Author: Emily Henson

Continued from previous blog post.  Be sure to read past installments!!

I still remember seeing Marie Cahill leave her home.  It was 3 o’clock on a sunny afternoon.  I was enjoying my tea as I always do by the study window where I can see the comings and goings along the street.  She wore a charcoal gray dress befitting a state of mourning and clutched the alabaster urn to her chest.

Three weeks passed before I saw Marie again.  Twilight was once my favorite time of the day.  Shadows and light seem to play a tug-of-war until, at last, the day always succumbs to sleep.  I used to sit on my front porch watching the lights begin to flicker on in the houses along the street. 

Marie’s car pulled slowly into her drive.  As she made her way up her walk I decided not to greet her.  She must be tired and grieving.  There would be time to catch up.  Just then, the ice settled in my lemonade.  The sound echoed in the still evening air.  Marie turned quickly to find the source of the noise.  I raised my hand in greeting but still hesitated to intrude.  I received a small wave back but Marie continued up her walk and into the house.

Then, suddenly, she was there, standing on my porch, panic stricken and inconsolable; confessing to me the story of the old iron box.

Robert A. Cahill would never return to sea.  The trip to the Atlantic would cost a pretty penny … her pretty penny … pennies adding up to the fortune she had married him for so many years ago. 

Instead, Marie descended into the basement of their home on the night before her departure.  Even the servants rarely traversed into the dank depths of the decaying cellar.  Marie made her way into the old boiler room.  Pipes crawled all over the walls and ceiling of the room, hissing and bubbling.  Far back, behind the hot boiler, small pipes coiled almost disguising an iron soot box from sight. 

Her hardened heart beat faster despite itself for what she was about to do.  The hinges cried out as Marie opened the box.  She discarded her husband’s ashes into the mouth of the small iron box before shutting it back tight and retreating. 

When her story ended, I remained speechless.  Marie’s eyes darted towards her house as if afraid of something there.  Her entire body shook. 

“Marie, what?  Why are you so frightened?” the words fell reluctantly from my mouth.

“He- he …is there …” her voice came in a hoarse whisper as she pointed to her house.

“His ashes?  Still in the box?”

Marie turned slowly to stare at me; terror drew deep lines in her brow.

“He… he’s not in the box,” she muttered, shaking her head.  “He got out.”

An unknown fear gripped my heart.  I could not speak.  I could not comfort.  I only stared back.  Marie continued to shake her head, muttering. 

Suddenly, she grew still.  Her eyes widened and a renewed fear swept across her face.  A choked scream escaped from her lips and she ran. 

No one has seen or heard of Marie Cahill since.  The house still stands empty … Somewhere in the basement is an iron box that was never meant to hold a roving sailor.

And so it ends….

Continued from previous blog post.  Make sure to read past installment!

“I want you to spread my ashes on the North Atlantic.”

Although dimmed with time, Robert’s eyes held again the spark of his youth as he spoke.  He waited anxiously for Marie’s response.  His request was one of the few he had uttered in their marriage.

“I know the trip would be long for you … and that you have never sailed … but …” Robert’s voice faltered. “It would mean so much to me to be finally back at sea.”

Marie looked down at her knitting and began feverishly looping stiches.  Moments passed before she returned her husband’s steady gaze. 

At her hesitance, Robert pressed, “John Barkley assured me that when the time comes he will be at your assistance if you need help arranging the trip.”

“You spoke with the lawyer about this?”

“A year ago, when he and I prepared my will.”

Silence invaded the room almost as if it too sat present at Robert’s bedside.

“Marie?”

“Yes … yes, Robert.  I’ll go.  Of course I wish to honor my dear husband’s last request.”

With his mind at ease, Robert soon drifted off to sleep.  The room fell quiet except for the click-click of Marie’s needles.

Three days later, Robert A. Cahill Jr. died.  Mourners came, a simple service took place, and Marie made her plans for departure.  She refused Mr. Barkley’s help.  He could not know there would be no boat ticket.

Marie would visit her sister for several weeks.  To everyone else, it would appear that she departed with heavy heart on a voyage to disperse her late husband’s ashes.

…

Continued next time!

Continued from previous blog post.  Make sure to read past installment!

On the night of June 6, 1943, Robert A. Cahill Jr. and his wife Marie were alone in their expansive house.

“My dear, Marie,” Robert Cahill’s hand shook as he reached for his wife’s.

“Yes, dear?” Marie responded, her fingers busy with her knitting.

This had become their life.  Robert, his health ailing considerably, remained on forced bed rest.  Only one bout of fresh air each day, the doctor cautioned Marie strictly only a fortnight ago.  For Robert, the doctor’s words came as a death knell.  He lived for the open air and never stayed long within four walls.  He felt restless and constricted indoors. 

Although born into wealth as the son of Robert A. Cahill senior, Robert could not resist the call of the sea and left home to join the navy.  Robert did not return to his family for some time.  He moved up the ranks and became captain of his own vessel.  A war injury brought about an early retirement with full honors. 

In celebration of his son’s return and his decorated military service, Robert A. Cahill senior hosted a grand event.  It would be that fateful night when Robert would fall in love with Marie Sterling.  The courtship was short, the ceremony planned, and the bride and groom settled into their home, to all the world a happy couple.

Robert and Marie never had children.  With no little ones to spoil, Robert spent his time and attention indulging his young bride.  That is, up until a year ago when Robert’s age coupled with the extremities he experienced during military service, took their toll and Robert’s health began to fail.

Now they spent their evenings in Robert’s room.  Marie knitting, Robert lying in bed with the comforter pulled up, reminiscing at intervals about the sea.

Robert dropped his weak hand to his side.  His voice grew thin as if coming from far away, “There … is one thing I would like.”

“Yes, Robert?” Marie asked, her eyes counting stiches.

“To return to the sea.”

Marie looked up from her work quickly, her confusion apparent.

“You can’t, Robert … the Doctor said …”

“No, my dear,” Robert stared at her intently, desperate to relay his message.

…

Continued next time!

As recorded by Maggie Henith

I’m a busybody … or so I’ve heard.  You can’t really keep that understanding a secret from the neighborhood busybody now can you?  

Over the years there has only been one story I wish my ears never heard.  Ironically, it is also the one story that has never crossed my lips.  I was already the busybody;  I was determined not to be the town lunatic.  

The doctors say I’m really dying this time.  I have decided to write the story of the Cahills down.  Maybe the tale will help explain why the house sits empty to this very day. 

…

Time is funny.  Sometimes minutes seem like hours and a life time passes in the blink of an eye.  I cannot remember if it was seconds or closer to an hour until she bolted again from the house.  Suddenly, she was there, white as summer linen, racing toward my porch in the still twilight.

Marie’s mouth moved rapidly but no words came out.

“Marie!” I exclaimed, chills creeping up my arms despite the warm evening. “What?  What’s happened?”

She seemed almost outside of her mind and ready to jump out of her skin.  I forced her into a chair and tried to get her to drink some of my lemonade.

“R- r-r-r-o-o…”

“What, Marie?” I asked frantically.  “You must speak so I can help.”

I will never forget the horror in Marie’s eyes as she told me in broken sentences of the days leading up to her husband’s death and of her deception. 

… Continued next time!

Peter and his father have just arrived in a human town for a B.I.A. reconnaissance trip.  Mr. Adehr needs to observe a young boy who is suspected of stealing.  Enjoy!

“Ah, there he is.  I was beginning to wonder,” Mr. Adehr said shaking his head. “He just popped in to that restaurant up ahead.”   

    “Good.  I’m hungry,” Peter replied moving toward where his dad had indicated. 

    “Perfect.  We’ll eat and I can get my observation accomplished at the same time.  It doesn’t get much better than that!”

    They rushed along to the corner of the next block where Mr. Adehr had seen the boy and his mother enter the small café.  As they pushed open the door, a tiny bell sang to announce their entrance.  The bell might as well not have been there for all the bustle of the café.

     Mr. Adehr scanned the interior for the boy and directed Peter to a table near the booth occupied by the boy and his mother.  Peter’s father positioned himself opposite the family to have a good vantage point.  As always on these occasions, Peter sat adjacent to his father, so that he could see what was happening too, but also to keep clear Mr. Adehr’s line of vision. 

    The brisk but friendly waitress breezed over, took their orders, and was gone again.  There was just enough time to get settled and for Mr. Adehr to casually set his small B.I.A. notebook on the table and begin jotting his first notes before their waitress reappeared with their hot breakfast. 

    “Thank you,” Mr. Adehr smiled at her.  “We will need no refills and you can leave the bill at this time.  We have appreciated your service but will no longer require your assistance.” He kept his voice low and kind.

    The waitress’s eyebrows rose a fraction at Mr. Adehr’s dismissal but she left the bill and hurried away to her other tables, grateful for the reprieve.

    “Now to work,” Mr. Adehr said as he swiftly tugged his left ear. 

    Peter remembered his amazement the first time his father told him that by doing so, his hearing in that ear would magnify enough to enable him to hear a nearby conversation that the ear would normally struggle to pick up.  Supposedly, all elves could achieve the skill with practice but Peter had never tried long enough to accomplish it.

     While they ate, Peter and Mr. Adehr kept up a light conversation for appearance.  Every once in a while Mr. Adehr would pen something on his notebook, almost too quickly even for Peter to see.  The boy and his mom seemed to get along well and the boy showed no obvious signs of being a ‘naughty’ candidate. 

    “Dad, why are you trailing this boy anyway?”  Peter finally asked in confusion. 

    “He is suspected of stealing.  We received an alert on him and the Captain wanted me to check it out.  It could be a false alarm, though, judging by what I’m seeing. But, who knows?  This isn’t exactly the atmosphere for him to reveal that kind of behavior, is it?”

    “True, then how …,” Peter began.

    “Shh.  Wait.”  Peter’s dad quickly closed his notebook, counted out the correct change for the bill plus a tip and left the money on the table.  “Peter, he’s just asked his mother if he can go some doors down to a shop.  I’m going to follow him.  Listen, go out to the back of this café and wait for me.  This shouldn’t take long.” 

    With that, Mr. Adehr tugged his ear and quickly left the café in the same direction the boy had just taken.  Upon walking out into the clear morning again, Peter glanced both ways down the road but his father and the boy were nowhere to be seen.  Pulling his cap further down on his head, Peter looped around to the back of the café. 

 

‘The Win’ continued …

Right … left … right … left …

She must remain focused.  More focused, she noted, than before.

Right … left … right … left …

The path stretched on and on while the sun beat down on her neck.

Paige looked around her.  Some runners kept pace beside her, others remained further ahead, out of site.  Behind her, she could hear the foot falls and heavy breathing of still more runners.  Her heart trilled.

“I’m not last?” Paige wondered in amazement.

With her attention centered on her strides, Paige had not noticed the progress of the runners struggling to keep up.  The goal of the Martin City 5K was to have fun but she could not face the hundreds of stares if she crossed the line last.  An astonished smile tugged at her lips.

Suddenly, Paige felt the white hot pavement meet her hands and rip at her elbow.

A couple dozen runners strode past.

“Are you okay,” a voice asked at her side.

Unfamiliar hands began to help her up.

“I’m fine!” Paige gritted her teeth.  “I’m fine,” she repeated more kindly, “Thank you.”

Right … left … right … left …

She felt warm blood streaming down her arm.

Right … left … right … left …

Her breaths came quicker now.  Paige subconsciously grabbed at her hip.  There it was; the new pain.  Much of the track still spread before her but the pain shot mercilessly through her side.   Her pace slowed.

Still more runners passed.

“Why did I even try,” Paige thought hopelessly as she discovered herself in last place.

“To prove them wrong,” her heart answered.

Right … left … right … left …

“That’s true,” Paige agreed.

Right … left … right … left …

“This is my victory.”

Right … left … right … left …

The banner passed over her head.  The crowd cheered as she crossed the finish line.  They were smiling at her but they were not staring at her.  They were cheering for her?

Tears came and Paige’s vision blurred.  They must know … Of course they knew.

She had won today.

Paige glanced down at her new legs.  The metal gleamed back at her.  Her tears fell to the ground.

After the accident, they told her she would never walk again.  She had not come in first today but sometimes the race is about the run.

Whether you dream of one day writing a book (fiction or non-fiction) or already have a manuscript complete but don’t know where to turn, this is the book to have!

First, check out my review on Amazon for more information on the assistance this book can provide.

Then check out the official website of the authors, aka: The Book Dr.s.

This book is worth well more than the cost!  Enjoy … and get writing.

The Win

Paige squinted her eyes against the bright sun glaring off of the asphalt.  She sat on the cool grass stretching her muscles for the big run.  Breathing in deeply and letting her lungs deflate slowly, she realized nothing was going to ease the tension in her stomach.  It had been a long time since her last race.

Noting the fellow runners prepping for the Martin City 5K, Paige picked out those who were likely contenders.

“Every one of them,” she thought bitterly.

Over a year had passed since she last donned her sneakers.  Paige shook her head, willing herself not to think like that.  She was ready.  The minutes, hours, and days over the past eighteen months had prepared her for this moment.

The signal for the runners to take their positions sounded louder in Paige’s ears than she remembered it being.  Throngs of people stood along the sidelines cheering on their loved ones.  Paige could just make out her mom and dad in the teeming crowd.  Her mom’s favorite, bright orange cap was easy to spot.

Paige joined the hundred or so runners.  They were focused, ready to run.

“Get your head in the game, “ Paige begged herself.

“Stay loose.” Her dad always told her the morning before a run.

“Don’t forget to hydrate.” Her mom always added.

Glancing left, Paige found another runner looking at her.   The girl smiled quickly, mumbled a ‘good luck’ and turned away.

“Why am I here?” Paige asked herself frantically.

Her eyes stung as tears threatened to fall.  The knot in her stomach felt heavy.  As she searched for an escape to the side of the course Paige caught sight of her dad in the crowd.

“Paige,” his eyes repeated his words from the drive over, “you can do this.  Only you can hold yourself back.”

As the signal to start blasted over the intercom, Paige’s muscle memory took over and she found herself moving as one with the runners.  No backing out now.

Right … left … right … left …

The important thing was to keep moving …

… Visit back soon for more! …