Living the Dream

Welcome to October and this week’s Tuesday Tales. In my part of the world, the trees had donned their majestic colours. Nights are cool, days are comfortable but shorter, and we all know winter is just around the corner. This week our word prompt is ICY. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Enjoy.

After a twenty-six-hour flight that included a two-hour layover in Doha, Qatar, his senses were slow, dazed, not reacting fast enough, but one thing nagged at him. Why would the stones choose someone for him with no connection to them? Could she have Scottish ancestors? It was possible. The world was a much smaller place these days. Take the heir for instance. She’d been born on the Isle of Lewis but had left it as a child. This woman could’ve done the same. Only the stones knew the truth.

He watched her conversation with the agent and saw her pull out additional documents, but he was too far away to see what they were or hear what she was saying.

When the agent stamped her passport, she rushed off toward the baggage claim. He would catch up with her there. How hard could it be to find a woman wearing an orange shirt with her hair in a ponytail?

He hurried to get to the window and handed over his UK passport.

“Welcome back, Mr. Gillies. Where were you?” she asked.

“New Zealand.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business. I’m an archeologist. I was working on a Māori dig.”

He didn’t want to prolong this by explaining about the filming which he knew from experience generated a lot of questions. Still, she wouldn’t let him go until she was satisfied. After answering a few more of her queries, she stamped his passport.

“Sounds fascinating. Have a good day.”

“Thank you, and you as well.”

Grateful that she’d been so quick, he hurried toward the baggage pickup area and looked around for a woman in an orange sweatshirt and a ponytail. Seeing one, he hurried over to the carousel, noting that it was a flight from New York. American. He’d been right. He grabbed the woman’s shoulder and turned her to face him.

The stranger’s icy eyes froze him in place.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized once more. “I thought you were someone else.”

He hurried away before she called security on him. Looking around the crowded room, his spirit plummeted. There wasn’t another orange sweatshirt anywhere.

It was true that he was tired, but he couldn’t have imagined her, could he? As a rule, he didn’t daydream, but given the way he felt, anything was possible. Sighing, he walked over to the carousel currently displaying the bags from his flight.

That’s it. Stay safe, and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Here we are, the last week of September 2023. I can’t get over how quickly the seasons change. It’s officially fall, and I’m still waiting for summer. This week, our Tuesday Tales post features the word prompt, SWEET. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Enjoy.

Thank goodness Fiona had messaged that a driver would meet her here and take her to the hotel. With two large bags, a carry-on, and her messenger bag, it would be difficult just to get through the airport let alone find a shuttle.

It had been cool on the plane, so wearing a sweatshirt had made sense, and she’d donned the I Love Pumpkin Spice shirt Lenore had given her as a going-away present. In Canada, come the first of September, there was pumpkin spice everywhere—coffee shops, bakeries, candle shops, and bars, got in on the scent of fall. Since she loved the sweet smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger, it was a match made in heaven, and pumpkin spice martinis were yummy.

Following the other passengers, she made her way to Immigration. The lines were slow and crowded with people from different nationalities, their voices blending into a hum, making it hard to understand what anyone was saying.

The line in front of her crawled forward. Directly before her, a family of four, most likely from India given their attire, included a toddler who demanded to be put down and a father equally determined not to do so. Beside him, an exhausted woman held the hand of a boy who seemed reluctant to move when his mother did. Twice, she’d had to stop abruptly when he’d balked. Behind her, the heavily bearded man in an Australian bush hat had managed to keep his distance from her, despite being propelled by the crowd following him. She heaved a sigh of relief when the family moved forward only to gasp in pain when the stranger stepped on her heel.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I thought you were with them.”

Turning, she shook her head. “No. I’m not. It’s okay. I’m amazed it hasn’t happened before. This place is a bit of a zoo. No harm done.”

He stared at her, his eyes lighting up in surprise and recognition. “You. Here. How is it possible?” He reached for her but she stepped away.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, intimidated by the stranger’s attempt to touch her. “I’m sure we’ve never met. You must be mistaking me for someone else.” She shrugged. “They say we all have a twin someplace.”

Before he could answer, the customs agent called, “Next.”

Marina escaped from his earnest gaze as quickly as she could and presented her passport.

That’s it. Stay safe, and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

The Autumnal Equinox, otherwise known as the first day of fall, isn’t until September 23 this year, but fall is definitely in the air as the plants change and nights and mornings grow colder. Pumpkin spice takes over as the go-to flavor for everything, and the stores are full of Halloween decorations.

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales and another snippet from Listen to the Stones. Our word prompt this week is SMART. Marina has just told her aunt and uncle that she’ll be leaving for the Isle of Lewis to claim her inheritance. To say he isn’t happy would be an understatement. Enjoy!

Uncle Marvin harrumphed. “That crafty old bastard. It figures. Even in death, he seems determined to make life miserable for you, almost as if he’s punishing you for existing. Eileen mentioned him when she came home. When your father died, everything he had went to his father, Iain Fraser. The man had been some kind of Scottish lord, but by then they were all impoverished, I’m sure. When he died unexpectedly, everything reverted to his brother, Angus. He gave her ten thousand pounds, what must’ve been most of the family fortune to leave Scotland and never come back. I’m surprised he’s even giving you a chance to have any of it but watch yourself. This could be some kind of scam on the part of the family to stick you with death taxes or something. You’ve always been a smart girl, Marina. If you sense that anything is off, anything at all, you get yourself back home as fast as you can. How much is it costing you to get there to collect this so-called inheritance?”

“Nothing. The death taxes as you call them have been paid. The solicitor sent me a credit card to cover the cost, and before you ask, he also sent me information so that I can access fifteen thousand pounds from the Bank of Scotland account in my name there.”

“Someone’s going to get the bill for that credit card. Be careful it isn’t you. For all you know, everything he claims you inherited could be nothing but a pack of lies. The place could be mortgaged to the hilt and nothing but a money pit. I don’t like it, not one damn bit, but I can tell from your voice that you’re determined to do this.”

“It could also be exactly what it seems to be, a wonderful gift from a man who regretted what he did thirty years ago,” Aunt Flo added. “Marvin still blames your mother’s death on that place, and finding out that the family had money that could’ve made her life easier is hard to swallow.  When do you leave?” “On September 21. I’m flying to London and staying there for a couple of days and then on to Edinburgh for a couple of nights before going to Inverness. I’ll arrive in Stornoway on the twenty-ninth. The lawyer, Mr. MacDonald will meet me at the airport and take me to Fraser Hall.

That’s it. Stay safe, and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Is he who she thinks he is?
Is she trustworthy?
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Second week of September already! We had hot weather last week and it looks like we’re in for rain this week. Our Tuesday Tales prompt today is SILLY. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones.

How quickly things change, and this time, the change had been for the better. In the two weeks since Marina had learned of her uncle’s bequest, preparations had moved at lightning speed. In less than a month, she would be on a plane bound for England, and from there she would travel to Inverness and then to the Isle of Lewis.

She used tape to seal the bubble wrap in which she’d enclosed the last of her mother’s dishes. There had only been two place settings of the Wedgewood china, but she and her mother had used them for meals at Christmas, New Year’s, Easter, and birthdays. Now that she’d made up her mind to go home, the only thing left to do was to pack up her apartment. Originally, she’d struggled with the decision to ship all of her worldly good or to leave them here in storage. Her friend Lenore had offered to keep the stuff in her basement, assuring her that once her year was up, she would be only too happy to return to Harrisville.

“Don’t be silly! Of course you’ll come back. Think of it, Marina. You’ll be an heiress. You can open your own restaurant.”

But Marina didn’t want to impose. Besides, as much as Lenore was certain she’d get homesick and return, she wasn’t quite so sure. Lately, her dreams had been filled with images of heather growing wild all over, no doubt because of what her mother had once said, as well as white and black-faced sheep, and huge Scottish Highland cattle. She’d been reading about the Isle of Lewis and Harris, the two islands connected, and she’d learned everything she could about Harris tweed.

It was true that the weather wouldn’t be what she was used to. Harrisville was located near Leamington in southwestern Ontario where the climate was mild enough to grow peaches and other fruit. At one time, tobacco had been the main crop, but over the years that had changed to tomatoes and other vegetables.

While there wouldn’t be snow on Lewis, it wouldn’t ever get truly hot either. It would be like fall weather year round with one exception. She would finally get to see both the Aurora Borealis and the midnight sun. How cool would that be?

That’s it. Stay safe, and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Congratulations to all of the authors who’ve made the IWSG the success that it is these last 12 years. Your hard work is appreciated.

This month’s question is: The IWSG celebrates 12 years today! When did you discover the IWSG, how do you connect, and how has it helped you?

I connected with the IWSG during one of the A to Z activities a few years back. I participate in that each year and have learned many things about writing in general. I’ve even picked up a few friends along the way. What has stayed with me and lifted me up when things weren’t going well was knowing that I wasn’t the only one struggling to find readers and make a name for myself. Sometimes a few words of support made all the difference.

Another thing that being part of the IWSG group has done is give me the courage to take the path less taken, to write what I want to write, even if it doesn’t fit in Amazon’s perfect and limited little boxes.

So thank you to those who co-host each month and those who read the various posts. Here’s hoping the group goes on for at least another 12 years!

As always, check out the other posts here: https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html

Welcome to September. Years ago, for me, that meant a return to the classroom. Now, it’s just the last few weeks of summer. This week, the authors from Tuesday Tales have another word prompt for their scenes. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. As always, my cover artist has provided me with an inspiring cover. Enjoy this snippet and your first look at our hero.

Nathan chuckled. “I’m not surprised. The man might’ve been a good businessman, but he was as foolish and stubborn as they come. He and his brother had a falling out over a woman some seventy years ago. He might be the eldest and the Fraser heir, but she chose his younger brother. The men never spoke again. But as to the great-niece, Angus might not have displayed the photographs, but his estranged brother, Iain had a son, Hugh Fraser. The young man, a reporter, was killed during The Troubles in Northern Ireland, just a few weeks after his daughter was born. He never got around to marrying the mother of his child. The woman stayed on the island for three years looking after Iain who’d suffered a stroke and was paralyzed. When the man died in his sleep, Angus wanted nothing to do with her or her bastard child whom he denied could be a Fraser. She packed up her three-year-old and went back to Canada. She never came back.”

“I wouldn’t have taken him to be such a small-minded man,” Jerome mused.

“It seems the old man mellowed with age,” Nathan added. “Ewen MacDonald and I are friends, so when I approached him about buying the land, he shared more than he would’ve with a stranger. When he was diagnosed with lung cancer last spring, Angus tried to reach out to the girl, but Eileen Harrington died four years ago from complications with COVID. The old man made a new will leaving everything to the grand-niece he hadn’t seen in more than thirty years. I hate it when stuff like this comes across my desk. It’s both petty and tragic.”

Jerome shook his head. “Aye, tragic in more ways than one.”

He’d hoped to be settled in Fraser Hall before winter and to take his time studying the stones—after all, he might be a successful writer, but he was still an archeologist. Those particular stones were on Fraser land, and while he could probably get permission from the historic society responsible for preserving all historic sites in Scotland, he wanted to do this on his own, not be required to publish papers and report to bureaucrats. His interest in the stones had nothing to do with their age, mineral content, layout, or purpose. It was all about the power they possessed.

That’s it. Stay safe, and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Welcome to the last post for the month of August. This week, our word prompt is PITCH. I’m a few words over the 400 word limit, but I wanted to finish the scene.

Cell phone to his ear, Jerome Gillies listened to the disembodied voice and paced his study. Inverness had been his home for fifteen years now, but he never felt as though he truly belonged here. Trained as an archeologist, he’d worked on several digs in and around Scotland, Ireland, and England as well as Northern Ireland, eventually hired by the University of the Highlands and the Islands to work on the restoration of Urquhart Castle, once the home of Robert the Bruce, first king of Scotland. The ruins on Loch Ness drew thousands of visitors each year. This was only a place to work and live until he could return permanently to the island that called to him.

He stopped and stared at the collection of photographs decorating his office wall, all pictures he’d taken on his last visit to the Isle of Lewis. In one, there were the ruins of a few of the black houses on the island; in another, black houses that had been modernized and maintained. The stone buildings had been called black houses because they were essentially houses without windows, the only source of natural light coming from the small doors in their sides. Pitch black inside, the homes had been specifically built in that fashion to keep out the cruel winds and bitter cold of winter storms that assaulted the island each year. The wind never stopped blowing on Lewis, although at times it was nothing more than a comforting breeze keeping the tiny gnats from driving a man crazy.

The houses still being used now boasted windows and skylights. They no longer housed animals along with their human hosts, and while natural light flooded them, they still did the job they’d been designed to do decades ago—keeping their occupants warm and dry despite whatever Mother Nature threw at them. While most no longer used peat as fuel, a few of the old crofters continued to do things the way their ancestors had. They harvested the peat, let it dry on the heather, and carted it home to fuel their fires all year long.

A third photograph showcased a herd of sheep grazing in a common pasture shared by the crofters, but it was the fourth one, the one of stones standing sentinel-like on a cliff that captured his attention. He’d stumbled across these years ago while hiking on the island. Every time he visited the area, he was pulled to the stones that had inspired him. Now, he was hellbent on buying the land they stood on, and nothing would stop him from reaching his goal.

That’s it. Stay safe, and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

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