And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. Matthew25:33 The sequel to My Memories Of Animals Large and Small is now on the market. The title of the paperback book is Sheep On The Right Goats On The Left. The book is in kindle and nook ebooks, too. In this book is more stories about the animals I took care of from the 1990s until recently. Some are humorous. Others were cause for worry like when for months something was making a banging noise in the barn. Still others are sad like when my favorite sheepdog, a Border Collie named Brandy, died. Here is an example of what is in this book. Chapter 13 Hogs In those days when we wanted to buy livestock, we liked going to the salebarns in Belle Plaine and Tama. On one of those visits to a salebarn, Harold decided to buy two sows which were going to farrow soon. That was my first time taking care of sows. They were in the middle room of the barn. Harold put a wooden gate in the opening and opened the roll door so they had fresh air. He decided to put a shelf on the wall and set a radio on the shelf so the sows had music to keep them calm. I wasn't sure why he did that until later. We found a radio works to keep female rabbits calm, too. The radio is a distraction from other noises. One of the sows had her pigs just fine. I climbed over the gate and put another wooden gate up to make a small wedge-shaped pen for a space for the sow who was soon to have her pigs so I could keep them apart. In a day or two, I was doing chores and found the sow had delivered a good size litter of pigs, but she didn't like them. When they wanted to nurse, the sow barked roughly at them to leave her alone and moved away from them. I thought maybe she was hungry and was waiting for me to feed her. Maybe she'd settle down after she ate. I climbed up the gate and started to climb down the other side with the feed. The sow bark loudly and gave an angry squeal. I looked over my shoulder. Oh yeah, that was an angry squeal all right. She was coming at me. Her slobbering mouth gaped open with large teeth bared as she raced at me like she meant to do me in. I didn't hesitate to scramble back over the gate and set the pail down. When I wheeled around, the sow was biting at the wooden gate, taking out on it her regret that she didn't get there quickly enough to nail me. I tried to go back to breathing normally as I backed up, thinking that gate wasn't strong enough to stand her abusive bites. I might have to make a fast getaway out of the barnyard. We moved the sows to the east side of the barn with their pigs where they had more room. It was clear something was wrong with the sow, and her pigs weren't going to live long if she didn't settle down. The pigs already had the long narrow look from being hungry. They were squealing loudly since their mother ran at me. The sow might take out her irritation on her noisy little pigs next while they pestered her, wanting to nurse. This was the problem that brought on my first call to a vet. Usually, I considered calling a vet Harold's job but he was at work. Turned out this was one of those tasks that stopped being fifty-fifty when animals were sick, and I was the only one home. The local vet was well known and had practiced around the community for years. In this area at the time, cattle and pigs were the main livestock. So I found myself beside the tall, broad-shouldered vet looking in at the upset sow, still growling at her pigs. I explained the problem. He listened quietly. I took it this vet was a man of few words, or he just didn't have many women customers. The vet asked me how long we'd had the sows. I told him not long at all. He said sometimes moving the sows just before they were going to farrow upsets them. This sow had a psychological problem from being moved to a strange place. I wasn't too convinced the sow had a mental problem. I wanted to ask the vet if I needed a psychiatrist for the sow, but he didn't look like he had a sense of humor. I had to take into consideration that he had been treating animals for years. He diffidently knew more than I ever would about animal health. I did point out that Harold had turned the radio on for the sows to help calm them. Later as I thought back about the vet's assessment, I recalled how upset Duffy, our first goat, was at being moved from her former home and all her friends when she was so close to giving birth. At the moment, I really didn't have time to give anything much thought except that sow was going to take me out if I tried to feed her, and she'd starve her pigs or harm them if something couldn't be done to help her soon. The vet eased close enough to the sow to give her a shot, but he didn't say what the medicine was, and I didn't have the nerve to ask what he gave the sow. He said she'd probably quiet down shortly from the shot which did sound encouraging to me. In an hour, I stayed hidden along the barn wall when I slipped up to check the sow. She finally had laid down and her pigs were nursing as the sow grunted to them. I was so relieved. Not only for the sow and pigs, but this meant I didn't have to worry about getting in her pen to feed her. My memory on many facts is rather vague sometimes, but I can tell you exactly what day I had the vet come to care for the sow. It was August 16, 1977, the day Elvis Presley died. I know this because the radio announcer broke in on the music with the bulletin while the vet and I were talking. I did some computer research on farrowing sows and found symptoms like this sow had does sometimes happened. I told Harold before the sows farrowed again I wanted somewhere to put some farrowing crates to get the two sows we had contained so I could give shots safely, and the sow couldn't get at the pigs or me if she was in a bad frame of mind. Maybe next time, the vet would tell me what I needed to give the sows if I asked for the medicine to give the shots myself. I learned long ago I should be careful what I ask Harold for. That was all the incentive he needed to have a hog house built and brought in. Once the building was in place Harold put in fourteen farrowing crates he bought from someone. “This is an awful big hog house. We only have two sows,” I reminded him. Harold had a fix for that problem. He bought twelve more sows and a boar. Soon I found myself in charge of a fourteen sow farrowing house. How did that happen so fast I wondered. Anyway, everything worked well at birthing time just like I thought it would with the sows crated. The sows went in easily enough for the feed in the front of the crates. Once they were safely contained, I kept a close watch on them, because I just when they should give birth. By farrowing time, I had talked to the vet. He sold me bottles of medicines to keep on hand for the sows which made me happy. I gave shots to the sows which kept them from getting feverish and injections to let down their milk. Plus, I had goat milk to feed the extra pigs or pigs that needed to be fed before their mothers had milk. I did need the goat milk. I kept count of the number in the litter as the pigs were born, and when the sows had more pigs than they could feed, I made sure the runt pigs over the sow's dinner plate limit had their colostrum and took them in the house. In fact, I always liked the idea that the sows had a big litter. It wasn't any harder work saving newborn pigs than it was any other newborn animal. I got a high-sided cardboard box to put the pigs in. At first, when the two or three pigs squealed in the middle of the night that they were hungry I got up and fed them. I was using a couple of Duane's baby juice bottles. Those bottles got a lot of use over the years for other animals. Eventually waking up for feeding times grew as tiresome as making the trips to the barn during lambing. I soon decided I had to come up with a better method for feeding the pigs so I didn't have to get up in the night. I took some denim strips from old blue jean legs and tied them around the bottles and tied the bottles onto the handle of the cookstove's oven door so the bottles hung down in the box. In the night, I'd wake up just enough to hear the pigs grunt and squeal that they were hungry, and then came the sucking noises. Pigs are smart. They caught on right away to where the bottles were. Except for one night when I had three pigs instead of two in the box and only two baby bottles. I found out pigs don't like to take turns drinking. They all want their share at the same time. The racket was loud as two of the pigs squealed and scuffled over the same bottle. By the time they swung the bottle back and forth a number of times taking it away from each other, the bottle dripped dry, and they didn't get to drink the milk. The pigs kept squealing that they were hungry. I didn't get up to see about them, thinking they would live until morning. Surely soon they would give up and go to sleep. Remember I said pigs are smart. One of the little fellows decided he had enough of me ignoring him. He was hungry, and he intended to do something about it. He scaled the box side, fell over the top, and came through the kitchen, the living room, and into the bedroom squealing all the way as he trailed me like an experience bloodhound. He circled the bed, keeping up his war-hoops. I was pretty sure he'd soon be scaling up the covers after me if I didn't get up. Harold mumbled, “Someone is paging you.” I figured I had no choice but to get out of bed and take the pig back to his box. Since the other pig had emptied the remaining bottle, I warm enough milk for my little bloodhound, and the other hungry pig each their own bottle. It wasn't long after that I determined those three pigs were old enough to wait until morning to nurse. Besides, it was a warm time of year. The pigs could survive in the barn. I put the pigs in a lambing pen way way way out in the barn where I didn't have to listen to their complaints in the night. I figured the pig who hurled over the box wouldn't be able to scale the lambing pen wall. By then the older vet had retired, and another vet was in the office. I went to the vet's office for medicine. While he was getting what I asked for, I told him about how smart the pig was to find me in the middle of the night for his bottle. He had his back to me, mixing up the medicine for me. He turned to me and said seriously, “Maybe you should have knocked that pig in the head.” I gave him a hard, no way would I do that look. He grinned. He'd been joking to get a reaction from me, but I'm sure that sort of thing happened in farrowing houses when the sows had more pigs than they could feed. It just didn't happen in our farrowing house. This vet reminded me of what the retired vet had said to me one day. I wondered if my reaction to treating my animals had been passed from the one vet to the other. One time the older vet was still in the office when I went in to get medicine for a ewe. I explained the ewe was sick. He asked me all the right questions. How old was she? How long had she been ailing, and what were her symptoms? I told him she had pneumonia and tried to sound confident. Of course, I was new at diagnosing animals, but I'd looked in the book I bought and that seemed to be the diagnoses that went along with the symptoms. The vet took my word for it and gave me a bottle with three doses of antibiotic in it and instructed me about how to use the medicine. He gave me his classic serious look as he said, “You know some people say a sick sheep is a dead sheep.” I wondered if that was the reason he took my word for the diagnosis and felt a little irked at him. If I was wrong about what was ailing the ewe, according to sheep health lore, she was a goner anyway. I didn't want to hear the old wives' tale some people said. I curtly informed the vet not one of my sheep were going to die if I could help it. I saved the ewe, and now I had the name of the antibiotic on the bottle so I could order next time from a mail-order catalog. Some time back I started ordering from the computer. That is what I've been doing ever since. If I do come across an ailment I don't know, I call a vet. The vet comes, diagnoses for me, and gives me the medicine I need. From then on, I recognize the ailment symptoms and keep the medicine on hand to use for that ailment. The bottom shelf in my refrigerator door has always been the place to store animal meds. Of course, I did have a vet curious when he told me the medicine he'd try on a lamb. I said I had already tried that and it didn't work. He asked me where I got my medicine so I said from a mail-order catalog. Maybe he thought he wasn't the first vet I'd called about the lamb. I named all the different medicines I had tried on this particular lamb and nothing seemed to work. The vet grinned at me. He said I used a cure or kill method. He might have been right, but usually, I succeeded with a cure for the patient even if I wasn't sure which medicine worked. This vet was the one who told me I should throw away my mail-order catalog. I was losing him money by not coming to him. He smiled as he said that, but he was right. While I was promoting for the sheep industry, the literary group in town decided to have me show them how to spin wool. The meeting just happened to be at the house of the elderly vet. He wasn't home that night. He was probably waiting for all the women to leave his house before he came back home. The women at the meeting seemed interested and asked questions about spinning and caring for sheep. The vet's wife smiled at me and said, “Before Doc left, he said to tell you he still thinks a sick sheep is a dead sheep.” I smiled. Doc had remembered our conversation from several years before. I must have made an impression on him. My reply to his wife was, “Tell him I still disagree with him when I'm the one taking care of my sheep.” I was wrong about one thing. Doc did have a sense of humor. He got in one last zinger through his wife. He didn't want to be there to face me himself. Paperback books can be found online at Barnes and Noble and Amazon. Ebooks are at Barnes and Noble for Nook and Amazon for Kindle. Also, Smashwords.com has my ebooks. For paperback https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sheep-on-the-right-goats-on-the-left-fay-risner/1139647974?ean=9781666297935 Kindle https://www.amazon.com/s?k=Sheep+On+The+Right+Goats+On+The+Left+by+Fay+Risner&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss Nook https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sheep-on-the-right-goats-on-the-left-fay-risner/1139647974?ean=2940162227724

My Memories Of Animals Large And Small For forty-six years, I jotted down stories about taking care of my animals and fowl with the thought that someday I would like to become an author. When I saw on the Keystone Library Bulletin board that there was going to be a six weeks Writer's Workshop I signed up. The teacher was a retired English teacher. She encouraged all of us in that class to write about things we knew. For me, that was my animals. When I handed in my first story, the teacher gave me pointers on how to write the story better. When the class was over, she told all of us that we could bring any other stories to her at her home and she'd edit them for us. I took her up on that offer. She talked a local newspaper into putting a Writer's Column in the paper. I sent in several of my stories and it was so great to see my work in print. By the late eighties, I was ready to try writing a book. From that one, I wrote two about Alzheimer's while I was working at the Keystone Care Center. It's still a great place to work and for residents to get the care they need. Self-publishing became easy in 2008 online. I had eight books to publish which sold on Amazon and now I am ready to sell number 64. My Memories Of Animals Large And Small. In the early eighties, my son was gifted with the first three books of Dr. James Herriot, the vet from Yorkshire Dales, England. He began jotting down his stories in the 1930s and later turned them into books. Lately, I decided I might be able to do the same thing so I dug my early stories out of the drawer and began to type them into manuscript form. The later stories I had put on Facebook and had copies on the computer. What surprised me was the fact that I had enough stories for three books. So my working with sheep in the first book had to be almost as rugged in the winter as when Dr. Herriot trudged through knee-deep snow and blizzards in England. Some of the stories are scary like when a disagreeable cow takes her birthing pains out on me, or when the new bull has a dislike for women in general and charges me when I kept going in his pen. So meet Bobtail, Samson, Mr. Quacker, and the rest of Fay's menagerie in her first days of tending livestock. Paperback Books, regular and large print and Nook ebooks are at Barnes and Noble online. https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/memories-of-my-animals-large-and-small-fay-risner/1139509108?ean=9781666289633 Paperback book is in Amazon and ebook is in Kindle. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B095GG29XL/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=My+Memories+of+Animals+Large+and+Small+by+Fay+risner&qid=1621524779&sr=8-1 https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0959LQK2T Ebook is at Smashwords. https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1084944 Coming sometime this year will be books two and three in the series.

A Tribute To A Century Old Woman

We lost the head of our family December 5, 2020. We were so fortunate to have Minnie Risner in our family for a 100 years. I realized a few years ago she had many stories to tell so I wrote a book about her life. Some families will think about parts of a loved one's life after they died and have questions, but it's too late. Hopefully, Minnie's family will never have to wonder about anything that happened to Minnie, because their questions were answered. Minnie was an amazing Christian, wife, mother, and friend who excelled at anything she did. She led by example for her family and anyone else who knew her, and she was loved by everyone. At age 9, she was in the timber picking greens for her mother to cook and found a pretty wildflower she just had to have. She dug it up and transplanted it in a tin can. An aunt saw how much Minnie prized that flower and asked if she could buy it. Minnie refused to sell. That was the beginning of her love for plants. She was taught by her mother about gardening and her Grandmother Jewell about flowers. She picked up knowledge along the way by reading to share with others. She was our Master Gardener. During warm weather, her company received a tour of her bountiful garden and beautiful flowers that she was so proud of. The next thing to do was sit on the front porch in the shade and drink ice tea while they visited. Turning fourteen was the beginning of Minnie's growing up. School ended at eighth grade in Risner Big Rock one-room schoolhouse. The school sat next to Risner Big Rock House, the home of her future husband, Henry. Minnie became good friends with the young school teacher who lived with the Risners. In the spring and fall, the school was let out for six weeks so the children could help in the fields. The spring of her fourteen year, Minnie planted corn for her Grandpa Harvey Phillips and her Uncle Jim while they prepared the soil and laid out the rows. Minnie was so quick at planting she had time to fish in the Myatt River while she waited on the next row to be laid off. One time she caught a very large fish and was very excited when she pulled it out of the water. She ran back to her grandpa to get help to carry the fish. In Arkansas's summer heat, Minnie hoed her father's cotton field. She helped her father with the milking, and her mother prepared her to be the immaculate housewife she became by teaching her cooking, canning, housework, and sewing. Life for children was harder a 100 years ago and death was an accepted part of their life at an early age. At ten, Minnie went with her mother to her Aunt Emma's house to help sew clothes for stillborn twins. As soon as the twins were dressed, Minnie was allowed to see how well the garment she sewed looked on one of the babies. In her teen years, she sat at the bedside of a very sick friend with other teens until the boy died. All preparation for doing the same through her adult years. Children didn't get allowance so during the winter Minnie set box traps and caught rabbits. She could kill the rabbits herself, skin, gut them and hang the hides and carcases on the clotheslines to freeze. She had customers in town who bought the meat, and someone bought the furs. She went on to become a good shot with a 22 rifle, because they lived in an area where poisonous snakes crawled in the yard, and blacksnakes were after her chickens and eggs. When company came for a meal, Minnie usually fixed fresh fried chicken. There weren't any freezers or refrigerators because they didn't have electricity, and they were lucky if they had an icebox. Minnie had a flock of chickens. The hens laid out, hatched chicks that became her chicken dinners. The lot the chickens were in grew grass as tall as the chickens. Just their heads showed when they stood up. Minnie got as close as she dared, sighted a rooster, and shot. He went down. She hurried to the spot, knowing she had work ahead of her before the company came. She had to scald and pick off the feathers, cut the rooster up and get him in the skillet. She was so glad she hit the rooster on the first shot, but when she picked him up she realized he was her flock rooster which wasn't good. She wouldn't have more chicks hatch that summer, and the tough rooster wouldn't fry well. She'd have to stew him or fix chicken and noodles. Minnie was a great cook, but there was one time when she had made a cake that failed. In her day, there weren't cake mixes so she mixed a cake up from scratch, expecting her sister Ethel and Ethel's husband, Frandell Risner, who was Henry's brother. Minnie was hurrying and forgot the baking powder in the cake. The cake was flat when it baked. Minnie didn't want her company to see that horrible cake. Frandell would have teased her. So she threw the cake back under the front porch and made another cake. Her company came and she went outside to greet them. The family dog came out from under the porch dragging her cake like it was a delicious bone. Minnie had to confess what happened. In Minnie's teenage years, she did have some fun times, and she was competitive. She'd find out when the neighborhood boys were going to have a horse race. She was so petite she had to climb on a tree stump to slide on her dad's plow horse. Minnie would take off to the country road to enter the race. More times than not she won the races. I teased her it was a wonder she found a husband. She was always better than the boys at what they did. At fourteen, Minnie was playing hide and seek. She hid in her father's barn loft where she could see the tree that was base out through a loft window. When the coast was clear, she decided the quickest, least-watched way to get to base was to jump from the loft into the horse manager of hay and climb out the barn window. She didn't have the plan well thought out. The distance down from the loft was more than she thought, the hay manager wasn't as full of soft hay as she thought, and she broke her right leg. They didn't have a car so her father Fred went to the neighbor and asked him to drive them to the doctor. So for months, Minnie wore a cast which slowed her down. Trips to the doctor and shopping were made in the farm wagon in those days. Minnie had something in common with George Washington. She couldn't tell a lie. When it came to questioning her about her health, she wasn't a complainer, and she didn't want to confide in anyone if she was ailing. She didn't like going to doctors or taking medicine. She wasn't raised that way a hundred years ago in the heal yourself days with herbs from the timber. So I'd asked if she was feeling okay. Minnie would give me a thin lipped smile and a slight nod yes. I soon figured out, she didn't consider that a lie when she didn't speak. Knowing that I confided in the last doctor she had so the doctor knew to watch the answer she got from Minnie. Minnie had lived long enough to give sage advice when asked. I bent her ear more than once, and wish I had written down what she told me. The only advice I remember is when I told Minnie someone had given me something I didn't really want, but I took it because I didn't want to hurt the person's feeling. Minnie said, "That was good you did that, because that person may give you something next time that you really like." At fourteen, Minnie was baptised in the Myatt River next to her future husband's childhood home and the school they both attended. Minnie always liked to read. Her favorite book up to then was Uncle Tom's Cabin until she was given her first Bible. She had read her Bible through many times. When we cleaned her house out, we found Minnie never had a Bible she didn't like. We knew that from her collections of them scattered around the house. She taught Sunday School and in the late 1980s when Henry and Minnie moved back south for four years, Minnie opened up the country church at Pleasant Valley they used to attend and became the lay preacher there. Her mother was the song leader. I'd always found Minnie meek and soft-spoken. I was surprised to see her stand in front of a congregation and preach. Her knowledge of the Bible gave her the confidence to deliver the message. Minnie believed in the power of prayer. She kept an updated prayer list and before she went to bed, she prayed for each person on the list. What was amazing to me was when she added President Ronald Reagan to her prayer list after he was shot in the 1980's assassination attempt. That wasn't all, she sent him a letter telling him she was praying for him and a get well card. That got her a card back from the White House from Ronald and Nancy. I didn't know that until I was working on her book. I kept saying who does that? What an amazing thing for her to do. By the way, she still had connections to the White House when she turned 100, because she got a birthday card from President Trump and his wife in September. Minnie looked forward to her family gathering in her large basement family room on every holiday and her birthday. She loved having everyone with her when they all had such busy lives the rest of the time. She'd never learned to drive so she loved outings to our place where we gave her tours of our garden and animals. As soon as we'd eaten, she'd be saying, “You can take me home now when you have time.” She didn't want to stay gone too long just encase she had company. When I wrote Minnie's story I interview relatives and friends. In later years, Minnie attended the Christan Fellowship Church that used to be in Belle Plaine. Her Pastor Jack Andrews told me it never failed when he saw Minnie, he'd say, “How are you today?” She replied, “Aw, like common.” I looked through some of Minnie's Bibles and found this handwritten passage in the back of a scuffed Bible she used so much. I believe she looked to that passage for comfort when her father died. He was not a well man and was severely burned by a grass fire he started. He'd have been in a lot of pain. Today, I think Minnie would again turn to that verse for comfort for herself, and I believe it applies to her. She was in pain from her broken wrist, and weary because at the end of her life she needed so much help at the nursing home. Revelation 21:3-4 "And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” One thing I am sure of when Minnie stands before God, if he asks how she is, her reply will be, “Aw, just like common.”

Christmas With Hover Hill by Fay Risner

One more Christmas book to tell you about. I always like adding humor to my stories, and this book has plenty of humor. One of my ideas for the book came from watching NBC Today years ago. A piece was on using robots to work as servants. Another idea I saved was one of many pictures I took at the Kalona Salebarn Carriage sale. They usually had one in the spring and one in the fall. I wanted a supply of horse-drawn pictures to use on my Nurse Hal book covers since I make the covers myself. The most usual horse-drawn item was a Cinderella Coach. I couldn't imagine what it was used for, but I had to have the picture to use someday. Lately, as much as possible, I set my stories in Iowa. So what this book consists of is a robot with an attitude that was a Christmas gift for a Northern Iowa College Professor. She loves her brother but hates the gift. So what caused her to change her mind when she takes off on a leave of absence to parts unknown with a very expensive robot after her brother says he will take the gift back. How does the Cinderella Coach fit into the story? You have to read the book to find out. Sold on Amazon and Barnes and Noble in paperback. Ebook in kindle, nook and smashwords.com

Synopsis Elizabeth Winston grew up not caring about Christmas. This Christmas is going to be much worse than the holidays she and her brother, Scott, shared with her divorced parents. Her former boyfriend, Steven Mitchell, showed up to pester her about renewing their relationship now that his marriage has ended, and Elizabeth vows that is not going to happen. She looks forward to sharing Christmas with her brother, Scott, but he says he won't be able to spend Christmas with her this year. He has a business trip. His present for her is an expensive and obnoxious robot house man by the name of Hover Hill that he says will make life easier for his sister. Just her luck to be stuck with a mechanical man to share the holidays with. To make matters worse, Elizabeth is fit to be tied when she figures out the robot was planted by ex-boyfriend Steven Mitchell to brainwash her into taking him back. Her brother, Scott, betrayed her when he helped Steven by saying the robot was his gift. She's so mad at both men she slips out of town, taking Steven's expensive robot with her and leaving her old life behind only to walk into a new set of problems. She just wanted to hide out for six months, but that isn't easy in small Wickenburg, Iowa. Gossip about her flies faster than the rumors that come out of the Silver Dollar Tavern. Susie, at the Maidrite Diner, bragged to her customers she got a good look at the handsome man that Elizabeth is shacking up with. The minster's wife complained local farmer, Bud Carter, hasn't been to church for a month of Sundays. She wondered what his problem was. Holly, from the Antique Store, said the reason why is Bud's spending more time at the pretty newcomer's house in the country than he is at his place. The grocery store checker said Elizabeth acts nervous like she's hiding out from someone. If Steven Mitchell or her brother comes to town looking for her, with all the attention Elizabeth is getting now, she fears all they have to do is ask, and they can get directions from anyone in town to the old Carter house before she makes it through Christmas With Hover Hill.

Christmas is near, and most of us are staying home looking for something to keep us busy. If you're looking for holiday stories, here is one I wrote. I save ideas just in case some day I might be able to write a whole story. I'd never paid much attention to the bucket list idea until I was in Walmart one day. I was in the restroom, trying to the the automatic soap dispenser to put soap in my hand. After several swipes under the dispenser, a shopper came up beside me and used the dispenser by her. I asked, "How did you get soap? I can't make this dispenser work." It tickled the woman. She swiped her hand again and said, "Just like this." She had a hand full of foamy soap, but the procedure she used looked to me about like what I had been doing. Oh, well, I'd try again. I swiped and had a handful of soap. The woman smiled. "There you go. You can take that off your bucket list." We both laughed, and she disappeared. Suddenly, I'm looking at myself in the mirror and wondering why I looked like I should have a bucket list. So when I wanted to write a story, I went through my saved ideas, came up with one and still mulling over I should have a bucket list, I came up with this story. The poem was a Christmas gift from a nephew that I had saved. I felt it went along with this story. You might find this book different than most Christmas stories, but I think you will like it. Paperback books are found at Amazon and Barnes and Noble in 12 font and large print. The ebooks are in Kindle, Nook, and smashwords.com.

When Leona Krebsbach found out just before Thanksgiving she didn't have long to live, she took charge of her life like she had always done since the doctor thought she might die in a month. She bought a small spiral notepad and titled it Christmas Bucket List. On each page of the notepad, Leona listed something she needed to get done while she still had time. Details like her funeral headed the list. She didn't want to leave anything for her daughters to have to worry about after she was gone. She kept her illness a secret until after Thanksgiving when she had all but one thing completed on her bucket list. Finally, she was as ready to die as she was ever going to get. She called her daughters and invited them to a tea party. Now was the time to tell them. At her age with a long life behind her, Leona Krebsbach wished she felt better prepared mentally for the end. She should have been ready to go, because she would be with her beloved Clarence. If only she had managed to atone for that one regretful time that happened so many years ago. If that didn't weigh on her, she knew her mind set would be different, but she couldn't change the past. Even if she wanted to, she didn't have enough time. She reasoned her bucket list wasn't designed to take care of that one regret unless a miracle happened to change Leona's Christmas Bucket List.

Book 12 of the Amazing Gracie Mystery Series. On sale at kindle, nook and smashwords.com and paper back in regular and large print in Barnes and Noble and Amazon. Synosis Gracie Evans wasn't the only one upset when the Locked Rock, Iowa newspaper editor wanted to compete with big city papers by starting a gossip column. Appearing in the gossip column wasn't the way Locked Rock citizens wanted to find themselves in print. That didn't stop the newspaper from selling more copies, because everyone had to find out if they were in the gossip column each week. Shortly after two women were mentioned in the gossip column they were murdered. Gracie Evans suspects a mouse trap drummer who has been going door to door. He has an eye for pretty young women, but Gracie doesn't have proof that he murdered the women. Who wanted to punish the women mentioned in the column by murdering them? Chapter 1 The time was early spring It was a morning in 1906 right after breakfast at Locked Rock, Iowa's Moser Mansion Rest Home for Women. A squirrel scampered across the yard to the maple tree with one of last year's walnuts in its mouth. In flower beds on the block, yellow daffodils and all colors of tulips shimmered in the slight breeze. As usual, the three Moser Mansion residents were lined up in their rockers on the front porch. Melinda Applegate and Madeline Patterford had slipped into quiet reverie with their chins resting on their chests until Gracie Evans's sudden brassy voiced outburst startled them. The two women flinched as they came out of their stupor, trying to make sense of Gracie's explosion. Gracie crumpled up the latest Wednesday copy of the Locked Rock Review newspaper and slapped it on the lap of her dark brown cotton skirt. She rubbed the long, dark gray braid wound around the top her head with an arthritic forefinger as she groused, “This newspaper's new-fangled notions beat everything I ever seen.” Melinda raised a perturbed eyebrow as she watched Gracie mistreat the newspaper. “Gracie, could you be careful with the Locked Rock Review? I haven't had a chance to read it yet.” Madeline patted her dark French knotted hair back in place as she leaned forward in her rocker to look around Melinda. She stared down her long slender nose at Gracie. “Oh brother! This early in the morning and you're already dissatisfied with something. Melinda's right. Take care not to damage the Locked Rock Review just yet. I want my turn to read the newspaper, too.” “Here, take it.” Gracie grouched as she whipped the wrinkled newspaper out at Melinda. As she grabbed the paper, curly, white-haired Melinda said sweetly, “Thank you. Now, what is wrong with the newspaper this time?” Madeline leaned forward again to listen. “The owner, Roy Madison, is going to let the newspaper put in a gossip column. The editor, George Hightower, has a help wanted ad in there to find a person to write the column,” groused Gracie. Melinda groaned. “That is too bad. Maybe no one will apply for the job. I'm surprised at Mr. Madison. As the owner of the newspaper, you would think he wouldn't want to do such a column in this small-town newspaper. Hopefully, he will change his mind if he hears enough complaints against such a column.” Madeline shook her head. “Oh, brother! That won't happen, Melinda. Moxie Applegate told me when I was at the library last Wednesday she heard the editor has quit the newspaper over a dispute with the owner. He's just waiting for the new editor to arrive from out east before he leaves. I gathered from Moxie that the man tried to stop Mr. Madison from running the gossip column and was ordered to do so or quit. So he quit. A new man is arriving all the way from Boston to take over. Moxie understood Mr. Madison said the new editor can do what he wants with the newspaper. He's giving the man free rein. Mr. Madison is hoping that the man will be able to increase sales with his fresh ideas. That's what Moxie said.” “This is the first I've heard of a shake-up at the newspaper. You sure were quiet about it,” Gracie declared. “Really, I hadn't heard about this either. Is this so, Madeline?” Melinda gasped. Madeline shrugged her shoulders. “Really, and I'll have you know I didn't know there would be anything note-worthy about what happens with the newspaper's staff coming and going. So Gracie you might as well get used to changes in the newspaper and expect more of them to come that we aren't used to reading about. This eastern editor will be doing things the way they're done out east. In that area, the large city newspapers have had gossip columns in them for some time.” “Guess that explains why the editor said the reporter of the gossip column would remain anonymous. In a small town like this, reporting dirt on friends and neighbors could very well get a person tared and feathered some dark night. It must be a whole different situation when the big cities out east do it,” Gracie surmised with a grunt. “Why is it so different?” Melinda asked. “In the large cities, the newspapers can talk about anyone they want. With the population being as large as it is, not as many people know the people getting talked about in the gossip column so it doesn't matter,” Gracie surmised. “Well, I expect it matters to the people who are mentioned in the newspaper,” Melinda declared. “Right,” Madeline added. “What is put in those gossip columns are never anything nice, and usually ruins reputations. There's no undoing what is said in print.” “That's true for sure,” Melinda agreed. “But I wonder what gossip there would be in a gossip column for a small town like this one which would surprise anyone. All we have to do is talk to our friends to find out what is going on with other people in town.” Madeline began her rocker in slow motion. “The newspaper we took in New York had mostly stories about what man was stepping out on his wife with another woman.” “Well, you know what they say?” Gracie rubbed the arm of her rocker as she studied the street down to Main Street. “I'm afraid I'm going to be sorry, but no, Gracie, what do they say?” Melinda asked with her left eyebrow raised. Gracie looked down her nose at the curly, white-haired woman beside her. “If everything is all right in the hen house, men don't have to borrow eggs from the next-door neighbor woman.” “Really, Gracie. I don't think I have ever heard that saying before. What does borrowing eggs from a neighbor have to do with a man cheating on his wife,” Melinda declared. “Melinda, Gracie is trying to say the man didn't go next door to get just eggs from the woman who lived there,” Madeline explained. Melinda's face turned beet red. “Oh? Ohhh!” “Gracie you've been single your whole life. And you are an expert on married men who cheat on their wives how?” Madeline asked. “Just going by what I've seen around here over the years,” Gracie said quietly. Madeline snapped, “Well, I can tell you what I know about a newspaper in the big city. My brother wound up in one of the newspapers in New York. That paper had a very mean gossip column, and my brother was in it.” “Was he running around on his wife or was the gossip column wrong?” Gracie asked. Madeline slowly nodded. “Well yes, my brother was guilty of cheating on his wife, but the awful experience of having the multitude of readers in that newspaper know a shameful thing like that about my brother proved to be an embarrassment to my whole family.” “Oh my! Madeline, I am so sorry to hear that happened to you,” Melinda commiserated. “Gracie must be right. That just goes to show you a gossip column is a bad thing to have in our newspaper.” “Well, that is all past history. My brother said he was sorry for what he did. He made up with his wife after he was exposed in the newspaper and remained faithful after that. I got over it. So did the rest of the family, because we love my brother and his wife and their children,” Madeline shared. “If getting caught made things better in the long run for your brother and his family maybe it wasn't such a bad thing,” Gracie declared. “Thanks to my sister-in-law's forgiving nature, my brother turned out to be a good example. That is if there is such a thing when people's mistakes have been aired in the newspaper. Plenty of families were split apart and their lives ruined by such news leaking out in the gossip column,” Madeline declared. “The subscribers never forget bad rumors they read about someone they know.” “Guess we will have to wait until next week and see if anyone applies for the job,” Gracie said. “Maybe we're worrying for nothing. We may not be the only ones in this town that think Roy Madison has a bad idea. What the readers ought to do is speak up and tell him to forget the gossip column.” For once, Melinda and Madeline nodded agreement with Gracie. “If we hear anyone mention they feel the same way we do, we should tell them to threaten to drop their subscription to the newspaper if a gossip column is put in it,” Madeline decided. “That is a good idea. Gracie, wasn't there any good news in the newspaper?” Melinda asked. “Find out for yourself. It's in your lap,” Gracie said as she leaned back in her rocker. “Fine! Hopefully, I can make heads or tails out of the news if I can make out the words in the crinkled places.” Melinda narrowed her eyes as she scanned passed pages one and two to the third page. “Here is Moxie Applegate's social column. It's always interesting. She says Thad Sawyer and his wife Ivy were in town Saturday to do their shopping. The seed corn salesman has been making his rounds of the farms with corn for farmers to plant. Sunday night was a shivaree at the Cloy Smith home for their daughter, Renee, and her new husband, Roy Hansen. Folks said they had trouble hearing the next day after listening to all the pot banging, but they sure had fun. Mr. and Mrs. Elmer Scancot had supper at the Lyle and Mary Kroy home.” Melinda laid the newspaper down. “Not anything harmful in Moxie's column. That's for sure. It's always nice to read about what other people in the area are doing.” “Depends who you are,” Madeline said, grinning. “From what I heard after church last Sunday when women gathered to visit, there was one person who felt slighted by Thad Sawyer. A neighbor to the Sawyers said usually the couple stop by her house on the way into town to take her sister and her along with them. Or at least get their order for groceries so the Sawyers can stop by with the groceries on their way home. They hadn't done it, and she was miffed, thinking they slipped by her house on purpose so as not to bother with them.” Gracie defended the renter of her Three Oaks farm. “Thad probably was in a hurry to get back to planting corn. He didn't have time to fool around in town waiting for two old women and his wife while they all tried to get their shopping done.” Madeline continued, “Well, Elmer Scancot's sister, Eunice Smith, was telling the Hopwood sisters that Elmer and his wife haven't been to visit with her, their own kin, in months. She saw in the newspaper's social column when they do come to town they spend an evening with the Kroys. Listening to them complain tells me that even Moxie's social column isn't all that great if people read it and get riled up at others.” Gracie and Melinda didn't have a defense for Moxie so they relaxed back in their rockers and closed their eyes, pretending to nap. After lunch, the Moser women decided to walk to the library uptown. Moxie Applegate had extended the library hours to all day Wednesday since Locked Rock was growing in size and there was more interest in the library. It was a beautiful spring afternoon to be outside. The walk was just a little over a block long and good exercise if Gracie was to believe Madeline. The women waved at people in their buggies as they rolled by and shouted a greeting to people sitting on their front porches. Locked Rock, Iowa was never very busy on a Wednesday, and this afternoon wasn't any different. Saturdays were sale days when crowds showed up in town. The farmers and their wives called Saturday trading day when they came in to trade their excess vegetables, fruit, eggs, and grain for groceries and livestock feed. Men stood in groups in front of the stores. They discussed the weather, commodity prices, and how well their corn crop was doing. When that subject was exhausted, they spun a few tall tales while they waited for their wives. “If the library is as busy as usual this afternoon, we should get some opinions about the gossip column in the newspaper from some of the other women,” Madeline said and got agreeable nods from the other two women. “Remember, Gracie, we're going to tell anyone that complains that they should stop buying the newspaper,” Melinda reminded her. Gracie grouched, “I'll remember.” As they crossed the street, Gracie walked in the middle of the group. Melinda was waving energetically by the time Gracie looked her way. “Who are you waving at?” “Donald Jackson. See, he's waving back,” Melinda said quietly. Gracie humphed. “Business must not be very good if he has the time to stand in the doorway watching people go by.” “The way I got it from Lois Harwood at church Sunday, the dressmaker's business is so good he has hired three dressmakers to help him out,” Madeline informed them. Gracie eyed Madeline. “Is gossip all you do with women after church?” “Those discussions weren't the same type of gossip as the newspaper plans to print,” Madeline defended. “Really, the dressmaking business is that good these days?” Melinda whispered, perking up as she turned toward the store. “We should go over there and look in his shop window to see the latest fashions. You know he changes the clothes in that window with the seasons.” Madeline was all for that. “Let's do it. The winter selection will be put away by now and the new spring fashion on display.” “What do you think, Gracie?” Melinda asked when Gracie didn't offer to walk toward the dress shop. Gracie was studying Madeline again. “It has occurred to me we don't need to read the newspaper for gossip. All we have to do is stand in the same group of women after church that Madeline visits with if we want to know what is going on around here.” “Oh, brother!” Madeline hissed. Melinda groaned. “Gracie, Madeline won't share any news with us at all if you keep aggravating her. How about looking at the latest fashions in the window?” “All right, but can't we go to the library first?” Gracie complained as she studied the pale-faced, beady-eyed man with a walrus mustache leaning against the door facing with his legs crossed at the ankles. “No, we can do that afterward,” Melinda said, all excited about what she'd see in the dress shop window. Madeline sided with Melinda. “This won't take long. Perhaps, there will be an outfit that strikes your fancy, Gracie.” Melinda snickered as Gracie grunted, “That will be the day.” The women liked to tease Gracie for her lack of fashion sense. The elderly, former farmer always stuck with her usual outfits, a tan blouse and a brown full cotton skirt. Her friends knew that about her and liked to point it out to her every time they had a chance. “You have choices, Gracie,” Melinda said sweetly. “You can wait here until we come back, and go on in the library. We'll meet you there, or you can come with us now.” Madeline and Melinda looked both ways to make sure they wouldn't get run over and headed across the street. “I'm coming with you.” With a glum look on her face, Gracie tagged along behind. “Good afternoon, ladies,” the dress shop owner greeted politely in his monotone voice. “Good afternoon, Mr. Jackson,” replied Melinda. Madeline added her greeting and explained, “We wanted to check out the fashions in the window.” “Go right ahead, ladies. I just put the latest spring garments out for display,” Mr. Jackson said as he waved his hand at the window. Gracie shifted until she was behind the other two looking over their shoulders as they stared through the window. “Is that not a pretty dress to wear to church?” Melinda asked with awe in her voice as she stared at a soft, white lawn dress with long sleeves and a full ankle-length skirt. Madeline pointed at the dress next to Melinda's choice. “I'm rather partial to the dark blue one with the slim-fitting skirt. Do you have a favorite, Gracie?” “Nope! Nothing here in my style. Can we go now?” Gracie hissed. “Ladies, I have your sizes on file. Any time you are ready to order a dress of your choosing it can be made in a week's time,” Donald Jackson pitched. “That's fast,” Madeline declared. “I've hired three new dressmakers to help me get garments ready faster,” Mr. Jackson declared. Melinda smiled at the shop owner. “Well, let me think about it, Mr. Jackson.” “I agree. I do have plenty of clothes. I just like the excitement of wearing something no one has seen me in before,” Madeline said. “Can we go now?” Gracie insisted, not daring to look at the store owner as she tugged on Melinda's white blouse sleeve. She was sure he was frowning at her. Probably blaming her for him losing a sale. “Guess we better,” Melinda said with a sigh. “Thanks so much for letting us look and dream,” Madeline declared, smiling at Mr. Jackson. Gracie glanced his direction then before she could turn her back on him, Mr. Jackson's mouth curved into a weak twitch. Gracie assumed that was the best grin he could bring forth at the moment. His pale blue eyes seemed to ice over as he eyed her, giving Gracie an inner shiver like a cold north breeze had struck her. After they were out of hearing as they crossed the street, Gracie said in a hushed voice to the other two, “I don't know how you two can stand to be around that man. He gives me the creeps.” “That is just your opinion, Gracie. He's a nice man and has always been polite to me,” Melinda disputed. “I agree,” Madeline said, siding with Melinda. “Besides, he is always up to date on the fashions from out east. Women in this town appreciate his sense of fashion. We would all look like frumps without him updating our wardrobes. Just ask anyone.” Gracie shrugged her shoulders. “I still say there is something strangely off about a man who prefers to own a business that sells women's unmentionables.” “Oh, brother,” Madeline snapped. “That's just one sideline to having a dress business.” “Right,” Melinda agreed. “We need someone to buy underwear from so it is a good thing that Mr. Jackson sells such things.” “I can't help it. Even the fact that the man has all of our body sizes written down seems creepy to me. I prefer to sew my own unmentionables like I always have,” Gracie hissed as Melinda opened the library door. From behind Melinda and Gracie, Madeline grumbled, “Gracie, you're like a spit in the wind. What you say can easily blow back to splat your face if you don't keep your opinion to yourself.” “Enough you two. Someone might hear you,” hissed Melinda as the entry door hinges creaked when she opened the door. Quickly she turned a smile on as most of the women turned from the shelves of books to see who entered. And this is how the tale of the Locked Rock, Iowa gossip column murders began.

Jacob's Spirit - 4th and last installment.

Chapter 13 Two weeks later Ellen decided after morning chores, it was time she weeded her flower bed in front of the house. Lambquarters and dandelions were about to overshadow the flowers. She stepped out on the porch and breathed in deeply. Nothing beat the fresh country air mingled with a hint of mowed hay and fresh-cut grass in the house yard. From the cheeps and chirps coming out of the trees and bushes, the birds sounded like they loved the day as much as she did. Wrens flew in and out of the two wren houses Jack hung in the lilac and spirea bushes. Those spunky little birds were favorites of Ellen's. She loved to hear them chortle when they were happy. They made her laugh when they were irritated. The way they darted at her with warning chatter made her duck when she came too close to their birdhouses while she was mowing the yard. She didn't blame them for being very protective of their nests. Splotches and the other cats were always on the prowl for baby birds that fell out of the nests. The land was flat so Ellen could see for over a mile, but that wouldn't be for very long. She could row the corn plants in the fields right now. The corn stalks grew fast and would soon be so tall she wouldn't be able to see any activity in the neighborhood unless it was right in front of her driveway. Ellen listened to the cattle bawl to their scampering calves in the pasture behind the barn. The worried cows were telling their calves to slow down and stay close. The fat hogs nosed feeder lids up to eat and let the lids fall with a tinny bang when they backed away. Once in a while, a bossy hog would squeal roughly at another one. The rooster crowed often and clucked to his hens to join him when he found a swarm of juicy bugs. Pleasant country sounds to a farmer and his wife. Once she sank to her knees in front of the house, Ellen pulled the weeds and sprigs of grass from around the yellow and orange marigolds as she hummed Ain't No Mountain High Enough. She'd heard Diana Ross sing that song on the radio. A disturbance among a flock of crows pecking at gravels in the road and at corn spilled from a grain truck made Ellen curious. She twisted to look over her shoulder toward the road. Something caused a squirrel to scamper up a buckeye tree at the end of the driveway. She put her attention back on the flower bed until she heard gravel crunch under a slow-moving car's tires behind her in the driveway. That was what was the matter with the crows and the squirrel. A car had slowed down to turn in. The shiny black Buick drove close to the house and stopped. Two women were in the front seat. The driver's side window whined down as Ellen stood up and slapped the dust off her knees. “Hello,” called a lady dressed in a fashionable, navy blue pantsuit and white ruffled blouse. “Good morning,” returned Ellen as she shaded her eyes from the sun and walked to the car. “Can I help you?” “I'm Susan Chester. Years ago, this farm used to be my mother's childhood home when her family homesteaded the farm. We were driving by, and Mother thought she'd like to see the place one more time. Would you mind if Mother and I looked around?” The driver asked. She opened the door and turned sideways so her black loafered feet touched the ground. “No, I don't mind at all,” Ellen said. “As a matter of fact, I'd love to hear the history of this farm. I know very little about it.” “Thank you so much. Wait until I help Mother out. She's going to be delighted by this.” As Susan rushed around the car, Ellen noted she had dark brown hair with gray threaded through it. If Ellen guessed right Susan looked to be in her fifties. Standing against the open door, Susan helped her mother from the car. The frail, short, elderly lady supported herself with a wooden, ornately carved cane. Susan held a protective hand on her mother's elbow to help her walk across the gravel driveway. Slowly they walked around the front of the car toward Ellen. Susan introduced, “This is my mother, Alice Reasoner. Her family name was Stonebaker. Ellen stuck her hand out to shake hands with the older woman. “Nice to meet you, Alice. I'm Ellen Carter. My husband, Jack, and I own this farm now. We've lived here fifteen years.” The woman's eyes saddened as she stared at the fairly new, ranch style home. “I wish I had stopped in sooner. This isn't the house I lived in with my family.” “No, but we lived in the same house you did when we first moved here so I know what the two-story house was like. We tore the old house down a few years back. It was in need of a lot of expensive repairs when we moved in. We decided it was wiser to build a new house,” Ellen explained. “I took plenty of pictures of that house before we had it demolished. If you would like to have copies of them, I'd be glad to get them made for you.” Alice smiled at her. “Yes, I believe I would. Looking at pictures would be nice to help refresh my memory since I don't recall as good as I once did.” “You have a nice home,” Susan complimented. “Thank you, we like it. Leave an address with me so I can send you the pictures when I get them developed.” Ellen replied. Susan smiled. “I'd be glad to.” Ellen suggested, “Maybe we can walk behind the house for a better view of the farm site if you would like that. At least, you can see as far as the corn and bean fields. Behind them is the hayfield and pasture where we keep the cattle.” She led the women to the back yard. That gave them a full view of the outbuildings and the flat Iowa farm fields that once belonged to Alice's family. The sheep had bedded down in the shade of the barn and were chewing their cuds. They rose at the sound of strange voices and headed single file to the pasture. Susan pointed at the sheep. “Quite a flock of sheep you have there. Oh look, Mother, see the cute lambs.” When her mother didn't answer, she looked at her to see why. Alice turned her head one way then the other with her full concentration on the surroundings. “Susan, it's hard to believe how things have changed.” Astonishment filled the elderly woman's voice as she recalled the way the farm looked in her youth close to a century ago. “The outbuildings are gone that stood over that way.” The woman pointed near the barn. “Pa had a tool shed and chicken house next to the barn.” She pointed at the grass beyond there. “What now is your sheep pasture used to be a large grove of walnut trees and apple trees of several varieties. We kids picked the nuts up. What we didn't crack and pick out for Mom to use to bake with, we sold to earn money. Part of the apples Mom canned into applesauce. She had us pick the red delicious apples by the pails full and carry them down to the root cellar. It set just west of the house. We poured the apples in bins, and they lasted us all winter. My oh my! What a treat those apples were during the winter when Mom gave them to us on special occasions. On years when we had a plentiful bounty, there were plenty of apples left to sell. We were a large family, and my folks were always looking for ways to make money.” The elderly woman twisted on her cane and grew solemnly quiet as she stared at the barn. Her face saddened. “Is something wrong, Mother?” Susan asked. “My brother, Jacob, fell off that old barn's steep roof and died.” Chapter 14 “That is sad. Mother, you never told me before that you lost a brother to an accident. How did it happen?” Susan asked. “Jacob wanted to help the men re-roof the barn so bad he pestered Papa to let him help. Papa said no. He told the boy he was too young to be up that high with the men. Jacob wasn't one to give up if he wanted something. He was stubborn that way. So he kept wheedling Papa until when the neighbor men came to help with the roof our papa gave in. He said Jacob could help put the tin sheets on. My brother was thirteen if I remember correctly. My oh my, that happened so long ago, but that dreadful day feels like it happened yesterday in my head. I was two years older than he was. It was a day that stuck with every member of my family until the day they died. Jacob was so proud when Dad handed him his own hammer and a nail apron of his very own just like the grownups. He put that apron on and filled it with roofing nails. Then he strutted around in front of the men to show them his apron, bulging with nails. Only Papa never thought about Jacob being a boy who never did know any fear. If he'd had time to give his decision a second thought he'd have told Jacob to stay on the ground where he belonged. For the rest of his life, Papa said many times he sure wished he had done just that. Jacob always liked high places. He would climb higher in the apple trees than the rest of us to pick the apples. He shinnied up the walnut trees just like a squirrel to shake the limbs so the nuts would fall for us to pick up. Poor Mom missed Jacob so much after he was gone. If she knew the tricks he pulled, she'd have tanned his hide good for doing them stunts. If she had known how that day was going to end, she sure would have told Papa to keep Jacob off the barn roof. Anyway, Papa did tell the boy he didn't want to catch Jacob climbing up on the high pitch, but my brother didn't listen. As soon as Papa wasn't looking, Jacob climbed up to the pitch of the roof to work. He lost his balance and slid all the way down and plummeted off the barn. It was right over there in front of that barn door where he landed.” Alice pointed to the door that Ellen let the sheep out of each morning. She continued, “When Jacob hit the hard barnyard ground, he lit wrong on his leg, and it snapped.” Ellen gasped as she remembered the little boy she saw sitting in that very spot with a broken leg. Alice and Susan focused on her. “Oh, I was just thinking how terrible that was for him. Do you remember how Jacob dressed?” “Sure, he wore what all other boys did back then. A chambray shirt and overalls,” Alice replied. “Did he have a straw hat?” Ellen asked. Alice nodded. “Of course, he did. All the men and boys wore a straw hat in them days. They were out in the sun most days. Why do you want to know that?” Ellen knew she sounded too eager so she said casually, “I was just trying to picture your brother on the ground. Do you happen to have a picture of him?” Alice nodded. “No, cameras cost a lot of money in those days. We couldn't afford one.” “Mother, go on with your story,” Susan encouraged. Ellen patted the elderly woman's shoulder. “Yes, I am so sorry I interrupted you, Alice.” “Where was I? Oh, yes, the women fixing a meal in the kitchen heard Jacob scream all the way to the house from the barn. They dropped their spoons and knives and boiled out of the house to run to the barn to see what happened. The men and my other brothers scrambled down the ladders and gathered around Jacob. Everybody watched as Papa gathered the little fellow in his arms and followed along as Papa carried him to the house as fast as he could. Jacob was in bad shape, and my folks had their hands full taking care of their hurting youngun, crying, and moaning like he did. The neighbors stood around on the front porch for a while, talking, and waiting for news of Jacob's condition. Finally, they decided to go home and come back another day. Oh, they could have finished roofing the barn right there and then that day, but the banging would be loud and irritating to an anxious family and a hurting boy. You can imagine how all that banging would sound to an upset family I reckon.” Ellen thought about how she'd felt while she listened to the banging noises she'd heard for months. “You bet! I can agree that would be annoying all right. The neighbor men were just being thoughtful.” “Yes, we had good neighbors back in them days,” Alice assured her. “What happened to Uncle Jacob after that, Mother?” Susan asked. “Yes, finish the story,” Ellen encouraged. “Well, Jacob's shin bone poked clean through the skin about halfway up his lower leg. It was a horrible sight for all of us to see. I'll never forget it, and the rest of my brothers and sisters said the same thing. The poor little guy was in so much pain it hurt the rest of us to hear him crying. We felt so helpless since we didn't have a close doctor in them days. We all took turns caring for his needs and sitting up with him. Mom and Papa had to tend to Jacob's injury themselves. Papa got the bone set as best he could, but Jacob remained in pain. He groaned, cried, and talked out of his head from the high fever brought on by infection. In a few days, the leg swelled up to three times its normal size. The leg turned black, and the wound oozed green pus under the bandage. We knew he didn't have long to live when Papa told us his leg had blood poisoning in it. He died of what we now know as gangrene a week after the accident.” “How sad for your family.” Ellen patted the woman's bony shoulder. “It was. Jacob was my youngest brother and such a mischievous little guy. Everyone in the family loved him so much.” Alice pointed toward the sheep pasture. “Papa dug the boy's grave over in the back of that pasture under one of those oak trees in that row. I believe it was the third one from the end headed this way. I've looked over this way every time we drive by and think about my brother's grave. It saddens me the wooden cross that marked his grave has been gone for years.” “Mom, the wood would have rotted a long time ago,” Susan said. Alice nodded agreement. “I know.” “You didn't have a funeral for Jacob?” Ellen wanted to know. “Sure we did. Just as luck would have it, we heard a traveling preacher was close by on his circuit. Papa went for him. My folks had Jacob laid out in the parlor in the wooden coffin Papa and my other brothers made him. Neighbors from all around came for the funeral.” Chapter 15 “Why didn't your family bury Jacob in a cemetery?” Ellen asked. “Wasn't a community or church one around. Why, it was miles to the nearest town. Back then, farmers had their own family cemeteries and some let the neighbors bury their family members in them. Papa and Mom migrated here from Germany and homesteaded this farm. Jacob was the first to die in our family, so Papa thought we should have a resting place on our own land. Besides, Papa always felt guilty after that for giving his permission to Jacob to go up on the barn roof. He wanted his son's grave close by so he could go visit the boy when he felt like it. Just to pray over Jacob and tell him how sorry he was for letting him get hurt. Mom always had a yard full of flowers so she'd walk out there often with a bouquet of whatever flowers were blooming at the time. It gave my folks comfort to be able to tend to Jacob's grave. When the depression hit, one of my brothers was having a poor go of it on this farm. My folks lived with him and his family. Finally, my folks lost the farm when they couldn't pay the property taxes. None of the rest of the family died before we moved away, and Papa had never gotten around to putting in a fence around Jacob's grave. My other brothers, sisters, and me had already all grown up and moved away from home. We had families of our own. By then there were well-kept cemeteries for everyone to be buried in. No one in this neighborhood wanted to be buried by Jacob. Once the farm changed hands, it wasn't likely the owners would want a growing cemetery taking up space in their pasture. So Jacob's grave wasn't taken care of after my parents and brother and his family moved. By the time, the farm changed hands a few times more the cross was gone, and the next owners didn't know about the grave. It's been so long now, I guess no one in the neighborhood is left to remember that Jacob is even laid to rest by that tree except me. My generation of the family is about gone and the one before me is gone. My oh my! No one left to care about poor Jacob's resting place.” Alice wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks to dry the tears. The three women stared at the base of the third oak in the row of trees. Each consumed with their own thoughts about the little boy who didn't get to see his fourteenth birthday. Three years before, Ellen buried her border collie, Sherman, in the pasture under the oak tree second from the end. A dreadful thought came to her now that she was reminded of burying her dog. What if she had picked that third tree to bury her dog under and dug down into the rotted coffin? The only reason she didn't choose the third tree was she'd noticed the sunken ground. At the time, she thought the ground looked odd and decided to bury the dog by the next tree. Now she knew a human being was most likely buried in the sunken spot. She vowed she wasn't going to dig in that spot for any reason. She might even let Jack invest in weed spray to kill the thistles in the pasture from now on. It had been her idea to save money by spading off the thistles each spring. Not that she ever spaded deep enough to disturb a grave, but she just didn't like the idea of poking the ground over a grave. It wasn't respectful. “I buried my favorite border collie by the second tree about three years ago,” Ellen shared as she pointed across the pasture. “What happened to him?” Susan asked. “Sherman wasn't trained well enough to follow commands yet. One morning, he happened to see the neighbor's hogs in the cornfield across the road. Before the field was planted, the neighbor let the hogs run. Sherman thought it wasn't right that the hogs were close to the fence. Guess he thought they were going to get out and come over here. He barked and growled, then took off on a dead run. I yelled at him to stop, and he didn't listen. About the time he was in the middle of the road a grain truck loaded with grain barreled down on him and killed him.” “I bet you missed him if you thought enough of him to give him a grave. Just think, the spot you picked is right next to my brother.” Alice smiled as a comforting thought came to her. “Jacob loved dogs. He must be pleased to have a dog resting next to him. He's probably claimed your dog as his own by now.” An image of the boy in pain Ellen saw from the window on that May night flashed through her mind. “Alice, what time of year did you say Jacob's accident happen?” “Early May best I remember. Just when the days began to warm up so the men would be comfortable working on the roof on a sunny day.” The old woman's eyes clouded over at long ago put away memories coming to the surface. “Mother, how old did you say Jacob was?” Asked her daughter. Hoarse from so much talking, Alice croaked, “He turned thirteen in January and thought he was near growed.” Ellen digested the information, thinking that was about the age of the boy she saw. “Alice, which leg did Jacob break?” “Oh my, oh, that was so long ago. I think it was the left one.” Yes! The little boy in front of the barn might have had a broken left leg. Suddenly, the details she saw that night in May and what the elderly woman was describing seemed so eerily similar. Enough so that the very idea made Ellen scared and excited all at the same time. Alice wobbled as she shifted on her cane to face her daughter. “Susan, reckon we better go. I'm getting a bit tired from standing on my feet so long. I need to sit.” “You're welcome to come in and have a cup of coffee with me while you rest. I'd love to visit with you some more,” Ellen invited. Alice shook her head as she trudged on heavy feet toward the car with Susan hanging on to her arm. Her weary voice trembled. “Not this time. I want to thank you for letting me look around though, but it has brought all the sadness back connected with this farm. Believe I just ought to go home and rest.” “Maybe another time for sure, Alice. You are both welcome to visit any time you want,” Ellen assured her. She could see remembering back to a sad time for her family had taken a lot out of the elderly woman. Susan nodded as she helped her mother get seated. “Understand, Mother has buried that story about her brother so deep in her memory, she didn't ever bring it up. Looks like doing so today has taken a lot out of her.” Ellen sighed. “I agree. Poor Alice summoned up a lot of energy to tell us her story. I appreciate that she did.” “Anyway, we both enjoyed the scenic view of the countryside as I drove here today. This is a lovely part of the country. I'd love to bring Mother back for another visit. Maybe next time won't be so hard on her,” Susan replied. “I've always thought this area is pretty. I can see why homesteaders picked here to farm a century ago. You're right about your mother. Now that she has the story of Jacob out in the open, coming here next time will be easier for her,” Ellen said. “Oh, don't forget to give me Alice's address.” “Oh yes. Thanks for reminding me.” Susan opened the glove box and got out a small, black leather box. She opened it up and took out a business card. “I'm an insurance agent. My address is on the card. Mother lives with me now.” “I'll get her the pictures soon,” Ellen assured. She backed out of the way and waved at the car as it moved down the driveway. Chapter 16 About an hour later, Jack's old farm truck rumbled into the driveway and took off toward the outbuildings. Barely able to contain her excitement, Ellen peeked out of the living room window to see which way Jack headed. When she saw him stop the pickup and back up to the feed shed, she ran to tell him she had company while he was in town and what she'd found out. “Guess what happened, Jack?” She spoke in-between pants as she stopped by the back of the pickup. “The hogs got out while I was gone to town after the feed. Sorry you had to get them back in by yourself,” Jack guessed as he concentrated on unloading the feed sacks from the pickup bed. Ellen shook her head as he lifted a sack to his shoulder and took it to the stack inside the feed shed. “No, not this time. I had visitors.” “Who was it?” Jack asked, placing the sack on the stack. He returned to the pickup with his eyes on the next sack. “An older woman and her daughter. The older woman lived here when she was a child.” “What did they want?” Jack lifted the sack onto his shoulder and returned to the shed. “The older woman wanted to walk around the place and reminisce about living here. She liked growing up on this place, but she missed the old house we tore down. It was her childhood home. I told her I'd send her some pictures of it. Remember all those pictures I took inside and out before we had the house razed. They are going to a good cause now.” Jack laid the sack on the stack. “Uh huh, I guess.” “Well, her name was Alice, and she told me the most amazing story about what happened on this farm,” Ellen said, mounting excitement growing in her voice. “That right.” Jack reached for another sack in the pickup bed and walked back to the shed. “Do you want to hear the story or not?” Ellen snapped. She was tired of watching her husband pace back and forth. She wanted him to stop working and pay attention to her. What she had to tell him was important. Jack laid the sack down and headed back. He stopped on his return and focused on her. “Sure, what did she have to say?” “Years ago, her brother, Jacob Stonebaker, was killed when he fell off our barn roof. Well, he didn't exactly die when he fell. His leg broke, and the bone came out of the skin. They didn't have a close doctor, so the wound got gangrene and then Jacob died,” explained Ellen. “Really? That poor kid must have really suffered.” Jack's face scrunched up as he heard the excitement in Ellen's voice. He was curious now. What did she found so exciting about such a sad story? “Really and get this. He turned thirteen in January and fell off the barn in May.” Jack wrinkled his nose at her, not getting the point. “So?” “Don't you see? The banging we've heard started in January and ended in May. The boy's father gave him his own hammer and nail apron. That hammer we found where I saw the little boy sitting in the barnyard has J.S. carved on the handle. I know because I looked the hammer over. That could easily stand for Jacob Stonebaker's initials. Another thing! The older woman said Jacob broke his left leg. Remember the boy I saw that night in front of the barn. I told you his left leg twisted under him like it was broken. Don't you think that's quite a coincidence that I saw a boy who matches the description of Alice's dead brother?” “I might if you hadn't been dreaming while you were sleepwalking that night. I don't believe a spook named Jacob lives in our barn. In fact, I don't believe there are such things as spooks.” Jack threw another sack on to his shoulder and turned his back on Ellen. He was ready to end this weird conversation. “He doesn't live in our barn exactly. Don't you see? He just wanted to finish the roofing job he didn't get done before he fell off the barn and died,” Ellen said, exasperated by Jack's attitude. Jack twisted around half way to the feed shed. “You telling me you do believe in dead people who you can see?” He responded with a serious face. Ellen tried to defend herself. “No, of course, I don't believe in dead people returning, but I have heard stories about such things. There are people who believe such things.” Jack turned around to face at the feed shed door. “Yeah. Sure! Answer me this. Why after all these years would this spook wait until now to suddenly appear?” “Well, I don't know the answer to that, but I happen to think Jacob did return to help roof the barn. His sister said he had looked forward to helping the men and was really eager to get on the roof. Besides, you haven't found out any other reason for the banging noises, have you?” “Nope,” Jack said shortly on his way back to the pickup. “You didn't tell those two women what you think you saw did you?” Ellen slowly shook her head. “No, I wouldn't do that.” Jack looked relieved. “Good! Want to help me unload the rest of the feed?” “No way! I have to start lunch.” Jack didn't appear to believe her. She might as well drop the subject and retreat to the house before he put her to work. That evening after supper, the Carters settled down in the living room. Laid back in his recliner, Jack watched television as usual, and Ellen read her Good Housekeeping Magazine while she rocked. Mid-evening, the banging began in the barn. Bang! Bang! Bang! “Oh no! Jacob is back. Guess I was wrong. He isn't done roofing yet,” Ellen blurted out. Jack scowled at her, causing Ellen to put her hand over her mouth. “I don't know what to think about that overactive imagination of yours, but you have got to stop thinking this nonsense. You just wait here. I'm going to find out what that banging noise is right now and put an end to all this nonsense.” “Don't worry. I haven't any intention of going to the barn with you. I don't want to run into Jacob face to face. The one time I saw that poor little boy spirit with a look of suffering on his face was enough for me,” Ellen assured him. Jack was exasperated by what he thought was his wife's twisted logic. “I am going to prove you wrong once and for all, before you tell the neighbors our barn is haunted. I don't want the word to get around the neighborhood that you are mentally ill. What would people think of us?” “Go ahead and find out for yourself. I'll let you meet Jacob this time. I understand from his sister, Alice, he was a nice little boy but mischievous. He liked monkey antics just like you and playing jokes on his sisters. You two will get along just fine.” Jack waved his hand downward at Ellen as he opened the front door. While he was closing the door, Ellen called, “Tell Jacob I said hi and to knock off the banging. We're tired of listening to it.” Chapter 17 Ellen rocked as she listened to the night time noises outside, filtering through the open window. The tree frogs were in a sing-along with the crickets, and a hawk moth flapped its wings against the screen. She closed her eyes and pictured when Jack entered the barn. The door banged shut. When he flipped the light switch on, the ewes muttered. As he walked among them, they baaed louder. In a few minutes, the hammering noises started again. This time the noises took on a faster tempo and grew louder. The sheep sounded upset. They tried to drown out the noises with deafening, protesting bleats. Ellen grew apprehensive, trying to figure out what on earth was going on in the barn. Jack was out there alone with those noisy sheep and with the spirit of Jacob or whatever was causing the banging. He should have been back by now if he didn't find anything wrong. She didn't like the idea of going to the barn after Jack told her to stay in the house, but she couldn't stand the suspense. She had to go find out if Jack was all right whether he liked it or not. Maybe he needed her help. Walking quietly, Ellen slipped in the barn's walk-in door and edged her way along the hallway. She glanced at the wall. Jacob's hammer was gone. He must be hammering away with it from the sounds of things. Easing between the now empty lambing pens, she opened the door to the holding room. As she looked around the room, she spotted Jack on his knees by the corn bin wall. Ellen couldn't believe her eyes. He was nailing a piece of tin on the bin wall with Jacob's hammer. “Jack?” He looked over his shoulder at her and went back to hammering. “I thought you didn't want to be in the barn tonight. What you doing out here?” “The hammering didn't stop after you left. The banging was worse. I thought you must need help. It sounded like you and Jacob were in a hammering duel to see who could drive a nail the fastest. I couldn't imagine what was going on. My curiosity got the better of me so I had to come see if you were all right,” Ellen explained. “So the banging I heard all these months was you doing it by yourself?” “No, just part of the banging was me tonight. If you remember, I've been with you in the house when we heard the banging noises.” Jack stood up. He pointed to the piece of tin on the corn bin wall and a small pile of shelled corn in the straw bedding. “See that tin I nailed over a hole. That rat hole has been the problem all along.” Ellen squealed, “I don't believe you. The rats made the banging noises for all these months.” “No, Silly. The sheep did the banging,” Jack declared. “Sure! The sheep did the banging all those times,” Ellen said in a disbelieving tone. “They sure did. The rats gnawed a hole through the corn bin wall,” Jack explained. He was overdoing it on the patient tone as if he had to be explicit and simple for her at the same time. He wanted to make sure Ellen understood. “The rats went inside the hole to eat corn. The sheep smelled the corn and saw a few kernels on the floor the rats dropped. The ewes ate those. They were smart enough to know how to get more. Each time one of them banged on the corn bin with her hoof, corn fell out of the hole. When we came into the barn to look around, the ewes stopped what they were doing to see if we were going to feed them. I just happened to catch one of the ewes in the act this time of hitting the wall with her hoof.” “So Jacob wasn't here,” Ellen said, clearly disappointed now that Jack had solved the problem to his satisfaction. Jack nodded. “No, Jacob wasn't ever here for sure, and I just put an end to the banging noises unless another rat gnaws a hole in the corn bin.” “Okay, you win.” Ellen started for the door. “Let's go back to the house.” Jack hung the old hammer on its nail in the hallway and followed her outside. He sped up and rushed around her. The program he'd been watching on television must be about over. He wanted to see how it ended. Ellen trailed behind, thinking about the time she saw Jacob with his broken leg, sitting in front of the barn. She paused and turned to look up at the steep barn roof. Then she stared at the spot on the ground in front of the barn where she saw Jacob. How could she have imagined him? He looked just like his sister described him and so alive. If she hadn't seen the real Jacob, how could her description of the boy be so much like Jacob's sister's. Besides, that hammer Jack picked up off the ground had the initials J. S. on it. The hammer had to belong to Jacob, and he'd taken it off the barn wall that night to use it. Jack couldn't explain away the hammer so he'd just ignore that detail. That husband of hers needed a practical explanation for everything in his life. His problem was he didn't have any imagination. Well, at least not like the suggestive imagination she had. Jack needed to use logic to explain the banging noises. The ewes kicking the corn bin wall was the right explanation for Jack. In his mind, her seeing Jacob was only a dream. She smiled at a thought. Wouldn't Jack groan if I suggested that Jacob's spirit might return every year from January until May to work on the barn roof since he seemed to like them? It made perfect sense to her. Jacob's sister, Alice, said Jacob turned thirteen in January and was roofing the barn in May when he fell and broke his leg. The months coincided with when they heard the first banging noises to when she saw Jacob. Then again, maybe she better stop trying to convince Jack and keep that notion to herself from now on. Jack might quit waiting for the neighbors to have her committed and do it himself. Jack turned around and realized Ellen wasn't right behind him. He came back to where she'd stopped. “Come on, Slow Poke. Give that imagination of yours a rest. I don't believe I can stand your cooking up anything else for a while.” Ellen could see from the glint of humor in his eyes that she'd be in for a fair amount of teasing in the future. “You're like an old dog with a bone. You're going to gnaw this bone for a long time, aren't you?” “Not a real long time,” Jack drawled, grinning at her. “I won't have to. I know you too well. You will come up with something new and far fetched before long.” “Oh, you think you're so funny.” Ellen slipped passed him and headed for the house. She stopped short, thinking she wanted to get the last word in with Jack just once, and she had an idea. “I've been thinking.” “Oh no! Now what?” Jack grumped, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets as he waited for her to let him in on her idea. “It's not right that Jacob doesn't have a marked grave. Now that we know his resting place is by that third oak tree I want to plant flowers for him by the tree. I'm thinking I can transplant some of my mums, irises, and peonies there. That way he will have blooming flowers over him all summer. Those perennials were here when we moved in, and I imagine the same flowers were here when Jacob was alive. I'll bet that was the kind of flowers his parents put on his grave ever so often. Maybe it will help him rest easier so he doesn't have to return if someone still remembers him.” Jack shrugged. “Sounds like work to me.” “No, it's not. I transfer flowers around here all the time. Now where was I? Oh, yeah! Jacob's sister said his father made Jacob a wooden cross. It had rotted away a long time ago, so no one even remembers Jacob's resting place but her. Could you make another one? I could paint his name on it. I'll ask Alice for the exact dates to put on the cross. She will like seeing a marker at the head of Jacob's grave when she drives by.” “I suppose I could do that much. You know don't you that the sheep will eat the flowers down to the ground right away,” Jack declared. Ellen tapped her lips with a finger as she thought. “Oh yeah, you're right. We can fix that problem. You need to buy hog panels to fence in the grave to keep the sheep away from Jacob's cemetery. That will keep them from eating his flowers. Fix one panel so it swivels in and out so I can take the mower in there to cut the grass.” Jack's eyes narrowed as he calculated the cost of panels. “How many hog panels are you talking about?” Ellen shrugged. “I don't know. Measure the spot. My border collie is buried under the next tree. The pen might as well be large enough to include him, too. I'll plant the flowers in a row between the two graves.” “Sure thing. Any other animals you want to bury in that spot as long as you're taking pasture grass away from the sheep?” Jack asked sarcastically. Ellen shook her head, ignoring Jack's tone of voice. “No, not yet, but there will be plenty of room if I need to bury one. One thing is for sure, Jacob's going to rest easier if we fix up his resting place. It must have been sad for that little boy to think he had been totally forgotten all these years. Maybe that was the reason for the sad look on his face instead of the painful leg when I saw him.” Her face lit up at another thought. “Alice said he probably liked the idea of having a dog buried beside him. She said he liked dogs. You should make a cross with Sherman's name on it, too. Don't you think Jacob will be happy with a cemetery with his very own dog in it, Jack?” Before Jack could answer, Ellen took off for the house. The soft groan she heard emitted behind her was satisfaction enough that she'd had the last word. Jack was too soft-hearted not to fence in the graves. Two weeks later, Jack had Jacob's cemetery fenced in. The irises and peonies were blooming behind the two crosses for Jacob and Sherman, the border collie. On another board painted white Ellen wrote in black letters Jacob Stonebaker's Cemetery. She nailed the board to the third tree, facing the road so Alice could see the sign if she happened to come by. Ellen was so proud of the way the cemetery looked she took a picture of it to send Alice. That way she'd see what they had done right away in case the elderly woman didn't get another chance to drive by their farm. On a night it was too hot to sleep, Ellen knew a few cooler nights were still yet ahead with blackberry winter a few days away. She hated to turn on the air conditioner just yet and have to turn it right back off. She tossed and turned. Finally, she decided to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. On her way by the hall window, her mind went to the night in May when she saw Jacob. When she retold the tale later, she'd always say the fact she saw him would always be a puzzle to her. Ellen parted the lace curtains and glanced out at the barnyard. What she saw made her freeze to the spot. Jacob was back, and beside him was Sherman! Only this time, the boy was standing on both feet. On his head, his straw hat was in better shape. The boy smiled at her to let her know he wasn't in pain anymore as he mouthed the words, “Thank You.” Ellen understood what he meant. He wanted to tell her that he appreciated her concern for him, and he was content now. He patted Sherman on the head then gave her a sideways wave goodbye with his right hand. Beside his leg, he held his hammer in his left hand. He gave the appearance of being done with his work, and he wanted her to know she wouldn't have to worry about him coming back anymore. Ellen wondered if he'd hook his hammer back on the nail on the hallway wall before he left. She hoped he did. Next time Jack looked for the hammer, he'd accuse her of losing it. She didn't intend to explain about her latest visit with Jacob so she'd just have to take the blame. While she watched Jacob's spirit fade away, Ellen returned his wave and whispered, “You're welcome, Jacob. I'm glad that you can rest in peace now.” THE END About the author Fay Risner lives with her husband on a central Iowa acreage along with their chickens, goats and cats. A retired Certified Nurse Aide, she now divides her time between writing books, working in her flower beds, the garden and going fishing with her husband. Fay writes books in various genre and languages – historical mystery series, Stringbean western series, Amish series set in southern Iowa and books for Caregivers about Alzheimer's. She uses 12 font print in her books and 14 font print in her novellas to make them easy to read and reader friendly. Now her books are in Large Print. Her books have a mid western Iowa and small town flavor. She pulls the readers into her stories, making it hard for them to put a book down until the reader sees how the story ends. Readers say the characters are fun to get to know and often humorous enough to cause the readers to laugh out loud. The books leave the readers wanting a sequel or a series so they can read about the characters again. Enjoy Fay Risner's books and please leave a review to make others familiar with her work. Other Books by Fay Risner Nurse Hal Among The Amish Series A Promise Is A Promise Doubting Thomas The Courting Buggy The Rainbow’s End Amish Country Arson Joyful Wisdom Hal’s Worldly Temptations Second Hand Goods As Her Name Is So Is Redbird Emma’s Gossamer Dreams You have Got To Love Adalheida Wasser Amazing Gracie Historical Mystery Series Neighbor Watchers Poor Defenseless Addie Specious Nephew Will O Wisp The Country Seat Killer The Chance Of A Sparrow Moser Mansion Ghosts Locked Rock, Iowa Hatchet Murders The Wayward Preacher Westerns Stringbean Hooper Westerns Tread Lightly Sibby The Dark Wind Howls Over Mary The Blue Bonnet-novella Small Feet’s Many Moon Journey A Coffin To Lie On - novella Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia-Civil War Christmas books Christmas Traditions - An Amish Love Story Christmas With Hover Hill Leona’s Christmas Bucket List Fiction Listen To Me Honey novella Jacob's Spirit-novella Cowboy Girl Annie -novella Robot Grandma - novella Katrina's Gift - novella Nonfiction about Alzheimer’s disease Open A Window - Caregiver Handbook Hello Alzheimer’s Goodbye Dad-author’s true story Detective Renee Brown Mystery Series The Answering Machine Knew - novella One Big Bat – novella Crystal's Beau - novella Mrs. Pestkey's Cat Knew Innocent Until Proven Guilty