A California Online Magazine with Local Focus and Global Appeal
Boots firmly planted, Lucy Pitts gazes east from the summit and declares to the newly risen sun, “There is no better place than this.” Below the hilltop of dry grass, her two-point-five acres abound with California natives: manzanita, thimbleberry, madrone, bay laurel, and live oak. Rooted like another wild native, the century-old redwood structure unashamedly shows off its mossy shingled roof.
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My first impression of Phillip was that he was blessed with ignorance. He knew nothing of world events, nothing of religion. And probably nothing much about sex. It was sort of refreshing—no angry tirades about the current goings on in the White House and Congress, and no heated discussions about religion. I figured he must be happy—ignorance is bliss, right? I wasn’t so sure about being ignorant about sex, but he could learn, couldn’t he?
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The constant “pock-pocka-pock” of the muskets wasn’t so bad. The boom of the cannons—from this distance at least—was endurable, especially for someone who had listened to rock drummers turned up loud. But the wind was sending black powder smoke straight toward them and, in this heat, that was awful. The whole idea was stupid. She was hot, sweaty, and she’d had enough.
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Lizzie climbed out of her van and called to Claire. “I’ve got a load of special Easter eggs.” Daylight was fading in the park. Clumps of vivid yellow daffodils dotted the wildflower meadow, paired with blooming forsythia.
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Ross Clark took care to park near Alice Morton’s front door, out of sight of the bedroom window through which he had entered earlier.
Clark’s fiancée, Brittany, pressed the doorbell, but of course, no one came.
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Time has an interesting way of blending the present with a bit of lingering tastes from the past. Some days when I look back and remember falling in love with my husband, it doesn’t feel like it was all that long ago. But over four decades later my feelings for him are still strong, and though it would be hard to have realized back then, my love for him has only grown stronger.
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Megan stopped on the trail, set her backpack on a stump, and untied her poncho. It wasn’t raining yet, but the sound of thunder and the smell of rain were in the air.
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It was a small sound but enough to wake her. Enid listened, holding her body still, quietening her breath so she could hear.
What was that sound? The door, that was it, the soft snick of the latch. Someone had come in.
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“What are you doing?”
Saul dropped the shirt he had folded into a suitcase on the bed. “Oy. What the hell does it look like I’m doing?”
“Well, maybe a better question would have been, why are you packing? You taking a trip you didn’t tell me about?” Mordecai asked.
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Her name was Tennie Cloer, but I always called her Aunt Tennie. Did from the first day I met her. When she would go downtown, folks called her Mrs. Cloer. One of the first things I noticed about her was how short she was and how when she wasn’t around, people referred to her as the Widow Cloer.
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Vivian Bunn frowned at the boxes and tissue paper strewn across the floor of Lady Barbara Finchley-fforde’s sitting room. Decorating Finchley Hall for the holidays used to be more a matter of deciding than actually doing the work. But since Mr. Mugg had…er, resigned, there was no one left to do it. Except Francie Jewell, of course. Francie, Lady Barbara’s cook and maid-of-all-work, would tackle anything except ironing. But if Francie were put in charge of Christmas decorations, they’d probably end up with a fake tree in the Great Hall and inflatable snowmen in the courtyard.
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Not much happens here in Sheepsvale. It’s a small town, mostly farms and open space that holds little attraction for city folks. This is fine with me. Too many visitors means crime and big city trouble. As sheriff, I am perfectly satisfied to put my feet up on my desk, have a leisurely cup of coffee, and let the rest of the world go by. So when I got the call that there was trouble at the north edge of town I was a little surprised. There are only two farms in that neck of the woods: McGregor’s and Old MacDonald’s.
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Gabby Newman crept through her backyard watching the lantern in the tent turn her brother Steven, and his friend Miles, into shadow puppets. Steven was telling the same old story of the headless ghost.
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Bev trusted her instincts, always had. So far she figured that’s what had kept her out of harm’s way all these years. Her mother moaned and complained about all the crazy schemes that her daughter had come up with. Though this time her mother said that none of her other ideas sounded half as ridiculous as this one. “You’ll end up a pile of bones,” were her mother’s last words as Bev closed the door behind her and descended the steps of the front porch.
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Meet little dolly Molly, she is a kitty who has a quiet elegance, a big heart, and an undemanding personality. She is independent, sits back to observe before exploring. Such a down-to-earth attitude is probably the result of being the single sister with three lively brothers who all have easy, undemanding natures, but love playtime and each other. Like them, this pretty sweetheart does love to leap and swing at toys on a wand, is especially fond of chicken, and can’t resist a tasty kitty treat! She has also gotten along with bigger cats and small dogs. A beautiful, silky black and white ensemble has her always looking dressed for success. What a devoted and adorable addition lovely Molly will be in a home where she will be given time to adjust to a new situation. How about your home sweet home? Molly is very shy and will need a lot of time to adjust to a new home, she is a little hissy with lots of attitude she would be a great friend for a current kitty and not much of a person cat. She loves other cats. Molly is available for adoption at their Blackstone Ave Petco Adoption Center, from Cat House on the Kings.