awhile that they’d trekked into my head…
Lydia and Anna Maria.
Eleven and seven years old, Lydia and Anna Maria were sisters I hadn’t seen so far this trip; and I’m uncertain whether or not that’s a positive thing. Ever since their father had passed, their mother had consumed alcohol around-the-clock, fed them every so often, and struck them without cause. Given this, the girls often ran away and/or spent evenings in a park across the street.
Each time Lydia had shared their story with me however, she’d never seemed as though all was lost. Perhaps she had to for her younger sister’s sake however as it’d been Anna Maria who’d taken the more physical abuse; and it’d been Anna who’d been mute and not as fast mentally as other children her age since birth. Because of this, Lydia has had to grow-up before her time in order to care for her.
Yet beyond snow-covered courtyard benches, across Main Street, and through the park stood a gazebo with dim strung bulbs…
I brushed the curtain wider, leaned, and squinted. I didn’t see anyone there. Perhaps their mother had improved. Perhaps the girls were okay. But then again—
No. I mustn’t think that way. While on the northern rail, I’d promised I wouldn’t presume the worst for anyone I hadn’t reconnected with during my three-month Somerville visit.
They’d find me… it was only a matter of time.
Until then however, please allow me to share with you the first of three short stories I’d penned while I’d visited Somerville in years past… it follows Lydia and Anna Maria to the park across the street where they’d recollected themselves before they’d headed to their real safe haven for the evening.
For the month of July nonetheless, please enjoy ‘Robin’s Toy Chest’ by Phillip Edwin at phillipedwin.com (see link below)!
Many thanks, and enjoy a tremendous Fourth!
Phil