KITH AND KIN

My aunt was a brilliant woman, full of wit and good humor. She and I shared many things through the years... our love of family, of good books, art, and music, of nature, and of people. We were the watchers who often communicated without speaking.  A look or a touch of the hand spoke volumes.

Sister, as we called her, was a walker. We took many excursions, she strolling jauntily ahead, me struggling to keep up. Her energy was boundless. One memory that stands out is sitting under a huge tree, watching the leaves blow and the squirrels run. Words were unnecessary.

In looking through the family pictures, I have definite favorites, but the one that brings smiles is Sister in her grandmother's wedding dress, taken when she was eighteen. 

Raised in a small southern town, she had all the advantages her parents could provide. She and my father were close, enjoying times with friends and family. These pictures are of the two of them as young adults, playing off each other with their hats, and later in life, after marriage and family.

Sister attended college in Georgia before moving to Boston, where she met and married the love of her life some years later. When I moved to Virginia in the late sixties, I stayed with her until I began teaching. She and my uncle took me to concerts, lectures, and museums, broadening my horizons. Her presidency of the local women's club provided another level of awareness as I witnessed her in that capacity.

She was a brilliant woman, full of wit and good humor, a touchstone for her family. I am her namesake. She was my aunt, but she was also my friend. 

Thanks, Sister, for the memories.

FRIDAY FEATURE 

CHICANERY

by

Barbara Chioffi

Synopsis 

What finds you in the night?

CHICANERY is a collection of eight horror tales, each with a little bit of deceit and enough of the macabre to have you looking over your shoulder.  

Who knows what awaits us as we go about our daily lives. In these tales, you will find a bit of betrayal, a snippet or two of terror, and a lot of comeuppance. Oh, and a good dose of helpful spirits.

Available at

https://www.amazon.com/Chicanery-Barbara-Chioffi-ebook/dp/B01LW31IFE

Peace, 
Barb

RAMBLINGS FROM BELLADONNA

After dinner, Garrett and I sat on the balcony with more wine. The night was perfect....sky filled with stars, cool breezes, and a view into the woods. I made small talk, waiting for Garrett to initiate the desired conversation. I had dressed for dinner in a white low cut dress with my dyed red hair down around my shoulders and was aware of the appreciative looks but pretended not to notice.

Our chairs were close. Perfume was wafting in his direction, encouraged by my flicking my hair more than was necessary. Hoping his inebriated state kept him oblivious, I put my hand on his arm.

"Garrett, this is so pleasant, just the two of us. H never indulges my romantic side."

A slight smile graced his face and he took my hand in his. I had to concentrate on my objective despite his good looks. Damn, he was handsome.

"Bella, I knew when I met H, he was a controlling man. I hope this doesn't upset you, but I have to admit that the offer to be "his eyes" with regards to you is tempting. He and I have a lot in common... appreciation of a beautiful woman, ambition, and a common ancestry."

My eyebrows shot up. Encouraged by his revelation, I took the naive road, "You're Italian?"

"Yes." He chuckled. "My mother was Irish and I have her coloring. My father... one hundred percent Italian."

That certainly explained the instant rapport between him and H. Taking a large sip of wine, I waited a minute, appearing to consider what he had told me. "I wondered what you two discussed. What have you decided to do with his request?"

He kept my hand in his and held my green eyes with his big baby blues. "Bella, you're a grown woman with your own mind. What you do is your business." Taking a breath, he added, "And to be honest, my interest in you is more than friendly."

Inwardly punching the air, I remained calm, smiling with what I hoped was reserved appreciation. After all, I didn't want to jump him on the spot but wanted the door to be open to all possibilities. "That pleases me, Garrett. Let's give it time, and we'll see where this relationship goes."

The rest of the evening was spent telling family tales and drinking another bottle of wine. When he finally left, we were leaning on each other as I walked him to the door.

The next morning, I sat on my balcony with coffee, remembering what H had asked Garrett to do. Although not explicit, I knew what he had meant. This set my jaw on edge. My first reaction was to tell H what he could do with himself, but I had to consider that I wasn't employed and depended on him for my existence. What I had learned from Garrett, however, set my course for the future.

TO BE CONTINUED...

KITH AND KIN

My great-great-great grandfather was born in North Carolina in 1786. At the age of 20, he moved to South Carolina and was admitted into the Methodist Conference. The following year, he was ordained a Methodist minister.

After his marriage, he moved to Alabama and built a fortified house for himself and his family. The town, named for him, developed over time and was known in its heyday as the "Athens of the South". It had collegiate institutes, finishing schools, a military academy, classic churches and stately homes. In 1854, John Glenn, cousin to James, left to establish a school at Auburn and became its first president of the board of trustees. This school in successive changes became Auburn University. 

Witches

"Rev. Glenn had a full-rounded face, a florid complexion, a voice like a trumpet and 'faculties naturelle of the highest order'. Being an ordained Methodist preacher, he began his search for a congregation. 

 Mr. Glenn made repeated efforts and failed. One of the peculiar notions of the people and the only one on which there appeared to be a uniformity of faith, was the belief in witches. He resolved to take advantage of this fact, and in due time, was heard throughout the settlement, for miles in every direction, by written posters over Mr. Glenn’s own signature, and by public announcement, that he, on a certain day, at a certain hour, at a certain place, would publicly proceed to kill witches.

There was no cabin or other dwelling large enough to hold the crowd, which gathered for the exhibition. His method of killing witches included drawing of a witch’s picture into which he shot golden balls. His pictures included infidelity, drunkenness, and other vices. After that service he could draw a crowd from a twenty-mile radius at any time."

Unfortunate accident

"Mr. Glenn was very much given to walking long distances. It was March, 1851, and he wanted to walk the two miles to the church, give his sermon, and return home. His family persuaded him to ride a gentle old horse.

After the service, he began his journey. As he rode down a steep slope, a hog jumped out from the brush, scaring the horse, which bucked, throwing him against the pommel of the saddle, injuring him so severely that he died several days later."

He was buried in the Glennville cemetery and his wife, who died a few years later, rests beside him. The town he founded disappeared into history a few years after his death. Refusing to allow the railroad to go through brought about its demise. A few of the stately homes are present as museums, and the restored cemetery remains as a reminder of the souls who lived there.

Peace,

Barb

FRIDAY FEATURE

I'd like to welcome

Karen J Mossman

Karen is a writer from North Wales. She lives on the island of Anglesey. Her first book, The Missing, was published in 2014 and since then, she has followed it with two more themed short stories and two romantic suspense novels, Joanna's Journey and The Secret. In 2016, she wrote her first thriller, and it has been well received. She would love some more reviews.

The Truth Will Out will be on special offer 99p/99c in exchange for a review. This offer is only available at https://magicofstories.net/magic-of-stories-book-store/ for the month of February.

 

All her books are also available on Amazon at author.to/KM and iTunes, Kobo, Nook, and Barnes and Noble.

Check out Karen's blog at https://magicofstories.net

RAMBLINGS FROM BELLADONNA

Here I am, a day late, drinking my coffee and remembering my Mr. Hot years. My life definitely took a drastic turn during that time. H, as I'll call him from now on, certainly gave me what I needed... stability...but he also taught me, through his actions, about people in general. Loyalty is a rare trait and something to be treasured.

In the days following the meeting between Garrett and H, I began to suspect there was more to those two than I thought. I'm not the smartest person, but the little imp that sits on my shoulder wouldn't be quiet, so I set out to find the connection.

Inviting Garrett to dinner was easy. His appetite was equal to his good looks,so he readily agreed. Blessed with my mother's cooking savvy, I prepared a delicious dinner, complete with wine and dessert. He was appreciative, complimenting me on my culinary skills, to my delight. He filled his plate several times, drank enough wine to down a rhino, and ate half the dish of tiramisu. Then I proceeded to discover his agenda without revealing my own.

KITH AND KIN

Today, I share a portion of a letter dated 1889 written by my great-great-grandmother, and yes, I have the original in its envelope, as well as others. I treasure these letters that speak of what we would consider mundane things... coach rides to town, Sunday church services, the state of  friends and relatives, and so much more. 

My dear daughter,

It is night, past nine o'clock, and your Pa has just come into his room where he has a good fire. He is all alone with a candle on a little stand and is writing to his sweet child. He got a letter yesterday from Cousin Annie and one from Sister. He was sorry to hear that Aunt Mary is ill and my dear daughter's throat is not yet well.

It has turned cold today, but I have a good piney woods fire to go to bed by. I hope that you also have fire to warm your feet. Little Herndon is down on the hearth keeping me company. He has been at school only four months and reads very well, writes some, and spells wonderfully for his age and time at school.

I'm not much of a walker these days, having broken myself down last summer going up the mountain to your watermelon patch. I would never have gotten to the top if it weren't for you and Alex. He pulled and you pushed and at last I found myself on the top. It was a spectacular view.

I'm getting a little cold and will stop writing for this time. Hoping to hear from you soon. I remain as ever your loving and affectionate...

Mother

Times like these are long gone but the sweetness and simplicity of the words live on.

Peace,

Barb