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    • On the River in the Sun

      Posted at 3:41 pm by writergherlone, on February 18, 2021

      On the River in the Sun

      Story and Art by Kristy Gherlone

      **This story originally appeared in the January 2020 issue of “Scarlet Leaf Review.”

      “Charlie? Time to get up, son.” 

           Pulled from sleep, Charlie stretched and kicked the covers aside. He’d been in the middle of a dream. He’d been digging through the ice cream chest at the corner store up the road from his grandpa’s cottage, trying to decide between a Klondike or a Snickers bar.‘Take ‘em both if you’d like. A little ice cream on a hot day never killed anyone,’ his grandfather had chuckled. ‘You’re gonna need some fuel to catch those trout’. Charlie was still smiling when he opened his eyes and looked up. 

           “Did you hear me?” his father asked, switching on the light. He was wearing his suit and tie.

           “I heard,” Charlie answered back. He sat up and yawned. Fully roused, the events of the day before came rushing back. It made his chest feel heavy, as if someone was squeezing it. His grandfather wasn’t at the cottage. He was laying as still as a sunning turtle in a wood box under the ground.

           “I have to go into the office,” his father said. “Your mother’s getting your breakfast ready. She’s going to drop you off at school and then go and sit with your Aunt June.”

           Charlie flopped back down, grabbed the covers, and pulled them up over his head. “You said you had the whole day off ‘cause of what happened,” he whined. “You said I didn’t have to go to school.”

           “I know and I’m sorry. Things didn’t work out like I planned. Besides, I think it’s best if everyone just gets back to normal. There’s no sense in sitting around moping. You’ll feel better once you see your friends. You’ll see,” he said before breezing out. 

           Charlie threw the covers back off. “Dad,” he called.

           “Yeah?” his father answered.

           “How long is Grandpa planning on being dead for?”

           Charlie’s father sighed. He came back into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “I thought we talked about this. You’re eight now. You’re old enough to understand about death.” 

           Charlie understood about death. He didn’t know why he’d asked such a dumb question. He figured it was because he wanted his father to say something; something that would make everything alright.

           “Dead is forever,” his father said. He brushed the hair out of Charlie’s eyes. “Remember when Copper died? Do you remember what we told you?”

           Charlie nodded

           “Well, it’s the same thing with grandpa. He’s in a better place now.”

           “With Copper?” Charlie asked. 

           “Maybe,” his father shrugged.

           Charlie pulled the blanket back up over his head. It wasn’t possible there was a place better for his grandpa than the cottage. There might be somewhere better for a dog, but people were different. 

           “Listen, I have to get going,” his father said, getting up. “If you have any more questions, I’m sure your mom can help you out. I’m late.”

           “But what if Grandpa gets to that place, wherever it is, and doesn’t like it?” 

           “He can’t come back, Charlie,” his father said, his voice firm. “It’s not possible. I know it’s hard, but that’s just the way it is.”

           “But summer’s starting in a couple of weeks. Who’s going to watch me? Who’s going to take me to the cottage?” 

           “Let’s not worry about that right now. We’ll figure something out. Now hurry up, okay? Your mom’s waiting.” 

            Charlie got up and plodded towards the bathroom. His parents were talking down in the kitchen. 

          “I can’t believe you’re going in to work so soon after your father’s funeral,” Charlie’s mother said. “I know you two didn’t see eye to eye, but it just doesn’t seem right. I mean, what about Charlie? Your father may have been a thorn in your side, but Charlie loved him very much. He needs you right now.”

          “Shhh,” his father said. “He’ll hear you.”

           Charlie crept over to the top of the stairs to listen, even though he wasn’t supposed to eavesdrop.

          “Well, I just can’t believe it,” his mother said, lowering her voice.

          “Why?” his father asked. “He would have done the same thing. The man didn’t take a day off from work in forty years.” 

          “But it’s your father,” she said. “And now I’m the one who has to go and comfort your sister all day.”

          “Then don’t go! I don’t know why she’s so bent out of shape anyway. He treated her the same way he treated me. He was barely even around when we were growing up and when he was, he ignored us. The only thing that man ever cared about was work.” 

          “That’s not true,” Charlie’s mother said. “He cared about Charlie.”

          “Well it was true for me!” Charlie’s father boomed, then lowered his voice again. “I’m glad he cared about Charlie. I’m glad he took an interest. I just wish…,” he started, but didn’t finish.

          “Wish what?” his mother prodded.

          “I just wish he’d shown me the same affection when I was Charlie’s age.”

          “I wish he had too, Ben, for your sake, but don’t you think he made up for it a little with Charlie? He did us a pretty big favor by watching him, so we didn’t have to pay for a sitter. Charlie learned a lot from him. Don’t you think we owe him a little something for that at least?”

          “I don’t owe him anything.” 

           There was a long silence before his mother spoke again. 

          “Well, I still think you should be the one to go to your sister’s,” she said. “You two need to discuss what’s going to happen to his estate.”

          “There’s nothing to discuss. Everything will be sold, and the proceeds will be split in half.”

          “What about the cottage?” she asked.

           Charlie stopped breathing. His heart thudded inside of his chest as he waited to hear his father’s answer.

          “Well?” his mother asked again.

          “I guess it will be sold.”

          “No!” Charlie cried. 

           “Charlie?” his mom called. “Is that you?”

           Charlie dashed into the bathroom. Hot tears stung his eyes. His father couldn’t sell the cottage! He just couldn’t! 

           “Your breakfast is getting cold,” she said.

           Charlie didn’t care about stupid breakfast. “I’m not hungry,” he answered grumpily.

           “Your mother cooked you a nice breakfast, so you get down here. Now!” his father said.

           Charlie pouted. He blew his nose and went down to the kitchen, where he sat with a slump at the table.

           “Morning, sweetheart,” his mother said brightly. She smiled, kissed him on the cheek, and set a plate of pancakes in front of him.

           “I’ve got to go,” Charlie’s father said, checking his watch. “Try to have a good day.” He reached down to ruffle Charlie’s hair, but Charlie pulled away. His father frowned. “Maybe we can throw the ball around when I get home. Wouldn’t that be fun?” 

           Charlie didn’t answer. He wasn’t talking to his father.

           “Well, see you later, Champ,” his father said. “I’ll try to come home early,” he added before rushing out. Charlie scowled. His father wouldn’t come home early. He never did. 

           Charlie waited for his father’s car to pull out of the driveway before asking, “Why didn’t Daddy like Grandpa?”

           Charlie’s mother stopped washing dishes. “Oh honey, he loved your grandpa. What would make you ask such a thing?” she asked. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and went over to sit with him.

           “I don’t know,” Charlie answered, pushing the food around on his plate. “It’s just that he never came up to the cottage. All the time we were up there, he never came. Not for fishing, not for a barbecue, not for anything.”

           “Your dad’s a busy man, Charlie,” she said, coming to his defense. “He has an important job.”

           “But Grandpa told me that Daddy had a lot of fun at the cottage when he was little. He said he never wanted to leave. If he loved the cottage so much, then he must have stayed away because of Grandpa,” Charlie surmised. “Or maybe he didn’t come because he didn’t want to spend time with me,” he added, though it pained him. 

           “That’s just not true!”  his mother cried. “Daddy loves you very much. He just has a lot of responsibilities. I’m sure he would have gone if he’d found the time.”

           “Well, I’m never going to be too busy to go the cottage,” Charlie said, fixing his jaw. 

           “Charlie…” his mother started softly, reaching for his hand. 

           Charlie snatched it away. “Well, I won’t! And I’m not going to change either! I’ll always want to go. And if you let Daddy sell it, I’m never speaking to you guys again! You just wait and see if it’s true!”  he said. He jumped up and ran to his room.

             Charlie’s parents didn’t talk about selling the cottage again for a while. He hoped it meant that his father had changed his mind, but when school let out, instead of spending the first week of summer vacation swimming and fishing at the cottage, Charlie went to his Aunt June’s. The city was hot in the summertime, and her backyard was an oven in the afternoon heat. She didn’t like to go to the town pool, or to the park, or much of anything that had to do with the outside. 

           Charlie kept thinking about Grandpa and the cottage. He worried about the fish and the chipmunks. He and his grandpa always brought food to feed the creatures. What would happen when there was no one there to feed them? Would they starve? 

           Charlie’s Aunt June drove him home on Friday afternoon. When they got to the house, Charlie’s father was hooking a trailer to their van and his mother was loading suitcases into the back seat. Charlie hopped out of the car. “Are we going somewhere?” he asked. 

          “Yes,” his mother answered. “We’re going up to the cottage this weekend.”

           “Yippee!” Charlie screeched, leaping into the air.

           “Don’t get too excited,” his father cautioned. “We’re only going to gather some of your grandpa’s personal things and to clean the place up a bit so we can list it with a realtor.”

           Charlie’s heart sank. His father had made his decision. The cottage would be sold. Soon, it would be gone forever, just like his grandpa. 

           “If you’d rather stay here, with Aunt June,” Charlie’s father offered, “no one will blame you. There’s a lot of work to do up there. I won’t have much time to spend with you.”

           “I think he should go. It might be good for him,” his mother said, cutting in. “He has a lot of memories there. He might want to see it one last time.”

           “I suppose,” his father shrugged. 

           “What do you think, Sweetheart?” his mother asked him.

          “I want to go,” Charlie decided. It would be hard when it was time to say goodbye, but at least he’d have one last weekend of fun.

          Charlie’s father smiled. “I think that’s a good idea,” he said. “In time, you’ll understand why we couldn’t keep it,” he added, but Charlie knew he wouldn’t understand if he lived to be a million years old. 

           Charlie went into the house to gather some things for the trip. He stopped by the kitchen to fill his pockets with peanuts and crackers. He hoped it was enough to satisfy the fish and chipmunks for a long time.

             Outside, Charlie’s father honked the horn. “Come on you guys! Time’s wasting. We’ve got to get going if we’re going to beat traffic,” he hollered.

           Charlie ran out and got into the back seat of the van. His stomach flipped and flopped. He felt all churned up inside, like his happy and sad parts were fighting with each other.

           Charlie’s mother came out last, juggling a pile of boxes. “Thanks for the help,” she muttered. She tossed them into the trailer and got in next to Charlie’s father. “Do you think we’ll need more?” she asked, but he didn’t hear her. He was talking on his phone about work stuff.  

           “What did you say, Beth?” Charlie’s father asked finally, after he’d hung up.

           “I asked if you think we’ll need more boxes.”

           “If we do, I’m sure there will be places to get some. I don’t know what’s around. I haven’t been up there in years, but there’s bound to be a shopping plaza or something.”

           Charlie turned his attention out the window as they started along. He liked to watch the city get smaller and smaller until it turned into forest. His grandpa used to tell him that there was an invisible fence to keep the city from spilling over and messing up the woods. Green hills lay before them. The car climbed, winding its way up the highway. Charlie watched for the familiar lakes and streams before they disappeared on the descent.

           “This scenery is gorgeous,” Charlie’s mother remarked. “Isn’t it gorgeous? Just look at those valleys!”

           “The glaciers left those holes when the ice melted away,” Charlie said.

           “Well, isn’t that something,” Charlie’s mother said. “I bet your grandpa told you that. He was a very smart man.” 

           Charlie was about to say that he was; that he was the smartest man he knew, but his father’s phone rang.  “Quiet! I need to take this,” he said. He answered and talked on and on about more work things that Charlie didn’t pay attention to. 

           When they reached their exit, Charlie’s father got off the phone. He turned off the main highway and onto the long, country road that ran through the town near the cottage. Charlie spotted the store that he and his grandpa used to go to. He wanted to ask his father to stop in for ice cream, but decided against it. 

           Finally, they came to the fire road that went down to the lake. Pine branches scraped against the side of their van, screeching and scratching as they went along the narrow dirt road. “Well, the road’s still the same,” Charlie’s father grumbled. “You’d think after all this time, they’d have widened it a little.”

           “Oh, that’s all we need are more scratches on this car!” Charlie’s mother tsked.

           “I’m not sure if I remember which driveway is ours,” Charlie’s father said, slowing. “There’s a lot more cottages than there used to be.” 

           “I know which one it is,” Charlie said with confidence. “It’s the next one, right up there.” 

           Charlie’s father turned into the driveway and stopped. Charlie threw the door open and jumped out. He bolted down to the pond, grabbed a handful of pebbles, and threw them into the water. Sunfish darted out from underneath the lily pads and pecked at them, thinking it food. “The fish are still here!” he laughed.  

           “You be careful, Charlie!” his mother warned, as she got out of the car.  

           Charlie’s father got out too, and stretched. “Smell that air!” he said, taking in a deep breath. “I’d forgotten how clean it smells up here. It’s like we’re a million miles from the city and it’s really not that far away.” 

           “It’s pretty,” Charlie’s mother said. “And so quiet. I can see why Charlie’s so fond of it.”

           Charlie’s father joined him at the edge of the pond. Startled by the sudden movement, the sunfish scattered, but it wasn’t long before they made their way back. “Boy oh boy, are those fish still hanging around?” he chuckled. “They were here when I was kid. I used to feed them bread crusts.”

           “I know. Grandpa told me,” Charlie said. “He said you used to stand in the water and let them bite your toes.”

           “That’s right! I did. I’d forgotten all about that,” he said, then grew quiet as he gazed out over the water. His smile faded. “I used to spend a lot of time down here, Charlie. A lot of time,” he said finally. 

           “We could go fishing, if you want,” Charlie offered after a while.

           His father shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “I wish I could, but I have too many things to do,” he said. 

           Charlie stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry.

           “I warned you it wouldn’t be much fun,” his father said and took his phone out of his pocket.

           Charlie sighed and kicked at the sand. “Can we go later?”

           “Shush. Not now, Charlie,” his father said, putting the phone to his ear. After a moment, he lowered it again and inspected the screen. “I don’t seem to have any service out here. Honey? Is your phone working?”

           “Lord, I don’t know!” she huffed, spitting bangs out of her face as she carried an arm load of boxes. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

            “Hmmm…” Charlie’s father frowned. He zig-zagged around the yard, holding the phone over his head as he searched for a signal. Unable to find a connection, he scowled and shoved the phone back into his pocket. “What were you saying, Charlie?” 

           “I asked if we could go later?”

           “Like I told you before, we came to get things in order, not to play. Besides, I don’t even have a fishing pole.”

           “Yes, you do,” Charlie said. “It’s right inside. It’s the one you had when you were little.”

           “What?” his father croaked in surprise. “That old thing is still here?”

           “Uh huh. Grandpa said he was saving it for when you came back. He saved your tackle box too.”

            “Well how about that,” Charlie’s father said.

           “So, can we go?” 

            His father cleared his throat. “You go on ahead,” he said. “Maybe I’ll come down in a little while.”

           “But there’s only junk fish out here,” Charlie persisted, motioning towards the lake. “Just a lot of suckers and yellow perch. We need to go down to the river if we want to catch any good ones.”

           “Grandpa took you to the river?” 

           Charlie nodded. “All the time.”

           “Well I’ll be,” his father uttered with a snort. “I used to beg and beg him to take me, but he was usually too busy.” Just then, his phone began to ring. He snatched it out of his pocket and answered. “Hello? Oh, hey Tom,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I’ve been trying to call you. The service here is terrible.”

           Charlie sighed and wandered back down to the lake. He hopped up onto the wharf, took his shoes off, and stuck his feet into the cold water, just like he and his grandpa used to do. He shivered, though the sun beat down hot on his back. He felt a pang thinking about how cold and dark it was where his grandpa’s body rested. He peered up at the sky and wondered about the place up there, where his grandpa’s spirit was supposed to be. Did it have a lake or a sun? Did it have ice cream or peanuts? He wanted to ask his father more about it, but he would be mad if Charlie interrupted him. 

           A fish swam up and pecked at Charlie’s toe. He dug a cracker out of his pocket, which by then was more crumbs than cracker, and threw the pieces in. He watched as the fish fought over the food. “You guys are going to have to find something else to eat now,” Charlie told them sadly.

           “Charlie? Ben?” Charlie’s mother called, sticking her head out the screened door. “I made you guys some sandwiches. Are you hungry?”

           “I guess,” Charlie said. He got up and scanned the yard for his father, but he was still on the phone. He picked up his shoes and went inside without him.

            The cottage still smelled like his grandpa. Charlie’s chest felt heavy again as he glanced around. The newspaper his grandpa had been reading the last time they’d come was still laying in the seat of his recliner. His flannel shirt hung over the back. The puzzle they had been working on was half-finished on the coffee table. Charlie’s eyes filled with tears. It hurt down deep inside. He wished like anything that his grandpa would pop out and tell him he was only kidding about being dead. 

           Charlie’s mom came up behind him and laid a hand on his head. “I’m so sorry, sweetie pie. You must be missing him awful bad,” she lamented, leaning down to plant a kiss on his nose.

           Charlie made a face, wiped the kiss off, and ducked out of reach. He didn’t want her to see him cry. “Dad said he might take me fishing later,” he said, changing the subject.

           “That’s great! I guess you better go on and eat then,” she said.

           Charlie had his sandwich alone at the table, while his mother poked around in the cupboards. He’d just finished eating when his father came in. 

           “It’s so nice up here,” Charlie’s mother remarked with a smile. “You never told me how lovely it was. And so peaceful. You know, this is the closest we’ve come to a vacation in years?”

           “It is nice,” Charlie’s father agreed as he gazed out the window. “I’d forgotten how nice,” he added quietly.

            Charlie’s mother yawned. “Well, I’m going to sit and rest for a while,” she decided. “I’m done in. I think I’ll start that book I brought to read. Why don’t you two go off and do something.” she suggested, giving Charlie’s father a wink.

           “I don’t know,” he said, surveying the clutter in the kitchen. “I should start going through some of this stuff.” 

           Charlie’s mother shot him a look. It was the look she gave when she didn’t want to argue but had something to say. 

           “Well,” he relented. “Charlie did mention that he wanted to go fishing.” 

           Charlie jumped out of his chair so fast, it nearly toppled over.

           “Just for a little while, though,” his father said. “What do you say, champ? Want to show me where that old pole of mine is?”

           Charlie ran into the living room and pulled his father’s fishing pole out of the corner. “Here it is. See? Right where you left it,” he said, thrusting it towards his father. “And your tackle box is over by the door.”

           Charlies father took the pole and checked it over. “Man, oh man. I haven’t seen this pole in years. It still looks the same! I hope it works as good as it used to.”

           Charlie snatched his own pole and followed his father toward the door. He hopped around impatiently while his father inspected the contents of his tackle box. 

           “Some if this stuff is probably antique, by now,” his father teased as he sorted through the lures.

           “Everything’s still good,” Charlie assured him. “Can we go now?”

           “Well, these hooks will probably disintegrate as soon as I cast them into the water,” his father said with a frown, “but I guess they’ll have to do.”

           Charlie followed his father outside and together they walked down the trail to the river. Charlie took a few of the nuts out of his pocket and dropped them on the ground for the chipmunks. 

           “You know, when I was your age, I caught the biggest fish of my life down at the river,” Charlie’s father said.

           “I know,” Charlie said. “Grandpa told me. He even showed me a picture. He said it was one of the best days he ever had.”

           Charlie’s father stopped walking and looked at him “He really said that?”

           Charlie nodded.

           “Huh,” Charlie’s father said. “I’m surprised he even remembered that day.”

           “Grandpa remembered lots of stories from when you were little. And you know what? Every time he told me one it kind of felt like you were here.”

            Charlie’s father fixed his jaw. “I’m surprised grandpa had so many stories to tell,” he said, bitterly. “I know he was great with you, but it wasn’t like that for me.”

           Charlie found a loose stone on the trail and kicked it. 

           “I’m sorry,” Charlie’s father said. “I know you loved him very much. It wasn’t right of me to say that.”

           “It’s okay,” Charlie said, even though it wasn’t. He didn’t like knowing that his grandpa made his father feel as sad as Charlie did sometimes. “I loved grandpa, but I love you too. I’m glad we’re going fishing.”

           Charlie’s father smiled. “I’m glad, too.”

           The thundering of the river began to sound through the trees. They were close. Charlie ran ahead. He had a surprise for his father.

           “Wait up, Charlie!” his father said, running after him. “That water is dangerous,” he cautioned.

           Charlie got to the river first and stood in front of the bench his grandfather had placed on the bank. When his father rounded the corner, out of breath, Charlie jumped aside.  “Tada!”

           “What’s this?” his father asked.

           “It’s a bench. Grandpa built it for us. It’s for sitting in the sun while we fish. Look at what he wrote,” he said, pointing to the carving along the back. 

           “‘For Benjamin,’” Charlie’s father began. “’For all the times I wish we’d come but didn’t. For all the….’” His voice cracked. His face crumpled. He turned away from Charlie, his shoulders shaking as he wept.

           Charlie didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen his father cry before. He went to him and wrapped his arms around his waist. “I thought the bench would make you happy.”

           “It does,” his father said, wiping at his tears. “I’m not crying because of that. I’m crying because I have been a fool. I’m so sorry I never came up here with you and grandpa. At first, it was because I was stubborn, then I just got so busy with work, I forgot how much I was missing out on. I bet you’ve been missing me, just like I missed him all those years and I’m sorry for that, too. Can you ever forgive me?”

           Charlie hugged his father tighter. “I have been missing you,” he said. “But I’m happy you’re here now. Do you want meto read the bench?” he asked.

           Charlie’s father nodded.

           “For Benjamin,” Charlie began, proudly. “For all the times I wish we’d come but didn’t. For all the times you can make up for it with Charlie.”

           Charlie’s father scooped him up and gave him a kiss. “I guess I’ve made some mistakes.”

           “Grandpa told me that he made some too, but that it’s never too late to fix a mistake, until it is.”

           “Your Grandpa was a very smart man,” Charlie’s father said, smiling through his tears. Just then, his phone began to ring. He took it out of his pocket. Charlie thought he’d answer it, but instead, he shut it off, and put in back into his pocket.  

           “Almost as smart as you,” Charlie said.

           Charlie’s father laughed. “Well, let’s hook us some fish and then we’ll go back and tell your mother that we’ve decided to keep the cottage. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

      **No part of this story may be copied or reproduced with consent from the author.

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childhood, family, familyfriendly, fiction, grief, loss, parents, relationships, shortstory
    • English Tea and Crawdads

      Posted at 3:15 pm by writergherlone, on February 6, 2020

      IMG_7369

      English Tea and Crawdads

      Story and Art by Kristy Gherlone

       

       

       

       

       

      Old Felix Hicks caught the biggest fish of his life the day he died. He’d been teetering on the bow of his rickety boat in middle of the Mississippi, reeling like mad and grinning like a fool as he fought with it, trying to keep its muddy green head above the surface. “Whoo-wee,” he whistled when he finally wrestled it in. “You sure are a big ole sucker! Gonna have myself a feed tonight,” he said as he patted his belly. He was always hungry, and the fish would make a fine meal.

      When he leaned down to take out the hook, the fish jumped up and walloped him right in the jaw. Felix’s prized gold tooth came loose and went flying. “Nooo!” he cried, batting at the air as he tried to capture it. He needed that tooth to woo the ladies! His looks weren’t much to speak of, but they sure went crazy over that tooth. It was the reason Rosalyn Davies agreed to marry him.

      He might have caught it if the boat hadn’t sprung a leak. It filled with water, tipped, and spilled him into the river. “Gall dang it,” he spat, slapping weeds off his head. “My tooth!” he wailed as he watched it sink into the depths. He dove under to search for it, but it was no use. His tooth was lost among a maze of boulders and rotting pulp wood. When he came back up again, he found himself in the middle of a nest of Cottonmouths. “Welp, that’s that,” he sighed as the snakes hissed and snapped. “I guess this is how I go.”

      And that was how he went. The fish, however, got away.

      Four thousand miles away and across the ocean, William Whitby and Lorelei Addington-Whitby were at the hospital waiting on their first child: a son they intended to name Charles. Lorelei, a snobby, proper woman of distant nobility, gave one last gentle push so as not to exert herself, and out came Charles. The doctor examined him.  “This is quite unusual,” he said.

      “Oh, dear,” Lorelei said, arranging herself into a more ladylike position. “Is something the matter?”

      “No, I don’t think so. It’s just this birthmark here on his neck,” he said, “See?” He lowered the child for his parents to inspect. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

      “They appear to be fang marks,” William said, furrowing his brow.

      “Hmm,” Lorelei frowned. “Well, he’s certainly not much to look at, but he’ll do. He is half-Addington, so I’m positive he will turn out fine and proper. Let me hold him.”

      The doctor wrapped Charles in a blanket and handed him to Lorelei. She put her nose to his head. “He smells like a mud puddle,” she grimaced. “And what, pray tell, is this?” she asked, picking a shiny fleck from his cheek.

      “Well, I’ll be,” the doctor said, scratching at his head. “It looks like a fish scale.”

       

      William and Lorelei took Charles home to their house on the hill; an inherited estate built with old money, and did their very best to raise him in a manner befitting an Addington. However, as Charles grew, Lorelei and William found their hands quite full raising him.

      Charles did not learn to talk like an Addington, nor a Whitby.

      “Can you say, ‘Mummy,’” Lorelei coached. “Come on now. Say ‘Mummy,’”

      “Maw.” Charles grinned, trying out the word.

      “Hmm.” Lorelei frowned.

      “Say, ‘Daddy,’” William urged with confidence.

      “Paw,” Charles said.

      “He must take after your side of the family,” Lorelei sniffed.

      Lorelei’s mother, who happened to be visiting, said, “you’re both doing it incorrectly. Let me show you.” She got down on the floor in front of Charles. “Say ‘Grand-ma-ma’ and I’ll buy you a pony,” she crooned.

      “Me-maw,” Charles said.

      “Oh dear,” Lorelei’s mother gasped. “Are you certain he’s an Addington? He doesn’t look like an Addington, and I’m quite positive he doesn’t talk like one.”

      “Of course, I’m sure,” Lorelei cried.

      “Great-great grandfather Addington,” Lorelei’s mother said, rolling her r’s regally, “was a noble, you know. He was the Duke of Oxford. He would never have said anything as distasteful as …” she paused, her face souring, “Me-maw.”

      Lorelei had never met her great-great grandfather, but she was sure that was true.  “I think there’s something wrong with him,” she said.

      “Not to worry, my darlings. He is half-Addington,” William mocked, rolling his eyes. “He’ll be talking circles ‘round us in no time.” It turned out, he was right. And they didn’t have to wait very long.

      “Oh look, William,” Lorelei said during an afternoon stroll. “There’s a goose in Hampstead Pond. How lovely. Charles, can you say, ‘See the goose’?” she prompted.

      Charles peered into the water, and then back at his mother.

      She tried again, “Say, ‘See the goose.’ Come on, now. I know you can do it. ‘See the goose,” she said, louder.

      Charles laughed. “Aw, shucks, Maw, that ain’t no goose,” he said. “That there’s a Shitpoke.”

      “Well, there we are now, my dear,” William lifted his chin with pride. “His first sentence. I told you he’d come ‘round.”

      “Oh, good heavens,” Lorelei cried. She hurried Charles back into his pram and shoved a biscuit in his mouth. “For pity sakes, don’t say anything else until we get home,” she told him.

      Charles took the biscuit out of his mouth and dangled it from the carriage. It caught the attention of a hungry squirrel. When it scurried over to take a sniff, Charles grabbed it by the neck and hauled it into the carriage. He stuffed the tail into his mouth and chewed on that instead.

      Lorelei clutched her chest, batted at the squirrel, and shooed it away. “An Addington would never do such a vile thing. I must be doing something wrong,” she cried.  “I will simply just have to try harder,” she vowed.

       

      Lorelei dressed Charles in rompers and bow ties.

      She took him to afternoon tea. “Remember to sit up straight and say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’,” she reminded him.

      “One lump or two?” The waitress asked, balancing a tray of fine china.

      “I reckon a tall glass of sweet tea and a heap ‘a corn bread ought to do the trick,” Charles said, patting his belly.

      “A what?” the waitress gaped.

      Charles reached over and pinched her behind.

      “Well, I never,” she huffed, hurrying away.

       

      Lorelei enrolled him in preparatory school and sent him to violin lessons.

      “Don’t you have ‘somethin I can stamp my feet to?” Charles asked after hearing the teacher play.

      “A violinist,” the instructor said, “does not ‘stamp’ anything.”

       

      Lorelei took him to museums and to Buckingham Palace, but it seemed that no matter what she tried, Charles would not act like an Addington.

      He wanted biscuits instead of crumpets and hid kidney pie in his socks.

      He preferred checkers to chess and refused to play rugby.

      “I do agree that it’s troubling, but don’t worry, my dear. He’ll come ‘round,” William said.

      “I certainly hope so,” Lorelei said.

      She hired a tutor and sent him to private school.

      “Charles, what is two times four?” the teacher asked, writing the equation on the board.

      “I figure a two by four is a good piece of lumber,” he answered.

      And while his peers joined the math league and delighted in cross country, Charles preferred fishing.

      Lorelei could barely get him out of the river and into the house long enough to even take a bath. “Come out of that filthy water at once,” she’d protest.

      “Let me be, woman,” he’d said. “I’m catching some supper.”

      “You’re not acting very much like an Addington. I doubt anyone in our family would ever do anything so atrocious,” she said.

      “Oh, I don’t care what a stupid old Addington would do,” Charles would sass. “I like fishing pretty near more’n anything.” He felt at home in the water, where the mud squished between his toes, and the mysteries of river were revealed with each reel of his line.

      As time passed, he felt more and more as though didn’t fit in in England any more than he fit in with the Addingtons. He was different on the inside and the out, but it didn’t bother him a much as it did his mother.

      “I just don’t know what to do with you,” Lorelei would cry.

      As time went on, she and Charles grew more distant. She loved him, but she didn’t understand him and he didn’t understand why acting a certain way was so important to her. They battled constantly about what Charles ought to be doing, and how he should behave. In the end, he was who he was. Much to Lorelei’s dismay, when he graduated from high school, he decided on trade school instead of college.

      “Trade schools are for commoners,” Lorelei protested. “An Addington would never learn a trade of any sort. Wouldn’t you rather go into finance or commerce or join the royal army?”

      “Nope. I want to build boats,” Charles said, and that’s just what he learned to do.

      Lorelei and William saw their son less and less and eventually, he moved to the United States and settled near the Mississippi River. He started his own canoe business and fished every chance he got. For the first time in his life, he felt like he fit in. He missed his parents, but it was nice not having anyone around to point out that he wasn’t acting like an Addington. For once, he could just be himself.

      Lorelei was beside herself. Despite their differences, she missed her son very much. She finally realized how wrong she’d been. What good was having a noble family if, in the end, you ended up with no family? “I’ve failed as a mother,” she sobbed to her mother.

      “Oh dear,” her mother said. “You haven’t failed. I have. There’s something I need to tell you.”

       

      Lorelei and William made the long journey to visit their son.

      When they got there, Lorelei jumped out of the car and ran to hug her son.

      “Hi, Maw,” he smiled.

      “Good heavens,” she cried. “What happened to your tooth?”

      “Oh, I knocked it out cutting down a tree,” he said, looking embarrassed. “I know, I know. I don’t look like an Addington,” he said.

      Lorelei was sheepish, “Let’s not worry about that right now. I want to know how you’re doing. Are you getting on okay?” she asked, looking him over.

      “I guess I’m all right,” Charles said. “I don’t live like nobility, but I’m happy enough.”

      Lorelei smiled. “That’s the most important thing.”

      “Have you found a young lady to settle with?” his father asked, cutting in.

      “Nah,” Charles said.  “The girls don’t like me on account of my looks. I chase ‘em, but I ain’t caught one yet.”

      “Nonsense,” Lorelei said, kissing his cheek. “I think you’re quite handsome.”

      “Indeed. Takes right after the Whitby’s,” his father said proudly, straightening his collar.

      Lorelei cleared her throat. “I wanted to give you this,” she said, handing Charles a photograph album.

      “What is it?” he asked.

      “Pictures of your great-great-great grandfather. I thought you might like to see them.”

      “No, thanks,” Charles said, handing it back. “I know I’m a disappointment to you. I’m sure he’s fine and proper ‘n all that, but the truth is, I ain’t like him and I don’t care to be.”

      “Please,” Lorelei urged, quietly, “just have a look.”

      Charles sighed. Reluctantly, he accepted the album, and opened the cover. On the first page, there was a picture of a man standing by the edge of a creek, holding a long string of fish. As he flipped through the book, there were several other pictures of the same man. There was one of him frying crawdads, one of him dancing while someone played the fiddle, and one of him kissing a pretty young lady.

      “I don’t get it,” Charles said, scratching his head. “You sure this is my pappy? He don’t look like a duke at all.”

      Lorelei smiled. “That’s because he wasn’t.”

      “So, we ain’t noble?” Charles asked.

      “Not even a little bit,” Lorelei said. “You see, during the summer of 1888, your great-great- great grandmother, Rosalyn Davies, went on holiday to America and met a man. She fell in love, and became pregnant, which was quite scandalous, even though they intended to marry. Since she needed her parent’s permission, she had to take the boat back to England to get it. She knew her parents would be furious, and she was afraid they would send her away, so she told them that the father of her baby was the “Duke of Oxford.”

      “So, she lied?” Charles asked.

      “Technically, it wasn’t a lie. See here,” Lorelei said, pointing to the last picture. “Look at the handwriting underneath.”

      Charles read it aloud. “‘Felix “Duke” Hicks. Summer 1888.’”

      “That’s right.  Your great-great-great grandfather’s name was Felix, but everyone called him Duke. It turns out we’re not Addingtons at all. We’re Hicks! Your great-great-great grandfather was from Oxford, Mississippi, not Oxford, England.

      “Well, what do you know about that?” Charles grinned. “That’s just where I live.”

      “Yes,” Lorelei said, “and there’s more. Apparently, Rosalyn’s parents were so thrilled with the prospects of having nobility in the family, they gave her permission to marry. Tragically, however, before your grandmother could make it back to America, she received word that your grandfather had died. His boat sank, and it’s assumed that he drowned while fishing on the Mississippi River. Your grandmother ended up marrying someone else, and her new husband, John Addington, insisted that the baby take his name. However, it didn’t stop her parents from telling everyone that your great-great-great grandfather had been a duke. Over time, people just naturally assumed it was on the Addington’s side. No one knew the difference, until your grandmother came across Rosalyn’s diaries tucked away in a safety deposit box a few months ago.”

      “So,” Charles said, “I guess I’m more like my great-great-great grandfather than you thought.”

      Lorelei nodded, then began to cry.

      “I’m sorry we ain’t noble,” Charles said, feeling bad for his mother.

      “I’m not crying about that,” she sniffled. “I’m just so sorry for trying to make you into something you were not. I have been such a fool. Can you ever forgive me?”

      “Course I can,” Charles said. “As long as you don’t mind that I fish, and drink sweet tea, and like building boats and such.”

      “I don’t mind at all,” Lorelei said, wiping her tears. “I’m actually very proud of you. You’ve done quite well for yourself, despite my dreadful parenting.”

      “Aww, shucks, Maw. You ain’t all that bad,” Charles said, giving his mother a hug. “Welp, I guess I’d better rustle you up some grub,” Charles said. “I sure hope ya’ll don’t mind, but I’m making crawdads.”

      “That sounds delightful,” Lorelei said. “I can’t wait to try one. I bet all the Hicks liked crawdads.”

      Charles grinned, “I don’t know about what other folks like and don’t like; I just know what I do,” he said, setting off to the kitchen.

      “Well, there we are now, my dear. I told you he’d come ‘round,” William whispered.

      “It wasn’t Charles that needed to. It was me, all along,” Lorelei said.

       

      Charles Whitby caught the biggest fish of his life the day his parents went back to England. He was teetering on the bow of a sturdy boat: a boat he’d built himself, reeling like mad and grinning like a fool as he fought with it, trying to keep its muddy, green head above the surface. “Whoo-weee,” he whistled when he finally wrestled it in. “You sure are a big ole sucker!”

      When he reached down to take the hook out, the fish spit right in his eye. “Ouch!” Charles yelped, covering his eye. “What in tarnation?”

      When he removed his hand, something fell out and clanked against the bottom of the boat. Charles bent to pick it up. “Huh,” he said, looking it over. “Looks like a tooth. A gold one.”

      He pondered on that a moment. “Welp, I might as well make some use of it,” he decided. He rinsed it off and stuck it where his own tooth used to be. It fit perfectly.

      “Hi there,” someone called out. “Can you help me?”

      Charles looked up. The prettiest girl he’d ever seen was standing on an island in the middle of the river.

      “My boat sank,” she said. “I seem to be stranded. I’d ‘a swum for shore, but this here river’s full of Cottonmouth snakes.”

      “Sure, I can help ya,” Charles said. “Hold on.” He paddled over and helped her into his boat.

      “Thank you,” she said, wringing out her hair, “I was s’glad you came along. I didn’t expect anyone to be out here today, especially someone so handsome,” she blushed.

      “Aww, shucks,” Charles grinned; his gold tooth glinted in the sunlight.

      “I’m real glad you were, though. Thanks again.  I’m Maddy, by the way,” she said, holding out her hand, “and you’re my knight in shining armor,” she declared with a grateful smile. “From now on, I’ll call you…” she paused, “what’s your name?”

      “Charles,” Charles said.

      She laughed, “I shall call you Sir Charles, Knight of the Mississippi.”

      Charles frowned, “If it’s just the same to you, I’d just prefer just plain Charles.”

       

      End

       

      **This story originally appeared in The Hickory Stump Magazine. No part of this story may be copied or reproduced without consent from the author.

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      Posted in shortstory | 0 Comments | Tagged crawdads, familydynamics, familyfriendly, fiction, fishing, gold tooth, hicks, humor, nobility, river, royalty, southern, tea
    • Ice Cream or Moxie

      Posted at 1:39 pm by writergherlone, on November 8, 2018

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      *This story originally appeared in Short Fiction Break and went on to The Metaworker.

      **No part of this story may be copied or reproduced without written consent from the author.

       

      Ice Cream or Moxie

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

      In the heat of the summer, back when Willow’s mother slipped in and out of lunacy, sometimes she’d wake up at night to find her sitting on the edge of her bed. She’d whisper, “I’m in the mood for something sweet. Let’s walk to Mulberry’s. It’s a good night for ice cream.”

      Willow would search her eyes. If they seemed contented, she would slide out of bed and allow herself to be pulled out into the dark.

      Mulberry’s was a hike, but electric energy buzzed through her mother as they walked along.  It felt like carnival rides and fireworks. Like parades and Christmas. The feeling was catching. It felt like she could walk until dawn without getting tired.

      All at once, Willow wanted to skip and run!  She wanted to laugh out loud and dance around, but didn’t. Instead, she stayed silent, letting the humid air wrap around her shoulders, while her mother gushed on and on about the things they were going do that summer.

      They would go to the ocean and eat lobsters! They would climb the mountain and rent a cabin at the lake! They would have picnics at the park and go to the town pool every day! Willow wanted to get excited about those things, but couldn’t.

      Her mother would stop to point out stars. She’d show her the Milky Way and the Big Dipper. Then she would begin to tell Willow about the sky in Arizona, where she’d grown up. “You should have seen all those stars. There were millions of them out there in the desert. I swear you could see all the way to heaven, if you wanted to.”

      Willow’s stomach would tighten.

      “Sometimes, I wish I’d never left. I wish…” her mother would say, her feet slowing.

      Luna Moths danced around the street lamps overhead, attracted by the light and warmth. Sometimes, Willow felt like a Luna Moth, lured into the brightness only to get burned.

      “I wish…”

      Willow could hear motorcycles and cars zipping up and down Main Street. “We’re almost there. Thanks for bringing me! It is a good night for ice cream,” she would say, trying to lighten the mood again, if it wasn’t too late.

      “…I wish I’d never met your father…What? What did you say, Willow?”

      “We’re almost to the store.”

      “What? Oh. Well, I’m not getting ice cream. I think I’ll have a Moxie instead.”

      Willow’s mother drank Moxie when her mood was changing. She said it reminded her of how bitter life could be.

      A few doors down from Mulberry’s, there was a bar.  There were always a few people milling around out front smoking cigarettes. Willow would try to pull her mother into the store before anything bad could happen.

      “I bet your father’s in there. I bet he’s with a woman,” she’d hiss, her eyes growing dark.

      “I can’t decide if I want a Strawberry Shortcake or a Crunch. What do you think?” Willow would ask, starting up the steps.

      “Oh, I don’t care what you get! As a matter of fact, if you want ice cream so badly, you should go ask your father! Why do I have to pay for everything while he’s out having a grand old time?”

      “I don’t know,” Willow would say.

      “Just forget it. I’m not in the mood now. Let’s go,” her mother would say, whipping around and storming towards home.

      Willow walked alone on the return, her mother having retreated inside of her own mind. She’d call out, spitting questions, and slinging insults at people who weren’t there. There were no promises of good things to come. Her energy was gone. It was catching. Willow would get so tired, it felt as if she could sleep for a week.

      When they’d get back home, Willow would fall into bed. After a time, her mother would peek her head in through the door. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe tomorrow we’ll try again.”

      “Okay,” Willow would yawn. “That would be fun.”

      “Willow?”

      “Yeah?”

      “Sometimes we do get ice cream, don’t we?”

      “Sometimes we do and sometimes we get Moxie.”

      “Oh, I don’t like Moxie. It’s so bitter.” Willow’s mother would say. “Ice cream is so much sweeter.”

       

      Posted in #prose | 0 Comments | Tagged childhood, divorce, familyfriendly, fiction, icecream, maine, mentalillness, moxie, parenting, shortstory, summer
    • Wayward Child

      Posted at 8:54 pm by writergherlone, on September 21, 2018

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      *For my latest magazine publications see: “English Tea and Crawdads,” in The Hickory Stump and “When Gracie was Four,” in Down and Dirty Presents, The Legendary.

       

      Wayward Child

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

       

       

      Mama had a wayward child, but that child wasn’t me. Timmy-Tom was pickle juice, cider, and pockets full of slugs. He was armpit farts, soda burps, and ‘I don’t know how to whisper.’ He was dog poop on sneakers and a grimy mud puddle diver. He was crossing his eyes, sticking his tongue out, and coughing without covering his mouth.

      Mama had an obedient child, and that child was surely me. I was chocolate cake, and Kool-Aid, and pockets full of buttons. I was piano music, alphabet reciter, and singing in the shower. I was sequins on sneakers and reading a book under a tree. I was combed hair, smiles, and saying ‘please and thank-you.’

      Mama said, “You kids come on in now. It’s time for your bath.”

      Timmy-Tom said, “I ain’t takin’ a bath.”

      I said, “It’s, ‘I’m not taking a bath.’”

      Mama said, “Don’t you kids sass me. Both of you get in here now.”

      Timmy-Tom got into the bath after me. The water turned dingy-brown.

      Mama came in and saw the water. She said, “You kids are filthy! I told you to stay out of the mud.”

      I said, “I wasn’t in the mud. Timmy-Tom was.”

      Mama said, “It’s not nice to tattle.”

      Timmy-Tom grinned and stuck his tongue out at me.

      Mama dried us off and said, “Off to bed. You’ve got school in the morning.”

      Timmy-Tom said, “I hate school. I ain’t goin’.”

      I said, “It’s, I hate school and I’m not going.”

      Mama said, “I don’t know what the matter is with you two today, but you’re both acting naughty. No television. I want you to go right to sleep.” She gave us each a kiss and turned out the light.

      Timmy-Tom waited until mama went downstairs. He got out of bed, turned the television on, and jumped back into bed.

      I got out of bed to turn the television off, but mama came storming up the stairs and said, “I told you no television. I guess Timmy-Tom was the only one who listened. He can have an extra pancake at breakfast tomorrow.”

      Timmy-Tom said, “Yippee,” and coughed in my face.

      The next morning mama said, “You kids go across the street and borrow an egg from the Fitzsimmons’. Don’t forget to watch for cars.”

      When we got to the end of the driveway I said, “Check for cars, Timmy-Tom, before you cross the road.”

      Timmy-Tom ran across without looking so I ran after him and a car almost hit me! The sound of screeching brakes sent mama flying to the door. She shouted, “I told you not to cross the road without checking! You could have been killed! No desert for you after dinner tonight.”

      Timmy-Tom laughed.

      At the breakfast table, Timmy-Tom said, “I’m sure glad I have this extra pancake. It’s really yummy. I bet you wish you had an extra pancake.” He smiled, put his hand under his armpit, and made a farting noise.

      I grabbed Timmy-Tom’s plate and smashed it over his head.

      Mama said, “Samuel Richard! It is NEVER okay to hit another person. Not ever. That was very wrong. I’m afraid you must be punished.”

      So now I’m in the corner.

      Mama has a wayward child and I guess that child must be me.

      End

       

      *No part of this story may be copied or reproduced without consent of the author.    

      **Photo is the author on her 1st Birthday.

          

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childhood, familyfriendly, fiction, flashfiction, humor, kids, parenting, shortstory, siblingrivalry, siblings
    • Aloft

      Posted at 11:38 am by writergherlone, on April 3, 2018

       

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      Aloft

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

      The eagle watches the doe step cautiously into the fringes of the Klondike.

      He has been stalking her for days, waiting for a moment like this. The vastness of the terrain will give him an edge.

      He studies her with hunger and curiosity. These willowy beings dance about on earthbound legs that are as delicate as spring shoots. He knows from experience, however, that they only appear that way.  She will slice through him in seconds with those sharp hooves if she can. It is a risk he is willing to take. Starvation is all around him. It has been some time since he’s had fresh meat.

      The withering grassland comes to life with scattering creatures as the doe begins her passage.

      Chickadee’s chatter, seet seet,dee dee dee, before taking flight to hide among the brush.

      His attention is averted by a flash of white. A snowshoe hare darts in and out of a maze of burrows. He is tempted but bound by a greater purpose than himself.

      His focus sharpens as the doe stops to sniff around. The north winds would reveal much, but the air is as still as the frozen surface of the river.

      She is winter-weak and pregnant. Her coat is sparse and ragged. With the safety of the forest still in her midst, she proceeds, nibbling at bits of evergreen along the way.

      His talons retract, and he breaks away from the balsam to follow. His shadow spirits where the light touches the remaining snow.

      She senses his presence. Her nostrils flare, sending out wisps of smoke as she wheezes in the chilly, spring air. The white of her tail signals an alarm.

      He lands silently onto a Candlewood branch nearby. The bough dips under his weight before bouncing back in to place.

      She stomps a warning, her muscles twitching, as she decides whether to stay or to flee. The veins pulse in her neck.

      His stomach tightens as he breathes in the scent of adrenaline rich blood, but he must wait.

      Eventually, she relaxes again and wobbles over to a patch of grass. She paws at the earth and lies down. The bulging hulk of her middle heaves with contractions.

      The eagle regards the terrain. A lone coyote hides among the cedars. Careful, yet daring, he emerges. Without a pack, he will go into battle alone. He lowers his head and begins to advance. His lolling tongue drips with saliva as he zig-zags over the plain.

      The doe’s eyes widen as she realizes the danger. She bleats and tries to rise, but water gushes from her hindquarters. Her knees buckle, and she falls back to the ground.

      The coyote prances all around her, narrowing the gap with every rotation. He lashes out with snarled lips and bared teeth, taking nips wherever he finds purchase.

      She kicks, sending him backwards. Dust and debris fly into the air. Dazed but unbroken, he lies askew. He shakes his head, trying to regain composure before beginning again.

      The eagle descends. The tips of his wings brush the snow where he lands. He waits patiently in the shadows.

      She turns her attention to the birth. Gangly feet dangle precariously from her rump. She tugs at them with her teeth.

      The coyote rises.

      Light mist begins to fall. Beads of moisture collect on budded branches and spill over. Mixing with blood, they carve red rivers into the turf as they wash away. The air begins to move, sending wafts of flavor all around them.

      The coyote can wait no longer. The pads of his feet hit the ground, thumping in rhythm with beating hearts. He growls and lunges, striking her throat. His teeth clamp down and hold. The doe flips her body, trying shake him, but it does nothing more than hasten her demise. He tears through her neck. Her eyes fix on the horizon, looking toward something the eagle cannot see.

      The coyote raises his head and announces victory. He rips through her flesh, tossing out tufts of fur to get to the meat. Captured by the wind, they swirl through the air and alight into the sky.

      New life emerges into a motherless world. It squirms inside of a sack, trying to break free.

      Awkward upon landing, the eagle hops over to the bundle, casting a wary eye towards the coyote. He may rule the skies, but on earth he is merely a beggar.

      The coyote stops his feast. They stare at one another. A silent agreement passes between them.

      The eagle uses both beak and feet to open the pouch. Water oozes out, spilling the tiny fawn onto the grass. It blinks up at him and mewls, its gaze full of needful wanting. He cocks his head, reminded of his own young. Each newborn beast is so similar until they are polluted by age and circumstance.

      He leans in to take a whiff. It smells delicious.

      He snatches it and pushes off, using the currents to keep him aloft. The strength of his wings are tested under the weight of his wiggling bundle. He digs in, trying to maintain hold. The creature is silenced.

      His journey is long. On the distant horizon, where the mountain meets the sky and dark green hills erupt from the earth, waterfalls pause suspended, and the lakes are still mirrors of glass, he finds home. He has been gone a long time.

      He calls out, wheee hee. Wheee hee hee.

      His mate does not reply. He hears only the wind and the sound of his own voice echoing through the empty places in the valley.

      Wheee hee. He calls again.

      There is no movement as he nears. He lands to find the nest empty. Downy feathers whirl around in the breeze.

      He lays down the fawn and begins to feast. Tomorrow he must begin anew.

       

      **NO part of this story may be copied or reproduced with written consent from the author.

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged #newstory, amwriting, birds, coyotes, eagles, familyfriendly, fiction, hunting, nature, shortstory, wilderness, wildlifehabits, writing
    • Sassafras and Valentine’s Day

      Posted at 11:43 am by writergherlone, on January 24, 2018

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      Sassafras and Valentine’s Day

      By Kristy Gherlone

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      It was Valentine’s Day and Sassafras was sad. She wanted to get something special for her Daddy, but she didn’t have any money.

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      “What’s wrong, Sassafras?” her mother asked, noticing how unhappy she seemed.

      “It’s Valentine’s Day, but I don’t have anything for Daddy. How will he know that I love him if I don’t buy him a present?”

      “Daddy knows that you love him. You don’t have to buy gifts to show someone how much you care. There are lots of other ways to do that.”

      “Like how?” Sassafras asked.

      “Well, you could make him a card, if you like. I’m sure he would love that.”

      “That’s a great idea!” Sassafras brightened.

      A

      She gathered some art supplies and got to work.

      C

      Carefully, she cut out colorful hearts and pasted them to the paper she had folded.

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      Next, she used crayons to write what she wanted to say.

      “How’s it going in there?” Sassafras’s mother asked.

      D

      “Good, but I don’t want you to see until I’m all done.” Sassafras said, jumping onto the card to hide it. She wanted it to be a surprise.

      “That’s fine,” her mother laughed. “You know, when I was a little girl, my favorite Valentine’s were the ones that had treats inside.”

      E

      “I have just the thing!” Sassafras said.

      When she finished with the card, she called for her mother to see it.

      G

      “That is a lovely card, Sassafras. It came out very nice. What did you write?”

      D2

      “I wrote, ‘For Daddy, love Sassy.’

      “It’s very nice, but I thought you were going to add some treats?”

      “Well, I was going to share my worms, but I accidentally ate them.”

      Sassafras’s mother smiled. She knew that worms were her very favorite thing. “That’s okay. I think Daddy might like chocolates better anyway. I have some that you can give to him.”

      H

      “Oh, thank you! I think he will like those better.”  She chose a few and stuck them to the card.

      IMG_8121 “Can I give it to him now? She asked excitedely.

      “Of course. I think you’ll find him on the porch.”

      I

      “Wait! I have one for you, too!” Sassafras cried. She gave her mother the paper heart she’d made.

      “Why, thank you, Sassy! You’re so thoughtful.”

      “I know,” Sassafras giggled and went off to find her Dad.

       

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      “Daddy! I made something for you!”

      Sassafras’s Dad was very happy with the card. He could tell how hard she’d worked on it.

      “Thank you, Sassy! That was very sweet of you.”

      “I made it because I love you.”

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      “And I love you!” he said, giving Sassafras a hug. “Now we have something for you! Your mother has it in the kitchen. Go and see.”

      “Is it a present?” Sassafras asked.

      “It might be,” her Daddy smiled.

      “But Mama said you don’t need to buy presents to show someone how much you care.”

      “That is true,” he said, ruffling her feathers. “But we got you one anyway.”

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      “Worms!” she cried happily.  “I love worms and presents and Valentine’s Day. But you know what I love most of all? You!”

      **A new short comedy story of mine has just been published! You can find “Piano Hoarding Christians” in Defenestration Mag!

       

      **NO part of this story may be copied or reproduced without written consent from the author.

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childrensstory, ducks, family, familyfriendly, fiction, hearts, love, pekinduck, picturestory, shortstory, valentinesday
    • A Very Sassy Christmas-Starring Sassafras Gherlone!

      Posted at 7:17 pm by writergherlone, on December 24, 2017

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      A Very Sassy Christmas

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

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      “Is Santa real?” Sassafras asked her mama on Christmas Eve.

      “Of course he is,” her mama answered. “He used to visit me every year when I was a little girl.”

      “I’m glad he’s real, but you’re a person and I’m a duck. What if Santa doesn’t bring presents to ducks?”

      “Don’t worry, sweet Sassafras,” her mama smiled. “If you believe in him, he will come. Why don’t you write him a note, asking for something you would like.” She suggested.

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      “That’s a great idea! And I can leave him some milk and cookies and carrots for the reindeer.”

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      “How is this?” Sassafras asked.

      “It looks great! I’m sure he will love it. Don’t forget to hang your stocking!”

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      Sassafras hung her stocking on the fire place. “There,” she said. “I’m all ready for Santa. I really hope he comes tonight!”

      “He will come but not until you’re asleep,” Sassafras’s mama said. “You’d better hurry to bed.”

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      Sassafras climbed into bed with Teddy but she was too excited to sleep. She kept listening for Santa.

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      And kept getting out of bed to see if there were any presents in her stocking.

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      Finally she fell asleep.

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      When she woke up Santa had come! “Look mama! You were right! Santa does visit ducks! He left some worms in my stocking!”

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      “And he drank all of the milk and ate the cookies, too!”

      “He did indeed,” Sassafras’s mama laughed. “I think I see a present under the tree with your name on it.”

      IMG_1373

      “I think I do too!” Sassafras cried with excitement. “It’s right here! I hope Santa got me what I asked for.”

      “Well, open it up and see,” Sassafras’s mama said.

      IMG_1375 (1)

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      “He did! He did! Santa brought me just what I always wanted!”

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      Sassafras was so happy. Now she had someone to play with, even if it was just pretend. She shared her worms with her new friend.

      IMG_1394

      And they played dress up.

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      And had a tea party.

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      “This was the best Christmas ever! Thank you Santa and mama!”

      Merry Christmas everyone!

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged christmas, familyfriendly, friends, pekinducks, picturestory, santa, shortstory
    • Hidden Gems in Maine

      Posted at 1:04 pm by writergherlone, on October 24, 2017

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      Not too far from the border of New Hampshire, on the Maine coast, there is a town called   Ogunquit.  It is truly one of my favorite southern Maine spots to visit.

      It is a small coastal town that draws in thousands of visitors in the summertime. People come from all over the world to spend time on the gorgeous, lengthy sand beaches, for the shopping, excellent dining choices, boating, fishing, surfing…you name it. There is plenty to do.

      image (34)

      When I was a kid growing up in northern Maine, I didn’t know anything about Ogunquit. No one ever talked about it. When people made the three hour trek to the ocean, they went to Old Orchard Beach or to Acadia National Park in Bar Harbor. I often went to Bar Harbor, and of course, I’ve been to Old Orchard. Who didn’t when they were a teen? Families love Old Orchard for the amusement parks and side attractions. You can walk the “strip” in Old Orchard, or the pier, get a dough boy (or funnel cake, or fried dough..whatever you call them from wherever you are on the map; in Maine it’s a dough boy) a cotton candy, a cheap bathing suit, some plastic beach toys, and go on an array of carnival rides that will make you throw-up your dough boy.  In Bar Harbor, you can visit Acadia. You can hike, ride horses, sit at the beach, or do the side attraction like the Acadia Zoo in Trenton. Don’t get me wrong, they are both fun places to visit, but when I first saw Ogunquit, I was hooked!  It is a bit more of an upscale, adult- oriented beach town. Hot sun, lazy beaches, casual attitudes, upscale shops, and nearly every restaurant has lobster or some type of delicious seafood on the menu. To me, it has that Florida, I’m-on-vacation-don’t-bother-me feel to it.

      This is what I like to do when I get there:

      1. Walk Marginal Way
      2. Take one of the trollies back to the square.
      3. Eat at the Footbridge.
      4. Shop in one of the many, many gorgeous shops-clothes, jewelry, art, antiques..etc.
      5. Eat again!
      6. Go to the beach for some sun and relaxation
      7. Eat again
      8. Book a cocktail cruise on Finest Kind cruises
      9. Look at the lighthouse at Nubble and the moon over the ocean
      10. Sleep peacefully with a smile on my face

       

      The walk (Marginal Way)  is a little over a mile one-way with gorgeous waterfront homes on one side and incredible ocean view on the other. The people who own the homes there, landscape their lawns beautifully. There is always an abundance of flowers and butterflies along the way, even this late in the season.

      IMG_0897

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      However, as I have said, the town does draw in visitors. Too many sometimes. Summertime is bustling and busy. It’s hard to find adequate parking and it’s hard to move around with all of those elbows and strollers.  The wonderful people there have all kinds of advice about where to eat, what to see, where to stay, and what to do. I have found some gems in the years I have spent there. I want to tell you about two or three, to save you some trouble.

      The Colonial Inn. It is not right on the ocean, which makes it seem less desirable. Everyone wants something right on the water but if you don’t book a room at the Colonial, for that reason, you are missing out. This is what it looks like:

      1555285_467234836709467_1009828529_n

      13015150_821740707925543_433324514702206509_n

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      So yeah, it’s gorgeous. It’s not on the water, but does have an ocean view. The staff is incredibly attentive and often do extras to make your stay even more special, like this:

      13102632_826850774081203_4839304819772148557_n

      Having an anniversary? They will surprise and delight your spouse with something like this. They also do weddings and special functions. I’ve never seen any other hotel go through so much trouble to make you happy.

      They are also a bit cheaper for not being on the water, but it is beautiful hotel. Relaxed, but fun. Elegant, but economical. I love it and the staff. They are in the middle of the shopping and very close to the entrance of Marginal Way.

      Where to eat? For a fancy restaurant on the water, try MC Perkins Cove. Good food, good ambiance, and excellent service…but if you don’t care what the place looks like as long as it has good food, you can’t beat The Footbridge Lobster. I don’t really like to eat anywhere else, unless I have to dress up and be fancy…then it’s MC.

      IMG_0915

      IMG_0914

      For one, they have the absolute best lobster stew and crab rolls I’ve ever tasted. I literally dream about their food all year long. The staff is pleasant and attentive and that’s amazing considering how busy they usually are. There is usually a line out the door! I would gladly wait in line an hour or more for a crab roll from them! So yummy!

      IMG_0916

      And if you are thinking, ‘Ogunquit doesn’t sound like a good place for families’, you would be wrong. York’s Animal Kingdom is right down the road. My grandson loves it.

      702 2

      You can pet goats, see tigers, lions, and maybe even some bears!  Plus Ogunquit has a couple of toy stores, and an arcade for the kiddos, pizza shops and those cheap beach toys that Old Orchard has. There are also plenty of places that have kids menus, as well. And what kid wouldn’t like to ride on a trolly?

      Anyway, I wanted to share what I know about Ogunquit so that when you visit, it can be just as wonderful as I know it to be. I’m not much of a travel blogger, but I do travel a lot; to Ogunquit, more than any other place. I love it and I hope you’ll find my suggestions helpful.

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      724 2

      Enjoy!

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged beach, dining, eat, familyfriendly, lobsters, maine, ocean, ogunquit, restaurant, seafood, shopping, thecolonialinn, thefootbridge, trollies, vacation
    • Sassafras Makes a Jack-o’-Lantern

      Posted at 12:12 pm by writergherlone, on October 19, 2017

      Sassafras Makes a Jack-o’-Lantern

      (story and pictures by Kristy Gherlone)

       

      IMG_0853

      “May I try on my Halloween costume and can we make a Jack-o’-Lantern?” Sassy asked one October morning.

      “Hmmm,” Sassafras’s mother smiled, noticing that Sassafras had already put on the costume, and had already gathered the pumpkins. “I guess it is almost Halloween. I suppose so. Let me get a knife and the things we’ll need.”

      IMG_0856

      “I can get the knife!” Sassafras offered. She was excited and eager to help.

      “No. You’d better let me get that,” Sassafras’s mother said. “Knives are sharp. You should never carve a pumpkin unless there is an adult around to help you.”

      IMG_0867

      Sassafras’s mother got the knife and stuck it into the top of the pumpkin. Sassafras began to cry.

      IMG_0106

      “What’s the matter Sassafras? Why are you so sad?”

      “I didn’t know you were going to kill the pumpkin!” Sassafras wailed, quite upset.

      “Aww, it’s okay,” Sassafras’s mother said, giving her a hug. “This pumpkin is not alive. I promise, I’m not hurting it at all.”

      “Are you sure?” Sassafras asked, still sniffling.

      “I’m positive. Pumpkins are vegetables. People grow them in their gardens for food and decoration. They are not like people and ducks.”

      “Oh. Okay,” Sassafras sighed with relief.

      IMG_0878

      Sassafras’s mother finished cutting a hole into the top of the pumpkin and Sassafras helped to remove the seeds that were inside.

      IMG_0880

      “These seeds are slimy, but they taste kind of good,” Sassy said.

      “Don’t eat too many,” Sassafras’s mother cautioned. “You’ll get a bellyache.”

      IMG_0882

      “I think there are more on the bottom.”

      “You are doing a great job. Make sure the pumpkin is nice and clean,” Sassafras’s mother said. “If you leave too many of the fibers inside, the pumpkin won’t last very long.”

      IMG_0888

      “I think that’s the last of them,” Sassafras declared. She had created quite a pile of seeds and fibers on the plastic bag.

      “We can roast some of the seeds later, after they dry out,  if you like. I think you will like those,” Sassafras’s mother said.

      “Yummy!” Sassy cried happily. Roasted pumpkin seeds sounded delicious.

      When Sassafras and her mother were finished carving the face on the Jack-o’-Lantern, Sassafras helped to carry it onto the porch.

      IMG_0892

      “Our Jack-o’-Lantern came out nice,” Sassafras said, proudly. “And now everyone can see.”

       

      I hope you enjoyed my story.  Sassafras is a wonderful pet and has a lot of patience for my nonsense. She is always paid for her participation in the form of worms and hugs.

      This was last years costume.

      IMG_6979

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childrensstory, costumes, ducks, familyfriendly, fiction, Halloween, pekinduck, pumpkins, shortstory
    • Possibilites

      Posted at 12:13 pm by writergherlone, on September 14, 2017

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      Possibilities

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

       

      Autumn leaves break free and alight into the air, whirling, twisting, and laughing as they go.

      Dancing, drifting, exploring, before settling onto the dark and cresting waves.

      Tossing, churning, bubbling into the currents they go.

      Yellows, reds, and oranges on parade, sailing, surfing, dreaming.

      Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments | Tagged autumn, dreaming, familyfriendly, leaves, microfiction, poetry
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