Story Snip from Larksong: Chapter 12, Knitting, and Autumn Photos

elcome to the latest installment!

Larksong is set in Montreal, July 1914.

Visit my writing blog for the chapters in between! In chapter 1, Alice, after her grandmother's funeral, arrived at the family cottage to take care of her grandmother's aviary, only to find that her parents had already leased the cottage to another family for the summer.

The only way she could have one more summer in her favourite place was to surreptitiously take on the role of governess to the two young girls...

In chapter 2, we met George, laid up at the hospital with a broken leg. Instead of joining his friends on a Grand Tour of Europe, he's being sent off to recuperate at a rented cottage in the country...

In chapter 3, we returned to Alice's point of view, and saw her bonding with George's younger sisters. Then she got a surprise -- George was arriving at the cottage that very day!

In chapter 4, we had a hint that Alice finds George attractive and interesting -- but also unbearably rude.

In chapter 5, they had their first argument.

In chapter 6, they argued once more, but the stakes were higher: war is on the horizon.

In chapter 7, George attempted a rapprochement. The chapter ended with him asking, "Why don't we both go sit in the parlour?"

In chapter 8, Alice had some feelings stirring...

In chapter 9, during their first evening together, they began to suss each other out over a card game.

In chapter 10, we reached the end of the evening, with harsh words from George, but a détente of sorts before they went their separate ways for the night.

In chapter 11, we started the next morning in George's point of view, with his dawning realization of his attraction to Alice.

In chapter 12, we saw that this realization did not lead to greater friendliness.

In chapter 13, a new complication arises, in the form of George's rather rude brother...

How he switched tack at the slightest barb! His recovery would take twice as long if he didn't learn to control his temper and stop his blood boiling.

Alice passed his request to Elsie––much more politely than George had phrased it––and went upstairs for her sewing basket. If he meant to take his tea on the porch, she'd head down to the garden and her bench, the one she'd had placed after her own accident, when being immobile had made her feel oddly isolated and she'd wished to keep an eye on the lake and grounds while temporarily unable to enjoy them.

She slipped into the girls' room, where both were now snoring gently, and quietly rummaged among their discarded stockings, pulling out the one she'd noticed yesterday, Lucy's, with the hole in the knee.

A stick propped against the wall caught her eye. Long, thin and sanded smooth: the scratching stick! It was George who owed her a prize and she smiled knowingly to herself at the thought that he would soon be further in her debt, for she'd found the perfect gift for him.

She snatched it up and returned downstairs, stopped short by the sight of a man in the doorway.

He stood silhouetted by the wavering sunlight behind him, which flowed through the birches lining the path to the lake and glistered off the distant water. The light softened his skin, calling to mind the thin-faced heroes in the paintings of Rossetti.

The next instant she'd reached the bottom step and was on a level with him, so that the sunlight no longer enveloped his form. It was regular daylight, and she could make out his features now. Wide blue eyes, a forelock that hadn't stayed put despite the amount of glistening pomade in his iron-black hair, and a long, straight nose.

A Cunnick nose.

"You must be the governess," he said, setting down a small case. "I trust that switch hasn't already needed to be brought down on either of my sisters?"

"Switch?" She realised she was holding the scratching stick, and had forgotten her sewing basket upstairs. She must look a schoolmarm indeed, down to her stern black gown. "No, this was for–– Isn't Mr Cunnick out on the porch?"

"If you mean my brother, I didn't see him. I'm Albert." He advanced a step, hand outstretched.

"Alice. Er, Miss Underwood."

He clasped her hand, his touch soft and warm. What was it about the Cunnicks that flustered her so?

"Geor–– Mr Cunnick did not mention you'd be arriving so soon," she said, as he slowly released her fingers. Albert was the youngest brother, she recalled, a couple of years behind George. But he already had that all-important air of a Montreal Cunnick. Kings of the mountain.

Alice's family was a match for them, of course, but she must remember her place as the governess. "There are two free rooms to choose from upstairs. I can have Elsie make up yours while I put together a late lunch."

"Thanks. I'll take my bags up. But I ate on the train, so don't bother about feeding me." He stepped aside and began to poke his head into the various rooms, still talking over his shoulder. "George wouldn't have mentioned my coming because he didn't know. It's only that I–– Well, I've left school and, with our parents gone––they're in Europe for the summer, as I expect you know––and the house closed up for the next few months... Anyway, I board at Kingston, it's Queen's that I've been–– As I say, I've left."

He pulled his head out of George's room and peeked into the cupboard under the stairs.

He was telling the whole truth about as much as Alice was the real governess, but it wasn't her place––neither as McKerrow nor as Underwood––to pry. "As you wish," she replied nimbly. "I'll find your brother and let him know you're here."

"Thanks," he said again, sweeping up his case. "Er, which room did you say––"

"The front room on the west side, if you prefer it. The other looks out on the woods, not the lake."

"That'll suit me, the lake view, I mean. I can see this household is in capable hands." He gave her a twinkling grin, then loped up the stairs two at a time. Not that she was watching.

"Has he gone up?" George asked quietly from behind.

She jumped, and whirled about to face him.

"Hey, don't point that switch at me."

"How did you come up the steps without us hearing you?" she countered, but lowered the stick, fervently wishing she'd stayed upstairs to mend and sew.

"Oho! 'Us' is it? Charmer Albert strikes again. The odious little–– Anyhow, I didn't come up the steps." He sucked in a breath past his teeth. "I was in the aviary."

"Anyhow," she echoed. "It's not a switch. If you must know, it was a gift for you."

"A gift? What sort of––"

She proffered the stick. The dubious tilt of his head made her laugh, reminding her of the birds. "For scratching."

His face cleared. "How did you know?" He grasped the stick and held it by his thigh, as if burning with the need to dig inside his cast and relieve the itching at once, but uncertain whether he ought to begin before her.

No doubt he might have––she knew the prospect of having relief so close was difficult to resist––but before she could explain or he could excuse himself, Albert's voice carried down the landing.

"There's the esteemed older brother I call Hop-Along Cassidy!" He bounded down the steps and jumped down the final three, landing with a slide across the flagstones and a flourishing wave of the arms, the toe of one patent leather shoe knocking against George's crutch.

George tilted but kept his balance.

"Others might call him George," Albert continued. "And you, Mademoiselle Governess, might refer to him as Mr Cunnick when you remember to be polite, but he'll always be Hop-Along to me. At least as long as that plaster of Paris continues to hug that wasted limb." He smirked and whipped a pencil out of a pocket. "Shall I sign it?"

"What are you doing here so early, Albert?" George asked wearily, speaking as though his brother hadn't uttered a word.

"Tsk!" Albert kept his dancing eyes on Alice. "See how he greets his baby brother? You could learn from your sisters, Cassidy."

"Oh, they're awake?" she interrupted. "I'll go up straight away."

"I woke 'em! Wouldn't do to have ol' fun-loving Albie around, and no one alert to appreciate it. 'Sides, it's past three. Surely you don't keep 'em napping till suppertime, mademoiselle?"

He was all over grins, but Alice could not read his tone. Did he truly mean to criticise a situation into which he'd only just entered?

"Albert, they've only been up there for an hour," George said, before she could think of a reasonable reply. "You know summer nights are long at the cottage. Lucy'll be tired."

"Hark! The nursemaid speaks! Guess you mean you get knackered early, older brother, now that you're no good, on the ice or off. Or d'you mean to spare the governess?"

"That's enough! Apologise to Miss Underwood."

"For what?"

Albert looked truly baffled, gazing at her, palms up. She certainly didn't want to come between the brothers by having George think he needed to save her dignity or some other such chivalrous nonsense.

"If you'll excuse me," she murmured. The sounds of raised voices had been coming from upstairs and she used it as reason to hightail it out from between the boys. "I'd better see to the girls," she added, as though they'd exchanged nothing more than vague pleasantries about Albert's journey.

"Why are you holding the switch?" Albert's voice followed her as she escaped upstairs. She could not hear George's reply.

I finished a knitting project!

Blanket for a neighbour expecting a baby

Birthday cake!

Yummy bread from the bakery

Fancy coffees

A little atelier in Coppet

More scenes from Coppet

Dessert! And choosing an ice cream...

Lunch!

Piña colada cookies and a piña colada! And some pumpkin soup (not eaten on the same day)...

Various views

Not sure he's easy to spot, but there was a wee doggie in the ticket booth -- and no one else!



Have you ever broken a limb?

Story Snip from Larksong! and Scarf for Our Flag Means Death

Over on The Girdle of Melian, I'm posting chapters from Larksong!

Here's chapter 1 of Larksong, set in Montreal, July 1914:

Alice left Montreal on the afternoon of Granny Cunnick's funeral.

Still in her funeral coat and hat, she picked up the carpetbag she'd stored the day before at Windsor Train Station and boarded the afternoon train to Knowlton.

She hadn't wanted to draw attention to her abrupt departure, though in truth her parents were hardly likely to notice; neither had seen much of anything beyond the sickbed in the past few months. Not since Granny had first deigned to inform them of her illness.

By then the TB had advanced past any hope of recovery; Granny had known it, yet Alice's parents insisted on removal from one sanatorium to another, always seeking a new doctor, new nurses, new treatments. Alice had visited her every day at the last sanatorium, a week of listening to every sound from the bed, each gasping inhalation and rattling cough, bracketing the occasional intelligible whisper, always about her birds. Until the dark night last week, after which no further breath had come.

Once in Knowlton, she didn't stop for supplies, but set out straightaway to walk the mile to her grandmother's cottage by Macdonald Lake. Whether her parents approved of Granny's legacy to Alice or not, the aviary needed looking after.

She hefted the carpetbag from one shoulder to another as she rounded the last trail. The cool air of the July dusk was scented with apple blossom from the nearby orchards, and honeysuckle from a vine trailing along the fence of the last house, before the path opened up. She could not keep the sound of Granny's laboured breathing from repeating, over and over again, in her mind.

Far ahead, she caught her first glimpse of the falling daylight sparking off the surface of the lake. The family had always fought over who would spot the water before the others.

Granny Cunnick had been their matriarch, their mainstay – and Alice's refuge.

Thirty years of grandchildren and great-grandchildren and summers at the lakeshore. Alice had even escaped there one Christmastime, when the whirlwind of holiday time in the city – her mother's endless evening parties and her siblings' incessant social events, not to mention her father's steady stream of sporting afternoons – had left her depleted.

Cooling pies on the windowsill, attic explorations, and dockside dives of childhood had given way to garden teas and lakeside picnics as her generation entered adolescence. Granny had always attracted a varied crowd at her cottage, from young villagers to visitors from the Grand Hatley Hotel, artists up from New York, even the odd fisherman or two, each with intriguing stories to tell.

And, always, the birds.

She'd reached the gate, and it was open, and even from the foot of the long drive she could hear the rise and fall of birdsong.

If she could only stay here all summer! Away from her family and her mother's ideas of appropriate stations in life, away from the empty feeling of accomplishing nothing with her years; all the stronger now that she was no longer by Granny's side, away from...

She rounded the last curve and was brought up short by the sight of two young girls seated on the porch steps, complaining vociferously to a girl not much older than themselves, in a maid's uniform, attacking the cobwebs overhead with a rag wrapped round the end of a broom.

Alice stepped quickly behind the wide oak that shaded the gravel sweep before the house, and listened.

"But why do we need a governess, Eleanor?" the younger girl asked.

Eleanor shrugged, busy picking at a loose thread in the hem of her skirt. "Mum said we had to."

"But it's summer! I don't want to learn in summer!"

Eleanor dropped her hem and stood up. "It might not be so bad, Lucy-Goosey. Maybe she'll be fun."

"With a name like Underwood? Like a coffin." Lucy gave an exaggerated shiver, then jumped up, squealing. "Watch where you're waving that thing!" she cried at the maid, flicking madly at her dress. "Dirty great spiders! Why did we even come here?"

The maid brought down the broom with a thwack. "Two more days till that governess shows up! About time, too. If you hooligans've nothing better to do than get underfoot–"

"Come on." Eleanor grabbed her sister's hand. "Let's go look at the lake."

Alice shifted behind the oak to keep herself hidden as the girls skipped down the path.

Her parents had already seen fit to rent out Granny's house.

Far from fulfilling her passing wish to spend the summer here, she couldn't have even one night alone with the birds and her memories.

Unless...

Yanking off her mourning veil, she strode up to the porch and spoke up over the renewed pounding of the broom against the ceiling and its scampering spiders.

"Good afternoon. I am Miss Underwood. Is your mistress home?"

I've also made a bit of progress on the Our Flag Means Death scarf!

But I've been writing a lot and we're having a heat wave, so knitting has stalled a bit.

Lots of stories available on AO3!

What fun projects are you working on?

IWSG Day, ROW80 Round 2, A to Z Wrapup, and OFMD Knitting!

ound two of A Round of Words in 80 Days has begun!

 My previous goals included working on the following:

 

1. Larksong: I need to finish entering all the edits on paper and finish research

2. A Stitch in Time: I need to edit this thing because...

3. A Stitch in Time Outtake: I need to finish drafting this, so I can possibly issue both stories together! [one scene edited and posted!]

4. The Flight of Time: It's ready to go! I just need to finish the synopsis!

Instead of working on those, I wrote a handful of new stories! Links are available on my new ko-fi page (yes, I'm set up to receive donations, but any and all amounts received will go back to supporting other creators!).

For this round, then, my goals are to finish the remaining chapters of the two ongoing stories (two chapters left for one and eight for the other). The second one references my favourite play, Into the Woods!

It's Insecure Writer's Support Group Day today!

Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer - aim for a dozen new people each time - and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
Be sure to link to this page and display the badge in your post. And please be sure your avatar links back to your blog! Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.   

Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.
 

The awesome co-hosts for the May 3 posting of the IWSG are Joylene Nowell Butler, Ronel Janse van Vuuren, Meka James, Diane Burton, Victoria Marie Lees, and M Louise Barbour!

Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say. 

Remember, the question is optional!

May 3 question - When you are working on a story, what inspires you?

 

Ooh, what doesn't inspire me? Art, quotes, films, music, poetry, random conversations heard on the street, everything goes into the melting pot!

As Tolkien said, "An author cannot of course remain wholly unaffected by his experience, but the ways in which a story-germ uses the soil of experience are extremely complex..."

The tiniest example: I had a story idea for some scenes involving a group of friends that meet weekly to go for a jog. Now I'm suddenly watching joggers on the street, and I noticed how much their hair flops around. I'm not a jogger, and might not have thought of this. Now it's a detail I need to include!

I survived the April Blogging from A to Z Challenge!

I love having a theme for the challenge; I find it really helps me organize my posts. It also helps curate my blog a bit, which isn't something I always have time to do.

I'm still catching up on comments! There are so many great bloggers out there, with some fascinating posts for the challenge. I love learning new things and seeing different places through the posts of fellow bloggers.

One thing I've done before when I've felt that I'm falling behind, is to do a blog post highlighting all the bloggers who've come by and left comments, so I can encourage others to visit them too!

In between everything else, I have a new knitting project!

I wasn't expecting the lovely zigzag!
Pattern from Carry-Along Knitting, a gift from a friend

This always happens to me because I wind by hand :p

I got the lovely skein of "You Wear Fine Things Well" from Lady Purl

Piña colada cookies!

Gorgeous tile coasters

It's spring!

Cheers!

Rainbows!

What are your latest creative plans?

Is it spring or autumn where you are?