Collecting Scents (Part 1)

Here’s the next story included in my capstone! Hope you enjoy!

Collecting Scents

            “You look beautiful, Viola!” Diana said, fluffing the white veil that hung from the crown of Viola’s head. Diana’s voice was breathy, and Viola could smell the Lily of the Valley perfume that saturated her clothing.

            Viola tightened her grip around the bouquet of pink roses and baby’s breath. She had wanted them to be wild violets from her father’s garden, to match her eyes. But Bill had convinced her that traditional and delicate pink roses were more appropriate.

Debris of the Day (Part 2)

            Julie entered the house and was greeted with the smell of yellow cake and homemade chocolate frosting cooking on the stove. She inhaled the sweet aroma and tip-toed to her room.

            “Julie Harvey!” Viola snapped. Julie froze and then turned to face her mother. “Where have you been? And what did you do to your beautiful dress? This is unacceptable behavior, young lady! Go to your room and change. You wash your feet too! And since you did not obey me when I told you not to go outside again there will be no birthday cake for you tonight.”

            “But—”

            “Hush and get going!”

            Julie went into the bathroom where she sat on the counter and let the water from the sink trickle over her feet. Then she went to her room and put on a green dress. She left the other one crumpled on the floor.

Debris of the Day (Part 1)

Here is the next story included in my creative writing capstone!

Debris of the Day

            Julie crouched on the lawn, rocking back and forth over the dandelions before picking them one by one. The white pinafore she wore revealed the faint freckles scattered on her arms while the sun illumined the golds and reds that streaked her brunette hair. When she had collected a small bouquet of yellow she ran back to the large white house called home.

First Love (Part 3)

            Lola grunted as Estelle opened the throttle and pressed down on the clutch. A cloud of dust followed them as they passed the fields of corn that seemed to spread like a blanket across the Nebraska country side. Estelle unwrapped the piece of Wrigley’s gum she had purchased in town after dropping the eggs and milk off at their customer’s houses.

            Town consisted of a general store, a chapel, candy shop, a schoolhouse, and an abandoned barn. There was also a cluster of homes that had been built on the outskirts for the people moving to the corn covered land. Most all of these people got their milk and eggs from the Tuckers.

First Love (Part 2)

           The first time she saw Lola, Estelle was fifteen. The sun flickered on Lola’s black body as she zigzagged up the road to the farm. Estelle stood just outside the front door in her dirt stained overalls with her long brunette braid hanging at her back. She watched, excited, as the new Model-T came toward her. The closer it got, the more she could see the fright exploding from her father’s dark blue eyes. The pickup skidded to a halt just in front of Estelle. Her father got out and fanned the swirling, choking dust with his straw hat. Estelle covered her mouth and nose with her arm as the dust settled back onto the ground.

First Love (Part 1)

Here is the beginning of the next story (out of 6 total) that I completed for my Creative Writing capstone. Enjoy!

First Love

            The black Model-T Pickup grunted as Estelle opened the throttle and pressed down on the clutch. A cloud of dust followed the car as it coasted along the dirt roads back to the chicken farm. It had taken the Tucker family almost ten years to buy a car.

            “Made for the slothful!” her father would rant.

            Her mother would roll her eyes and mutter under her breath, “You don’t have to walk fifteen miles to town every other day.”

            “What did you say, Nora, dear?” 

            “Nothing, Thomas.

            It wasn’t until Mr. Ford produced the pickup that Nora could convince her husband that it was a good investment.

            “I saw the Bakers when Estelle and I went to town today,” she had begun.

            Thomas had been sitting by the fire, reading the newspaper. As usual, his spectacles sat low on his large, triangular nose. He snorted in response to Nora’s comment.

Painting Worlds (Part 3)

Here is the conclusion of “Painting Worlds.” More stories will follow!

Painting Worlds (Conclusion)

            Tumbles of raven curls framed Viola’s smooth heart-shaped face. Estelle tied a section of Viola’s hair to the side with a violet ribbon that matched the dress she wore.

            “All right, children, I’ll be here when you get back.” Estelle pulled Victor and Viola to her and kissed them both before sending them out the door to school.

            Viola carried her notebook in one arm and a lunch pail in the other as she and Victor walked to school. She had partially completed her arithmetic but was sure she got most of them wrong.

Painting Worlds (Part 2)

            Victor looked up from his arithmetic briefly as Viola entered the room. Viola sighed and slumped on her bed where her notebook lay unopened. She sat on her bed and glanced around the room. She huffed.

            “I love math,” Victor said putting down his pencil.

            Viola rolled her eyes and opened her notebook. She had a series of multiplication and division problems to complete. They stared at her. She glanced back up and saw something much more interesting. She shut her notebook and took a book from the shelf.

            “Viola, you should be studying,” Victor warned.

            “Mrs. Browning said we should read every day.”

            “But what about your sums? If you don’t do them for tomorrow she’ll make you write them out ten times. Don’t you get tired of that?”

            “I don’t know why I can’t just study music like Daddy did in school.”

            “He focused on music in college not in the fifth grade. And, he had to study every subject to get to college, anyhow.”

            There was a pause before Victor spoke again, “I like to study everything. It can be fun.” His mouth widened into a straight line across his face—his smile.

            “You’re just saying that because Mother says it,” Viola smiled back.

            “Maybe it’s not always fun. But it’s worth it. I know it’ll get me somewhere someday.”

            “Someday,” Viola echoed.

Painting Worlds (Part 1)

Brief Introduction

The following is the first part of a story that comes from my Creative Writing capstone completed June 4, 2010. It is the first of six stories that cover the experiences of three generations of women from the same family. The stories are not in chronoglogical order. They span the 1920s to the 1970s. I will post little bits of each story every day. Enjoy!

Painting Worlds

            Viola could smell the familiar mixture of coffee and blossoms that hung on her father’s skin. She sat close to him on the piano bench and watched his hands travel up and down the keys. He swayed back and forth with his eyes shut. He didn’t need to see anything. He was seeing through music. Viola closed her eyes and saw a vast green meadow freckled with orange wild flowers. A woman appeared in a creamy white dress that seemed to float in all directions. The woman never touched the ground but twirled slowly in circles, gently moving with the clouds. Then it stopped.

            “It should be a crime for you to close your eyes,” her father said, taking his hands away from the piano.

            He always said that her violet eyes looked as if the deep blue sea had swallowed a field of lavender. In the light, they looked almost transparent— illumined crystals of lilac.

            “Where shall we go next?” he asked.

             “I want to go to a carnival! With a carousel, and popcorn, and games!”

            “And cotton candy, and animals?”

            “Yes!”

            Jim thought for a moment and rubbed the keys with his fingertips. Then the mahogany upright piano burst to life again as Jim began his own rendition of “The Entertainer.” Viola’s eyes widened and she clapped. When she couldn’t contain herself any longer she got up from the bench and danced. She was transported to a world of twinkling lights, painted faces, and balloons in bright reds and deep purples. Her waif-like, pale limbs kept time to the bouncing melody that soared through the air. When the tune was over Viola took a seat next to her father once more.

            “Let’s go somewhere else,” she said, “somewhere filled with grays and slow, dark blue waves.”

            Again her father stroked the keys before he played a slow, melancholy tune. Viola closed her eyes again and felt a pang in her stomach that seemed to turn it inside out. It happened every time beautiful things made her sad. She didn’t know why she seemed attracted to this feeling—to sadness, but she was.

            “Viola Standish!”

            The blur of grays and shadows spiraled out of thought when she heard her mother’s sharp voice behind her. She looked up at her father who smiled at her, and patted her leg.