My Name is Cindy Johnson by Ginger Simpson

My name is Cindy Johnson, and I’m a freak…at least I feel like one.  Although Momma says I’m beautiful, other people look at me like I’m uglier than sin.  You see, I was born with one leg shorter than the other and I have a very bad limp.   I go to high school, but if I had a choice, I’d just stay home and read romance books all day.  At least, through the writings of others, I can escape to a world where people don’t stare and say unkind things.

Funny thing is, I have a crush on the HS Quarterback despite knowing I stand no chance with him.  His name is Cory Neil and he’s polite, but I know it’s only because he feels sorry for me. Knowing Math is my strong subject, he called and asked me to tutor him. I was so blinded by his attention, I agreed because he was so sure he’d lose his place on the team if he failed the class.  Anyhow, I arranged to meet him in the library because our house…well, let’s just say, it isn’t a mansion and I decided I’d be much more comfortable without him seeing how I live.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, my dad does his very best, but we’ve not had the best of luck which is how we ended up with me at a new school and people less forgiving than those I grew up with.  Wouldn’t it be a wonderful world if people thought before they spoke?

Anyhow, Cory asked me to Homecoming and that made me angry.  Why would he ask someone who obviously can’t dance unless he was dared by his friends?  I’m not stupid and I immediately knew I was the butt of someone’s joke.  I absolutely refused to go and he pretends he doesn’t understand.  Yeah, right!

  I don’t think I’ve ever wished for anything as much as to be normal and go to the dance with Cory, but no matter how much I want things to be different, I’m who I am.  Yes, maybe I let my “Shortcomings” define me, but I just can’t afford to open myself up to more ridicule and hurt.  He doesn’t seem to want to accept my answer, but I’ve already made up my mind.  He can take the pep squad captain.  She seems to like to remind me daily that I’m nothing but a gimp.

********************************************************************

If you want to know who Cory takes to the dance and how this story ends, you’d better pick up your own copy of Shortcomings and read the entire book.  Although this is listed as a young adult offering, the story has a message that each and everyone can heed, and maybe make this world a lot less intolerant.  Remember...a Kindle filled with great books is an amazing holiday gift.

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Note from Ginger:  I wrote this book with the hopes that people would learn that staring and saying unkind things aimed at those who are different often makes them feel less than they really are.  Their “Shortcomings” are not of their own choosing.  My grandson is “different” in that he was diagnosed with autism, but he is the kindest, most loving child in the world and my greatest gift in life.   The thought of him hurting because of someone’s ignorance makes me see RED!

A Page Straight From Victoria Chatham #apagefromstraightfrom

On Borrowed Time

by

Victoria Chatham

 Lord Randolph Buxton’s old friend, Pinkerton Agent Stuart Montgomery is a long way from his San Francisco home. But his arrival on their doorstep piques the curiosity of both Randolph and his wife, Lady Serena.

Montgomery is investigating an aircraft development company. Four partners have died in suspicious circumstances. Of the two remaining partners one is the owner and the other an old friend of Serena’s. Montgomery thinks time is running out for these two and is sure she and Randolph can help him solve his case. His one reservation in requesting their help is that he fears they will have to face an old adversary, someone who once attacked Randolph and left him for dead.

Randolph is more than ready to assist Montgomery, but Serena has her doubts. How much danger is Sir Hilary really in? Will Randolph’s life be put at risk again? And, most worrying of all, Montgomery shows a side of himself she never suspected, a side she must keep from Randolph at all costs.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Serena shook her head. “No, it’s not. You helped save my husband’s life in Cold Creek and I can’t thank you enough for that. And please, do call me Serena. I feel we know each other well enough to forgo the formalities.” 

She sat down again on the arm of Randolph’s chair, aware of an undercurrent of expectation between the three of them. The moment Randolph sprinted up the terrace steps to greet their visitor she sensed that Montgomery must have some purpose, a purpose yet to show its face. 

Her stomach clenched as she took a breath and as calmly as she could asked, “So why are you really here, Mr. Montgomery?” 

“It’s Stuart.” Montgomery returned the first name courtesy Serena offered him, but there was a hint of hesitancy in his voice as he added, “I’m here to ask for your help.” 

“Well, you know you can rely on us to help in any way we can.” Randolph lifted his glass in a cheerful salute. 

Serena’s heart lurched at such a sweeping statement. She shot Randolph a warning glance and tried to control the censure in her voice. “Careful, my darling, you may want to revise that decision when Stuart tells us what he’s working on.” 

After a moment’s thought Randolph asked, “So whatever it is has to do with aeronautics?” 

Montgomery nodded. “An aircraft development company, to be exact. The company is owned by Hiram R. Stillwater whose very loose connection with the Wright brothers sparked his interest in the possibilities of flying. He gathered a group of associates with similar interests together to raise money for his project, but the terms of the contract were odd to say the least.” 

“In what way?” Serena’s raised eyebrow emphasized her question. 

“If one of the partners died, his shares were then distributed between the remaining partners rather than going to the deceased’s family.” 

“Oh.” Serena thought for a moment. “You mean like a tontine.” 

“A what?” Her comment puzzled Montgomery. 

“A tontine,” Serena repeated. “It’s a type of investment plan devised ages ago by a Neopolitan banker, Lorenzo de Tonti. Actually, he didn’t really invent it, only modified it from other types of investment schemes of the time. Each investor pays into the plan and gets an annual dividend on his or her capital, with the shares going to the remaining partners as they die.”

“Serena, there are times when you astound me,” Randolph admitted. “However did you discover that fact?” 

Serena waved her hand at the stacks of books around them and smiled. “There is a world of information lining these walls. I read it a while ago when I was looking for something else. The thing about a tontine is, whoever remains gets the whole pot.” 

“That sounds exactly the same as with Stillwater’s business.” Montgomery stroked his chin as he mulled the thought over. “There were six investors, now there are only two left. Stillwater himself and Sir Hilary Blenkinsop-Brown.” 

“Hilly?” Serena opened her eyes wide in surprise. 

“You know him?” Montgomery asked. 

“We hunted together with the Quorn and Berkeley and . . .” Serena stopped, noticing for the first time the calculating gleam in Montgomery’s eyes. “But you knew that, didn’t you?” 

“I must admit, Sir Hilary did mention your name but I thought it better at that stage to not disclose our association.” 

“Why ever not?” 

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Rita's on Hiatus

It is with a very heavy heart I announce that Rita will be taking a hiatus from blogging.  This has been a very rough year for my friend and peer, and  2014 comes to an end with the tragedy of her sister's death.  I know you will all join me in praying for Rita and her family and hoping she will soon be back.

In the meantime, if anyone is interested in filling a guest slot, please contact me at mizging@gmail.com.

Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #Frifreebits

So, it's time for another six paragraphs from Betrayed.  Remember this story is based on facts, but the names and some of the circumstances were changed to protect the innocent.  Gosh I love saying that.  :)

So...here you go:

The constant buzz of the alarm invaded Cassie’s sleep. She reached to the nightstand and slapped the button atop the clock to silence the annoying noise. Although early, the light from the rising sun filtering into the room forced her to squint until her eyes adjusted to the brightness. If changing the position of her home became humanly possibly, she’d turn the whole dwelling around. The lacey white curtains that matched her down comforter made her bedroom stylishly feminine, but did little to darken the room.

With reluctance, she dropped her legs over the edge of the bed and curled her toes into the plush ecru carpet. It would be so nice to sleep in just one morning, but work beckoned. She grimaced at the thought of another day at the office. What would it be like to be married to a rich man and not have to work?

She covered her mouth to mask a gaping yawn, stood and stretched. Her fingers splayed through a gnarled mass, and she groaned. Going to bed with damp hair had been a bad idea.

Immediately, her thoughts returned to Evan—the reason she stayed up late. There was no use checking for a response this early, besides there was no time and she didn’t dare be late. Her new boss was a real jerk not at all like the wonderful man for whom she had worked for years. What were the odds that when her ideal supervisor retired, she would end up being supervised by a Japanese man? Somehow people of that particular ethnicity kept turning Cassie’s life upside down.

She had never been racially biased, but perceptions from her new boss’ actions indicated anyone of the female gender threatened him. He treated her differently than the male executives, not letting her make decisions as she had in the past, and never soliciting her opinion. In some ways, working for him felt like being married to Greg all over again.

Her new supervisor’s treatment of her set the tone for the other men in the office and made going to work a chore. If there was any possibility of finding a job that paid the same great wages, she’d quit in a flash, but unfortunately, due to unemployment statistics, her chances hovered somewhere between slim and none.

Check back next week for another "dose."

A Page Straight From Sandy Semerad #apagestraightfrom

 Message in the Roses

by

Sandy Semerad

On a snowy morning in Atlanta, Carrie Sue rummaged through an old cedar chest, searching for a journal. The storm had knocked out her power, but she was grateful to have a fire in the hearth and a kerosene lamp to read by.

    She shook her head in dismay at all the stuff she’d collected. Only a pack rat would keep a stack of reporters’ notebooks and a cassette recorder from the 1980s. That was so long ago. No cell-phones or social media then.

    When she uncovered her wedding dress embroidered with roses, she buried her nose in the crinoline and inhaled the sweet musk, still lingering after all these years.

    Beneath the dress, was a small safe. She fumbled with the combination lock and eventually opened it to reveal the lovely leather-bound book.

    Her hands shook as she withdrew the diary. She sucked in a sharp breath and opened it.

But as she began to read, a painful nostalgia stung her. She barely recognized the passionate and reckless young woman she used to be.

Journal of Carrie Sue Justice

December 8, 1986

 

    My stomach knotted when I saw the strange car in my driveway. Damn it, my key wouldn’t open my front door. Deadbolt was locked.

    The door vibrated from the blaring stereo inside, as if my house were possessed. I couldn’t imagine my husband blasting music. He’d always complained about loud noise in the morning, and when I left an hour ago, he looked fast asleep.

    As the Eagles belted out Heartache Tonight, I punched the doorbell nonstop. No response. By now snow clouds had buried the sun.

    Dad used to say, “Always trust your gut.”

    My gut screamed disaster, reminding me of the day I received the tragic news about Mom and Dad. They’d died in a plane crash on their way from Atlanta to Ethiopia.

 

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