Chapter 3 - C

"No! Stay away from her, Frances!" boomed a man's voice behind them. Frances turned abruptly at the sound of her father's warning. He appeared like the tempest itself, rain soaked and fierce. The house shuddered around them, perhaps from the storm pressing in, perhaps from the exchange of power between a white haired witch, no longer old, and a father in the doorway.

Everything in the house was tipping and crashing and blowing. Frances crawled toward her father as the wind and rain entered freely through the broken windows and the open door. Outside the sky was black. Widow Beecher took her feet slowly and pulled her back straight, seemingly undisturbed by the storm. 

"Follow me!" yelled the man as he yanked his daughter upright and turned from the house.
"Where are we going?!" screamed Francis.
"To the shelter!" responded Widow Beecher.

The old woman had come from behind and passed them with uncharacteristic speed. Her body was ancient but her muscles seemed taut and new. Her white hair loose behind her, she led Frances and her father through walls of straw and dust to a door in the ground and descending stairs.  The door slammed above them as the sound of a train or a lion or a falling tree broke above them. Widow Beecher lit a storm lamp and the darkness retreated to illuminate their faces. And Frances couldn't breathe. The woman she had known her whole life had become something new. The dress was the same. The apron with holes remained. But her face was young, and her eyes were bright with action, and her arms moved with power. And Frances was afraid. More afraid of this woman underground than the sounds of destruction that shrieked above them. "We wait here!" Widow Beecher, or whoever she was, had to lift her voice above the noise.

Frances hid against her father's chest, his arms around her. She felt the pulsing of his heart beneath his shirt. He was agitated. His arms were tense. She knew his eyes were watching the old woman's every move. They remained like this, in the half light of the lamp for hours, or maybe it was days. Frances woke up, not realizing that she had dozed off, to a question in the now quiet darkness. The same question that had filled her dreams,

"Who are you?" asked Francis's father. Quiet. A soft sigh. 

a.) I am Cordelia Jones. But I think your identity is much more important, wouldn't you say, Mr. President?

b.) I am Cordelia Jones. I've been watching you and your daughter for some time. There aren't many of us left, are there?

c.) I am Cordelia Jones. But then a telepath like you already knew that, didn't you.

Chapter 2 - C

Frances cringed at the thought of consequences looming, and propelled her bike toward a solitary cabin, white  clapboard in the blackest maw of the clouds. Wind and introductory rain blew against her face, her breathe coming in fits, Frances slid her bike into the dust of the front yard and banged urgently on the front door. A hesitation. A sound of shuffling feet. And Widow Beecher was standing in the door frame.

"What in the blazes! Frances Little. Come in before the tornado does." The circling wind caught pieces of Widow Beecher's white hair and swept them vertical. She looks even more like a witch, thought Frances.
"Yes, Ma'am."

Lilac hung in low bunches from the sealing, drying. The air was pungent with their smell. Frances followed Widow Beecher to the chair in front of the fire, sidestepping a raccoon, a squirrel and a possum curled up together in the warmth of the blaze.  Frances allowed herself to look around at the cabin's interior with curiosity. It had been six months since she had sat at this fire. Six months since she had been banned from ever going back. Maybe no one would ask where she waited out the storm. Maybe Mama won't suspect. Frances thought. Even Frances knew this was unlikely. Mama suspected everything. 

Widow Beecher paced back and forth, putting away the dishes, checking the latches on the windows, stepping from corner to corner with worry in her forehead. Even in her house dress, there was no hiding the strength of her shoulders, the confident movement of her hands, the curve of her back that held more power than the straight muscle of grown men. White wisps, loose from her braid, tested the air.

"Now I thought you weren't supposed to see me, Frances. Suppose you tell me why you arrive unannounced in the middle of a storm?" the old woman saw into Frances's soul.
"I uh. Mrs. Beecher, its just that I didn't think I could make it to the farm. Please don't tell my folks. I promise I'll leave as soon as the storm goes."
"And if the wind takes the house? My reputation in town won't be helped if you are taken by a tornado in my presence. . . " Widow Beecher shut her eyes and let out a low chuckle, "Burned at the stake... wouldn't be the first time."  A window exploded. Shutters let go of hinges. Frances and Widow Beecher fell to the floor as glass  and rain descended. The tornado was upon them.

"Frances! Are you ok? Come here, now!" the old woman was crawling toward the girl, who had begun to cry.
"Frances, we don't have time, do exactly what I say!"

a.) Widow Beecher found Frances, wrapping her body with her arms, just as the house and the animals and the bodies huddled together and the bicycle were lifted into the storm. All was wind and cacophony. 

b.) Frances looked up through rain and tears to see Widow Beecher grab a bundle of lilac and crush it in her hand. Memories of summer sun and sweat filled the little girl's mind. She saw the lake and the flash of water's reflection, just as a hole opened up in the floor below them and the world went dark.

c. ) "No! Stay away from her, Frances!" boomed a man's voice behind them. Frances turned abruptly at the sound of her father's warning. He appeared like the tempest itself, rain soaked and fierce. The house shuddered around them, perhaps from the storm pressing in, perhaps from the exchange of power between a white haired witch, no longer old, and a father in the doorway.

Choose Your Own Adventure Returns

Hello. Its been about 3.5 years. Many things have happened. In an effort to keep my brain in tip top shape and out of sheer nostalgia, I am opening this blog again. And my inaugural re-post will be a "Choose Your Own Adventure Story." Perhaps you have heard of this. Perhaps you have not.
I begin the story with a character and a setting. I provide 3 options for plot development. You, the reader, vote on what should happen next. We ride the story wave together. Brilliant fun. If more people than my mother and my husband participate, we are less likely to stall out at a tie. You understand.

Would you join me? I promise to engage every iota of my minds creative ramblings. I will not guarantee a happy ending. There absolutely will be a character named Cordelia Jones.

Chapter 1

One feeble star blinked on the horizon. A day was ending. In the dizzy heat of late summer, no one noticed the extra motion of the skyline - the stealthy accumulation of clouds, the fading of the light. The solitary star weakened and was shut out. It didn't mind.

Frances was the first to notice the smell of the storm. She turned when a gust of wind twisted her skirt, surprised. She squinted as the sky darkened too quickly. Could she bike home in time? Could she beat the storm? She had 5 miles to cover between town and her family farm. Frances was glad she had not let her little sister tag along to her piano lesson. Frances regretted stealing and eating two pieces of cake. It would slow her down. She had moments to decide. Ahead of her, the plains lay flat and stretched out and unconcerned, checkered by dirt roads and lazy fences. Behind her rose the small town with its promise of doors and cellars, its one stop sign beginning to shimmy in the wind. Frances

a) chose the road and began to pedal, her legs spinning like the air that built up on the dust behind her.

b) knew she was too small in the world. She turned her bike and headed toward the general store.

c) cringed at the thought of consequences looming, and propelled her bike toward a solitary cabin,  white  clapboard in the blackest maw of the clouds. 

(leave your vote in the comments below if you dare)