The third installment of my son’s fiction blog series.
Monday, May 7, 1917 – Direction
Mr. Branson came home with a telegram today, couldn’t wait to show Mrs. Branson. It was from their son, George. Told them he enlisted to help end all this fuss over in Europe. Mr. Branson was so proud. He’s been in a fine mood since he got home.
A knock rapped at May’s door. She placed her pen next to her journal. “Come in.”
The door creaked open. Mrs. Branson poked her head through. “Dinner in about fifteen minutes, dear.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” May replied. She noted the tense expression. “Need any help?”
“Oh, no, not tonight. I’ve been in such a tizzy since Mr. Branson came home my hands are happy to have something to work with.” Mrs. Branson nervously rubbed them together, then realizing she had betrayed her emotions… (Read more)