Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby by Leanne Dyck (Ch 8)

 Chapter seven: Aster's plan to become pregnant has hit a snag. Is it a small obstacle or a roadblock? Can she use her womanly wiles to get what she wants?

photo by ldyck

Chapter eight

Aster sailed back to Vancouver the next day. She sailed back alone on the first available ferry. She sailed back without seeing Kenneth James’ property. She’d seen enough of those bug-infected woods. She’d seen enough of that i—.

A couple claimed the bench directly across from Aster. They kissed and cuddled and she found it hard to pull her eyes away.

Her mind filled with Kenneth James holding her and kissing her and—. But their weekend had been cut short; their romantic weekend was ruined because... because... She knew it was because of that island. She just wasn’t cut-out for that place. And he knew that. Why had he demanded that she go there with him? Why had he demanded that she change, adjust, try to become someone she wasn’t?

She liked what she liked and there wasn’t anything wrong with that. There was nothing wrong with her. But for him, she had tried to get used to that island. She had tried. He thought she hadn’t but nothing could be further from the truth. She tried and tried and tried. It simply didn’t work. And that wasn’t her fault.

And besides... Their jobs were in Vancouver. They lived in Vancouver. That didn’t need to have anything to do with that island. He could conduct his research somewhere else—somewhere more suitable.

The young couple continued to enjoy each other. It made Aster sick. Honestly acting that way in front of everyone. Didn’t they have any sense of common decency?

***

The following year Kenneth James started building on his Mayne Island property. Every year after that he left for the island in May and returned to Vancouver in August. And Aster always found some reason not to join him. She reminded herself that it was healthy for couples to have separate interests. 

photo by ldyck

Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby

Chapter nine

Do you believe that Kenneth James is making unreasonable demands on Aster? Do you think that it's healthy for couples to have separate interests? Do you believe that Aster's marriage is in trouble? And if it is, what do you think should be done to repair it? Do you believe that their marriage is worth repairing? Who's responsible for repairing it?

Is the Reverend Dead? Ch 8 (a mystery inspired by remote island life) by Leanne Dyck

chapter seven: Mrs. Hazelton doesn't receive word that church is cancelled and believes this means that the Reverend is in fact not dead.

"St. Mary Magdalene Church" oil 

by Mayne Island artist Frances Faminow

Is the Reverend Dead?

Chapter Eight

The organist plays. Mr. Blue slouches in his pew. Within minutes, I predict he’ll be sleeping. It’s a typical Sunday. Except, where is young Ms. Matthews? She isn’t in her pew or anywhere else that I can see. She never misses church—not without broadcasting a reason weeks in advance.

The door to the vestry closes with a thud. Young Ms. Matthews walks into the church—back straight, head held high. She places the weathered leather-bound Bible on the pulpit, flips it open, and pulls out some paper. Paper? Is it a sermon? Does she think she can preach to us? Her? She leans into the microphone. “Like Saul on the road to Damascus, God has called me and I am transformed.”

Who does she think she is? I want to storm down the aisle and shake some sense into her. But that wouldn’t be Christian.

“Blink once,” she continues, “and I no longer sit amongst you but now am ministering to you, in this way. I hope I can rely on your support during this hopefully, brief period. I had my doubts but the Reverend insisted. So I stand before you at the pulpit. I hope we can continue to walk this faith journey together.”

“Hallelujah,” Mrs. Blue sings out. “Praise the Lord.” Clearly, Ms. Matthews’ charm has won her over.

The hymns are the same, but the sermon… Oh, the sermon… I find no fault with her delivery. I have no doubt that she has practised for hours, days. No, it’s not how she delivers it. It’s what she says.

“We are all God’s precious children,” she call us. “Bring all your cares and woes to Him. He will relieve you of your burdens.”

Coddling? The road to Hell is full of warm fuzzies. “Yea, though I walk,” I mumble, “through the valley of the shadow of death...”

Mr. and Mrs. Blue are still singing the last hymn when I leave the pew. Every Sunday, on the way out of the church, it’s traditional to shake the Reverend’s hand and thank him for the sermon. But I can’t do that today. I can’t shake Ms. Matthews’ hand and pretend that I’m a member of her flock. I’m no hypocrite. So I slip out of church early.

"St. Mary Magdalene Church" oil 

by Mayne Island artist Frances Faminow

 Chapter Nine

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The Other Side (short fiction) Ch. 8 by Leanne Dyck

 Ch. 7 Owen and Mara move into their new home. Relaxing in the laundry room, Mara hears music. She thinks it's her next-door neighbour. However, later, when she meets her neighbour she discovers it wasn't.

"Vancouver" photo by ldyck

The Other Side

Chapter eight

The next day was overcast and the grey clouds finally released their load, like someone taking a knife to a waterbed. It pounded against our living room window threatening to break the glass. 

I flipped the pages in my paperback--not bothering to read them. I couldn't wait to be home alone--in the laundry room.

Owen stopped to give me a kiss before flying down the stairs, hair still damp and smelling of aftershave. "It's a great night for TV. See you soon," he called up.

Take your time, I wanted to call back.

I heard the front door close.

I skipped down the stairs, ran through Owen's office, flew down the hall, and landed in the laundry room. Cross-legged beside the dryer, I leaned against the concrete wall.

Plunk. Plunk. Plunk. A guitar strummed. Clang. Clang. Clang. A cowbell rang out.

"Slow down, you move too fast." I recognized the words--Simon and Garfunkel's Feeling Groovy.

It was heaven--.

Smoke?

I sprang to my feet. 

The dryer was cold. The electrical outlet was fine. 

Burning wood?

I searched the room. No match. No lumber. No firewood. Not even a splinter. 

Still, the smoke kept coming.

Deep breath in; deep breath out. Deep breath--.

The silver smoke turned sky blue, spring green, bright orange, purple. It continued to drift up to the ceiling and slowly began to clear. Blinding rays of sunlight poured out of the hole, where the wall had been. When my eyes adjusted to the bright light I saw a green meadow. 

"Mara." Someone was calling my name.

Far off in the distance, a purple cow munched strawberry red grass. I rubbed my eyes.

A bunny wearing a top hat hopped down an oatmeal cookie path. "Mara," he called. He stopped right in front of me and looked up. "Come on, Mara, we've been waiting for you." He wrapped his paw around my pinkie finger. Something about his touch eased my worry. 

Hand-in-hand, the bunny and I skipped up the path. Lollipop trees stood under candy floss clouds. Birds sang the familiar words, "Feeling groovy."

We climbed a small hill and I saw the musicians--a brown bear with a guitar and an orange cow with a cowbell hanging around her neck. In the middle of the circle of thatch-roofed cottages and lollipop trees, people danced.

The bunny led me over to a woman leaning against a lollipop tree. Her dress of eye-popping colours--orange, yellow, and green swirls--had wide sleeves and a full skirt. Round, steel-framed glasses balanced her nose, and a thin, leather band wrapped around her head. Her sun-bleached, straight hair fell to the middle of her back. She wove daisy after daisy into a long chain.

The bunny danced around singing, "She came. She came."

"Chill, dude. Don't have a cow." Her words swirled around lazily in the air, finally landing on my eardrums. "It's all cool. Everything is groovy."

"She came. She came. This is her. This is Mara."

Finishing the chain, she danced in a flowing spiral over to where I stood. "Far out." She slipped the chain over my head. "Welcome to my side of the wall." And I thought she said, "My name's Wendy.", but when I repeated her name, she corrected me. "No, my name's Windy--with an 'i', dig?"

"Dig? Dig what?" I asked.

Instead of answering me, she joined the party. Everyone had long hair. The women wore dresses like Windy's. The guys' blue jeans were faded and their cotton shirts hung loose.

Windy's arms flew gracefully in the air like wings. Her bracelets sparkled in the sunlight. Her dress floated around her like feathers.

Feeling Groovy ended and Windy rejoined me. "Join the happenin'."

"No, I couldn't. I'm too... I'm too shy to dance."

"Mellow out." She returned to the dancers.

This place seemed so safe that I thought maybe I could try. I closed my eyes and felt the music fill my body. I spread my arms out and floated on each note like I was flying.

I opened my eyes and I was dancing.

photo by ldyck

Chapter nine

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from Sunday, August 1 to Wednesday, August 25

I will continue to publish installments of 

The Other Side

until...

Sunday, August 29

Book Review

Skinny Legs and All

Tom Robbins