Chapter 1

Chapter 1

            It was always heartwarming to see the family gather around the table during dinner time. However, Peggy and Donna had a different attitude toward their older brother, EJ. They glared at him, making him feel uncomfortable and small. Peggy, who was a year younger than EJ, liked to claim that she was the oldest since EJ had seldom lived at home. He had spent most of his life in the State Foster Care System and only visited home for a few months at a time. Peggy and Donna did not consider him as their actual brother since they believed that blood and genes had no bearing. They saw him as an unwanted visitor. Their relationship always had tension, and Peggy wouldn't care if he wasn't in her life.

While Peggy shares her mother’s physical resemblance, she possesses a beauty that sets her apart. With her mother’s long, flowing dark brown hair reaching her waist, she exudes elegance, while Peggy captivates others with her own distinct features. With her fair skin and striking blue eyes, Peggy is reminiscent of a porcelain doll, exuding a captivating beauty. Peggy, despite being even shorter than her five-foot-tall father, stands at just four feet, three inches. The contrast between her petite frame and the broadness of her shoulders, along with her button nose, creates a unique and appealing look. In contrast to her mother’s weight, Peggy maintains a slim and thin physique. Just like her mother, she can be both smart and mean-spirited, often displaying a spoiled attitude. Peggy takes after her father in appearance and attitude, but she has her mother’s personality.

            Her eight-year-old younger sister, Donna, had always claimed she was the prettiest because of her dishwater blond hair; it came from her mother’s side of the family. Donna and Peggy were uncertain whether EJ had ever met them, but he had seen pictures for sure, mostly black and white. Unlike her mother’s straight hair cut in to a boys cut short, Donna’s was curled as she kept it shoulder-length and dyed blond-haired. Pretty as a picture, her mother would always say, “perfection.” Not too thin and not too fat. She had the same disposition as her mother when it came to temperament. She could be playful one minute and mean as a snake the next but has always been dumb as an ox.

            No, Peggy hated the idea of being in the same home as EJ and Danny because she could not control the people sitting with her around the table. She hated not having her parents wrapped around her little finger, like at home. Here, Peggy had no control. She hated Mr. and Mrs. Downing and their goody-goody two-shoes children, who could do no wrong. She considered them gullible and stupid for not seeing what was in front of their very eyes as she stared down at EJ, that worthless piece of trash, and his brother, Danny, the runt of the litter and another rotten apple through and through. 

            Danny looked just like EJ, with his mossy brown hair, blue eyes, small stature, and skinny build. He was much skinnier than most kids his age and could easily be mistaken for a skeleton. Peggy often felt that he was in her way and found the smell of the surrounding swill to be unbearable. She couldn’t understand why they had to have dinner outside, like filthy animals, on the unfinished foundation where the Downing family planned to build an addition to their already run-down farmhouse, in her opinion her parent's trailer was far better than this, but not by much.

            Then there was her grandmother, Peggy, who sometimes thought how nice it would be to have her in her pocket and on her side when Peggy finally pushed EJ and Danny to the curb or the hope her father kills them. But that was no longer the case since she was the one that took her away from her father and dumped her in these hick backwoods home instead of returning her and her sister Donna home where they belonged.

            Betty Stuart, also known as Grandma Stuart, was a determined woman in her early fifties. Like her grandfather, who passed away when she was five, she served as a nurse in the war. Betty had silver-white hair and blue eyes, unlike her grandfather, who had warm brown eyes, as seen in the pictures at her grandmother’s house. However, Peggy was never her grandfather’s favorite, and she resented him for it, unlike her father, who always made her happy and gave her everything she wanted.

            Peggy grinned as she watched EJ fall to the ground. For her life, she couldn’t understand why everyone called him EJ when his name was Eric. That name came from one of her mother’s dolls. Personally, she thinks it was far better than the name everyone called him. For 

She didn’t care if he died. She hoped he would and believed it would make her life easier. She reached over, grabbed a roll, and buttered it while everyone else panicked over nothing. She had to admit, however, that Mrs. Downing was a far better cook than her mother would ever be. She took a bite, feeling the bread melting in her mouth, and kicked her sister under the table. Oh, that felt so good.

            EJ knew they loved him whenever he looked around the table. Having his Ma and his brothers, Will and Robert, near him would ease his mind, removing any doubts. Then, whenever he glanced up, his sisters, Peggy and Donna, would scowl if they caught him looking at them. EJ felt strange as a wisp of black smoke seemed to encircle his body. His body felt heavy, making it hard to breathe, and his eyes felt heavy as they closed. Feeling his body fall to the ground into a heap of nothingness. Darkness surrounded him, and he couldn’t make out or breathe as he heard strange words. The darkness felt like death, cold as the grave, and EJ thought he was dying.

EJ and their family were unaware of an evil wizard named Morgan who had cast a spell from another world while they gathered around the table. He was trying to speed up his healing so he could take the boy away from his current environment. However, Derrick, the Judge of Time, quickly intervened and prevented all the hard work the Council of Light had done to protect the boy and the Downing family. This angered Morgan even more, forcing him to retreat into the shadows once came, because he could not win the onslaught of magic of the Light that was directed his way as they protect the boy.      

            Ma observed EJ as he slumped over, struggling to breathe. Although he tried to pay attention to the conversation around him and eat, sweat streamed down his little body, causing him to almost fall off the cot. The unfinished spell cast by the evil wizard Morgan had made it impossible for EJ to remain alert. Ma immediately jumped from her chair to catch him as he fell to the ground. She raced over from the table next to him to assist. “Wayne, he really is burning up!” she said.

            Pa yelled at Robert. “Fill the tub quickly. Will, go grab the bucket of water from the living room.” Everyone dashed about as fast as they could, Pa taking the bucket of water from Will and throwing it over EJ while Ma tried to cover what she could of the stitches around his waist and legs with a table napkin and kitchen towel and grabbed EJ and ran down the hall, soaking wet. They promptly placed him into the tub while Grandma contacted Doctor Hatfield.

            With Ma and Pa cooling him down, EJ slowly came back around. His breathing became steadier, and Pa sighed, looking relieved as Grandma went into the room. “Doc says we must leave him in that tub until he arrives. Then we might have to take him over to the hospital to get an x-ray, reopen that wound, and try to keep those stitches dry, Martha.” Grandma went over to EJ. “You silly boy, what will we do with you?” 

            “Grandma don’t worry. I’m just feeling very hot,” he said with a weak smile. EJ looked around the room and noticed that his sheet was missing, knowing he was completely naked without it. “Pa, can you please bring me my sheet?” EJ asked, feeling embarrassed. Deep down, EJ was anything but fine, yet he kept his problems to himself, not wanting to trouble anyone. Wanting to avoid any trouble, he told a lie.

            Ma said. “EJ, I’ll get you another one, son,” Ma bent down, kissed his forehead, and checked his temperature. He did not mind so much being naked around his Pa and Ma anymore, considering they were his parents now. They had shown him how much they truly loved him, including his three new brothers, Will, Robert, and Sam, and then his two new older sisters, Julie, and Anna, whom he loved more than his biological ones, Peggy, and Donna. They even took his little brother Danny in as part of their family, which made him love them even more. He knew without a doubt this was where he belonged. For this is what truly being loved and wanted felt like. He would fight to his last breath to keep it.

            Martha was a loving wife and mother of five children, and some would say she was very beautiful with her long brown hair tied into a nice, neat bun. Her deep blue eyes and soft cheekbones made you smile and feel safe in her arms. She also had the voice of an angel whenever she sang to her children at night when they were younger or sick in bed.

What they say regarding her regarding things that need to be done around the house is true. She wore the pants in the family, and her husband, Wayne, would not trade it for the world.

            Her cooking was one of the best to be found, next to her husband’s if she allowed him in the kitchen or near her stove. Martha had a heart of gold regarding her children’s needs, but she always expected more from them regarding discipline. She always helped them choose the right thing to do and never encouraged bad behavior or tolerated fighting.

            She was a stay-at-home mom, and by all counts, it was important to be there when her children needed her. Plus, she always had her husband Wayne nearby if she needed him. Martha had always relied heavily on her gut instincts when it came down to strange occurrences, plus what some would call the gift of “Sight,” which allowed her to see visions of certain events that would take place soon. What she saw scared her regarding her son EJ and her little family, and she has yet to tell anyone about them. Plus, sometimes they help make hard decisions easier regarding family matters. There were times, like now, it could be a curse. People also learned never to cross her. Whenever she wanted something done bad enough, you would expect it to be done, come hell or high water.

            Grandma wandered back down the hall, and seeing the sheet outside lying by the cot, she laughed. He just needed some fresh air, that’s all.” she shook her head. That’s my grandson,” she said and laughed. Everyone outside waited for news as Grandma came back to the table. He’s all right, folks,” she laughed and looked at the sheet on the ground by the cot. He just needed to take a dip in the tub, that’s all.”

            Wayne brought Martha a stool to sit on, placing some towels behind EJ’s back to make it slightly more comfortable. Julie brought Ma and EJ a plate of food on a tray and put it across the tub. EJ, for a brother, you will be the cleanest boy around,” Julie said as she bent down, tickled his feet, and then kissed him on the cheek.

            Julie was the oldest of five children at the young age of nineteen. She took after her mother with the same hair coloring but wore her hair down slightly below the shoulders with flowers in it occasionally. Julie had deep blue eyes like those of her mother and brothers, except for Anna and Sam, the youngest of her three brothers. She had a small, petite frame and was considered very mature and pretty for her age.

            She loved all her brothers that included EJ’s little brother Danny and sister, Anna, and considered them best friends. She was a tomboy at heart and loved to tease and wrestle with them on the floor or in the dirt. They had done so often enough when they were younger, while other girls went to parties or played with their dolls. She’d rather stay home and spend time with her family. More so since she graduated from Payson High School two years ago and never looked back while her friends went on to college, for her family was her most important goal.

            She has a secret that she has told no one, not even her family. Since the age of fourteen, she has had a strange connection with birds. She can sense them in her mind and draw them to her. Sometimes, when she concentrates hard enough, she can even enter their minds and see through their eyes. Occasionally, she can even fly with them, experiencing an out-of-body sensation. It feels rejuvenating, and she often wishes she could be a bird, free to travel to far-off places.

            Lately, she has been having strange dreams where she transforms into a large green dragon and feeds on flesh. After waking up, she finds blood on her nightgown, but it disappears mysteriously. However, today, she woke up in the barn with animal parts of deer lying next to her and her clothes soaked in blood. She spent most of the morning hiding the evidence before slipping back into bed unnoticed. She is worried that she might go insane.

            EJ blushed just a little and then smiled. Julie, nobody saw anything, right?” He asked as he blushed bright red. “Don’t worry, EJ,” she winked back at him. What do you think a big sister is for? I and Anna took care of it, so did your aunts, your brothers, and your uncles. All they saw was the wind as we covered their eyes. Now finish your dinner. Can I get you anything before we clear the table?”

            “No, dear, I’m fine, thank you,” she said.

            Pa and Julie returned to the family and the guests, and everyone was busy with the house. The girls cleared the table; the boys did the chores while everyone visited among themselves. Mary came down to visit Martha and EJ for a while. “Martha, we want you to know we are all here for you, dear,” putting her arm around her. So, if you need anything at all, ask.” she reached down, giving EJ a small hug, and watched him turn red from embarrassment, and went back down the hall.

            Mary liked to think she was the wiser woman of her two sisters, Lizzy, and Betty, despite her hair turning gray and being dyed blue silver. People considered her a high-society woman. With her height, she towered over her two sisters and gained the advantage over her father’s second wife, whom she regarded as a hideous witch until a house fell on her. Yes, you could say she was spoiled because she always got her way.

            She never got along with her younger sister, Lizzy, when they still played house with their dolls, yet in the years to come they became the best of friends and could not live without her. Her green eyes sparkled as they set off her long aristocratic nose and drawn-down chin into a petite triangle. She had never married like her two sisters or fell in love. She never saw the point when she was younger. Yet now she had regrets that she still lived alone in a small apartment built for two. She worked as a librarian, earning her livelihood for the better part of thirty years. Nowadays, she believes in romance. Somewhere out there was the man of her dreams; all she had to do was wait for him.

            Wayne felt worried as he looked at all the suitcases piled by the door. He was still determining where he was going to accommodate everyone. Wayne glanced around the room and down the hall, hoping to find a solution. He hadn’t had the chance to discuss this matter with Martha yet. They weren’t just here for dinner, and it seemed like they were going to stay for a while. However, it wouldn’t matter because their motto was always “there’s always room for more, as long as they had a corner or two.” Unfortunately, Wayne felt like he was running out of corners. He thought of the barn and remembered that he could put up the tepee.

            Wayne Downing always had a gentle side to him, but you would not know it unless you met him and looked into his bright blue eyes. He had soft brown hair and a tan complexion from working on a farm and in the fields, as he provided for his family with traded goods, handmade wooden furniture, and crops from the fields. Taller than any average man, standing seven feet, ten inches, built like an oak tree, and had the arms of a bodybuilder. Archangel Michael himself chiseled his face, or so his wife Martha quoted to him on the odd occasion or two. He was a Farmer and wood craftsman by trade. Gentle as they come but had a stubborn streak true to any mule alive.

            He was the kind of man who would always help his neighbors, expecting nothing in return. He was a loving and honest father of five children who he loved more than anything in the world. Wayne and Martha took in EJ and his younger brother Danny and were expecting another child this spring. This made them a family of eight, and Wayne couldn’t be any prouder or happier. However, he still felt like something was missing in his life.

            Wayne strongly believed in honesty and discipline. He believed in enforcing these values through actions rather than anger or words. Wayne trusted people and would often seal a deal with a well-placed handshake. He also believed that the punishment should fit the crime.

            Steve saw the worried look on his face and just walked over to him and laughed. Wayne, walk with me a minute,” and patted him on the shoulder. Doc says you like to build things, I’m right? And you are a master craftsman by the looks of it,” Steve said, looking at the house and pausing. “Wayne, I have a question: how attached would you say you are to this house?” He asked as they both looked at it.

            Steve married young after serving an LDS mission to a gal named Loraine. He had made money designing and building houses and was a brick mason on the side when things were slow. His appearance closely mirrored that of his father, with dark brown hair, or what little was left, and brown eyes that took on a golden hue when the sun shone on him at the perfect angle. Steve worked out a lot from carrying lumber, bricks, and large wheelbarrows of cement, giving him broad shoulders. He stood tall like his father, reaching the height of five feet, nine inches, his face and skin hardened by the long hours in the sun; he had a hard jawline like the rest of the family.

            “Why, Steve?” Wayne asked.

            “I have a couple of reasons why this place is unsuitable,” Steve chuckles. “Firstly, it’s not big enough. And second, have you considered your growing family? You have six boys, two girls, and another one on the way. If we include your wife, grandmother, three aunts, two uncles, and myself, that makes a total of―Heck well, let’s say I’d need to remove my shoes to count them all!” Steve laughed heartily at this.

            Steve’s family, including his mother Betty Stuart and her two sisters, had taken the Downings in as part of their own family. They all agreed that it was the right decision, even Aunty M, who would come to stay with them once she had settled her affairs in Salt Lake City according to the last meeting, they had as a family during the funeral of her late husband Mike. Steve couldn’t help but smile when he thought about the future that awaited them, thanks to their kindness and generosity in taking in EJ and Danny as their own children, something that most people wouldn’t even consider doing. And it was a secret, too, which made it all the more special. “But Steve, there’s no way I can build another house, not by spring. Three rooms, yes. I’ve already ordered the lumber, and we have drawn the plans. A new house? It’s not possible,” Wayne said repeatedly. 

He looked over the Downing farm, which sat on 250 acres of the best farming soil in Santaquin County. The Downings lived in a log-type, one-story farmhouse with hard wooden floors and meager furnishing. Wayne and his father built it before he married Martha as a wedding present. His father died soon after they had their first child. Like his father, Wayne was a farmer and spent most of his time with his boys in the fields, growing corn, wheat, hay, and ten acres of fruit trees.

            He owned twenty chickens, one rooster, mostly for eggs, and two dozen pigs, four horses, and one colt born this past winter. But when the planting was done, he and his boys would build furniture and sell what they built and raised to Stringham and other merchants around town for their main livelihood. They did very well for themselves. They may not have been rich, but they made it up in love for their family.

            “Wayne, my boy, never sweat the small stuff,” Steve said, slapping him on the back. He sat on the porch steps beside Wayne while waiting for Doctor Hatfield.

            “Well, it’s about time,” Wayne said, and Steve saw Doc pull back into the farm.

            Doctor Hatfield, known as Doctor Richard Hatfield, was the last of his breed known to make house calls in Santaquin County. His office, 113 Main Street, was three stores down from Stringham Goods & Hardware, right next to the Santaquin Pharmacy and Ice Cream shop. If you’ve ever been in Santaquin, you’d blink and miss it, but Doc didn’t mind. He loved small towns where everyone knew everyone and knew their business.

            He’d birthed and raised half the county for sixty years. Some would say back in the day, he was a ladies’ man. With his dark brown hair, now white as snow, right down to his handlebar mustache and bushy eyebrows. Most people would think he was an impostor to “Colonel Sanders” if it wasn’t for his height, just below four feet and seven inches. As a part of the Second World War, he served and trained the best doctors and nursing staff a hospital could have back in the day, including EJ's grandmother, Betty Stuart.

Despite being old-fashioned, his bedside manner and temper were unrivaled by any doctor. Although he had an old-fashioned style, he surpassed most doctors today with his unmatched bedside manner and temper. He had a reputation for throwing a gurney or the nurse on it through the door, but ultimately, he performed his job exceptionally well.

With a smart bowtie adorned with various colored spots, he always presented himself in his best form to capture the attention of his clients or those who paid him, whether in currency or any other form of payment they had or created. He cared for their welfare, not his own greed or the power was at his fingertips.

            Doc shook his head as he opened the car door. “Wayne, I swear I spend more time on this farm than in my office. I should set up a shop right here. You give me enough business to last me a lifetime. Let’s go see what he got himself into, that fool-headed squirrel of a son of yours.” Wayne followed Doc back into the house, down the hall, and into the bathroom. “Well, Martha?” Doc said, seeing EJ in the tub. “Change of scenery since the last few times I’ve been here lately?” he said as he looked around the room and rubbed EJ’s head. “I understand you’re sweating a lot. Like hot eggs on a rock, son,” he said to EJ.

            EJ was sweating as Ma wiped off his face and ran cold water down his chest and back. “Yes, sir, I can’t seem to stay cool long enough. It gets hard to breathe, sir,” he replied.

            Doc scratched his chin and eyed Wayne and Martha. “Martha, that infection has gotten worse. EJ let’s take another look at you. Have you been working those shoulders as I told you to, son?” He asked.

            Wayne and EJ nodded their heads. “Yes, Doctor.”

Reviews

[JayG]

• It was always heartwarming to see the family gather around the table during dinner time.

I respect and support what you’re doing, but there are significant problems getting in the way of success—problems that are invisible to the author.

Like so many hopeful writers, you’re trying to create a novel by transcribing yourself telling the story as if to an audience. But verbal storytelling is a highly specialized and unique performance art, where HOW you tell the story—your performance—counts as much as what you say, because the storyteller is replacing all the actors on the screen, and, the print version.

For you it works, because you begin reading already knowing where we are in time and space; already knowing the scene; already knowing the backstory on the characters and situation; already knowing the emotion to place into the narrator’s voice; already knowing the gestures that will visually punctuate, and all the other visual and auditory elements of the performance.

The reader? You’ve appointed them storyteller, and given them the storyteller’s script, but, provided zero information on HOW you would perform.

Look at the line above as a reader must: It was heartwarming to an unknown person to see an unknown family, of unknown size, at the dinner table in an unknown location and year. This is a statement, not a story. The reader has been given no context to make it meaningful, or, reason to care.

• However, Peggy and Donna had a different attitude toward their older brother, EJ.

So...two females of unknown age, and for unstated reasons, have an unspecified “different” attitude. Who cares? This is a report, not a story.

• They glared at him, making him feel uncomfortable and small.

Unless we know what’s going on, and why, this is meaningless as the words are read. And we cannot retroactively remove confusion.

The short version: For those and more reasons, this approach can’t work, and will be immediately rejected. And by immediately I mean before the end of the first paragraph. And after all the work and emotional commitment, the story deserves better.

Here’s the deal: We are no more ready to write fiction after learning the report-writing skills of school, and perhaps an undergrad Creative Writing Class, than you could have become a certified chef with no more knowledge of the necessary skills than a course of Home Economics would provide. To practice any profession, you must acquire and master the skills of that profession.

At the moment, like most of what’s submitted to publishers, your story is fact-based, author-centric, and focused on events. In other words, you're using a nonfiction approach

But...fiction doesn’t tell the reader what happens, as this does, we make the reader LIVE the events, in real-time, and AS the protagonist. As E. L. Doctorow put it: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.” And how to do that is a learned skill. Our goal is to entertain, not inform. And, the methodology is emotion-based and character-centric—an approach not even mentioned as existing as they readied us for employment in school.

Bottom line: We see none of the tools of the fiction Writing profession as we read. But...we expect to see the result of using those skills, and will turn away in a paragraph if they’re not. More to the point, your reader will do that, which is the strongest argument I have in favor of digging into the skills the pros take for granted.

Not good news, I know. But the pros make it seem so effortless that we forget they offer degrees in Commercial Fiction Writing. And who would commit to such a course if the knowledge they provide is unnecessary?

Personally? I’d suggest starting with Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer. It's the best I've found to date at imparting and clarifying the "nuts-and-bolts" issues of creating a scene that will sing to the reader.
https://dokumen.pub/techniques-of-the-selling-writer-0806111917.html

It’s an old book, but I’ve found none better. So download a copy and give it a try.

For an overview of the gotchas, you might check my articles and YouTube videos.

And, I STRONGLY suggest that you not use‎ Writers Branding again. They are a known scam publisher.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334

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“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”
~ Mark Twain

“In sum, if you want to improve your chances of publication, keep your story visible on stage and yourself mum.”
~ Sol Stein