Tuesday Tales: From the Word PAINT

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our word prompt is PAINT. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones.

“I don’t mind giving you some lessons,” Jerome offered. “I’ve a clean driving record and have acquitted myself quite nicely in all kinds of weather and several different countries.”

“I may take you up on it. I’ll give him one more chance and then…” She shrugged. “That must be the croft that’s empty.” She pointed to the one on the right, where Mhara and a woman with the blackest hair she’d ever seen were cleaning the paint on the trim around the windows. “I know the young girl is Mhara. She recently lost the last of her family. Maeve has taken her in, giving her a home, and a job doing whatever needs doing. Not everyone back home would be that kind to a stranger. Do you know the woman working to her?”

He looked over to the croft and shook his head.

“I can’t say that I know either of them, although there’s something familiar about the younger one. I probably saw her here when she was visiting. As for the other one, few people have truly black hair like that—if it isn’t dyed. Even though I can’t see her face, I would’ve recalled that hair. You say Maeve has taken her in? The people on Lewis may take a long time to warm up to strangers, but they are quite kind to one another and those who belong here. Let’s not disturb them. We’ll stop on our way back. The stones are over this way.”

Jerome turned left and led her up a slight hill. When she reached the top, she stopped. She’d definitely been here before. Everything was suddenly as familiar as her neighborhood had been in Harrisville.

In front of her, some fifty yards away, rose the stones she’d seen countless times in her dreams. They were here, and they were real … and if they were real what else might be?

She gasped. “I can’t believe it. They’re real. They exist.”

Jerome released her hand. “Did you think I was lying about them?”

His face mirrored his confusion.

She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that at all.”

“What did you mean, Marina?”

“I’ve been here before … I mean, I may have been as a child. Three year olds can make memories. I’ve seen them so many times in my dreams, and my father drew them as did I, but I didn’t see his drawings until after her death.”

That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.