12 Days of Christmas // A Carnathan Christmas {pt.4}

Merry Christmas Eve! Hope y'all enjoy the final part of this year's story. :)



Monday, December 23rd, 1940 


The old sleigh slid through the winter wonderland, the soon-to-be Carnathan couple nestled inside. After a morning spent decorating a handpicked Christmas tree that the guys hauled inside, snow still fluttering from the branches, David had grabbed his girl and slipped out the backdoor. Raymond watched through the window, a smile on his kind face, as they skirted around the barn and climbed into the sleigh he used to ride in with his own girl. Sometimes, they still did. 

On a wooded lane through the farming community, David guided the mare through the ruts—made by a variety of farm wagons, tractors, and trucks. At a gap in the split-rail fence, he directed the horse out across the snowy field. 

“What do you think?” David asked, glancing to his right and finding Beth grinning back at him. 

She leaned her head back and drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the frosty cold air. “It’s so pretty out here, especially with all the snow. The God we serve is so amazing… And quite the Artist I might add.” 

“No argument there.” David smiled, gazing down and studying the serene look on her face. “I figured we might need some time alone and a sleigh ride sounded like the best idea.” 

“One horse open sleigh.”

“Something like that. You know, the bad thing about driving this sleigh is that I can’t hold your hand.” 

Laughing, Bethany scooted closer and looped her arms through his, tilting her head to rest against his shoulder. “That doesn’t matter. Just knowing you would be if you could satisfies me.” 

David bent down and planted a kiss in her hair, giving the reins a slow snap. “Get along, old girl.” 




Tuesday, December 24th, 1940


On Christmas Eve, a steady stream of neighbors threaded through the Carnathan’s home for most of the day, exchanging an array of small gifts and baked goods for similar parcels to carry to their own places of abode. 
And—of course—everyone wanted to catch up with the returned son and meet his fiance. By the time they’d escorted the last friend to the door, calling out goodbyes and merry christmases, Bethany was tuckered from the repetitious small talk. Still, there was something special about meeting all of the people who her David had known all his life. 

After supper, Lydia shooed her out of the kitchen with instructions to enjoy the rest of the evening. Giving in, she wandered into the front room and sank to the hearth. The flickering flames sent skitters of warmth up her back. 
David moved from the couch to sit beside her, then silently pointed above them. Bethany turned her eyes in that direction. Uh, oh. 

The sprig of mistletoe that Erin had hung there earlier spun gaily in the firelight. She looked back to her fiancé. “Don’t go getting any bright ideas, young Mr. Carnathan.” 

“Young Mr. Carnathan?” 

She grinned. “You’re young Mr. Carnathan and—” she nodded across the room to where David's father sat in the rocker, “—your father is old Mr…” The flames of a blush crept up her face as she realized what she’d said. “Oh my goodness. I—I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Carnathan. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Raymond chuckled, heartily. “Don’t apologize, dear. We all know you didn’t mean it that way.” 

Everyone laughed and, this once, Bethany didn’t color red at being the subject of their merriment. 

“Where does that leave me?” Michael spoke up. 

“You’re not old enough to earn the title of ‘mister’,” David suggested, earning himself an eyeroll. 

Bethany smiled and leaned her head onto David's strong shoulder. Raymond and Lydia were the best future in-laws she could’ve asked for. So understanding and encouraging, always loving no matter what. She hadn’t been in a real family setting for so long, and it was an absolutely wonderful feeling.



Wednesday, December 25th, 1940


Bethany awoke Christmas morning with an overwhelming sense of intense joy. She could almost feel the euphoria welling up inside of her. It wasn’t the same excitement she’d felt on Christmas mornings during her growing up years. This was different; deeper and more special. She was in a houseful of people who cared about her, loved her. They’d been David’s family when she’d met them, but that had changed in just a few days. Now they were her family, too, and she loved each of them dearly. 

She crawled out of bed and peeked through the curtains framing the icy window panes. A new, light snow blanket covered the disturbed snowfall from Saturday. How beautiful, she mused, a smile lighting her face. 

Turning away from the window, she realized that the house was quiet. Everyone must still be asleep. Bethany moved toward the dresser, thinking she could go on downstairs and start coffee for the family. 

She quickly dressed in a green dress with a holly and berry print, deciding to save her Christmas dress to wear to the church service tonight. She was brushing her hair when the creaking of the screen door breaking the morning stillness caught her attention. 

Pushing aside the curtain once again, she peered down to the yard below. David’s familiar figure moved from the side door toward the barn, his footprints the only ones in the winter whiteness. Apparently someone else was awake. 

Smiling to herself, Bethany skipped pinning up her hair and slipped out of the room. She tiptoed down the hallway, being careful not to make any noises that may wake someone. A few special moments alone with David this morning would be nice. 

She stopped at the door to yank on her boots and pull on her coat and scarf before slipping out into the cold, frosty morning. 


~*~


David cringed at the screeching of the screen door as it moved to rest against the doorframe. Someone really needed to oil those hinges. 

He drew in a deep breath of the crisp morning air as he tramped through the snow. It was such a beautiful Christmas morning. David smiled to himself on his way to the barn to milk Darling, the family milk cow. 

Over a thousand years ago our Savior came to save us, knowing He would die the terrible death of crucifixion for our sins. What a day, so worthy of celebration. Having Beth here with him and the family this Christmas made it all the more glorious. She made his life complete; added something he hadn’t even realized he was missing. And that something was very special.

Mind and heart filled with happy, Christmas joy, David whistled as he greeted Darling, wishing her a merry Christmas, and strode to drag over the milking stool. He’d just sat down when he nearly got startled out of his senses. 

Warm, red mittens appeared out of nowhere and clapped over his eyes. Guessing who it might be, David grinned, reminded his heart to beat, and waited for the rest of the prank. 

“My, my, who do we have here?” A sweet voice exclaimed. “Someone stealing milk on Christmas morning! Well, I’ll be! Maybe I’ll yell for Michael and his shotgun…” 

David chuckled under his breath and decided to go along with her charade. “Please ma’am, don’t do that! I’d be willing to milk the cow and do whatever else you may need done, just don’t have me killed,” he pleaded, clasping his hands in mock repentance. 

At his silly pleas, her hands fell away from his eyes and he tilted his head back to get a better view of her face. 
“It is Christmas, you know.” 

“So it is,” she smiled down at him before slipping her arms around his neck. He returned her embrace and, after releasing, nodded to Darling. 

“Mind if I finish my chores now?” 

“Go ahead.” Bethany grinned, crossed her arms tightly against her stomach, and leaned against a support post. “It’s nice to have a few minutes alone with you this morning.” 

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed, smiling up at her, and then set to work milking the cow, streams of white splattering inside the metal pail. “I figure, there’s no reason for Dad and Michael to have to come out in the cold when I’m perfectly capable of handling chores this morning.” 

While David milked and cleaned Darling’s stall, Bethany wandered around the barn—commenting to him on this and that. 

David was starting up the ladder to throw down hay for Dad’s pair of draft horses when Beth’s exclaiming gasp met his ears. “David, look!” The excited whisper soon followed. 

He looked over to find Beth standing in the doorway, her back to him. Jumping down from his start up the ladder and nearly tripping over the milking stool in his clumsiness, he hurried to her side. 

“What is it?” 

She didn’t speak, only pointed out across the yard. 

There, in the shimmering glitter of sunlight on snow, stood a mother deer and her fawn, silhouetted by the rising sun. As he watched, in awe of God’s creativity, small fingers slid into his. 

“That says it all, doesn’t it?” she whispered, seeming fearful of breaking the perfect serenity, cocking her head to the side. “The beauty, the innocence, the peace, and the pure white of the snow. It’s glorious.” 

His attention veering with his gaze, David silently admired his fiancé. A lump clogged his throat as his chest warmed with love for this sweet woman, his soon-to-be wife. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he murmured softly.

She turned to look up at him, a sly gleam in her blue eyes, stepping closer to him and slipping her arms around his waist. 

His arms encompassed her small frame, holding her snugly against him. Amazing how comfortably she fit there—how right it felt. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he whispered into her ear. 

“Merry Christmas, my darling,” she replied, her voice muffled against his wool coat. 

An aggravated moo sounded through the barn door, left open by the couple. They laughed in unison. 

“Merry Christmas to you too, Darling!” 

// today's schedule 

Inside Out Designs || Author Interview: Faith Potts

Read Another Page || The Case of the Very Bad Cat

Qadash - Set Apart, for Him || 12 Days of Christmas - Hallelujah - What does it mean?

Lit Aflame || How to Make THE BEST Iced Sugar Cookies in Existence

The Peculiar Messenger || Live

Rebekah's Reading Room || A Carol in Her Heart (part 3)

RebekahAshleigh || Christmas, My Favorite Time of Year

Hands Made to Love || Candy Cane Cocoa Recipe

Literatura || Christmas Goodies

Resting Life || Not-So-Silent Night // Silent Night // Self-Control

Life of Heritage || Christmas Story (part 7)

Hands Made to Love || The Pine Tree Parable

Novels, Dragons, and Wardrobe Doors || Favorite Underrated Christmas Hymns

Chosen Vessels || The Christmas Candle {Book Review}



Thanks for reading the story, dears! Last day to enter the giveaway! <3
~Faith

12 Days of Christmas // A Carnathan Christmas {pt.3}

Good morning, happy Saturday, and merry Christmas!

The party schedule for today is quite full. Largest number of posts in one day so far I believe, which means lots of fun for all!

Today I bring you the third part of the four-part story, and perhaps my personal favorite. :) Enjoy and check back for the conclusion on Christmas Eve!



Bethany descended the creaky farmhouse stairs with an uncertain smile, yet a lightness in her step over doing something so unlike her. She couldn’t help snickering as she glanced down at her thrown-together outfit. Even with the galluses pulled all the way up, the overalls were still much too long. With her sweater tucked in underneath, she fit the definition of a ragamuffin. 

At the kitchen door, Erin was waiting, tugging on boots and a scarf. She turned at Bethany’s footsteps and began to laugh. 

“Just wait ‘til the fellow see you.”


~*~


From where he stood in the barn, shoulder propped against the doorway, David looked across the snowy yard. Bethany and Erin trudged towards them—both wearing old, hand-me-down overalls. A grin spread across his face. Man, she sure looked cute. 

“Oh great.” Michael’s groan drifted past on a breath of frosty white. “Erin’s been in somebody’s closet again.” 

“Yeah, yours.” 

Shoving off the doorframe, David strode into the barnyard with his hands in his pockets. “Good morning, farm girl.” 

Beth laughed, twisting in a circle to show off her get-up. “What do you think?” 

“I think…” He drew his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer to his side, whispering into her knitted cap. “I think you look better in those than Michael or I ever did.” 

Her eyes widened. “Are these yours? No wonder they’re so long.” 

David snickered. “I don’t know, but Michael got most of my cast-offs that were still fit for wear.” 

Out of nowhere, a handful of icy slush came sailing through the air and smacked the back of David’s head. He yowled as the snow skittered down his shirt. 

“That was for keeping your swell gal a secret for so long!” Michael hollered from across the yard, already forming a second round of ammo. 

“Sure wasn’t because I feared my baby-faced brother could steal her away,” David called back, grinning at the sight of his fiance, laughing heartily, cheeks pink with cold. 

There was no time to take cover before another snowball arrived, smacking into the front of Beth’s overalls. 
“And that was for stealing my clothes without permission!”

“Hey, it was your sister’s idea!”

“I’m calling a snowball challenge,” Luke called, tossing Lenore over his shoulder and grabbing Erin by the hand. “All out war!”

“Are you sure y’all are brothers?” Beth asked as David grabbed her by the hand and nearly drug across the yard. “Because he acts nothing like you, sometimes.” 

They ducked behind the semi-seclusion of a shade tree, snow grenades already catapulting through the air. 

“And what does this all out war stuff mean?” 

Snickering over her cluelessness, David leaned closer until his forehead dropped to hers. “It means every man—and woman—for themselves.” 


~*~ 


After a brutal snowball fight—Carnathan family style—the gang clambered inside and gathered by the kitchen stove to shed soaked boots and gloves. Although laughter and good spirits abounded, no one felt like returning to the chilled outdoors for sledding. Perhaps tomorrow, someone suggested, as Mrs. Lydia passed out hot cider, coffee, and Christmas cookies, gifted from a neighbor. 

Finding her borrowed overalls too wet to comfortably dry while on her person, Bethany excused herself and slipped upstairs to change into dry clothes. 

As she returned a few moments later, rambunctious laugher emitting from the front room told her that the majority of the family had ventured away from the stove’s warmth to take up residence by the fireplace. 
Recognizing David’s voice still in the kitchen though, she halted just out of sight. 

“What do you think of her, Mom?” 

“I think you love her very much, son,” Lydia answered, as Bethany held her breath. 

“And?” 

“And, maybe even more importantly, she loves you. With all her heart.”  

“I know,” he answered softly, so softly Bethany barely heard. 

Lydia’s gentle laugh drifted around the corner. “Then why are you asking?” 

“I don’t know… I’m just so happy. She’s added so much to my life. Something that—that I didn’t even realize was missing. Do you know what I mean? Does that even make sense?”

“I certainly do. I’ve felt that way for the past twenty-seven years, son.” 


~*~


Satisfied by his talk with his dear mother, David stepped out of the kitchen. Beth had surely returned by now and would’ve probably joined the others. 

He rounded the corner—and halted. Bethany stood at the bottom of the staircase, almost hidden by the shadows. A beautiful smile was on her face even as large tears welled behind her eyes. She’d undoubtedly heard his exchange with Mom. 

“I love you,” she whispered. 

He looped his fingers through hers, smiling. “Love you more.”





Saturday, December 21st, 1940 


After breakfast on Saturday morning, Lydia gathered Erin, Bethany, and Lenore in the kitchen to get some baking done. The four fellows were banished to the outdoors with orders not to return until noon or when called as volunteer samplers. 

As the grandfather clock neared twelve, Bethany—with Lenore’s help—was working on decorations for the sugar cookies while Lydia and Erin started on lunch for the family. 

Bethany wiped her finger along the edge of the bowl, nabbing the about-to-drip frosting. She quickly licked her finger and found Lenore grinning up at her. 

“Good, huh?” 

Bethany bent down to whisper to the little girl who would soon be her niece; she smiled at that thought. “It’s delicious, but don’t tell your mama and grandma that we’re sampling the goodies.” 

“Okay,” Lenore whispered, obviously enjoying sharing a secret. “I won’t tell.” She licked more of the gooey frosting from her small fingers. 

Loud shrieks resounded across the barnyard and heavy footsteps bounded across the porch. The women glanced up from their duties as a figure darted passed the window. Michael appeared in the doorway, red-faced and panting, with David following mere seconds behind him. 

The screen door slammed behind the brothers as David chased Michael around the dining room table, yelling something about snow down his shirt and revengeful justice. 

Lenore giggled from her perch on the countertop and Bethany watched the two with amusement. 

“I’m gonna give you what-for!” 

“What-for?” Michael repeated as he rounded the table for the third time. “But for what, big brother?” He howled at his own joke as he took off up the stairs with David on his tail. 

Bethany laughed at the screams and laughed floating down the stairs. “Mrs. Lydia, how did you ever manage this wild group for all these years?”

Lydia laughed. “A lot of prayers, dear. A lot of prayers.” 






Sunday, December 22nd, 1940


Walking into the white, snow-dusted church on David’s arm, Bethany stopped to look up at the steeple and the bell below it, ringing out the hour to the community. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

She didn’t realize she’d spoken her thoughts aloud until David verbally agreed. 

“Yup. I always thought the church looked all the more glorious draped in snow.” 

She smiled and squeezed his arm with her mittened hand, tipping her head against his shoulder. “You’re such a romantic.” 

David snickered as he led her on towards the church steps. “Dad would tell you that trait comes from him.” 

Bethany laughed with him, but quieted before they reached the door where the pastor was welcoming the members of his congregation. 

The man in the black suit was sixty-something, she would’ve guessed, with thinning gray hair and a pleasant smile. His smile grew when he saw the Carnathan clan approaching. Or, rather, when he saw all of the Carnathans crossing the snowy lot. 

James and Lydia exchanged seasonal greetings with the gentleman and proceeded on into the church. Erin, Luke and Michael, toting Lenore, followed closely behind them. 

After stopping to admire the church, David and Bethany ended up climbing the few, icy church steps a few minutes later—another couple having slipped in between them. 

“David!” The pastor greeted, pumping his arm. “How are you?” 

“Doing well,” David shook the man’s hand. “How are you, sir?” 

“Can’t complain.” He was very different from Frank, the young pastor at Cana’s Protestant Church, but Pastor Howard seemed to fit this community. “Your parents said you were coming up for Christmas and bringing someone special.” 

With those words, he turned to shake Bethany's hand. “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Pastor Howard.” 

“Bethany Henderson,” she smiled warmly as she shook his hand. 

“My fiancée,” David quickly added. 

The minister chuckled. “I heard that, too. All Mrs. Lydia talks about is wedding plans.” His gaze swept the empty lot with a quick survey. “We’d better get inside or Maria will start the service without me.” 

“Who’s Maria?” Bethany whispered as they ducked through the double doors. 

“Maria is George’s wife, the Sunday school teacher, and the church pianist.” 

“Busy woman,” Bethany commented, as David led her down the center aisle of the church and into the pew next to the rest of the family. 

“A true server to the people of the community,” David agreed. 

No sooner had they taken their seats, than a young woman approached, made up like some kind of Hollywood star. 

“David, darling! Whatever brings you back to these parts?” 

David turned at her appearance, politely standing and taking her hand. “Christmas, of course. It’s been awhile, Clara. How are you?” 

Bethany fought a grimace at the woman’s excessive eyelash batting. 

“Oh, you know. Just the usual. Nothing exciting ever happens here.” Clara leaned closer to David, as if she were going to say something no one else was meant to hear. “Who’s this doll you’ve brought home to the folks?” 

“Oh, right.” Disengaging his hand from Clara’s possessive grasp. “Clara, meet my fiancée, Bethany Henderson. Beth, this is Clara, a childhood friend.” 

Wearing a sufficient heel, Clara was nearly as tall as David—making Bethany feel quite dwarf-like standing between them. 

Clara reached out a hand to Bethany. “Congratulations, hon. We all tried to snag him. Looks like you did it.” She grinned, revealing white teeth behind too-thick lipstick. “Best wishes, David.” The blond woman who wore entirely too much on her face winked at him and waltzed off.

Bethany glanced over at her fiancé. “Who was that? An old girlfriend?” 

“Clara Holland?” David smirked. “Goodness, no. We went to highschool together.” He winked at her. “You should know by now that I prefer the cute and quiet girls.” 

Bethany rolled her eyes at his teasing and leaned around him to speak to his sister. “Is this all true, Erin?” 

David’s sister laughed. “They did go to school together and as for girlfriend I think he’s right there too. David never thought he had time for the girls. He preferred to have his nose buried in a book.” 

David snorted. “You can’t talk, sis. You’re a pretty good bookworm yourself.” 

“I just looked up more often than you,” Erin grinned before turning back to Lenore. 

Bethany nudged David, regaining his attention. “Y’all are really good at changing the subject. What else about this Clara character is so funny?” 

“She seemed to think,” David started, trying to maintain a straight face, “that she and I were going to elope. Just run off to California, get married, and go into acting together.” 

Bethany raised her gloved hand to stifled a laugh. “You, an actor?”

David did his best to act offended—and failed tragically. “What? You don’t see what Clara saw?” 

“Sorry, but no,” Bethany shook her head. “Her, though? An actress? Absolutely. She would be like…the villain’s wife or something.” 

David’s eyes widened and he quickly looked down, trying not to burst into laughter and cause a scene in church. 

“Oh my goodness,” Bethany exclaimed, her cheeks blushing. “Did I really say that?” 

// today's schedule 

Jenna Terese || Infant King - a flash fiction story

Green Tea and Books || My Top Three Wintery Books: Why I Like Them and Why YOU Should Read Them

Read Another Page || A Pony for Christmas

Qadash - Set Apart, for Him || 12 Days of Christmas - Beyond the Horizon (book review)

Chosen Vessels || Silent Star {Book Review}

Life of Heritage || Christmas Story (part 6)

Twin Thoughts || Why Fruitcake

Novels, Dragons, and Wardrobe Doors || Still Too Many

RebekahAshleigh || Favorite Christmas Movies - Part 2

Novels, Dragons, and Wardrobe Doors || The Best of Hallmark Christmas

The Ramblings of a Bookworm || Till the Dawn Breaks (a WW1 Christmas tale)

Hands Made to Love ||  Guest Post // 12 Days of Christmas Song Origin

Inside Out Designs || Author Interview: Ryana Miller

Resting Life || Mirrored Faith // O Come, O Come Emmanuel // Faithfulness



Three days until Christmas, and only two days until the giveaway closes! 
~Faith

The Ones Who Didn't Make it Back Home {a short story}

A few weeks ago, I was wandering around a cemetery with my mom and aunt. We were looking for the graves of my grandma's parents and sister, but I came across the headstones of twin brothers, both Marines, who fought in the Korean War. Neither of them died in war, but from the moment I stood over those graves, I knew I'd be writing a story about a brother who did.

Justin Moore's latest song already had story ideas scrambling around my brain, and the two inspirations combined nicely. As for the song, I'm imbedding the music video below, because obviously y'all need this, too. (Pardon the mentions of alcohol.)

Knowing the lyrics and having written this story, now just hearing the opening of this song makes my heart squeeze inside my chest. It's so beautiful, so strong, so real. While writing the story, I would pull up the song, put it on repeat, and write the words as they came.

Hope y'all enjoy. <3

It was a beautiful morning for a funeral. 


I rise early after hours of fitful sleep. Come to think of it, I haven’t slept much at all since I heard the news. I walk across the room and press my forehead to the screen door to watch the sunrise. Jake loved summer sunrises. 

Private Jacob Kemper. Small town hero. Twin to Justin. My date to prom. Everybody’s friend at the high school where our group of twenty-five graduated one rainy May afternoon. 

But today we’ll bury him. 

In a different room of the house, a staticky radio cuts on. Dad’s awake. The local broadcaster shares the details of Jacob’s memorial as I listen through the wall. Everyone who knew him loved him—and few didn’t know him. 

Just when I’m sure there isn’t another tear left in me, another round of sobs wracks my shoulders. The pain is just too much. 

Pressing a fisted hand to my mouth, I slide down the doorjamb to the floor, my face dropping to my pajama-clad knees. Jacob’s voice filters through my mind, followed by his laidback, free laughter. 

“Why?” My cracked voice demands, as my foot shoots out and slams into the other side of the doorjamb. 

He was too young to die. 


*


One last glance in the rearview mirror—to check the makeup that’s doing a pitiful job of disguising my bloodshot eyes—and I step out of the car into the oppressive heat. A cold day, complete with rain and cutting wind, would better suit the ache in my heart. 

But as I look around me, watch the droves of people walking solemnly toward the little white church and filing up the stairs, I decide maybe today’s sunniness does fit. Jake was the sunshine in all our lives. 

During the service many spoke or sang for the wonderful young man we’ve all lost, and everyone cried their tissues full. When a mutual friend steps up to the podium, he tells a story from the teenage years, when a dozen of us were caught in the yard of an abandoned house at two a.m. with no legitimate-sounding excuse. He imitates Jake’s unsuccessful attempts to convince the cops we were innocent, and I shake with laughter even as tears course down my face. Jake would want us to laugh. 

We stand as the pallbearers carry his closed casket down the aisle. They’re all from our graduating class, guys who knew Jake most of his life. Some were outcasts until he drew them in. Some thought of themselves too highly, until he taught them by example that all are equal.

Directly following the casket is Jacob’s twin, Justin, in his dress blues, with his mother clinging to his arm and his father on her other side. 

Fresh tears spring to my eyes as I behold Jake’s parents. I spent so much time at the Kemper home during my troubled high school years that the boys started calling me “Sis.” Not that I minded. I loved being welcomed into their happy home, where I was loved for who I was instead of judged for who I wasn’t. 

In the graveyard, I end up near the center of the circle a few yards from Jake’s immediate family. After seating his mother, Justin ducks out from under the tent and approaches me. 
When his eyes meet mine, I give up on holding myself together and just wrap my arms around his neck. He holds me, wordlessly, being the strong one although he’s even more broken-hearted than the rest of us. 

When he releases me, I keep my hand on his arm. “Are you okay?” 

Justin shakes his head without looking at me. “The preacher talked about sacrifice in there. Saying a bunch of words he isn’t even sure he believes himself. But he isn’t the one who rode in the belly of a plane with his brother’s body last week. He won’t walk into a house full of memories tonight and listen to his mother cry herself to sleep. He knows nothing about sacrifice.” 

I don’t draw away—just let him talk. The sharpness of his words is from pain, not anger. He just needs to let it out. 

The graveside service commences and we silently observe from the center of the crowd. More than once during the final words, I hear Justin’s jagged breathing. He’s trying so hard to hold it all in. 

The first volley of gunshots rings through the air. I jerk, even though I knew it was coming. Although I was closest to Jake, I grab Justin’s hand and squeeze my eyes shut as the second round rocks the ground. 

In the silence that follows the third shots, Justin’s soft cries cut to my heart. He’s letting himself grieve. Tears skid down my eyes, as happy memories of Jake fill my mind.

After the pastor says a final prayer and the gathering of friends disperses across the grass, I twist to look up at Justin. “You’re going to be okay.” 

He’s tugging the brave front back into place, but his eyes tell me he doesn’t believe it. He forces a smile that brings tears to my eyes. “Someday.” 

“You and Jake were the best friends I ever had.” I blurt the words out before I have time to over think them. And by the look that clouds his eyes and how quickly he pulls me back into his hug, I’m glad I did. 

“Ya know…” His eyes rove my face as I wipe my eyes. “Jake loved you as more than a little sister.” 

Fresh tears spill over and I’m draw back into Justin’s embrace. “I think I loved him, too.”

“Justin…” 

At his father’s voice, Justin draws away and turns to follow his parents out of the graveyard. “Stay in touch, Sis. I might need to just talk memories of him sometime.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” I manage. 

I cross the grass and drop to my knees beside the open grave. As the voices of the remaining mourners drift away, I blow a kiss into the breeze. “I did love you, sweet Jake,” I whisper over his final resting place. “And I always will.” 

The ache is still in my heart and it may always be. But maybe that’s what being ‘okay’ means. Living with the hurt without letting it rule you. He’s a hero who deserves to be remembered. 



Thoughts on the story? The song? 

~Faith

Rain {Pinterest Stories: August Edition}

Does anyone remember the series I started awhile back (think—over a year ago), short stories from Pinterest prompts? (If you don't, don't feel bad. I didn't either until I found this little gem in some old draft posts. xD)

I can't promise that this series will make a comeback, but for the time being, enjoy this little flash fiction! <3

  Standing on the sidewalk under the tree with my damp hoodie covering my head, I watch her in wonder. 

  She spins and dances in the middle of the wet street. Rain pours down from the sky, steam rising from the warm asphalt. People scurry into their homes and places of abode to escape the downpour, but not Jaylynn. 

  She rises up on her toes, pirouetting and twirling like the beautiful ballerina princess she is. She must have felt my eyes on her for she turns and grins at me, motioning for me to join her. I know she can't read my lips or catch my signs at this distant, so I just shake my head and pretend shiver. 

  I detect a stealthy eyeroll, and she ignores my negative reply and persists. Shaking my head and snickering, I call out, “I'm not a dancer!” 

  She doesn't know what I said, but still she grins at me, shaking droplets of water from her hair. 

  My focus is drawn past Jaylynn and on up the street to...a truck. A pickup truck traveling top-speed down the residential street. Water from the pavement slings up creating a phantom-like mists behind his tires. 

  In the following split-second, I glance to Jaylynn and back to the truck. She stands barefooted on the centerline, face upturned to the rain. But he sees her...right? 

  As the truck continues to barrel down the road, I realize no. 
  He doesn't see her. 
  He hasn't slowed down at all. 
  And he's headed straight for her. That driver must be drunk, blind, stupid, or psychotic. 

  “Jaylynn!” My scream sounds like pure terror, but I couldn't care less. It should sound terrified; I'm scared to death. 

  She can't hear me. Of course, she can't. I know that. I've always known that. Why did I even scream? A barrage of stupid thoughts race through my brain as another split second passes. My mind flashes to what's about to take place before me, and the tragedy of it all forces me into action. 

  I race out into the street, into the flooding rains, and straight to Jaylynn. She hasn't budged, has no idea we could both very easily be dead within seconds. I grab her around the waist and haul her back towards the safety of the cement sidewalk. 

  She jolts and starts as my arms come in contact with her body. There's no time to sign an explanation. Odd thing to notice at such a time, but Jaylynn was right. The wet, warm asphalt does feel good on bare feet. 

  She twists in my arms as I struggle to stumble out of harm's way, but I don't release her or loosen my hold. We’re not out of the oncoming lane yet. 

  Another series of staggering steps and we’re to the side of the road. My foot slipped on the drain grate between the sidewalk and the road lane, and I vault forward. Somehow managing to end up with my backside taking the brunt of the fall and Jaylynn arriving in safety without a scratch, I slap across the ground on both concrete and grass. 

  As my cheek comes in contact with the wet grass, the pickup truck whizzes by. Never even slowing down. He would've killed her. Both of us, if I'd been a millisecond later. I could break something with all this anger bottled up inside of me. 

  I get my bearings enough to sit up with only a groan. Jaylynn is to my right, her knees drawn to herself, staring out at the spot she stood mere seconds ago. 

  I reach out and touch her arm. She's trembling violently. I notice something else too. 
  Jaylynn is no longer smiling and the rain has ceased. 

What do ya think? Would y'all like to see more of this type of stories? 

Remembering... {Memorial Day 2017}

Happy Memorial Day, readers! I wasn't sure what to post today, but late Saturday night I had this idea for a memorial-themed short story. So I wrote and edited the entire thing Sunday afternoon and tonight. Hopefully it isn't *too* bad and y'all can get something out of it. :P 

  I guess all families have their own traditions. Things like whose house you go to for Christmas, Christmas Eve, Easter, and the Fourth of July. What you eat when and who gets to read the Christmas story. 

  We have a tradition that's probably a bit unusual. My paternal grandfather – a WWII veteran and a hero in my eyes – started it. He was always a patriot, but from what I've been told, this particular tradition started after he returned from Europe. 

  Every Memorial Day weekend, for as long as I can remember, all the aunts, uncles, and cousins gather at Grandpa and Grandma’s house. After filling up two whole pews at the country church on Sunday morning, we would come back for the cookout and family time. The aunts would make sure all the kids changed out of their good clothes before turning us loose in the backyard. Our playtime before food was served wouldn't last long. Then we'd sit on old wooden picnic tables and eat our fill of hot dogs, potato salad, and homemade ice cream. 

  As soon as everyone had finished eating, and before one of the ladies dared start cleaning up, Grandpa would stand and walk away without a word. Grandma would follow closely behind him, slipping her hand into his elbow before they rounded the corner of the house. 

  The adults would round up all us kids and lead us to the front of the house, giving strict orders to be quiet and respectful during our moment of silence. I clearly recall the words of my dad, reminding us that this was to remember those who had given the ultimate sacrifice for the freedom we enjoyed daily. I'm sorry to say, those sober words didn't mean much to my six-year-old self. 

  Everyone would take seats – in the rockers, the porch swing, or sprawling on the floor boards. I can remember sneaking peeks at Grandpa, watching him out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes he would shed tears and talk about his memories, but other times he would just sit staring off down the road. 

  Sometimes we kids would grumble to each other about having to be quiet, but never in front of Grandpa. No, we always sat there just as we were told to out of respect for him. For his memories. After a while of putting up with our uncomfortable squirming, Dad would give the go-ahead nod and we were at liberty to slip away. 

  The spring of my twelfth year, I was much more attuned to Grandpa’s uttered words as he reminded us kids to never take our freedom for granted. 

  I had questions this year; I wanted to know more. “Grandpa?” 

  “Yes, Caleb,” he answered, leaning back in the rocker and meeting my gaze. 

  “Are you a hero?” 

  Grandma, Dad, and someone else further down the porch nodded their heads, but I didn't want their answers. I wanted him to tell me. 

  Grandpa smiled at the question and shook his head. “No, son. I'm not a hero, but I have known a few.” 

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked, puzzled by the mystery surrounding his reply. 

  “People think they're talking to someone special when they thank men like me. But who they really should be thanking is the ones who didn't come home.” 

  That line certainly gave me something to think about and contemplate. And for awhile, it was enough. 

  Years passed and cousins grew up and went off to school. There were many times everyone wasn't able to make it back to that old, white farmhouse for our family gathering, though we always tried our best. 

  Again, the spring of my senior year, I sat there on that porch. I stayed with Grandpa long after all the others had wandered off to the backyard to clean up from our cookout or join in the reckless game of dodgeball. 

  “Something bothering you, son?” Grandpa finally asked. 

  I turned to face him from where I sat on the top porch step, my elbows propped on my knees. “Yes, sir.” 

  “Want to tell me about it?” 

  I shrugged, returning my gaze to the dirt road that stretched on for miles and miles, winding around mountains and dipping into valleys. What would it be like to walk down it, not to come back for years? Or ever? 

  “You're readable, Caleb,” Grandpa said. I heard his rocker creaking as he stood and limped toward me. “Something’s weighing on you, I can tell.” 

  He stepped up beside me, preparing to sit on the porch edge like I was. Regardless of the much-different story he would have told, he wasn't a spring-chicken. 

  I reached for his arm, aiming to steady him. “Can I help you, Grandpa?” 

  He frowned and swatted my hand away, easing himself the rest of the way to the seat on his own. “Thank you for the thought, Caleb, but despite what your father and his sisters think, I'm not falling apart.” 

  I snickered, remembering the many quarrels between my grandparents and Dad about this subject. 

  Grandpa nudged my shoulder. “Are you going to tell me what's bothering you? Or do I get left in the dark?” 

  I leaned forward and propped my chin on my crossed arms. “I've been wondering about a lot of stuff lately, especially my future. I've…I've been heavily considering the military.” I glance to my right to gauge his reaction. 

 He just nodded as if that was old news. No shock, no surprise. “I thought so.” 

  “You-you did?” 

  He smiled, a faint smile that seemed to hold a hint of sadness and then faded away. “I think there is something in every man that makes him feel protective over those he cares about. For some that may just mean being a good person, a good husband or father. There's nothing wrong with that, but for others, it means more. A call to serve.” 

  I looked down at my crossed arms and let Grandpa’s words wash over me. I had so many questions and it took awhile before the most prominent one formed itself in the forefront of my mind. 

  “Dad says you had a friend who was killed during the war,” I began, treading carefully into uncharted territory. “Were you…good friends?”

 “Best friend I ever had next to your grandmother and the Lord Almighty.” 

  I didn't expect such a quick answer, and I scrambled to come up with my next inquiry. “What was that like? Coming home when he didn't?” 

  Grandpa sighed and mimicked my pose, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring off down the road. When he spoke his words held a tremble that hadn't been present moments before. “Hardest thing I've ever done, Caleb. But I can't blame it entirely on Bobby’s death. War is never easy. Whether you lose someone close to you or not, you're surrounded by death and destruction. It changes you, and you can't stop it.” 

  Grandpa’s words washed over me and wrapped around me, exactly what I needed to hear that warm, Sunday afternoon. “Why are you telling me this now?” 

  “Because you need to hear it, Caleb,” he replied, his hand appearing on my shoulder. “Your struggle is written all over your face, but it takes someone who's been where you are to understand how you're feeling. If God is telling you to serve your country this way, then he'll give you the courage to do it.” 

  Instead of going to college that fall, I shipped out to boot camp. I've served in the armed forces for nearly a decade now, and at times I've doubted if I would be where I am today without the man who saw my struggles and shared from his own painful memories in order to help me along my journey. 

  Grandpa passed away last autumn. At his funeral, I heard the twenty-one gun salute, I saw the folded flag they handed Grandma. I realized that the man I sat on the front porch with that day so long ago truly was a hero. A hero who honored those who gave even more than he did. 

  And I cried like I've never cried before. 

Coming Home ~ part two {Pinterest Stories: April edition}

And now! I bring to you on this lovely Monday afternoon, the second part of Coming Home!! 

*****

  I passed through the door and wiped my eyes, hurrying on toward the car. Dusk had fallen while I was inside, and I mentally berated myself for leaving the boys alone for so long. How long has it been? Fifteen minutes? 

  Titus voice met my ears before I spotted him. 

  “‘I love you all the way down the lane as far as the river,’ cried Little Nutbrown Hare. ‘I love you across the river and over the hills,’ said Big Nutbrown Hare.” 

  I peeked into the back window of the car and saw Titus, picture book open in his lap, reading aloud to his younger brother. The sighting warmed my heart. 

  Titus looked up when my shadow fell across him, his eyes serious and concerned. I opened the door to be bombarded with questions. 

  “Are you okay, Momma? What happened?” Titus slid out of the car and hugged me. “Why are you crying?” 

  “I'm fine, sweetie.” I bent and kissed his sunny blond towhead. “Everything is okay.” Christopher crawled toward me, and I leaned into the car and scooped him up and onto my hip. He rested his head against my shoulder, reminding me how close it was to bedtime. 

  “There's someone inside who wants to see you.” I closed the car door and grabbed Titus’ hand, starting back towards the house. 

  Titus tugged on my hand and looked up at me, light eyes blinking. “Who is it?” 

  I didn't answer at first, debating over whether or not to try to explain it to him. Will he even know Chris? Christopher squirmed next to me, his breath warm on my neck. I kissed my sweet little boy’s head, wondering how long it would take him to accept Chris as his father. 

  “Momma?” Titus jerked on my hand again as we reached the front door. “Did you hear me?” 

  “I'm sorry, buddy.” I smiled down at him. “Yes, I heard you, and I need to explain something to you.” 

  He eyed me warily. “What's wrong?” 

  “Nothing’s wrong, I just…” I reached out and touched his cheek. “Do you remember when Daddy left before Christopher was born? And then he…he didn't come back?” 

  He nodded slowly, eyes deep with sorrow. “I miss him.” 

  He does remember… Tears stung my eyes and I wrapped my arm around his shoulder, guiding him in the door. “C’mon, buddy.” 

  We stepped into the living room a moment later. At our approach, Chris turned from the window where he must've been watching my interaction with the boys. 

  He cleared his throat and slowly walked toward us, hands at his sides. He glanced at me and then back and forth between the boys. Seeing Christopher nearly asleep on my shoulder, he knelt in front of Titus. 

  “Hey Titus.” Chris smiled, looking into his son’s face. “You probably don't even remember me.” 

  Still holding my fingers, Titus slowly nodded. “I-I do…” he said, chin quivering. “You’re my daddy.” 

  At those words, tears filled my eyes. Thank You, God, for bringing my family back together. Titus released my hand and found his way into Chris’ waiting arms. The little boy didn't say a word, his arms around his father’s neck. 

  Chris looked up at me then, his eyes brimming with tears. Nestling Christopher closer, I smiled and nodded. Yes, this was how things were supposed to be. 

  Within a few moments, Titus hiccuping sobs subsided. Lifting him to his side, Chris stood and moved toward the couch. I followed, skirting around the pile of glass shards he had indeed swept out of the way. 

  Chris sat on the couch with Titus in his lap, and I sank to the cushion next to him. Leaning my head against his shoulder, I squeezed my eyes shut, staying as close to him as possible. 

  Christopher lifted his head from my shoulder at the jostling. “Why Ty crying?” he mumbled. 

  “Titus is okay, sweetie.” I kissed the top of his head, and looked over at my eldest, stilling crying and holding to his father. 

  Christopher sat on my lap, eyeing Chris as if he were a complete stranger. The toddler seemed entirely uneffected by the strange man Titus and I were clinging too. I began to worry how I would explain Chris’ appearance to the toddler. Whenever he'd asked after his father in the past – not often – I'd told him that Daddy went to be with Jesus. But now? It wasn't like I could take those words back. 

  Christopher soon decided that Chris was harmless and settled back against my shoulder, nodding off. Between going to the grocery store and Chris’ appearance, it was long past the boys’ bedtime by then. 

  “Chris?” 

  “Yeah?” 

  “Do you think I should try to explain this to Christopher? I mean, how do I tell him…about you?” 

  Smiling sadly, Chris reached over and slid his finger into Christopher’s grasp. “Maybe we don't need to try to explain things right now. Let's just give it some time. Let him get used to having me around before we try to delve into all the details. He's not used to having a daddy.” 

  “That sounds like a great idea,” I smiled. “And I think he’ll catch on quickly.” 

  I looked over at Titus, snuggled against Chris’ other shoulder, and found him looking back at me. He grinned, an expression so boyish and carefree especially in comparison to his usual solemn eyes. 

  “Momma?” 

  “Yes, Titus.” 

  “I'm hungry.” 

  Laughing, I replied. “We can fix that. C’mon you two.” 

  I set Christopher down and made my way to the kitchen. Chris and Titus went outside and brought in the groceries while I whipped up grilled cheeses for the four of us. The boys clambered up into their seats, Chris taking the fourth chair at the table. I'd never really paid much attention to it until that night, but that extra seat had always been there. Just waiting to be occupied. 

  I brought food to the table and sat the plates in front of them, stopping to kiss Chris’ cheek. He grinned and kissed me back. 

  We sat at the kitchen table and ate grilled cheese sandwiches and milk. All of us, our little family. My heart filled to overflowing. 

*****

  As it turned out, Titus was the one to explain things to his brother. In his grown-up-before-his-time way, with brotherly love, in a kid-language Christopher could grasp. 

  After cleaning up the kitchen, I crept down the hall in search of Chris. I found him at the door to the boys’ room, watching them sleep. 

  I stepped up beside him and leaned my head against his shoulder. He threaded his arm around my waist, nudging me closer. 

  As we watched, out of their sight in the near-darkness, Christopher climbed out of his bed and crossed the strip of carpet to his brother’s bed. 

  “Ty?” He whispered, tapping Titus on the arm. 

  Titus lifted his head. “Yeah?” 

  Christopher squirmed his way up onto his brother’s bed and didn't stop until he was under the quilt. “Ty?” 

  “Huh?” 

  The toddler leaned back agaisnt the pillow, one arm behind his head as if contemplating the greatest questions of mankind. “Who's that man Momma kissed?” 

  Chris’ arm around my shoulders tightened. 

  Titus’ head appeared from underneath the covers. “That's our daddy, Christopher. Didn't you know that?” 

  Christopher continued staring up at the ceiling. “No, it's not.” 

  “Yeah, it is. Why don't you believe me?” 

  “Momma said Daddy went to be with Jesus in Heaven. And she said people don't come back from there. So that can't be him.” 

  Titus raised on his elbows, chin in his hands, and eyed his brother. “Well…maybe she was wrong.” 

  “Momma’s never wrong.” 

  Titus was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “I don't get it either. But it is him, I know it. Don't you want to think that too?” 

  Christopher gave the matter special consideration. I pressed closer the Chris, praying that the boy would answer affirmatively for his sake – for our family’s sake. 

  “Yeah…” Christopher finally admitted. “I like him.” 

  “Good,” Titus nodded as if concluding the conversation. “You wanna sleep with me tonight?” 

  Instead of replying, Christopher scooted down into the bed, grabbing the blanket and yanking it over his head. 

  “I guess that's a yes,” Titus mumbled, and he too dropped his head to the pillow. 

  Within a few moments, the sound of twin deep breaths drifted from the bed in corner. Satisfied they were fast asleep for the night, Chris led me down the hall and into the living room. 

  We sat on the couch, and he took my hands in his. “I'd say it's time you heard the whole story.” 

  I nodded once, knowing these details will be difficult to hear. But I needed to hear, needed to know what he's been through. 

  We talked for hours, not going to bed until well after two o’clock. And at eight thirty the next morning we were pounced on by two pajama-clad boys. But when hearing their laughter and seeing their smiles as they hugged their father, how could I complain? 

  He had come home. 

*****

  A sunny and happy Saturday surrounded us the next morning as I put the car in park in front of my in-law’s house. I turned to face Chris who sat in the backseat next to Christopher’s carseat. 

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

  “Positive.” He began unbuckling Christopher’s restraints, and I turned to hop out of the car. 

  I walked to the other side and opened the back door. Christopher slid out of the carseat and hit the ground running. 

  The boys scampered across the yard and up onto their grandparents’ porch with me not far behind them. 

  I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder to note that Chris had gotten out of the car and now stood around the side of the garage – awaiting his signal. 

  Chris’ mother had came to the door and was about to usher the boys into the house when I reached them. 

  “We have a surprise for you, Maria.” 

  “Oh?” My mother-in-law eyed me suspiciously, before glancing back down at the boys. “Do you two know what your momma is talking about?” 

  “Yes, Nana!!” Titus nodded excitedly. “Daddy is home!” 

  “Daddy?” Maria repeated, eyes wide as she looked to me for an answer. “What is he talking about, Julie?” 

  I smiled. “Titus means exactly what he said.” I stepped to the side, as Chris stepped up on the porch behind me. 

  “Hey, Mom.” 

  “Chris…” She murmured, her gaze becoming distant. Her legs weakened as she began to sink against the door casing. 

  Chris rushed forward and grabbed her before she could hit the floor. Maria didn't fully faint though, more like a swoon I guess you could say. Chris helped her to the bench seat a few yards away. 

  “Mom? Can you hear me?” 

  Titus and Christopher shrank back, their innocent eyes darting back and forth between Chris and their grandmother and me. 

  Maria didn't answer Chris’ insistent questioning, but she reached forward and pressed her hands to his face. “Oh, son…” 

  I pulled the boys to my sides and held them close, watching. Maria hugged Chris, her shoulders convulsing with quiet sobs. Soon Tom, Chris’ father, appeared from around the side of the house and dropped to his knees before his wife and son, joining the happy reunion. 

  I admired the beautiful scene, my heart full. I was honoring the memory of thinking we'd lost Chris, not willing to take him for granted now. I was thankful, so very grateful to God for bringing him back to us and giving our family a second chance. And I was happy. 

  What more could I say? There was heartache, there were tears. But in the end, it was all worth it. The thrill of joy and cheer outweighed the sting of grief and mourning. 

  All was right in my world. 

*****

Before I forget, here's the pin that inspired the story in the first place. ^_^ Obviously, I did some creative tweaking to the original, but still... *nods* Lovely one-sentence-story. :D 

Hope you enjoyed! If all goes well, there will be another 'Pinterest story' appearing on this blog next month. :D 

~Faith 

Do you have an image or writing prompt you would like to see made into a story for this series or an Imagine This challenge? Feel free to send it my way! The link to my Pinterest account can be found under the About Firefly tab, or you can message me through the Blogger contact form at the bottom of this page to obtain my email! :)