Part 2 of my son’s fiction blog series. If you missed Part 1, click here.
Thursday, May 3, 1917 – Discretion
“Actions are like tools,” Grandpa used to say. “Necessary to be productive, but more than useless in the wrong production. Don’t take your paintbrush when you go to build a house, and keep your hammer home when working on glass.” If only life was that easy.
May placed her pen back on her desk for a moment while she took a sip from her cup. Still steaming, the chamomile tea was brewed strong, the bold, relaxing flavor just how she liked it. The hot liquid warmed her throat as it went down. Contentedly she smiled as she placed the cup next to the kerosene lamp that lit her bedroom. Though it was small, May was happy to have a room in the boardinghouse to herself. She liked the other young women that lived there as well as Mr. and Mrs. Branson, the estate owners, but solitude is often priceless.
“Pray with your door closed and your heart open,” May’s grandfather had said. “God doesn’t call you to pray… (read more)