It's Sunday Snippet Time!!!

Humble Creek Holler
(WIP)

Beth Zellner

Chapter One

I lingered on the bank of the creek. The cold water slapped the soles of my feet. The ground was cool, too, though the places where the sun kissed me – my shoulders, one knee, an elbow – were warmed and so balanced the chilling effect, and I felt quite comfortable standing there. The birch leaves had yet to fully fill out the spring canopy, and through their patchwork pattern, I could see out across our mountain, many miles distant. Slowly, I inhaled the deep green air.

This was the place I came everyday to draw our water, and I should not have been dawdling. Still, my thoughts hung heavily in the bright spring morning, and I didn’t much feel like returning to our homestead. The watering hole rested upstream of our place, and small bits of the day’s festivities were carried up to me, wafting by on the breeze. I could faintly hear a child’s cry of glee, a parent’s reprimand. I could smell the pig that turned on the spit, and despite my foul mood, my mouth watered at the flavorful scent. I sighed. I hefted up my buckets and began to weave my way back down the well-tramped path to our cabin. My feet, often bare as they were today, knew well the path home, the feel of each pebble under each toe.

I passed beneath the “thinking tree,” the place Daddy would send me or Sis to consider both our childhood indiscretions, as well as our earthly sin. It was an enormous white cedar tree that stood proudly alone in a small clearing between stands of other, less self-assured varieties. Some folks called the cedars the tree of life, and the trees often dotted the landscape within our local cemeteries, intermingled among the squat square tombstones, equal signs of both hope for the departed, and last ditch desperate attempts to make amends.

Mam had no use for Daddy’s tree, however. Sin or the overzealousness of a little girl were both exactly equal reasons for the switch. I had learned – probably somewhere around my fifth or sixth year, as I recall – that the more slender the sapling, the more memorable the punishment. Mam would send us, me or Sis, off to choose our own stick, you see, then apply the necessary punishment. The slightest wisp of a twig could leave a raised welt that prevented sitting, or sitting comfortably, at least. But a more substantial branch provided more wallop. In the end, we discovered, it was really a losing argument either way one went in their choice.

Off in the thick underbrush somewhere behind me, I heard a twig snap. Too loud to be merely a squirrel, or even a deer, yet I thought little of it. I assumed it was Montrose, and continued on. We still thought him to be harmless back then. Folk do love a good story, and there were plenty surrounding Montrose. He had lived here - out here - in the seclusion and wildness for all of my years on earth. Some said he had lost his mind when his mother died and left him an orphan. Others whispered it was the shame of not having a father that drove him finally mad. And there were a scant few who blamed his condition on a woman, some unknown, unnamed vixen who had stolen his heart and possibly his sanity. Somewhere in there truth might be found, or not. But the known facts were simply that one day Montrose arose, like any other seemingly normal day, packed himself a bedroll, and strolled out of his house, never again to know the feel of a soft goose down pillow under his head, or the glow of a welcoming hearth at his feet.

A group of my young cousins, the infinite offspring of my father’s four sisters, played in the side yard. They had, in the center of the group, a chipped yellow pottery bowl full of soapy water. With a small wooden hoop, they made large and small luminescent bubbles, which now floated lazily in all directions, and lended preciousness to the scene. I remembered playing the same game when I had been their age. Percy, one of the especially naughty little boys, ran around with a stick, trying to harpoon as many innocent orbs as he could. A great wail went up from one of the girls, and one of the aunties dispersed the group, rambunctious children running in all directions away from the interloping adult, and reforming in smaller groups at the edge of the lawn. The family gathering had officially begun.

For more from writer Beth Zellner,

Please visit:  http://www.bethnbijoux.blogspot.com/

Snippet Sunday

Here's the first half of the first chapter of my novel in progress, Monticello Mystery.  As the title suggests, Thomas Jefferson, or rather his remains, figure prominently in this novel.

A curious package sat on her desk. Faith's secretary customarily opened her mail for her each day, stamping the date in the upper right hand corner of each piece. However, it was highly unusual for her law firm to receive a box-sized package, let alone one that covered nearly a third of Faith's desk. Because of the unorthodox nature of the package, the secretary had not opened it, rather placing it on Faith's large oak desk, where it sat looming upon her return from lunch.


"Caroline, what's up with this package? Was it delivered by Fed Ex or by regular mail?" Faith questioned, stepping just outside her office threshold so that she could see her secretary.

"Ms. Fisher, it was delivered by a private service with signature required. The sender's name was not listed on the receipt. Were you expecting a package?"

"Nope. I guess I'll just open it, though I'm a little wary with an unexpected package from an unknown sender." Faith stepped back into her brightly lit office, sunshine meandering in, cascading a soft spotlight on the package.

"Since you're hesitant to open it, do you want me to call building security, just to be safe?" Caroline called from her station just outside Faith's office.

"That's not necessary, Caroline. I'm just being paranoid, I think." Faith closed her office door, something she rarely did. She sat down in her brown leather desk chair, leaning back to survey the rectangular box on her desk, which was wrapped in generic brown paper. Faith slid her hands on both sides of the package and lifted slightly, to judge its weight. It was solid and surprisingly heavy. Though no one was watching her, she was embarrassed when the thought crossed her mind that she should probably put her ear to the package to make sure there were no ticking bomb sounds. Standing up, she placed her hands on the sides of the package and bent at the waist, pressing her right ear to the top of the box. She sat back down, satisfied that there was nothing left to do but open it.

Faith Fisher was thrown off by the break from routine. Craving predictability, she had worked at the same law firm and lived in the same house for 15 years. She and her husband, Ross, a science professor at University of Virginia, took the same vacation to Cape Cod each summer. Highly organized, Faith did not like surprises or change. Even at home, Faith paid her bills online the day they arrived in the mail, and laundry was washed, folded and put away three times a week.

She took a rarely-used letter opener from her top desk drawer and slid it through the taped ends of the brown wrapping, careful not to ruin yesterday's french manicure. A shiny wooden box was inside. She grabbed the flaps of the thick outer paper and tipped the package up slightly so that the wooden box would slide out the opposite end. Placing the brown paper on the floor, she began her inspection of the wooden container.

The dark wood gleamed with a high polish. It was well crafted with a silver clasp in the center of one of the long sides. There were no markings or other indications as to the origins of the box or its contents.

Faith flipped the clasp open and slowly lifted the lid upward on its hinges. Peering in, Faith felt her stomach tighten as she realized what was inside. The box was lined with burgundy velvet fabric. The bottom of the container held what appeared to be a variety of bones, some whole and some fragmented. Bones lay one on top of the other, filling the container half full. A pocket was sewn into the short side of the lining. Without reaching into the pocket to grab its contents, Faith pulled the fabric out to peer down inside. There appeared to be three silver fasteners of some type, perhaps buckles.

Her head swam with possible scenarios for the reason a box of bones would be on her desk. Feeling woozy, Faith plopped with a thud into her chair. She began to inventory her list of crazy clients. All attorneys had at least a few clients who were difficult, or quirky, or just plain nuts. Perhaps one of her crazy clients had sent her this box for some reason. Her mind then wandered to her family for possible culprits. Faith had not seen most of her extended family for several years. She could not imagine her parents, sister, or in-laws doing anything this morbid.

On edge, Faith jumped when she heard a light tapping on her door. She did not want anyone entering her office right now, with the pile of what appeared to be human bones on her desk. "Just a minute," was all that Faith could utter. She closed the box and latched it. Feeling warm, she pulled her straight chestnut hair into a low pony tail at the nape of her neck. She walked to the door and opened it a crack. It was Caroline.

"Is everything alright? I mean with the package?" Caroline asked with concern.

"Not really. Would you mind checking to see if Brad Henderson is available, and if so, have him come to my office?"

"No problem, Ms. Fisher. I'll call his secretary right now," Caroline said, heading for her desk.

Faith closed the door and returned to her chair. Brad Henderson was the managing partner of the firm, Barclay and Cahill. He had hired Faith and had also been her mentor as she learned the practice of family law. Brad was the only person in the firm she felt she could trust to share the contents of the package. He had a level head and had never betrayed a confidence. Brad was the glue that held the firm together.

Footsteps echoed on the marble floor outside Faith's office door. A firm knock was followed by Brad's smooth voice. "Faith, it's Brad. May I come in?"

Faith jumped out of her chair and opened her door, taking care not to open it so wide as to let anyone passing by peer in her office. "Thank you for coming so quickly. Come in. You're never going to believe this."

Brad sat in the chair opposite Faith's desk, curiously eying the box. "What's in the box?" he asked.

"First, let me say that I have no idea who this is from. It was delivered over lunch by a private delivery service with no sender name on the receipt. I need for you to come around to my side of the desk so you can see what's inside. I'd tell you, but I think you're just going to have to see it for yourself." Once Brad made his way around to Faith's side of the desk, she stood up, unclasped the latch, and lifted the top. Faith watched Brad's face as he peered in the box. His eyes widened and his jaw fell slack, which was a look she had not witnessed on his face in 15 years of working with him.

"Holy shit. Are those human bones?"

Welcome To "Snippet" Sunday

Each Sunday one member of our group will be posting a little "snippet" of their writing. I am going to launch Snippet Sunday with a copy of the one-page that I prepared for a writer's conference I attended last September.

A one-page is a sheet that you can easily present to an agent or editor that gives a brief summary of your novel. Think of it as what would appear on the back of your book cover.

Healing Springs

To embrace her future Jackie Stevenson must forgive her past. That is, if she can survive it.

Jackie Stevenson is on the run from her abusive ex-husband, a Chicago police officer. Nick will stop at nothing, including murder, in order to find Jackie. Not only did Jackie humiliate him by leaving him, when she left she took with her information that he desperately needs.

When Jackie's car breaks down in the small town of Healing Springs, Virginia, she is immediately welcomed by the town's friendly citizens. One person she wants nothing to do with is Blake Carson. Jackie instinctively knows he's a cop, and to her all cops are dangerous.

Blake is taken instantly with Healing Springs's new arrival. Problem is, Jackie turns down all his attempts to get to know her better. A former police officer, blake is curious to find out just what she may be hiding, so he starts an investigation.

What he uncovers releases a chain of events that could prove deadly for both of them.