The Ring Chapter 14

 

MARGO LOUD STENER

NOT A SPEAR of asparagus nor a drop of bearnaise sauce was left on either Hans-Peter’s plate or hers. The waitress, dressed in a traditional dirndl, walked over to the table. “Coffee?”

They nodded.

“Dessert?”

“Nein bitte,” spoken together.

When she left, Hans-Peter leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think I’ll ever eat again.”

“Until tomorrow.” Margo fell back on their old verbal traditions.

She remembered the restaurant from when she and Hans-Peter had lived nearby. It was located between the airport and where they later lived and Hans-Peter still did on the edge of Stuttgart.

The only thing that had changed was the waitress, replacing the old woman who had worked there a decade ago. Instead of driving to his place when he’d picked her up at the train station, he suggested they eat here.

Bethany had caught a train to Tübingen saying she needed to go directly to her lab.

The walls of the restaurant were wood panels. The blue check curtains matched the tablecloth. A deer’s head was over the fireplace. Put the details together and it could be called a stereotype of a German restaurant, except it had been owned by the same family from the mid-1800s, making it a model for stereotypes.

The weather wasn’t quite spring warm, making eating outside almost but not quite a choice. A fire was dying in the fireplace.

“Do you ever miss Germany?” Hans-Peter asked Margo.

“Sometimes. The thing is with my work I don’t pay much attention to whatever country I’m in. I’ve created this studio that doubles as a nest. You’ve seen it.”

“And it’s so you.”

Then she thought of the ring that she and Heather had fought over and told him the story. She also told him of all the things that went wrong whenever she wore it.

“If I believed in curses, I would think my grandmother or mother put a curse on it. This broken ankle was the last. Maybe I can sell the ring.”

“That may be a little hasty. Most societies have some type of curses.” He didn’t agree or disagree as he used to do. “Why not give it to Bethany?”

“Give a cursed ring to our daughter?”

“Dumb idea.”

Free Write - The Blue Shutter

This week's Free Write was Rick's prompt. We don't discuss the prompt in advance. My difficulty with it was should I do the Free Write from inside or out. Should I have the shutter fall off? Hit someone of the head? What if the day was windy and the banging shutter annoyed the neighbors? I didn't want to use up my 10 minutes of writing deciding what to write so I went with my first thought, but maybe tonight I will do the other possibilities  - or not or ...

Rick's Free Write

I heard a noise.

Looked around the street. Glanced up.

It must have been the blue shutter.

But there was no one there.

Why open just one shutter? Not both.            

Perhaps it was the wind.

Recently painted.

The house wall too, a contrasting pale yellow.

Not gray like the house next door.

Years ago, all the houses in the village were shades of gray.

It was depressing to walk the streets.

But gradually the colour exploded.

Mauve. Greens. Ochre.

Now at least every other house in centreville has colour. Maybe more.

Less so on the streets away from the church.

Except for the orange and black house near the tracks that looks like Halloween.

Much of the paint is faded, chipped.

Painted once then forgotten.

Ours is like that.

There’s graffiti near the electric box that we should paint over.

But we just placed a wood trellis in front and let the bougainvillea cover it.

Maybe next spring I’ll repaint it.

Maybe fall.

Too hot in summer.

D-L's Free Write

Madison manipulated her body into a wheelchair that her mom had left next to her bed. "Call me if you need anything," she said. "Sleep tight."

Madison didn't want a late afternoon nap. 

She rolled over to the window where she opened one blue shutter. 

Colors, red and yellow greeted her eyes. The sun shown through the leaves not over them. She should be walking home from after school cheerleading practice not sitting in a wheelchair.

Not one game had she cheered at at. She'd been amazed to be selected for the squad. She hadn't been in the right clique, but she'd been so good at try outs, the faculty advisor had over ruled them.

Ms Pulson was her friend, admired her essays with s and A-s. That didn't help her popularity or lack there of.

Madison was sure that her fall was not an accident.

It was the third "accident" that day, At least they called an ambulance.

Three months in a body cast. Three months where she couldn't leave the room. 

The therapist came three times a week and her mother put her through her paces the other days.

Miss Pulson brought her lessons and Bobby Owens kept her up in math and science.¨"I'll get through this." She looked at the red and yellow leaves. She half believed it. 

Julia's Free Write 

She was someone who noticed details: the rainbow no one else saw, the kid peeking out of the window, the man alone on a bench.

She took decent photos thanks to her sense of observation, although others took even better, especially the un-gifted who used their cell phones – that still bothers her.

So, wandering down the street of the medieval Old Town she wondered: why blue? In a sunny area one didn’t need it for lightening up the wall. Not that she had anything against it.

Her mind ran away with ideas…

-       To distinguish the house from others for the many visitors they welcomed.

-       - because the owners were artists and had left over paint from the 4 metre by 6 metre painting ordered by the city fathers

-       - because it had been their lost son’s favorite colour.

-       - because it covered better the holes left by a gang fight

Oh well.

Digging into the recent history of the village she discovered that it meant hope…after a murder in the building.

About the Free Writers 

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the airline industry  top stories . He is the author of The Robot in the Simulator. AI in Aviation Training.  

Visit D-L.'s website  https://dlnelsonwriter.com, She is the author of 15 fiction and three non fiction books. Her 300 Unsung Women, bios of women who battled gender limitations, can be purchased  at https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/300-unsung-women-d-l-nelson/1147305797?ean=9798990385504 

Visit Julia's blog. She has written and taken photos and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

 

 

 

The Ring - Chapter 13

 

 

HENRY WILLIS

“I DON’T MIND keeping the dog longer than we originally agreed. Tell your Mom to take care of herself,” Henry told Bethany. His mobile had rung just as he unlocked his car door. He resisted asking how the weather was in Europe, knowing that was a trite question. He quite enjoyed having the pooch around.

He whistled for Camille to stop her sniffing and hop in the back seat. It had been a long day and he was tired. They arrived home from the monthly meeting of his sales agents. This time the conference room was where there was a catered dinner. The staff had a choice of cod or lamb.

He usually held these monthly meetings in a restaurant, varying the towns so everyone would have a chance near their office. This time his decision was based on not leaving Camille alone too long. There had to be advantages to being a boss and making the dog happy was one.

Earlier in the day, the temperature had been spring-like. Now in typical New England fashion, it dropped a good 20 degrees. Henry wished he had taken his coat that morning. Having spent all his life in the Boston area he should know better to be prepared.

Climate change was often a news topic, but New Englanders were used to minute-to-minute changes. Okay, hour-to-hour.

Camille ran around the yard trying to decide where to pee.

“Hurry up, Muttsaball.” Henry had given the dog a new nickname. His yard was surrounded by the clichéd white picket fence. A mailbox was by the gate and while the dog toured the front yard, Henry gathered the mail.

Once inside the house, he called the dog who bounded in, drank from her water dish and hopped on the couch ignoring the pillow bed that Margo provided. She had already eaten well from the lamb served to Henry’s staff having turned her nose up at the fish.

Henry shuffled through his mail, dropping the advertisements directly into the wastepaper basket under the table by the front door. He left the other envelopes in an ever-growing pile.

When his wife was alive, she had been a neat freak. He found those habits she’d nagged him about were hard to break even five years after her death, at least as far as the advertising was concerned. The other envelopes he had taken from his files and needed to double-check before chucking them. Maybe some evening when there was nothing on television.

More bills these days came with codes to pay electronically or were automatically paid. One had his name but no other address. Probably shoved in the door. He reached for the letter opener that he bought at a Denver conference.

The handwritten note said:

I need to talk to you. Not a medical emergency.

Just a family matter.

Heather

Henry knew he served as a substitute father to Medora’s girls. Sometimes he served as a financial advisor, more to Margo than Heather. Her husband was in charge there.

The cuckoo clock in the dining area struck ten and played Nearer my God to Thee. The bird in the clock would now sleep until seven in the morning.

When his wife bought the clock, she had not checked to see what songs the clock played. They had been on vacation in Gruyères, Switzerland, when she had zipped into a souvenir shop. She zipped out a few minutes later with the clock which specialized in simple hymns which even non-religious people knew. Anna had decided the light melodies were pleasant enough regardless of any religious connection.

It was ten nineteen, too late to call Heather. He’d do it in the morning.

*

The alarm went off much too early the next morning: 6:00. Had Henry not had an appointment with three clients looking for an apartment building to renovate he’d have gone back to sleep.

Camille, who had learned how to dominate the bed, rolled over and looked at him as if to say, “It’s too early.”

“Not that early,” Henry told the dog. He was surprised how quickly he had adapted to talking to her. He felt she understood by the tilt of her head.

There were threads of light out his window. He seldom pulled the shades, liking to check the sky through the different seasons. His view was of a small wood which could not be developed. Someone after WWII had not done a good job dividing up the farmland that made up this development.

In the bathroom he just finished shaving half his face when the doorbell rang. Wiping the shaving cream off and grabbing his bathrobe he started downstairs, calling “I’m coming, I’m coming,” as Camille barked her way ahead of him.

Heather stood at the door. “I know it’s early, but I need to get to work.”

She had pulled her car behind his. The engine was running and although it was cold her scarf around her neck was unwound and her down coat was open.

Henry thought good, it all meant he didn’t have to invite her in which he would have done almost happily had it been another time. “What can I do for you? Your note said ‘urgent’.”

“I need you to get my mother’s ring back from Margo.”