Is It Still Fall?

One day, I'm baking bread and making soup and the next I'm putting meat on the grill. I'm pretty sure I know how a squirrel thinks and feels. For the last six weeks I've been trying to beat cold weather by getting my outside projects done before the real cold sets in which has me neglecting letter corresponding, twitter entries and my blog. The switch between the warm days and windy, cool, dreary days keeps me guessing about what plants to cover and what needs brought inside. That's why the squirrels scurry from one place to another so fast. They aren't sure when to take winter's coming serious.

I have to confess I got out of most of the garden cleaning except when my husband asked me to decide if he could pull some plants. I ventured into the garden long enough to say yes or no and went back to my flower beds; cleaning, digging bulbs and picking flower seeds for next year's crop. Hubby cleans the garden off, but he doesn't bother the flowers anymore. Last time he weeded the flowers in August while I was away, he proudly showed me a clean portion of bed minus my twenty year old rare yellow violet. Looks like the plant had time to make seeds which have sprouted so I may luck out. In that case so did he. Hardy marigolds are still in full colorful bloom in front of my porch. I look at that row of flowers and the garden, now bare soil, and wish it was already time to start over again.

We delivered the spring's crop of lambs and goats to Kalona Salebarn. I ate my favorite peanut butter cream pie which the Amish waitress teasingly offered to bring me before the meal. I resisted and ate light so I could enjoy the pie. Came home with one more rabbit. Now we think the stork may make a visit any day. It's a repeat trip for that stork. A month ago a hen hatched 12 chicks in between hay bales in the loft. Just what we didn't need when we're preparing for winter.

To my delight, a walnut tree I planted from seed produced a five gallon bucket full of walnuts. This morning, I picked the walnuts up and stored them in the stock trailer to dry. That is the go to place for green tomatoes to ripen and to hide walnuts. I lucked out this time. The neighbor's squirrels didn't find the walnuts before I got them picked up. Now let's hope those curious creatures don't get into the stock trailer right away. A real cold snap might signal them to carry off my walnuts.

Since the middle of August most of my computer time has been spent writing my mother's family story and tree. That has meant hours of interviewing aunts, uncles and cousins on the phone and with emails. The emails I copied into the story, but I had to take fast, sketchy notes as the aunts and uncles talked for an hour or two at a time. Those had to be transcribed as soon as I was off the phone while the stories were fresh in my mind.

The research has been fun and time consuming. I found much documented on the internet about my ancestors that was interesting to me. I've added notes about them in the family tree. I think the cousins children and great grandchildren will enjoy history like the French and Indian War and the Civil War when they realize they had relatives involved. Not to mention changes in transportation from walking to cars and kerosene lamps to electricity. I've been told my grandmother said she wished she'd had modern conveniences when her children were little. She was probably thinking about eight hour wash days bent over a scrub board using lye soap, washing for a family of eleven.

The relatives response to my writing this family project has been great. I've been bombarded with old photos to place in each of the nine siblings stories and a favorite family recipe. I'm thankful my mother was a saver of all things; a 1937 hospital menu, Dad's draft notice, and so many other things that documented the time of events. Best of all, this enterprise has brought me closer to cousins I played with when we were children. Now I'm looking forward to a visit in the spring from three cousins which is one more reason to wish winter away.

The cousins are curious about how I'm coming with the book. I don't think they realize all the information I've put into this 200 plus page story. I'm looking forward to getting done and on to another Amish book about Nurse Hal. November is national novel writing month (NaNoWriMo). I only have a few days to meet my self imposed October 31 deadline with this book and on to the next book in November. If I'm not ready by November that's all right, because my writing this family book will be a legacy for my family's future generations.

Besides I can't stay at the computer all the time. Friday afternoon, I'm going to the Keystone Nursing Care Center where I worked. There is going to be an activity about Lincoln Highway History by speaker, Mike Kelly. My parents operated one of the gas stations on the highway in Benton County for almost 30 years, but few people realize that a station has been in that spot from July 1931 to October 1987. I have gathered my pictures and information to share to bring some attention to my parents gas station. More on that later.

November 13th I've been invited to Keystone's St. John Lutheran Church to man a table at Elder Health Fair. My information is Alzheimer's disease. Along with handouts furnished by the Alzheimer's Office in Cedar Rapids, I'll be giving away one of my books on the subject "Open A Window". I can't miss an opportunity to educate people about this disease that has no cure. If you'd like a book that educates Alzheimer's caregivers go to my book store at booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com or Amazon. If you like the ebook form go to Amazon's Kindle store or B&N nook store.

So there you have it. That's what the squirrels and I have been doing this fall.

The County Seat Killer-Book 3-Amazing Gracie Mystery Series-Chapter 1

Where was I? I had to look back at the last blog post to see which book I left off with. My dial up system isn’t working right. I’ve placed several calls to see why I get disconnected or not able to dial in. Each time I get a different person that thinks the problem is solved. In just a few minutes, I find out I still get cut off. So this morning I’m going to give posting a try before I call in for more advice on what to do Where next.
We went to Mt. Pleasant, Iowa on Friday at the start of the Old Thrashers Reunion. It’s always fun talking to other people and seeing what’s new for exhibits and all the stuff that isn’t new. Now that I’m hard at work on a new family book for my mother’s family I found items I took pictures of to use in my book just like I did last year for my husband’s family book. This one is going to be larger than the one I did last year. I’ve got a larger family to write about. Can’t use the tape recorder so have to call many of the relatives and take notes for an hour or two then try to figure out my handwriting later. It’s fun finding out stories that I didn’t know and I’m enjoying the family history.
One nice thing about getting in touch with relatives is I have expanded my customer base. Once they figured out I write books, they wanted to buy one and have come back for more. As long as they talk about me in their area that spreads my customer base.
A frost warning for Wednesday and Thursday night has me worrying about my flowers. I hate to take them in this early when they bloom the prettiest. I can set them back out after the cool front passes, but they need different containers for living in the house all winter. So no offense to the northern part of Iowa, but I’m hoping the frost stays there for a few weeks yet.
Today I’m talking about my book The County Seat Killer - book 3 of Amazing Gracie Mystery Series.
This story is about the retirement home residents, including Gracie and Melinda. They have to testify at a murder trial at the county seat. The story could be considered a continuation of book one The Neighbor Watchers, but each book has a beginning and an ending. I do make reference in most of the books about something that happened in another book. For those who read the books in order the references will be familiar. When I do a series I put the book number on the cover so it is easy to tell the book’s order in the series.
Synopsis
Though the county seat isn’t such a big city, it is larger than Locked Rock and filled with strangers. When she gets off the train, Gracie is uncomfortable right away. By the time she’s been in town a few days, she is wishing she was safe at home. A strange man keeps following her around town. When a woman is found dead, Gracie gets the feeling that was meant to be her. When she testifies at the trial, she refuses to give a list of Locked Rock men that was visiting the lady of the evening that was murdered across the street from Moser Mansion Rest Home. The judge has her jailed on contempt of court for not cooperating. Gracie hates it in jail, but the sheriff thinks it might be safer for her there than out on the streets until they find the killer that’s stalking her.
I was award first place in the Little Rock, Arkansas’s Arkansas Writers’ Conference Nuts and Jolts contest a few years back for one of the chapters in the book.
So find this book along with the other five in Kindle, Nook, Amazon paperback and in my online bookstore site http:www.booksbyfaybookstore. Find the first chapter in my blog on blogger at booksbyfay.com.blogspot.com/
Chapter 1
At the crack of dawn, chaotic noises funneled through the window pane from the alley below. The loud racket vibrated off the hotel room walls, making it seem like what ever was happening was taking place right in the room. One thud after another was followed by a horse’s shrill, frightened whinny.
Restless yet not quite awake, Gracie Evans, tossed one way then the other. Finally, she turned on her side to face the window. A man’s rough voice, venting angry curses, jarred her to her senses. She batted her eyes against the bright sunlight and swiped a thin strand of gray, wavy hair out of her face.
Gracie turned over to look on the other side the bed at Melinda Applegate. Her eyes were closed.
Under her breath, Gracie growled in her gruff voice, “What’s going on down there
anyway? A body cain’t sleep for all that racket.” Holding up the front of her cotton nightgown,
she sucked in a quick breath when her warm, bare feet touched the cold, wooden floor.
Feeling the mattress move, Melinda slurred softly through a yawn, “What could be the matter at this early hour?” She brushed one of her mass of gray curls out of her eyes and rose up on her elbow to watch Gracie at the window.
“A man in the alley is trying to control his skittish horse while he throws the hotel garbage in his wagon. Looks to me like the fellow’s making matters worse by getting hostile with the horse. If you was to ask me, that man’s not much good with horses. He’s not smart enough to realize the poor nag’s scared more by his voice than by the noise the garbage makes hitting the wagon bottom,” the elderly woman surmised in an expert tone.
The jittery critter pranced, jerking the wagon back and forth. The man had trouble hitting where he aimed when he threw the garbage at the wagon. Finally, he emptied the barrels and climbed up to the seat. With a loud curse, he gave a hard flick of the reins. The skittish horse moved forward with a dancing prance.
Now that the show was over, Gracie took the time to inspect another man, leaning against the back of the saloon. With one foot hiked up on the wall, he sat on his worn thin, scuffed, boot. If not a tramp then maybe a sharecropper. He wore faded jeans with jagged holes at the knees and a thread bare, reddish, flannel shirt. An indolent air was apparent about him as he reared back against the building with his thumbs stuck in his jean pockets. His head, hidden by a dusty, straw hat with the brim drooping, turned slightly as he watched the garbage collector leave the alley.
With as much noise as the collector and horse made, the sharecropper being able to sleep that close seemed like an impossible feat for sure. Besides as far as Gracie knew, only horses could stand and sleep. Maybe cows sometimes, but not men. One thing for certain, she couldn’t sleep for that noise, and she was way up on the second floor of the hotel. So how could that man doze off right down there near the racket? From the look of him, most likely he spent more time with his elbows propped on the bar than he did working on his farm. That might explain his hearing problem.
The man raised his head up. He peered from under his straw hat’s frayed brim at Gracie’s window. He stiffened when he spotted her observing him. In a matter of seconds, he straightened up and put both feet on the ground, seemly more alert. He lowered his head again, but not quick enough. Gracie caught the cold look on his face and the thin lip sneer his seeing her produced. He had the look of a man who had been weaned on sour pickles. Puzzled by his reaction, she reasoned that since the man didn’t know her, it must be women in general that he didn’t like. He turned his back to the hotel and moseyed away with a right sided limp down the alley as though he didn’t have a reason to hurry. All at once, the man stopped. He leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. His shoulders shook as he barked a racking, dry, smoker’s cough. Once the coughing fit left him, he walked to the boardwalk and turned in the direction of the saloon.
A feeling of foreboding attacked Gracie as he disappeared from sight. She hated it when that warning of danger surged through her. More often than not something came of the threatening premonitions that overwhelmed her.
Trying to ignore the dreaded feeling of something terrible to come, she turned back to Melinda and complained, “Sometimes I get mad at that rooster of Sara Bullock’s when he crows so early across the street from the rest home. Right now that rooster would be easier to take then these city noises. I’ll be glad when we get back to Locked Rock and can sleep in our own beds.”
“For Heaven sake, we just got here yesterday afternoon. Give it a chance. The time will
fly by. You’ll see. We’re awake now so we might as well get dressed. Miss Molly will be knocking on our door before you know it to get us to go with her for breakfast.” Melinda said in her soft voice. She stood up and leaned over the other bed in the room. Gently, she shook the sleeping woman’s limp shoulder. “Time to wake up, Libby.”
“Beats me how you can sleep so sound, Libby,” groused Gracie. “There was a ruckus in the alley just now, and you didn’t even hear a thing.”
The bed covers stirred. Libby Hook groaned. She stretched and rubbed her eyes. “You’d get used to city noises if you’d lived in a big enough one for a while,” she snapped sassily.
“Ain’t gonna happen,” Gracie bristled back at her.
As Melinda predicted, in a short time a series of light knocks tapped on the door. Molly Moser Lang called, “Ladies, are you awake?”
“Who’s got the key?” Libby asked, pulling her dress down over her petticoat. Pinching a handful of material on both sides, she shook her skirt the rest of the way to the floor.
“I have,” Gracie said. Reaching over to the night table beside her, she picked up the key and tossed it to Libby. “Good catch.”
Wordlessly, Libby opened the door and stood back. She pushed hairpins farther into the dark gray bun rolled on the back of her neck while she waited for Molly and Moxie to enter.
“Come on in, Miss Molly,” called Melinda. She placed the comb she’d used on her short, gray curls back in her black, cloth bag and tightened the drawstrings.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Gracie deftly whipped three, long, thinning strands of gray hair into a braid while she studied Melinda. The lady’s soft, cheerful voice always sounded too sugary for so early in the morning, but Gracie resisted the urge to say so. Melinda would just laugh at her. She’d say Gracie was all out of sorts because of being woke up so rudely. Now that
she had time to think about it, Gracie reckoned Melinda was probably right.
Molly hurried through the door. “Are you ladies ready? We best go down to the dining room before we go over to the courthouse.”
Molly’s short friend and permanently, visiting house guest, Moxie McEntire, slid from behind her. “Good morning to ye all,” she greeted. “Let’s go sample city fare for a change. Sure and it tis a fact, I’m ready to eat breakfast.”
“You’re always ready to eat,” groused Gracie, stabbing a hairpin through the two braids she’d crowned round the top of her head.
She straightened her shoulders and flexed her fingers in her lap. She was always glad when she had that chore done. Didn’t take very long holding her arms up in the air to start her shoulders aching. That worried her. How would she get her hair braided when she couldn’t do it herself. The sad thought struck her that maybe she wouldn’t. Her scrappy hair would fly about her face and shoulders, giving her a witchy look. That thought didn’t make her mood any better.
“Well! Sure and ye are a chipper songbird this very morning,” quipped Moxie.
Gracie narrowed her eyes at Moxie.
Before she had a chance to retort, Molly asked, “Is something wrong already? Golly Moses, we just got here?”
“Gracie just woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Libby criticized.
“I see.” Molly gave that an instant of thought. She decided to put off asking what was the matter with Gracie that early in the morning. “Why don’t we discuss it over breakfast. I agree with Moxie. I’m starving. Let’s go eat.” She headed out the open door.
As the Moser ladies trouped down the hall, Gracie let her mind wonder to what was
ahead that day. She wanted to see justice done as far as Mavis Jordan was concerned. After all,
she did commit the murder of their neighbor, Rachel Simpson, across the street from them in Locked Rock, Iowa the summer before. That wicked woman deserved whatever punishment she received from the law. Actually, Gracie thought she’d look forward to coming to the county seat to testify at Mavis’s trial. After a long, winter, the idea of doing something different besides sitting in front of the parlor fireplace all day seemed exciting to her at the time, but sleeping in this fancy hotel and putting up with all the finery that went with it hadn’t entered her mind. She was definitely out of her element. Now that the time had come, all she wanted to do was head back to Locked Rock as soon as she could. She wanted to be in familiar surroundings, with people she knew and to sleep in her own bed. No other bed at night felt as good as a fellow’s own bed.
Walking behind the other ladies, Gracie descended on the wide, scarlet carpeted stairs to the lobby. She looked down over the women’s bobbing heads in front of her at the vast space. This county seat hotel, for sure, was grander than Molly Lang’s Moser Mansion Rest Home For Women. She never thought she’d see the day she’d be staying in a building fancier than that place.
Forked shadows flickered across the wall beside her. Out of the corner of her eyes, Gracie caught the movements. She stopped, placed a hand on the beefy, oak railing to steady herself and looked up. Above her dangled two enormous chandeliers trimmed with shimmering, crystal bells. The lighting glowed through the glass bells, reflecting prisms that played off the lobby’s dome shaped, gilded wood ceiling. The prisms danced in brilliant, pastel shades of a rainbow like one that dressed up the sky after a quick, spring shower.
An urge of another sort hit her. What she wouldn’t give to be out on her farm on an April morning after a spring shower settled the dust, smelling the crisp, cleansed air. Instead, she was stuck amid dressed up strangers scurrying who knows where with never a how you do to anyone. In the next second, Gracie consoled herself that she wasn’t missing much on the farm right then. So far the first of April hadn’t felt much like spring. The days stayed stubbornly cold and dreary with the threat of a late snowstorm in the air.
Gracie surveyed the lobby. She wondered when the last time was she had seen so many people in one place. Maybe it was at Molly and Orie’s wedding last October. Though it could have been that ill fated barn dance after the wedding that Molly made her go to. Plenty of people turned up there. Even Millard Sokol showed up. Gracie shook her head. She decided she best not think about that wedding dance and her old beau if she wanted to get over her bad mood any time soon.
The hotel bustled with wall to wall people. A line formed at the reception desk. Dressed in a black, broadcloth suit and white shirt, the same clerk, that helped Molly yesterday afternoon, accepted returned keys or handed them back out from the wooden pegs on the wall behind him to other people checking in. A nervous fellow, his eyes darted around the lobby, seeming to miss nothing that went on around him. All the while, he talked to the hotel guests as if they had his full attention.
Over in one corner, people waited in line for their turn to ride up in the bronze elevator. A load of passengers behind the barred door rose and slowly disappeared from sight. That wasn’t to Gracie’s liking to be packed tight like a mess of catfish on a stringer in that hot cage. Besides she’d rather be doing the moving on the stairs with some elbow room instead of riding in that elevator with a cavernous hole under her. The stairs felt safer to her.
Covered with a stack of newspapers, a shiny, mahogany table, with bowed legs and gilded clawed feet, set between two large, crimson sofas in the middle of the lobby. Both sofas were already filled with people, reading the Cedar Valley newspaper. Glancing over one woman’s shoulder as she past by, Gracie made out the bold headlines, “Mavis Jordan Trial Starts Today - April 8, 1904”.

Book 2-Historical Mystery Series-Specious Nephew- 1st Chapter

A couple weeks ago I went on twitter to click on recent followers. For once the whole list came up fairly quick without telling me to wait because of a hiccup. Turned out to be more tweets than I had received notice about in my emails. I sent a message thanking each one and mentioned my books. In return I had a message back from Kindle Surprise. If I would email my book titles the books would be mentioned on Twitter. I did that. Then I had a tweet on Twitter from Booksie Jar telling me my twitter address had been mentioned along with several others. Pays to keep replying to followers. I am several behind right now. Most of these are fishermen and gardeners but they probably read books or someone that follows them will read my Thanks for following me-buy my books tweet.

I was gone to the Ozarks last week - to Nevada, Missouri to be exact. It is so good to connect with many of my southern cousins on my mother's side. It had been four years since I had been home. We lost a Uncle, my mother's brother, - one that we all considered very special. That brought on reminiscing while my family was together, and the usual I can't retain all this. We need it wrote down with a family tree for our children. Since I took some of the cousins one of my books the stares were directed at me. All right, I did write a book for my husband's family last year. I have many old pictures of my mother's aunts, uncles and grandparents and stories. So I volunteered. Cuts into my writing a book time, but I have entered this thinking of it as a labor of love for my generation of cousins and their future offsprings.

I've heard from a cousin in Oskaloosa, Iowa that a bookstore downtown called Book Vault has put a few more of my books in the online store and when asked in the store they will order the books. This cousin is a good salesman for me. She goes in the store, reminds the clerk that she is related to me and she'd like any book I've written. Now if only I can talk the other 49 cousins that are scattered across the country into doing that. Maybe if I keep passing around free books it will happen.

Now on my blog sites I'm going to submit the first chapter from Specious Nephew - Book 2- Amazing Gracie Mysteries. Most that read the title probably think that I spelled suspicious wrong, but I remembered my Ozark born mother pronouncing the word specious and thought that was the way my Gracie Evans spoke. Remember this series is historical mysteries set in early 1900's. My blogsite http://www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com or http://www.booksbyfay.blogspot.com
If you want to see a review look on Amazon and find the ebook in Kindle and Nook stores.

In this book, the owner of Moser Mansion Rest Home in Locked Rock, Iowa, Molly Moser, is planning her wedding to the butter and egg man, Orie Lang. She is having a garden wedding in the back yard. The residents are invited to the wedding, and they may ask a relative to escort them. Gracie Evans doesn't have any relatives. Libby Hook has one son in California that refuses to come back for a wedding. Melinda Applegate has lost track of her brother and sister since they moved away from Iowa. She decides it is time she tried to find a relative so she advertises in a reader to reader column of a big newspaper. Much to her surprise, Melinda gets a letter from Jeffrey Armstrong. He claims to be her nephew and would be glad to come for the wedding. Once he shows up, Gracie takes a dislike to him. She can just tell he is up to no good, but Melinda won't listen. She is too busy letting Jeffrey escort her around town and on buggy rides. Gracie tries to tell others at the mansion of her suspicions. They think she is jealous, because Melinda wasn't rocking with her on the porch any more. Molly Moser Lang leaves on a month long honeymoon, leaving her friend, Moxie McEntire, in charge of the rest home. If Gracie didn't have enough to worry about with the specious nephew lurking about now all sorts of upheaval breaks loose. Jeffrey's vague threats to quit nosing around worry her. Moxie may be trying to replace the late Rachel Simpson as the town's lady of the evening. With all that's happening, Miss Molly is going to be gone way too long to suit Gracie.

Chapter 1


God didn't intend for old folks to like fall, thought Gracie Evans. She vigorously rubbed her aching, left knee. The crisp, north breeze rattled brown leaves on the unkempt, pivot hedge along side of Moser Mansion Rest Home For Women. A shiver run through Gracie, settling in under the dark gray braids wrapped around her head. In an instant a strong gust of wind tore loose a handful of leaves and scooted them along the porch floor in front of Gracie and her companion, Melinda Applegate. The leaves made it all the way to the south end of the porch. They swirled up in a whirlwind motion then scattered across the yard, lodging in the dead leaf piles at the base of the hedge and the picket fence.
Looking at the clematis on the trellis in front of her, Gracie grimaced. The look of it was more proof that fall was an ugly time of year. It was the ninth of September. The vine had thinned to a screen of yellow leaves, like what was left of the ones on the honeysuckle and morning glory vines that grew on either end of the porch.
Not that Gracie needed shade from the hot, summer sun now. The two handmade, Amish rockers positioned behind each of the three vines no longer needed protection. In fact, what little warmth the sun provided soaked into her, feeling mighty good now that this sudden cool snap hinted at an early frost.
She didn't bother to squint through the peek holes in the vines. She'd kept them clear of leaves during the summer to give Melinda and her an unobstructed view of the neighbors comings and goings. Now there were more natural openings then leaves, and wouldn't you know not much exciting to watch across the street since the lady of the evening, Rachel Simpson, was murdered and her house burnt to the ground.
Two doors north of Rachel's house, Mavis and Dan Jordan split up during the summer. That couple sure kept things exciting for awhile with their fighting. Many a night she'd watched Dan Jordan sneak into the side door of Rachel Simpson's house after dark until his wife, Mavis, found out. Then Dan ran off. After that Mavis went off the deep end. She murdered the Simpson girl, realized that Gracie and Melinda knew too much and put fear into everyone at the Moser mansion until Gracie and Melinda helped get Mavis arrested for Rachel's murder. Now the Jordan house stood empty.
A retired couple, Earl and Sara Bullock, owned the house on the middle lot across the street. Nice enough couple but about as exciting as watching an old dog chase his tail. The highlight of their day seemed to be working in the flower beds and garden in the summer. Of course, that was more than she had to keep her busy. Gracie had to give them that. All she did was sit, letting people wait on her.
Now with fall coming on, Gracie expected the Bullocks would stay out of sight, indoors by the fire, but this day had certainly been different. There had been a flurry of activity at their house. For the better part of the day, Gracie sit tight to her rocker, trying to figure out what the heck was happening over there.
The fact was there just wasn't any other way for Gracie to occupy her time in the rest home. She was willing to stick with sitting on the Moser porch until much colder weather hit Locked Rock, Iowa to keep from sitting closed away in the dark parlor. That would happen soon enough. Of course, Melinda agreed to rock on the porch with her. That helped. They always had each other to pass the time of day with. That is, when she could keep Melinda awake.
Besides there wasn't anything wrong with a body being curious. Gracie felt she needed to stay informed about what was happening in the community. What easier way to do it for an old person besides listening and watching the neighbors.
"A penny for your thoughts," suggested Melinda in her soft voice, breaking the silence. She relaxed her head against her rocker, her light gray, curls flattened to her face like tiny springs. The petite woman gave Gracie a long, thoughtful look.
Gracie studied on what she should say before she spoke, wanting to blurt that God hadn't intended for fall to be a season suitable for old folks, but she resisted. Melinda would scold her for being sacrilegious if she bothered to be so truthful. Instead she looked down at the sunlight that filtered through the vine onto her lap. Stretching a crooked finger out, she tapped at the pale yellow sparkles of light that danced along the folds of her brown skirt. Finally, she answered in her brassy voice, waving her finger back and forth toward the open space between the two vines. "I'm thinking now that the sun's peeking under the roof we should move our rockers over so we get the full sunshine. I don't know about you, but I'm mighty chilly. Here it is early in the afternoon when the day should be the warmest. If you ask me it's too early to have this cold a weather."
Melinda smiled at Gracie's complaining. She replied softly, "Well, you know the old saying. If you don't like the weather in Iowa, wait awhile. It'll change."
"Just the same, I'd rather not freeze to death any sooner than I have to. A body could catch her death sitting in the shade on a day like today. Let's move over in the sunlight."
Melinda nodded agreement. She rose, scooted her rocker over, and left room for Gracie. Tugging her rocker into position, Gracie plopped down. Tapping her toes on the floor, she began to rock energetically, hoping that would help warm her up.
A group of children ran down the street, shouting and laughing. Definitely the fall season is for the younger generations, confirmed Gracie to herself. Young ones stayed active enough that they didn't feel the chill in the air. Thank goodness her mind was clear enough that she remembered those days, but she gave a deep sigh when she thought about how long ago that was. Gracie contemplated Main Street with hitching racks almost empty of buggies and horses. "Not much business at the stores with the farmers in the fields, gathering in the corn crops before the first snow came. Orie Lang hadn't even been by much lately to take Miss Molly for a buggy ride."
"He managed to stop picking corn long enough to pick Miss Molly up for church again Sunday. Most times he stays for dinner like last Sunday before he heads back to the farm," defended Melinda.
"Expect Aunt Pearlbee's cooking is the only good meal that bachelor gets. He's no dummy," replied Gracie.
Smiling, Melinda made a tent of her fingers and brought them up to touch her lips. "If you'd been paying attention lately, you'd notice Mr. Orie isn't taking notice of Aunt Pearlbee's cooking while he's here."
"Come to think of it, Mr. Orie didn't seem in such a hurry last Sunday. He spent a good part of the afternoon in the parlor with Miss Molly. He must be about done with the harvest," decided Gracie.
"Reckon so. It'll be good for Miss Molly when Mr. Orie starts coming more regular. Since they've been sparking, Miss Molly seems so happy," said Melinda.
Gracie didn't have a reply for that comment so she sat quietly drifting in her thoughts. She watched a couple of squirrels, chasing each other along side the porch. For the last several days, they'd scampered across the yard with their cheeks full. Now that their fur coats grew thick and fuzzy to ward against the cold, they sensed it was time to store a food supply for the winter. They buried walnuts and acorns in the ground or hid their bootee at the base of the hedge. It seemed like only yesterday, Melinda and she watched from the gazebo while a couple of squirrels scurried up the old maple in the backyard, carrying food to babies in a leafy nest. It must be true that the time passes faster as a body gets older. No doubt about it, thought Gracie, frowning. She looked at the brown spots covering the back of her hands and wondered when they had turned ugly on her.
In her younger days, she didn't have time to worry about yesterday or tomorrow for that matter. In the fall, she kept busy on her farm. Just like the men farmers, she'd work along side a wagon pulled by a team of work horses. She yanked the ears out of the dried shucks and threw them at the wagon. As she walked down the rows between the dried stalks, she shouted, "Come Queen, come Buck." The horses moved slowly past her, stopping when Gracie hollered whoa. All the while hurrying as fast as she could, Gracie worked to fill the wagon, making the most of the daylight hours. She was pretty darn good at picking corn. As good as any man she knew.
And now what am I gathering? She asked herself at that moment in 1903 while she sat on the mansion porch Locked Rock. A sudden breeze blowing from Canada made her mighty uncomfortable. Gracie silently answered her question with, goose bumps. She vigorously rubbed her arms. Tugging her walnut stained, knit shawl tighter over the front of her long sleeve, tan blouse, she smoothed it out in her lap over her calico skirt.
What she needed was something to think about besides being cold like what was going on in the front yard right then. A swarm of monarch butterflies fluttered across the front yard, flitting from the large rest home sign over to the vines then back to the picket fence. They seemed restless as if too tired to light and rest. The orange and black blurs soared up high and floated down in a slow, graceful ballet. Migrating on their journey south, the butterflies needed to rest for a spell, but by morning, they'd be on their way again. Once in awhile in the summer, a lonely butterfly flitted around the honeysuckle, but that wasn't the same. It'd be another year before a large number flocked together to give this kind of show and then only for a few hours on their way south.
As the monarchs fluttered down the street, Gracie relaxed back against her rocker and sighed.
"Gracie, if you keep frowning, you're face is going to freeze that way with as cool as it's getting," teased Melinda. "What's the matter with you today?"
"I hate the cold of fall and winter. That's all. I feel winter coming in my bones already, and I dread it," Gracie said with sincerity.
"Well, worrying about something that you can't stop from happening isn't going to make you feel any better. I swear the better I get to know you the more the word curmudgeon comes to mind." The way Melinda looked at Gracie wasn't altogether flattering.
Gracie gave her a hard look right back. "Whoa there! That don't sound like a nice thing to call me. What is this crud mudge on anyway?"
"The word is curmudgeon. If you want to know what it means look it up in the dictionary in the Moser library," said Melinda.
"Fine friend you are. Calling me names," snapped Gracie, wiggling indignantly in her rocker.
The screen door hinges squeaked. The cook, Pearlbee, shuffled slowly through the doorway, steadying a tray with two cups on it. The thought ran through Gracie's mind that if Pearlbee's hips got any broader, she'd have to turn sideways to go through the doors. Wouldn't do to bring that up to the cook though. Let Pearlbee's dander get up and she turned into a cyclone in action.
"Hi, Aunt Pearlbee," greeted Gracie. "Didn't realize it was tea time yet. We can sure use that."
"Yes, thank you, Aunt Pearlbee. I'm so glad Miss Molly decided to start having tea time. It breaks up the afternoon." Pearlbee lowered the tray down to Melinda. She hooked her fingers in the handle of a steaming cup, lifted it off the tray and wrapped her hands around it.
"I'm sure ready for something to warm me up," said Gracie, reaching for her steaming cup.
The cook's unsteady gait made it hard for her to keep the tray steady. Melinda suggested in concern for the cook's safety, "Aunt Pearlbee, you really should use your cane more."
"Ah's knowed it Missus, but cain't when I gets my hands full," declared Pearlbee.
"Maybe we should come get our own tea from now on. That would be of help wouldn't it, Gracie?" suggested Melinda.
Gracie thought Pearlbee puffed up some. Never could tell when she'd get miffed about someone taking a chore away from her. Gracie sure didn't want that anger directed at her. Let this be Melinda's idea. Noncommittally, she shrugged her shoulders. "Don't make no never mind to me."
"Then that's what we will do. You just let us know when you're ready Aunt Pearlbee. We'll come to the kitchen after the tea." As if she sensed Pearlbee might not know how to take this helping hand, Melinda gave the cook a close inspection and quickly changed the subject to one favorable to Pearlbee. "My, you do look nice in your new uniform, Aunt Pearlbee," she complimented.
"Thank ya, Missus," beamed Pearlbee, swishing her hips exaggeratedly to model the full effect of her newly acquired, black, challis dress set off by a white linen collar and cuffs on the long sleeves. Pearlbee reached for the hem of her full length, stiffly starched, white apron and held it out. She twisted around to show them the fancy way the pointed yoke straps came to a v in back where the ties made a bow.
Gracie took a sip from her cup before she watched the cook model her uniform. Drinking the warm tea make her even more uncomfortable. "Aunt Pearlbee, find us those quilts we cover our laps with when you have time. I don't think it's going to warm up enough out here this afternoon to be comfortable without them."
"Sure thing, Miss Gracie. Ah's be right back." Pearlbee waddled back to the screen door, balancing the empty tray.
Melinda watched the cook disappear then chastised, "Gracie, the least you could have done was tell Aunt Pearlbee you liked her new uniform."
Gracie pursed her lips, thinking about her answer. "Maybe but she looked all right in the ever day outfits she used to wear as far as I'm concerned."
"But she's proud of that uniform, and she does look nice in it," insisted Melinda.
"Don't expect Aunt Pearlbee would have gotten that fancy getup if she hadn't kept up such a fuss over that missing red apron we borrowed and didn't bring back. Miss Molly just gave her the uniform to calm her down," reminded Gracie, looking away from Melinda to across the street. Her mind was torn between arguing with Melinda and wondering what the two strange men were up to at the Bullocks. They made repeated trips, carrying boards and rolls of wiring into the house.
"What do you mean we?" Melinda's sweet, quiet voice rose a little. She darted a glance at the door. Focusing on Gracie, she lowered her voice, "As I remember it, that idea was yours, putting the apron in the package mean Mavis hid in exchange for the bloody dress she wore when she murdered Rachel Simpson. You're just lucky Aunt Pearlbee hasn't found out yet."
Gracie straightened in her rocker, squared her shoulders and jabbed a crooked finger at Melinda. "I'm lucky. As I recall you were right there in the tool shed in the middle of the night helping me find that package. Weren't you?"
Melinda sunk back in her rocker. "You're right," she muttered half heartily, looking down at her folded hands in her lap.
A door bang across the street. Gracie put her attention in that direction. She sure didn't want to miss anything. With curiosity in her voice, she exclaimed, "There comes a couple men out of Sara Bullock's house again. Wonder what she's having done? Sure was a mess of boards and wire, those men unloaded from that wagon this morning."
"Look at that fence post those two men put up in the corner of the yard. Must be all of thirty feet tall. Makes me nervous wondering what kind of animal Earl intends to keep in Rachel Simpson's yard when they get it fenced in," said Melinda.
"That ain't a fence post. No animal needs a fence that high in the air," snorted Gracie in disdain. "That's a city girl for you."
"Well, Miss Know It All, what is it for then? Oh wait, here comes Sara. We'll just ask her," returned Melinda, defensively.
"Yahoo, ladies," shouted Sara, waving at them.
Gracie noted under her breath, "Sara, got her apron on. Must be making a hurry up call."
Melinda returned the wave and called eagerly, "Good afternoon. Come on up here."
Sara settled her wide hips between the arms of a rocker behind the honeysuckle vine. She untied her bonnet and removed it from her head.
Anxious to get out of Sara what was going on, Melinda asked, "We've been dying of curiosity about all the activity at your place. What you fixing?"
Gracie leaned forward to look around Melinda.
Sara took her time folding and placing her bonnet in her lap. She knew the elderly women could hardly wait to satisfy their curiosity. Grinning, she said, "Not fixing anything. I got me a job. That stuff goes with it."
"What kind of job?" Rushed out of Gracie's mouth.
"I'm a telephone switch board operator," informed Sara proudly.
"What's a telephone?" Gracie wanted to know.
"That's one of those new contraptions that people are talking on to each other now," shared Sara.
"Well, what is that big fence pole in the corner of your yard for?" quizzed Melinda.
Sara giggled. "It's not a fence pole. That's a telephone pole."
"See there," Gracie rubbed in. "I told you that was no fence post."
"Well, let Sara finishing tell us what it is then," Melinda snipped, peevishly.
Their neighbor continued to explain, "There will be more poles set down the block. Wire has to be strung on them and hooked to the houses of everyone who has a telephone to send messages over."
"What's going on out here?" Molly Moser peeked through the screen door. "I thought I heard talking."
"Afternoon, Molly. I was just telling Gracie and Melinda about my new job," replied Sara.
"What! You have a job? Tell me, too." Molly popped outside. The screen door shut with a hollow bang and bounced a couple times before it stilled. The young woman scurried over to sit down in the rocker next to Sara. She gripped the rocker seat, leaned forward and put all her attention on their neighbor.
"I'm going to run the switchboard for the telephones out of my home. I'm what they call a switchboard operator," Sara announced proudly. "Want to come see what it looks like? The workmen should have everything about set up by now."
"Sure, I'd like to see," said Molly, eagerly.
Melinda looked at Gracie. "We want to go, too. Don't we?"
"Reckon." With little enthusiasm, Gracie tried to digest what this new gadget that Sara described was all about as they crossed the street. She wasn't so sure she was going to like whatever it turned out to be.
The small, clapboard house the Bullocks owned was one of several look alike houses in town built in a hurry to accommodate people that moved to town after the railroad came. Gracie followed behind Molly and Melinda through the neat, but sparse parlor. Between the worn, dark brown, horsehair couch and a stuffed chair that matched it sat a table with a kerosene lamp in the middle surrounded by books. A rocker was by the front window. Near it sat a small table with a bouquet of pink and lavender asters in the center. Most likely they'd be the last flowers Sara would gather this year out of her flower beds.
The middle of the floor was covered by a large, oval, multicolored rag rug. Knowing how handy Sara was, Gracie figured she braided it from sewing scraps and the best parts of old clothes. Sara like Gracie never threw anything away. Gracie's mother used to say, "Just as sure as shootin' you throw away something, there'll come the day you could have used it." Over the years, Gracie found her mother's advice to be right. What never came up was the fact that finding something later that had been laid back for future use was often a hopeless case. In later years, Gracie hunted through the piles of objects discarded by her parents and herself, searching for an item. If it took very long to find what she was looking for, she'd then have to stop and think a while to remember why she wanted to find the object in the first place.
Sara motioned for her guests to follow her. She led them to a door on the north end of the parlor. "This is the spare bedroom, but there's room for the bed and the switchboard, too."
When they heard the women, the two workers, in chambray work shirts and jeans, got up from a kneeling position. Both of them were covered in dirt and sawdust. They'd stuffed a vast number of rubber coated wires attached to the back of the switchboard into a hole in the board floor. They stepped back from the large piece of plywood nailed in one corner to let Sara and her friends view their handiwork.
"We just about have the switchboard hooked up, Mrs. Bullock. You'll be able to try it out afore long," the taller of the two men told Sara, pointing to the board full of small, gold cranks with white knobs.
Gracie leaned forward to inspect the silver plates below the cranks. She recognized several names. Sara stepped up beside her and picked up a brown, bell shaped piece resting on a small wooden platform at the edge of the switchboard. "This is called a receiver. It's what I listen into when folks talk to me." She held it to her ear and pointed to a wooden framed hole at the side of the switchboard. "This is what I talk into."
"Who all has one of these telephones?" asked Molly.
"The Locked Rock Mercantile and some of the other businesses. Some folks in town like Doc Lawson, Madge Potter, Phillip Harris, and a few others," said Sara. "Not many people yet, but more will want one once they see how it works."
"Sounds like folks that has money to me. I'll bet something like this gadget don't come cheap. What good is it going to be when no one that we want to talk to has one of them," said Gracie in a matter of fact tone.
Ignoring Gracie, Melinda asked, "How far away can you talk on one of these things?"
"To anyone that has a telephone all over the country. Lots of folks have them out east in the bigger cities like New York."
Molly studied the switchboard. Suddenly, she spoke. "I'd like to have one, too."
"Really, Miss Molly," said Melinda, gleefully.
"Yes, think how quick it'd be to get Doctor Lawson if one of us needs him. All we'd have to do is ring him up. Can you sign me up, Sara?"
"I sure can. You'll have one put in tomorrow."
"Golly Moses, that soon. I'm excited about this. Aren't you ladies?" Instantly, her thoughts turned elsewhere. Molly glanced down at the watch attached to her blouse. "Oh my, look at the time. We better think about heading home. Aunt Pearlbee must have dinner about ready, and she doesn't like it if her food gets cold."

I'll start by informing you how to find my mystery books. The latest Amazing Gracie Mystery, book six, as well as the other five are on Amazon and http://www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com and ebook in kindle and nook. Book six, Locked Rock, Iowa's Hatchet Murders, is on ebay for the month of August and on webstore I have several of my books at http://webstore.com/~booksbyfay for a limited time to test out a different sales site. Ordering from my online bookstore or an auction site assures the books come directly from me so the books are cheaper. An added bonus is I can sign the books I send out. Lately if buyers mention they bought one of my books from Amazon and wished they had gotten it from me so it had been signed I send a mailing label signed by me that can be pasted in their books.

This series is mentioned along with my other books on http://www.Iowacenterforthebook.org. and is listed on the website http://www.cozy-mystery.com.

The books have received good reviews on Amazon. Luv2read posted Agatha Christie Meets Little House On The Prairie. I highly recommend the Amazing Gracie Mystery Series to anyone who has ever known or had a nosy elderly neighbor that seemed to always know what is going on in the neighborhood. This series of books are a funny, laugh out loud read. These books are unique as the time period is the turn of the century.

She posted in an Amazon mystery discussion group that she found the characters so well written that Gracie reminded her of her grandmother, and the sheriff was actor Sam Elliott. The story was so descriptive she could see the scenes playing out in her head.

For the first chapter of Neighbor Watchers, book 1, go to my blog at http://www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com or http://www.booksbyfaycom.blogspot.com

When the thought came to me to write a mystery series using characters based on personalities of some of the elderly I took care of at the nursing home I realized the stories would have to be based in a different time period to be believable. So I picked 1903. For one thing that is a simpler, slow paced time. However when you live near or in a small town in the Midwest like I do you find that personalties and characteristics of people haven't changed much in a hundred years. So take away the horses and kerosene lamps and you might be able to imagine the people in your town.

Back a hundred years ago, families cared for elderly relatives in their homes. Women without families moved into a house with other women. They rented a room and were given three meals a day. This is the basis of Moser Mansion in Locked Rock, Iowa. A grand Victorian house inherited by a young woman that couldn't afford the upkeep on the house unless she rented out rooms so she turned the mansion into a rest home or retirement home for women.

I discussed Gracie Evans in the last post. Another resident at the mansion is Melinda Applegate. She's a dainty, soft spoken, refined lady which makes her the total opposite of Gracie. She protests ideas Gracie come up with, but she's a follower, and Gracie's a leader. Libby Hook is a standoffish person who dislikes Gracie so Gracie picks at Libby which keeps them in a permanent disagreement. The mansion owner is a single young woman, Molly Moser, with a busy social life who is clueless about what's going on around her until someone points out what Gracie has been doing.

In book one as in all the other books, you will find Gracie and Melinda rocking on the front porch between meals. They didn't have activity directors in those days. Three vines grow from trellises on the porch. The women make sure to position their rocker behind the vines. Gracie tears peek holes in the vines so they can spy on the neighbors. They think the neighbors don't know it.

Sounds harmless enough until one hot evening in August after dark. Gracie and Melinda are rocking behind the vine directly across from the lady of the evening's house. This gives them the advantage of seeing married, "respectable" Locked Rock men slipping into the woman's house through a side door. This particular evening a woman goes into the house. Though Gracie takes everything with a grain of salt, Melinda is beyond shocked. That woman appears to be the last visitor. The next morning the butter and egg man is making his rounds and finds the lady of the evening has been murdered.

The sheriff comes to investigate, but Gracie convinces Melinda not to talk to him. They are afraid without proof the killer will be set free and come after them which she does. You'll have to read the story to see how Gracie and Melinda get out of this mess.

Each book has an ending but to understand the characters and references to past books it is better to start with Neighbor Watchers and read each of the books in order. The books are numbered on the cover so you'll be able to tell which one comes next.

I used clip art on the bright yellow cover that seemed to suit the story. Eyes are peeking from the middle of a wreath of clematises with doves perched on top. On each of the other books the back cover has a smaller version to depict an Amazing Gracie Mystery Series.

These fictional stories are set in central Iowa where I live. I hoped that would be a marketing appeal to mid western readers looking for entertaining, humorous feel good books rather than hard core violent mysteries based in large cities. I'm finding those readers for my Amish book series are easily converted to reading my mystery series. One reader who lives nearby tells me it's torture waiting for the next Gracie Evans book. She likes them that well. So anyone interested just give the first a try and see if you want another one or two or three or six. Next post will be about book 2 in the series - Specious Nephew.

First Chapter
As if from a long ways off, Gracie Evans heard the hushed squeaks made by her rocker answered by the rocker beside her. The hollow sound she made when she tapped her high top, black shoes against the porch floor, Melinda Applegate's shoes echoed. In spite of herself, the rocking motion lulled Gracie. Her eyelids grew heavy. Her head jerked, nodded and jerked again. She relaxed back against the rocker, and closed her eyes.
Later that afternoon, Gracie stirred when sweat tickled her scalp beneath the two dark gray braids crowning her head. Feeling droplets seep from her hairline and trickle down her cheeks, she roused. She slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and pulled out a large, red handkerchief to swipe her face.
Squaring her hunched shoulders, she straightened in her rocker and gave a slight shake of her head to clear it. The layers of calico and cotton petticoat she wore acted as a funnel to trap the uncomfortable heat radiating up from the floor. At that moment, she imagined she felt like the glass shade on a kerosene lamp that had just been lit, warming up and in a very short time too hot to touch.
Gracie grabbed a handful of her brown skirt. She discreetly raised it just enough that her shoes showed and vigorously shook the material several times to let some of the hot air escape. The only other relief came when she stirred the breeze in front of her face by waving a paper fan in short, fast strokes.
Silently, Gracie chided herself for dozing off, then excused her napping with the fact things were bound to be this way. Boredom is what she got in return for retiring from her farm. She straightened up and tried to read the black print on the large sign posted near the picket fence gate. She couldn't make it out. Leaning forward, she squinted and failed again. At first, Gracie feared her eyesight had gone bad. With a measure of relief, she realized heat waves shimmering over the shaggy, brown grass blurred the words.
She mumbled to herself, "No need to read the sign. I know it says Molly Moser's Rest Home For Women. I ain't too senile yet to remember where I live or that this town is Locked Rock, Iowa." She sighed and leaned back again.
Every day, she tried to resign herself to the fact that Moser mansion would be where she'd live for the rest of her life. However, she saw no harm in wishing for some excitement to spice up the long days.
Across the street, a door banged. Earl Bullock paused long enough in the shade of his house to straightened his straw hat, before he ambled toward Main Street. Gracie wondered if he or his wife, Sara, ever suspected what transpired next door to them at night. Out loud, she said, "Where do you suppose old Earl's headed on such a hot afternoon? It's not like him to leave home this time of day since this hot spell started."
Melinda failed to answer. Gracie looked away from their neighbor long enough to glance beside her. Melinda stirred slightly. The petite woman raised her sagging head and mumbled, "He's probably shopping for Sara. With as hot as it is, I'd send my husband to fetch for me if I had one." Gracie paused to think about that statement while she studied a string of black ants that paraded by her feet.
As if the heat had got to them, the tiny insects struggled to crawl over the peeling, blue paint at the edge of the porch. Melinda's idea seemed as good as any other for a person to be outdoors in the middle of the day, taking the full brunt of the unrelenting, August sun. That is, until she looked up to see Earl disappear through the saloon's batwing doors.
"It don't appear Earl's after anything for Sara unless she wants a beer. The last I knew, she's a teetotaler. Not many folks in town this afternoon, Just lookee there where most of the buggies and wagons are parked. Over at the saloon hitch rack," Gracie criticized in her brassy voice.
Melinda rubbed her eyes with her finger tips then leaned forward to peer around Gracie. "Humph," she replied, shaking her head with enough energy to cause her mass of gray curls to bounce like tiny springs. "I wonder at the way some people spend their time. I pray they're as faithful about going to church as they are their patronage at that place."
On days the weather permitted, Gracie and Melinda watched from the Victorian mansion's large porch. Neighbor watching gave Gracie something to do besides sit and twiddle her thumbs. She considered it a harmless past time to while away the endless hours. Besides, it was downright obliging the way the neighbors divided up the day for her without knowing it.
Gracie's conscience plagued her a little for being nosy, but she'd excuse her actions. What she saw after dark she kept to herself. After all, she had her limits about what she'd repeat. What went on across the street at Rachel Simpson's house she didn't intend to share with anyone not even Melinda.
As soon as their minds cleared from their nap, Gracie decided it was time to move to the north end of the porch in line with the Jordan house. Leaning forward, she plucked a heart shaped leaf that drooped down in the round opening. "Morning glories sure grow fast. I had our holes cleared awhile back." Gracie tilted her head toward one shoulder then leaned the other direction, inspecting the hole. "Can't see a thing with all them leaves in the way," she growled. Tossing the leaf over the edge of the porch in behind the petunias, she snapped off another one. "Pect I'll have to clear the holes in the other vines before you know it." She peeked through the hole to make sure her view was unobstructed. When she was satisfied with her efforts, she settled back in her rocker.
A back door across the street banged. Dan Jordan came into sight, carrying a scrap pan and water pail. Dan's large, watch dog, a black with white patches, slick haired mixed breed, lifted his head and uncurled in his hollowed out spot under the oak tree. He stood and stretched, watching Dan place the containers on the ground. When his master spoke, the dog's tail wagged in rhythm with his swaying back end. He pattered to the man, dragging the clattering chain attached to the log, tool shed. Dan bent over and scratched the dog behind the ears, before he went back into the house.
An hour passed. Gracie jerked out of her stupor at the sound of a slammed door. Quickly, she leaned forward to peek through her hole. Dan, a Jewel Tea Salesman, tromped down the porch steps with his wife, Mavis, right behind him. "Lookee there!" Tapping the floor with her foot to start her rocker, Gracie reached over and patted Melinda on the arm to wake her. "Mr. Jordan's suited up for work with Magpie marching right behind him. She looks as mad as an old wet hen again." Gracie stopped rocking and straightened her bent shoulders. Pointing a crooked finger, her head bobbed up and down in anticipation of a good show. "Magpie sure favors that red dress. She wouldn't look quite so stocky if she'd wear other colors. What do you think?"
"I think you shouldn't call her that name. One of these days you'll slip and call her that to her face. Mark my words, from what we've seen of that woman's temper lately, you'd be sorry you did," reproached Melinda.
Grabbing her white blouse tacked to her ribs, she shook it. "I'm glad I left my corset off. It's way too hot for that today. Maybe we should go sit in the parlor."
"Hold your horses! Let's see what the Jordans do first," barked Gracie.
Dan, a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders, halted abruptly at the end of the yard. He whirled around and peered down at his shrieking wife. "For Pete sakes, keep your voice down. The whole neighborhood will hear you."
Mavis glanced around at the nearby houses and across at the mansion. Her face contorted. She defiantly squared herself in front of her husband with her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "Oh fiddlesticks! Those two old prunes on the Moser porch probably couldn't hear a stick of dynamite go off if it was under one of their rockers so don't put me off with that excuse. I want some answers, and I want them now," demanded Mavis, jabbing a finger in his chest.
Gracie's smile dried up, but she listened without comment. She knew Melinda was right about Mavis's temper. It wouldn't do to laugh at her peculiar habit of wearing the same red dress most of the time or at her thick, black hair pulled back in a large chignon, making her head look too big for her body. Not within range of her hearing anyway.
"I told you I have a sales meeting. That's why I'm going to be late. I'm looking to get a good commission from this kitchenware sale if I swing it. We can talk about anything you want when I get home. Now go in out of this heat, Sugar Pie. See you tonight," cooed Dan as he walked away.
Waving her hands in the air, Mavis muttered to herself as she spun around and headed back to the house.
Gracie cocked her head, straining to catch a word or two, but from that distance, she couldn't make out what the angry woman mumbled.
Sauntering down the street with his hands in his pants pockets, Dan whistled, In The Good Old Summertime.
"Did you hear what Magpie said about us?" Gracie asked indignantly.
"I heard, and did you hear what they said? They can see us sitting over here," worried Melinda, disturbed by that fact but a bit distracted as she watched Jordan calmly amble toward them.
Noting the look on her companion's face, Gracie stated what she thought Melinda was thinking. "It don't seem right how easy that man can act as though nothing is wrong right after he has a fight with his wife."
As the salesman strolled in front of the mansion, he glanced over at the porch as though he had just seen the women. Waving, he called, "Good afternoon, ladies."
Gracie managed a curt nod before she looked away. She had no intention of acting as though his presence on the street was any concern of hers. In an attempt to be courteous, Melinda raised her hand in a half hearted wave.
After Dan was out of hearing range, Gracie fumed, "I could tell that woman a thing or two about what we old prunes can hear and see. I ain't that old. Could tell her a thing or two about her dudie husband, too."
"Like what? He's a good salesman. I bought an Autumn Leaf clock from him once." Melinda gave her a curious look.
Gracie smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt and muttered quickly, "Ah, I'm just letting off steam."
Inwardly, she chided herself for letting her tongue get ahead of her thinking. She thought she knew the reason behind the Jordan fights, but she had to be careful not to reveal more than she was willing to tell.
"It wouldn't be too smart to tell Mavis anything if you want to keep listening in on their fights. Would it?" Melinda waited, studying Gracie who took some time to think about her answer. "No, reckon it wouldn't be smart atall."
If the Jordans realized how well Melinda and she heard their fights, the couple might be more discreet. If that was to happen, Gracie didn't see any reason to sit on the porch in the afternoon heat.
"We should feel sorry for Mavis what with all the problems she has with her man. If she wasn't so disagreeable all the time, she'd probably be a nice person," lectured Melinda, always looking for the best in everyone.
Gracie studied the Jordan place thoughtfully for a moment. She shook her head. "I doubt it. She reminds me too much of Bessie Brown. She always stayed disagreeable just like Magpie. On her good days, I could walk right by her, and she'd stare mean like at me. Other times just looking at me was enough to make her want a fight."
Melinda looked puzzled. "What did you do that upset this Bessie all the time?"
"Nothing. That old gal was born plain mean just like Mavis Jordan."
"Gracie, I doubt that anyone is born mean," disagreed Melinda. "How did you ever manage to make peace with Bessie?"
"I shot her," said Gracie, calmly.
"Oh, Gracie!" Melinda cried. Her face paled as her blue eyes widened. She slowly shook her head and managed to utter, "You didn't do that, did you?" She leaned close and peered at Gracie intently. "You're pulling my leg. Aren't you?"
"No, I'm not. It was either me or that cow. The older I got, the harder it was to get out of her way when she charged at me."
"Oh my goodness! Bessie was a cow." Melinda took a deep breath and flopped back in her rocker, patting her chest. Giving Gracie's admission some thought, she reconsidered. "But still in all, it seems to me that's a drastic thing to do to your own cow."
"At the time, I felt like that's all I could do," answered Gracie, with a shrug of her shoulders. She studied a crack in the floor and traced it with the toe of her shoe to keep from looking at Melinda.
"What do you say we go in for awhile out of this heat? Please," begged Melinda. "Let's see if Aunt Pearlbee made some fresh lemonade."
Gracie scowled. Wanting to change the subject so she wouldn't have to move, she opened her mouth to complain about the heat and decided that wouldn't do any good. Melinda would find her complaining another excuse to go inside. On the other hand, Gracie didn't feel guilty about voicing her opinion. Being dissatisfied with the weather was human nature and not just one of her old age gripes.
In the winter, everyone in Locked Rock complained about the knee deep snows and cold temperatures, and they grumbled about the heat and dry spells in the summer.
When she farmed she spent most of each day outside, and she didn't want that to change. Besides she came to the conclusion a long time ago if she had her pick of either miserable season, she'd choose summer. Her old bones could stand heat a sight better than cold, and after all, this was August. Mother Nature would cool the temperature down soon enough. In no time at all, she'd have no choice but to be stuck indoors.
Gracie glanced from downtown to across the street, reminding herself she wouldn't miss much now. Nothing interesting happened until darkness set in. She might as well give in to Melinda's pleading, besides she was thirsty.
"I reckon a glass of lemonade would hit the spot." Gripping the rocker arms, she strained to lift herself to her feet. She felt a twinge of envy, watching Melinda. That spray, little woman could get out of her rocker twice as fast and was already opening the screen door.
As if from a long ways off, Gracie Evans heard the hushed squeaks made by her rocker answered by the rocker beside her. The hollow sound she made when she tapped her high top, black shoes against the porch floor, Melinda Applegate's shoes echoed. In spite of herself, the rocking motion lulled Gracie. Her eyelids grew heavy. Her head jerked, nodded and jerked again. She relaxed back against the rocker, and closed her eyes.
Later that afternoon, Gracie stirred when sweat tickled her scalp beneath the two dark gray braids crowning her head. Feeling droplets seep from her hairline and trickle down her cheeks, she roused. She slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and pulled out a large, red handkerchief to swipe her face.
Squaring her hunched shoulders, she straightened in her rocker and gave a slight shake of her head to clear it. The layers of calico and cotton petticoat she wore acted as a funnel to trap the uncomfortable heat radiating up from the floor. At that moment, she imagined she felt like the glass shade on a kerosene lamp that had just been lit, warming up and in a very short time too hot to touch.
Gracie grabbed a handful of her brown skirt. She discreetly raised it just enough that her shoes showed and vigorously shook the material several times to let some of the hot air escape. The only other relief came when she stirred the breeze in front of her face by waving a paper fan in short, fast strokes.
Silently, Gracie chided herself for dozing off, then excused her napping with the fact things were bound to be this way. Boredom is what she got in return for retiring from her farm. She straightened up and tried to read the black print on the large sign posted near the picket fence gate. She couldn't make it out. Leaning forward, she squinted and failed again. At first, Gracie feared her eyesight had gone bad. With a measure of relief, she realized heat waves shimmering over the shaggy, brown grass blurred the words.
She mumbled to herself, "No need to read the sign. I know it says Molly Moser's Rest Home For Women. I ain't too senile yet to remember where I live or that this town is Locked Rock, Iowa." She sighed and leaned back again.
Every day, she tried to resign herself to the fact that Moser mansion would be where she'd live for the rest of her life. However, she saw no harm in wishing for some excitement to spice up the long days.
Across the street, a door banged. Earl Bullock paused long enough in the shade of his house to straightened his straw hat, before he ambled toward Main Street. Gracie wondered if he or his wife, Sara, ever suspected what transpired next door to them at night. Out loud, she said, "Where do you suppose old Earl's headed on such a hot afternoon? It's not like him to leave home this time of day since this hot spell started."
Melinda failed to answer. Gracie looked away from their neighbor long enough to glance beside her. Melinda stirred slightly. The petite woman raised her sagging head and mumbled, "He's probably shopping for Sara. With as hot as it is, I'd send my husband to fetch for me if I had one." Gracie paused to think about that statement while she studied a string of black ants that paraded by her feet.
As if the heat had got to them, the tiny insects struggled to crawl over the peeling, blue paint at the edge of the porch. Melinda's idea seemed as good as any other for a person to be outdoors in the middle of the day, taking the full brunt of the unrelenting, August sun. That is, until she looked up to see Earl disappear through the saloon's batwing doors.
"It don't appear Earl's after anything for Sara unless she wants a beer. The last I knew, she's a teetotaler. Not many folks in town this afternoon, Just lookee there where most of the buggies and wagons are parked. Over at the saloon hitch rack," Gracie criticized in her brassy voice.
Melinda rubbed her eyes with her finger tips then leaned forward to peer around Gracie. "Humph," she replied, shaking her head with enough energy to cause her mass of gray curls to bounce like tiny springs. "I wonder at the way some people spend their time. I pray they're as faithful about going to church as they are their patronage at that place."
On days the weather permitted, Gracie and Melinda watched from the Victorian mansion's large porch. Neighbor watching gave Gracie something to do besides sit and twiddle her thumbs. She considered it a harmless past time to while away the endless hours. Besides, it was downright obliging the way the neighbors divided up the day for her without knowing it.
Gracie's conscience plagued her a little for being nosy, but she'd excuse her actions. What she saw after dark she kept to herself. After all, she had her limits about what she'd repeat. What went on across the street at Rachel Simpson's house she didn't intend to share with anyone not even Melinda.
As soon as their minds cleared from their nap, Gracie decided it was time to move to the north end of the porch in line with the Jordan house. Leaning forward, she plucked a heart shaped leaf that drooped down in the round opening. "Morning glories sure grow fast. I had our holes cleared awhile back." Gracie tilted her head toward one shoulder then leaned the other direction, inspecting the hole. "Can't see a thing with all them leaves in the way," she growled. Tossing the leaf over the edge of the porch in behind the petunias, she snapped off another one. "Pect I'll have to clear the holes in the other vines before you know it." She peeked through the hole to make sure her view was unobstructed. When she was satisfied with her efforts, she settled back in her rocker.
A back door across the street banged. Dan Jordan came into sight, carrying a scrap pan and water pail. Dan's large, watch dog, a black with white patches, slick haired mixed breed, lifted his head and uncurled in his hollowed out spot under the oak tree. He stood and stretched, watching Dan place the containers on the ground. When his master spoke, the dog's tail wagged in rhythm with his swaying back end. He pattered to the man, dragging the clattering chain attached to the log, tool shed. Dan bent over and scratched the dog behind the ears, before he went back into the house.
An hour passed. Gracie jerked out of her stupor at the sound of a slammed door. Quickly, she leaned forward to peek through her hole. Dan, a Jewel Tea Salesman, tromped down the porch steps with his wife, Mavis, right behind him. "Lookee there!" Tapping the floor with her foot to start her rocker, Gracie reached over and patted Melinda on the arm to wake her. "Mr. Jordan's suited up for work with Magpie marching right behind him. She looks as mad as an old wet hen again." Gracie stopped rocking and straightened her bent shoulders. Pointing a crooked finger, her head bobbed up and down in anticipation of a good show. "Magpie sure favors that red dress. She wouldn't look quite so stocky if she'd wear other colors. What do you think?"
"I think you shouldn't call her that name. One of these days you'll slip and call her that to her face. Mark my words, from what we've seen of that woman's temper lately, you'd be sorry you did," reproached Melinda.
Grabbing her white blouse tacked to her ribs, she shook it. "I'm glad I left my corset off. It's way too hot for that today. Maybe we should go sit in the parlor."
"Hold your horses! Let's see what the Jordans do first," barked Gracie.
Dan, a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders, halted abruptly at the end of the yard. He whirled around and peered down at his shrieking wife. "For Pete sakes, keep your voice down. The whole neighborhood will hear you."
Mavis glanced around at the nearby houses and across at the mansion. Her face contorted. She defiantly squared herself in front of her husband with her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "Oh fiddlesticks! Those two old prunes on the Moser porch probably couldn't hear a stick of dynamite go off if it was under one of their rockers so don't put me off with that excuse. I want some answers, and I want them now," demanded Mavis, jabbing a finger in his chest.
Gracie's smile dried up, but she listened without comment. She knew Melinda was right about Mavis's temper. It wouldn't do to laugh at her peculiar habit of wearing the same red dress most of the time or at her thick, black hair pulled back in a large chignon, making her head look too big for her body. Not within range of her hearing anyway.
"I told you I have a sales meeting. That's why I'm going to be late. I'm looking to get a good commission from this kitchenware sale if I swing it. We can talk about anything you want when I get home. Now go in out of this heat, Sugar Pie. See you tonight," cooed Dan as he walked away.
Waving her hands in the air, Mavis muttered to herself as she spun around and headed back to the house.
Gracie cocked her head, straining to catch a word or two, but from that distance, she couldn't make out what the angry woman mumbled.
Sauntering down the street with his hands in his pants pockets, Dan whistled, In The Good Old Summertime.
"Did you hear what Magpie said about us?" Gracie asked indignantly.
"I heard, and did you hear what they said? They can see us sitting over here," worried Melinda, disturbed by that fact but a bit distracted as she watched Jordan calmly amble toward them.
Noting the look on her companion's face, Gracie stated what she thought Melinda was thinking. "It don't seem right how easy that man can act as though nothing is wrong right after he has a fight with his wife."
As the salesman strolled in front of the mansion, he glanced over at the porch as though he had just seen the women. Waving, he called, "Good afternoon, ladies."
Gracie managed a curt nod before she looked away. She had no intention of acting as though his presence on the street was any concern of hers. In an attempt to be courteous, Melinda raised her hand in a half hearted wave.
After Dan was out of hearing range, Gracie fumed, "I could tell that woman a thing or two about what we old prunes can hear and see. I ain't that old. Could tell her a thing or two about her dudie husband, too."
"Like what? He's a good salesman. I bought an Autumn Leaf clock from him once." Melinda gave her a curious look.
Gracie smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt and muttered quickly, "Ah, I'm just letting off steam."
Inwardly, she chided herself for letting her tongue get ahead of her thinking. She thought she knew the reason behind the Jordan fights, but she had to be careful not to reveal more than she was willing to tell.
"It wouldn't be too smart to tell Mavis anything if you want to keep listening in on their fights. Would it?" Melinda waited, studying Gracie who took some time to think about her answer. "No, reckon it wouldn't be smart atall."
If the Jordans realized how well Melinda and she heard their fights, the couple might be more discreet. If that was to happen, Gracie didn't see any reason to sit on the porch in the afternoon heat.
"We should feel sorry for Mavis what with all the problems she has with her man. If she wasn't so disagreeable all the time, she'd probably be a nice person," lectured Melinda, always looking for the best in everyone.
Gracie studied the Jordan place thoughtfully for a moment. She shook her head. "I doubt it. She reminds me too much of Bessie Brown. She always stayed disagreeable just like Magpie. On her good days, I could walk right by her, and she'd stare mean like at me. Other times just looking at me was enough to make her want a fight."
Melinda looked puzzled. "What did you do that upset this Bessie all the time?"
"Nothing. That old gal was born plain mean just like Mavis Jordan."
"Gracie, I doubt that anyone is born mean," disagreed Melinda. "How did you ever manage to make peace with Bessie?"
"I shot her," said Gracie, calmly.
"Oh, Gracie!" Melinda cried. Her face paled as her blue eyes widened. She slowly shook her head and managed to utter, "You didn't do that, did you?" She leaned close and peered at Gracie intently. "You're pulling my leg. Aren't you?"
"No, I'm not. It was either me or that cow. The older I got, the harder it was to get out of her way when she charged at me."
"Oh my goodness! Bessie was a cow." Melinda took a deep breath and flopped back in her rocker, patting her chest. Giving Gracie's admission some thought, she reconsidered. "But still in all, it seems to me that's a drastic thing to do to your own cow."
"At the time, I felt like that's all I could do," answered Gracie, with a shrug of her shoulders. She studied a crack in the floor and traced it with the toe of her shoe to keep from looking at Melinda.
"What do you say we go in for awhile out of this heat? Please," begged Melinda. "Let's see if Aunt Pearlbee made some fresh lemonade."
Gracie scowled. Wanting to change the subject so she wouldn't have to move, she opened her mouth to complain about the heat and decided that wouldn't do any good. Melinda would find her complaining another excuse to go inside. On the other hand, Gracie didn't feel guilty about voicing her opinion. Being dissatisfied with the weather was human nature and not just one of her old age gripes.
In the winter, everyone in Locked Rock complained about the knee deep snows and cold temperatures, and they grumbled about the heat and dry spells in the summer.
When she farmed she spent most of each day outside, and she didn't want that to change. Besides she came to the conclusion a long time ago if she had her pick of either miserable season, she'd choose summer. Her old bones could stand heat a sight better than cold, and after all, this was August. Mother Nature would cool the temperature down soon enough. In no time at all, she'd have no choice but to be stuck indoors.
Gracie glanced from downtown to across the street, reminding herself she wouldn't miss much now. Nothing interesting happened until darkness set in. She might as well give in to Melinda's pleading, besides she was thirsty.
"I reckon a glass of lemonade would hit the spot." Gripping the rocker arms, she strained to lift herself to her feet. She felt a twinge of envy, watching Melinda. That spray, little woman could get out of her rocker twice as fast and was already opening the screen door.

Winning Essay Sparks Book's Main Character

This is my winning essay entered in an Iowa Health Care Association contest about a resident at the local nursing home where I worked. This woman made such an impression on me that I made her the main character, Gracie Evans, in my Amazing Gracie Mystery Series. Meet my Gracie Evans in this post and next week I'll post about the first book, Neighbor Watchers, in my mystery series.

A Lady For All Seasons

Her back, bent at the shoulders, makes her appear shorter than she really is. Her thinning, hair, pulled tautly back into a long, narrow braid that rests on the collar of her blouse, indicates she is a no frills person. But the first thing we notice when we enter her room is the pictures on her walls. As colorful as any rainbow after an April shower, each picture holds special memories for her. An artist's rendition of her with blushing skin and spring in her eyes hangs next to a black and white photograph that was taken in the summer of her life. It shows her dressed in a work shirt and jeans, holding a favorite cat, with their cheeks touching. The caption reads "...... And family."
Next to the pictures is a row of calendars. One calendar of spirited horses reminds her of her days as a farmer tending livestock, and another has pictures of songbirds with the bird of the month, a redheaded woodpecker. More times than she can count, she had heard one of those birds pecking away at a tree while she checked her cattle.
Another calendar has a larger than life, crimson rose looming over the days of the month. She looks at that rose and remembers how much she enjoyed working in her garden and flower beds. The next calendar is three cuddly kittens, looking mischievous enough to bounce out of the picture and chase each other around her room. She remembers her barn being full of cats. They were useful to catch mice, but to her, they were playful company. The last calendar has on it a beagle standing with one paw in the air, looking as if he might chase after a rabbit. He reminds her of a large, black dog named Major that she raised. He wasn't smart enough to be a stock dog, she said, but he was her dog.
She and I have a rural life in common. I see the seasons of her life within her when I talk to her about what it was like on the farm. She giggles a youth giggle, her head bobbing up and down, as I tell her about a sitting hen that pecked me. She shows a look of concern when I talk about a problem I have with my animals as she remembers the summer of her life when she was tending livestock. There is wisdom from the autumn of her years as she offers me advice gathered from her experience in farming.
As I talk to her, it makes me wonder when I see how quick her mind works what it would be like for me in the winter of my life. After helping take care of people with Alzheimer's disease, including my father, I question, "Will my mind go dormant like my father's did, or like the lady of all seasons, will I have my own rainbow with a pot full of memories at the end?"

My Iowa Miss Marple

In 2000, I wasn't thinking about writing a cozy, humorous mystery series. At the time, I was reading Agatha Christie's Miss Marple books and had seen a few old Miss Marple movies on television. So in this post I want to explain how the idea came to me to write about my Iowa Miss Marple.

I worked at the local nursing home as a CNA, taking care of residents who were about my parents age. While I helped the residents I talked to them about their past and enjoyed hearing their stories which were in many ways similar to my parents tales of the past decades. Some of the residents had characteristics that made them stand out. Their mannerisms would be easy to describe, the way they spoke and phrases they used while telling me stories. Since I loved mysteries it occurred to me, in one resident, I'd found a Miss Marple of sorts. She wasn't the soft spoken, genteel English woman in Agate Christie's books. Quite the opposite, but I, like the people in my books who had their doubts about being able to get along with Gracie Evans, grew to like her. My Gracie was outspoken to the point of being rude. She was brashly independent. Manners didn't have a place in her life then and never had before. She had been too busy trying to survive.

It wasn't long after my Gracie arrived at the nursing home that I realized she put up a good front to back people off. She didn't have visitors except for nieces and nephews that rarely came, and was a loner that preferred to stay in her room. Living alone the better part of her life without companionship was all she knew, and she'd tried to make us believe that she liked it that way. It occurred to me that the end of her life should be better than the rest of it had been. I wished to see her smile instead of barking at everyone. So I came up with ways over the few years she was with us to make her days easier. I encouraged her to tell me about her life. Upper most was her love of animals. I identified with that as I always have a sheep or goat story to tell. Each spring I bring my babies to the nursing home and visit from room to room. One time I took her picture bottle feeding my lamb. The look on her face was ecstatic as memories came back of calves she'd saved. So I entered the nursing home's Iowa Heath Care Association's essay contest with "A Woman For All Seasons" and entered the photo contest with "A Bottle Full Of Memories".

The contests were state wide for every nursing home in the association, and I've never considered myself lucky. What I did was give my Gracie something to think about. Every time I worked, she'd ask if I'd heard from the contests. Several months later, the second shift nurse took the call from IHCA. She hunted me up to tell me I'd won the contest. That was vague. I said, "Which one? Essay or photo?" The nurse just looked at me with a silly grin. I asked weakly, "Was it both?" Yes, I had won both. What excitement that created. A reception with the head of the Association present. I insisted for once my Gracie come out of her room since she was really the guest of honor. She did for me what she might not have for anyone else. She came to the reception. I gave her a big bouquet of flowers I'd raised, because I was pretty sure the flower shop variety wouldn't impress her. She seemed more tickled with the flowers than she did being the center of attention. Pictures were taken by a newspaper and the nursing home to display on the bulletin board. My essay was going to be in local papers. At the end of the reception, she asked me what time it was. When I said after eleven, she yelled that she was missing The Young And The Restless. She had to get to her room. On the way, I asked if she wasn't at least a little impressed by the newspaper stories. She replied, as if it was no big deal, that she'd been in the newspapers before. To prove it, she made me hunt up a box of mementos in the top of her closet. Sure enough years before a Des Moines Register reporter had interviewed her at her home about her pioneer lifestyle. Okay so she wasn't impressed, but I was just getting started. I'd picked up on her appreciation of country flowers. Until she passed away, in the seasons I had flowers, I kept a fresh bouquet in her room.

There were so many holidays she must have missed out when she was alone. Perhaps, she considered the holidays just another day and didn't mind but I minded. One of the relatives brought her candy. She wasn't used to eating candy so she stored the sacks in her closet. Food couldn't stay there very long. It was Halloween. Kids in costumes come to the nursing home that evening to trick or treat for the residents in the living room. The nurse gives out the candy. I asked my Gracie if we could use her candy for the kids if they came to her room. At first, she begrudgingly said they could only have one piece each. I set the bowls of candy on her bedside table near her. I must admit I was nervous. She just might give the kids a scary Halloween. She'd expressed once that she didn't have much use for children. Of course, that feeling came from trying to teach some very unruly boys in a one room school house when she was a young girl. The children came, and I took them to her room. They did the usual trick or treat. She checked out their costumes and said gruffly but softly, "There's the candy. Take all you want." Hooray! I had given her an evening to remember.

Christmas was next. The employees draw resident names and give them a small gift at breakfast so no one is left out. I wanted my Gracie to have an extra special gift from me. I make last name doilies all the time so I crocheted her a doily with her first name on it and wrapped it so the gift would feel like Christmas. Immediately, she had me hang it on the wall over her bed.

For Easter I gave her a music box that played "You Light Up My Life" with a revolving angel on it. I asked the other aides to wind the box at bed time. She often had trouble going to sleep. Maybe the music would be soothing, and the slowly revolving angel would help her doze off. It did for as long as the box lasted. One night, the spring in the box exploded. The angel literally flew straight up from the box and did a nose dive on the floor. The aide helping her came to tell me. I asked if she was upset. The aide said he had never seen her laugh and this once she laughed so hard she had tears rolling down her cheeks. The angel had a broken wing. The aide repaired it and replaced it on the box. The music was gone for good but she still had her angel and the memory of a sight she found so very funny. From that night came a short story I entered in a contest and was awarded fifth place - "The Angel That Flew".

Her birthday was in March. I doubt anyone had made anything special out of the day ever. So I threw her a birthday she wouldn't forget. I baked a cake, decorated it and placed it on a small table in her room with paper saucers and plastic forks. I penned a banner on the tablecloth with Happy Birthday on it. Around the nursing home and on her door, I posted flyers that cordially invited everyone to stop by her room, wish her a happy birthday and enjoy her cake. By now it was a treat for her to have the attention and a good snack for break times for us.

I broke the news to her one day that I was going to write a book and use her for my main character if she didn't mind, but I'd change her name to Gracie Evans. She perked up and had all kinds of questions. Was it going to be paperback? What kind of story was it? When would the book be finished? I didn't get the book done until after she passed away. I'd have liked her to see the book and hold it, but I tell myself she wouldn't have been as impressed with the story as she was with the idea that I thought she was good writing material. I just published the sixth book in my Amazing Gracie Mysteries series. When I'm writing a story all I have to do is think about my Gracie and what she would do or say next. Makes writing the books a fun experience for me.

So this post is an introduction to my Miss Marple in Iowa and how I came to know her so well. Before long, I'll post about how I came up with Gracie's friend in my stories. She was the total opposite of Gracie in real life just as my fictitious Melinda Applegate is in my books. Next week I'm going to post my Gracie's essay "A Woman For All Seasons".

Did I treat all the residents I took care of the same way in almost sixteen years I worked at the nursing home? I couldn't have treated the job as just a job. To enjoy what I did, I put the effort in where it was needed and felt gratified by the way their eyes lit up when they saw me coming. They knew I wouldn't just help them. I'd listen to their stories when they wanted to reminisce and their complaints. The lucky ones had relatives that came often and saw to their needs. My friendliness and help was all that was required. For others, I became the friend they needed. After two and a half years of retirement, I still visit the residents that know me at least once a month. Now I can take my time and really visit with them. I don't have to go answer a call light.

First Chapter Amish book - Christmas Traditions by Fay Risner

In my blogs at www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com and booksbyfay.com.blogspot.com/ you will find the complete first chapter of my first Amish book titled Christmas Traditions. I write about what I like to read, but up to that point I had been writing stories in the mystery and western genre. One Christmas I was looking at the picture on a card and wondered what the story was behind a English dressed couple in a sleigh. They stopped in front of a large white farm house which reminded me of the ones on Amish farms. So from that card I came up with my story.

I never dreamed I'd be writing more Amish books, but when this book sold in Amazon, readers asked for a sequel to continue the story. Instead, I started the Nurse Hal Among The Amish series and found there were many readers interested in Amish stories. It seemed that this was my niche to target with books. I write other stories as well. With all the story lines I've stored up I don't think I'll ever get writer's block. Do the other genre sell as well as Amish books? Not quite, but I'm writing what I do for fun and to see just what I can do. How I am able to stay with this project is I found Create Space which belongs to Amazon. The printing by that company is so affordable and made easy to do.

So when the Nurse Hal books took off instead of writing a sequel, I moved Margaret Goodman and her family to Iowa and made them neighbors to Hal Lapp. After all the two of them have much in common since they had been in both the English world and the Amish one. Margaret is able to lend sound advice to Hal to help her in her new Amish life. One reader emailed me that she enjoyed finding Margaret in Hal's story. Her reaction was I know her. She was able to continue to learn about Margaret's life as well as Hal's story.


Chapter 1

That Monday afternoon, Margaret Goodman's destination seemed forever away even though the Yoder farm was only seven miles from Brightwell, Pennsylvania. She was traveling alone so she was thankful for the tranquil, winter conditions. If a snowstorm had threatened before she left town, she wouldn't have been brave enough to make the trip on her own.
Watching the pristine countryside slide by her bright red sleigh helped just a little to soothe her frayed nerves. She slid under the snow laced trees that loomed over the packed road. In the swift breeze, weighed down branches swayed like stick skeletons, dancing a jig which let loose snowy clumps on her. Drifted, white mounds rolled across the pastures, making a colorful contrast with the black and red cattle milling about brown, frazzled hay stacks. Along the way, the recent snowstorm turned homesteads, set against the dark blue sky, into scenes lovely enough to paint on Christmas cards. The Pennsylvania countryside really was beautiful in the winter. Not that Margaret was in any mood to enjoy what she slid by. In her heart, she knew she couldn't appreciate anything around her until she managed to live through this coming week and escape back to Brightwell.
The road was invisible, covered with packed snow rutted with sleigh runners and buggy tracks. If it hadn't been for the rows of snow capped, cedar fence posts on either side of her, she'd have felt like she was on a great adventure, blazing her own trail across the frozen tundra.
She knew all the beauty that surrounded her would have put anyone else in a festive mood for Christmas coming Monday next, but not her. She bounced around somber thoughts about what dreaded incidents could happen from one day to the next in the week ahead of her. When the time came, Margaret planned to muster up the strength to pretend to be joyful. She wouldn't bother to do that until after she stopped the sleigh in front of the Yoder house. Just thinking about it, her mood turned despairing to say the least. She felt unsettled and anxious. The winter scenery couldn't change the turmoil that churned inside her. She wasn't sure anything would. Like bad tasting medicine, she had to accept whatever happened in the next few days and handle each situation the best she could.
The freezing breeze whipped her dark brown, curly hair away from her head, causing a chill to run through her. Margaret felt goose bumps pop up on her legs. She huddled down in the seat, holding the reins in one hand long enough to tug her walnut dyed, wool lap robe up higher. That done, she went back to worrying. She was a day later than usual. Would it matter to any of them at the Yoder farm that she hadn't arrived on Sunday afternoon? Had any of the Yoders worried about why she hadn't shown up yet? When she did arrive, would the fact that she was late make Levi Yoder's opinion of her worse than it already was?
She had to wait until that morning to prepare for the journey. Rushing to gather everything she wanted to take, she packed the sleigh at the last minute in haste. Now way down the road, she had the feeling she might have forgotten something. She did a mental check list. Christmas gifts covered the back seat, a large, wicker basket full of food sat next to her and beside her feet was her clothes stuffed, tan, tapestry valise. She'd hidden Faith's journal under the sleigh seat out of Levi's sight until she could give it to his son, Luke. This year that diary was what she had to remember to pack above all other things. If she forgot anything else she'd meant to bring it was certainly too late now. She would have to make due without whatever it was.
She couldn't help arriving late, and she wasn't about to offer an explanation. Her private life wasn't up for discussion. Nothing she said would do any good anyway as far as Levi Yoder was concerned. She just hoped what plans Levi, his father, Jeremiah, and son, Luke, made to celebrate Christmas, for Luke's sake, didn't include something she would regret missing.
Unlike the hustle and bustle in town, the quiet countryside embraced peacefulness. The only sounds were made by her red sleigh and the four white stocking hooves on her black horse, Pie Face. The runners crunched, slicing through the ice crusted snow. The sleigh bells jingled in time to the horse's steamy, labored snorts and rhythmic tromp as he moved at a fast pace.
In the last mile, Margaret whipped the horse to hurry him to race the sinking sun. The words, Please let me get to the farm before dark, played over and over in her head like an out of tune song. Nightfall was one more reason for her to worry over her late start. She told herself she would feel less anxious when she finally spotted a column of light, gray smoke spiraling up above the Yoder hickory and mulberry grove.
The tree lined lane was just ahead to the right. Margaret pulled back on the reins, bringing Pie Face to a walk. She entered the shaded lane, traveling under the entwined glittery white, soft snow covered branches that made a shaded tunnel. Half way down the lane, a rabbit darted out of his nest in the drifted snow and zigzagged past the horse. Startled, Pie Face shied sideways. Margaret pulled back on the reins and brought the horse to a stop. She could feel her heart racing. She took a deep, calming breath and flicked the reins over Pie Face's back. No time to panic now. She was almost to the house.
Margaret tossed the worry about dark over taking her like so many empty pea pods when she finally came into view of the large, two story, snow capped, farm house, but she still had plenty more worries to take its place. Pulling back on the reins, she stopped the horse by the split rail fence that surrounded the yard.
Luke's brown and white beagle, Moses, bounced off the porch and down the path. He stood on his hind legs and looked in the sleigh while he woofed a high pitched greeting.
"Hello, Moses. How have you been?" Margaret answered back.
"Woof, woof." The beagle wagged his tail with such speed that his chubby backend swayed. Bouncing off the sleigh, he took off in a run. He circled the sleigh while he did a sniffing inspection.
"So you're happy to see me. That's encouraging." Margaret said under her breath. She looked up at the house roof. The stone chimney chugged pale gray, smoke plumbs that floated higher and higher into the sky, turning into hard to see thin wisps. A sudden change in the wind brought a down draft drifting toward her that smelled of hickory wood. Someone had recently stoked the fire.
The two story, farm house, with peeling, white paint and sun bleached wood, had a grossdawdi haus built on the east side. The addition was added for Levi's father, Jeremiah, when Levi married Margaret's sister, Faith. The outhouse, smokehouse, chicken house, and pig pen were ahead of her. The large, red barn complete with granary and root cellar stood off to the left.
Levi Yoder, tall, muscular and handsome, stalked through the deep snow toward her from the woodpile by the barnyard split rail fence. He carried an armload of lengthy fire wood propped on his shoulder. Even though she fought with herself not to feel hopeful, her heart raced faster at the sight of him. As Levi came closer, his rugged features were just like she imagined in her thoughts and dreams over the last year. A lump formed in her throat as she watched the sinking, fiery sun behind his back create rosy streaks in his straw colored hair where it curled on his coat collar.
As Levi walked close enough for Margaret to get a good look at his face, any growing excitement she felt spiraled backward to dread again. It only took a quick glimpse to make her tense up. Any sparse drop of hope she'd had that Levi would welcome her this time faded as fast as the dimming daylight. Any brief thought that the man might be worried because she was a day late, she could discard like dirty wash water out the back door just from watching his foreboding posture as he marched at her. She tried to hold back the mounting anguish that wanted to creep onto her face. She should have known better than to expect any change in that strong willed man. Nothing about him ever changed. She had to face it. He never would change.
At that moment, his piercing eyes and high boned cheeks above his bushy, blonde beard appeared to be chiseled by a stonemason. The scowl on his face, Margaret knew for sure, even if he never said so out loud, had been brought on by her arrival. In all these years, her presence always had the same affect on Levi Yoder. Why did she ever hope that he would change in a year's time? That man ever changing his opinions on anyone or anything was never going to happen.
The wood Levi carried was too long to go into the cookstove. He must be ready to prepare the fireplace in the meeting room. Would it have hurt him to warm the room up before I arrived, ran through Margaret's mind. The meeting room was only used on a Sunday once in a blue moon when it was the Yoders turn to have church. Just for her, the room was opened more days in a row the once a year she visited.
However, she'd arrived a day late. Maybe Levi hoped she wouldn't show up at all. This year of all the years would be the one that he definitely wouldn't want to face her. He probably hoped she'd changed her mind about going through with her plan concerning the journal. In that case, he might have reasoned that she'd decide to skip her appearance at the Yoder farm this year if the journal had been her initial reason for the visit. There would be no need for him to bother going through the chore of opening up the meeting room that he only did begrudgingly for her. Well, Levi was wrong. It made her blood boil to think, in all the years they had known each other, that man never understood her concern had always been for what was best for Luke. Anything she tried to do to improve the situation between Levi and her wasn't enough to make him want to try to get along with her.
Quickly, Margaret glanced around to see if Jeremiah or Luke were coming to greet her. She didn't want to start out this visit with only Levi's cold, reluctant help and snappish greeting. She'd mentally tried to prepare herself for what could happen at the Yoder farm, but Margaret realized while that fair haired man strode toward her, she needed more time to steel herself for the strife to come. Although in the back of her mind, she already knew she had no real way to prepare for the clashes between Levi and herself. Like always, she'd do her best to stand up to the man and hope her bluff worked. As she watched Levi approach her, she felt like prey stalked by a lion. In the next week, it was going to take all the courage and bravo she could muster to keep from being eaten alive by this angry, sullen man.
Levi's father, Jeremiah, stood in the barn door. His bent back was to her. Locks of gray hair peeked out from under his black, flat crowned, big brimmed hat. With a touch of panic, Margaret wondered where the boy was. She didn't make the effort to travel this far one time a year in the dead of winter, Levi allowed her, for any other reason than to see Luke. Especially not this time when she had to make the trip from town without her husband, Harry. Particularly this year when this visit was more important than all the other trips. Because if Levi remembered she was bringing the journal to Luke, he'd be against her showing up. She knew he would fight her every step of the way, and she was determined to come anyway.
"Aunt Margaret, thou are here!" The boy shouted from the kitchen doorway. He dropped the empty water pail and the egg bucket in order to wave at her. Making a leap off the porch, Luke ignored the clatter behind him. He was long gone by the time the buckets shot off the porch and pitched noiselessly into the snow piled by the path.
With Moses right behind him, the boy sprinted through the gate hole so fast his wide brimmed hat flew from his head. It landed in the drift at the base of the yard fence. He was so excited he didn't realize he had lost his hat, but Moses did. He halted long enough to sniff Luke's hat before he scampered over to bounce off the sleigh. In his haste, Luke's mop of yellow hair, the color of corn kernels, flapped away from his ears. He skidded to a halt by the sleigh and jumped up and down.
Excitement gleamed in the boy's glittering, blue eyes. "It's so late in the afternoon, and thou didn't come yesterday. Thou might not be coming, I feared. Hurry up and get down."
Margaret put her hand on her chest to slow her thudding heart. It was such a comfort to see this boy, a younger version of Levi. She just had to look into his smiling face to know that he very much wanted her here. Bolstered by his greeting, Margaret teased, "Sorry I'm late, Luke. You need not have worried. I've never missed being here for Christmas yet, have I?"
"Not ever, Aunt Margaret," Luke stated with zeal.
Feeling a little more sure of herself, Margaret laughed at the child's enthusiasm while she tossed the lap robe aside. She drew her red cape tighter around her shoulders and pulled her trapped, freeze dried tresses out on top of the cape. Gathering up her dark brown, wool skirt in one hand, she held the other hand out to the boy. "Please, Luke, help me down. My legs and feet are so stiff and numb from the cold, I may have trouble walking."
The frozen snow crunched under the weight of her stinging toes. The tingle in her chilled feet contrasted drastically with the sudden heat that bored into her back from Levi's eyes. Margaret twisted to look through the steamy vapors rising above the horse's back. The man watched the exchange between his son and her, but no way could she make out what he was thinking. His face was as blank as a freshly, washed blackboard.
"Hello, Levi." Her husky voice sounded mechanical to her ears as she looked into the man's cold as ice, unwavering, blue eyes. She turned back to Luke's worried expression. He glanced at his father and back at her. At least in front of the boy, she had to make a stab at being civil to Levi for this precious child's sake. Besides the week would seem a terminally, long visit if she let Levi get to her at the very beginning of her stay. She smiled down at Luke and patted his head to reassure him.
Levi must have thought the same thing as he watched his son. "Wilkom, Margaret Goodman. Best get inside and warm up," he said, his tone quietly clipped.
Margaret glanced over her shoulder. If Levi's short pretense at an invitation hadn't been remote enough, his face, emotionally frigid as this winter day, told her she was not really welcome in his home but tolerated for his son's sake.
Margaret concentrated on the boy. That always took away the sting of Levi's words. She pointed to the wicker basket on the sleigh seat. "Luke, please carry that inside for me. I'm ready to warm up and have a cup of tea right now." Margaret forced cheerfulness into her voice. "First, let me give you a proper hello. You've grown so much. You must be a foot taller than last year." She drew Luke to her, engulfing him in an enthusiastic, bear hug.
"Only four inches," corrected the boy.
"All out of tea," Levi put forth shortly. He looked straight ahead as he marched past Luke and her.
"Figured that. That's one of the things I brought with me in the basket," Margaret shot back at Levi's ramrod, straight back as she trailed after him.
Setting the basket down, Luke picked up his hat. He beat it against his leg to rid it of snow and put it back on. Margaret paused to look back at the western sky while she waited for the boy. The sun had slipped half way below the horizon, creating long, red fingers across the sky. In the fading daylight, the old man still leaned in the barn door, but he faced the house now. No doubt watching with interest the underlying discord between Levi and her. She could imagine that he might not want to be any closer than the barn during their initial meeting.
"Jeremiah Yoder, come in out of the cold if you have time. Have a cup of tea with me," she hailed, beckoning to him with a wave of her hand.
Moses stopped his inspection of the sleigh when he heard Margaret's voice. The dog caught up to her and whined for attention as he sniffed at her skirt. She reached down and patted his head before she turned and trudged with Luke on the snow packed path toward the house. Behind her, she heard the chickens squawk in alarm. Jeremiah must have scattered the flock as he walked across the barnyard. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to ease away some of the tension that had built up in her all day. She was so very thankful that Jeremiah chose to come when she called. He never liked to take sides between Levi and her. Just the same, Margaret needed that old man to be near her at first as a buffer until she had time to get use to the chilliness that radiated off Levi. It had always helped bolster her spirit to know that Jeremiah liked her to visit almost as much as Luke did. Jeremiah did his best to respect his son's wishes and Amish law when he was at the Plain people gatherings, but in the privacy of his own home, he wasn't afraid to show how much he thought of her.

Now that's it for this week. As soon as I get my blog posts done I'm going to spend the rest of the day between the fans inside and the shade trees. For the first time, we are going to have central air. The heat and forecast has made believers out of us.