Welcome to TUESDAY TALES.
Today’s snippet is the start of a new WIP, tentatively titled ‘Starting Over’.
Victoria moves to Oak Grove, a tiny town in north Texas, looking for a new beginning. From her quaint antique store on the town square, she encounters more drama than she ever expected. In the midst of getting to know her storekeeper neighbors and learning who she can and can’t trust, will she find the one thing she’s not looking for, true love? Stay tuned each week to find out.
This week’s prompt is: Summer.
Enjoy – and feel free to leave a comment. Click the link here to go back to the main Tuesday Tale site for more entertaining story snippets.
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In between the few customers that wandered in during the afternoon, Victoria priced the dishes and added them to her burgeoning collection. That task out of the way, she allowed herself to sit and peruse the items from the trunk she’d just purchased. She sorted the small quilt pieces, most of the like pieces strung together on a thread. Just like my grandmother kept her quilt pieces together, she mused. She arranged the photographs in various piles. A very few had names and dates written on the back, their fading ink barely legible. She wished that more of the photographs had been documented in some fashion.
Victoria was elated to discover an old leather bound journal hidden at the bottom. The sporadic dates began in 1903 and ended with a few random entries from the early 40’s. Charlotte M. Copeland. Victoria began reading her tale, fascinated with this woman from the past. How can she – or her relatives – have just left these in the attic of the house they sold?
She started sifting through the photographs, trying to find Charlotte’s name written on any of them. She glanced up and was startled to see the darkness enveloping the square, with the golden halos from the street lights piercing the night time. Goodness. Where had the time gone? A glance down to her watch revealed that she’d technically been closed for over two hours.
And not even an extra customer, thankful that I was open later than usual. Which was too bad. The few customers she did have that day didn’t even begin to cover what she’d paid out to the handsome stranger.
After locking the front door and turning out lights, she grabbed her jacket and headed for the back door. I guess it doesn’t matter I was here late, she muttered to herself. It’s not like anyone’s waiting for me at home. Except the menagerie of dogs and cats that would be irate because their dinner was late.
Turning the corner near home, her headlights reflected ghostly giants sitting in what used to be a twenty acre field. Bulldozers, bobcats, and water trucks sat scattered around the new housing tract that was in the early stages of development. Water and sewer lines were in the midst of being laid, giving the skeleton appearance of where new streets would follow.
A frown settled across her face. So much for enjoying the pasture at the end of my street. I used to love seeing the bluebonnets and paintbrush scattered across the vista and watching the longhorns laze around in the summer shade of the oaks, she thought.
Now it’s going to be just another cookie cutter field of houses. More cars. More traffic. The glow of the headlights illuminated the developer’s sign, posted next to the mandated zoning change sign. ‘TL Burdett Developers’.
The vision of writing out a check to Toby L. Burdett earlier that day surfaced in her memory.
It’s got to be him. No wonder he has no interest in sentimental items – he’s too busy destroying the community in the name of progress.
By the time she reached her front door, her mild irritation had grown into a full blown fury. I hope to goodness that man never crosses my path again.
Trisha Faye 