Jillian Chantal

This week’s word prompt for the writers of Tuesday Tales is Eighteen. I had to fudge a little bit as I wasn’t able to figure out a way to actually use just eighteen so, mine has a date of the 1800s.

Check out the other tales here

The next morning, she got dressed early and headed to the genealogical library to see if there was any way to figure out who Lizzie’s parents were.

The librarian tried very hard to be helpful as they looked through some records on the Moreno family. There were a few Elizabeths but they all died as older women. None that passed away as a little girl. Lu didn’t have a clue about how spirits might present themselves, but she presumed if her Lizzie died as a grown woman, she’d present that way and at least know her parents’ first names.

Disappointed in not finding her housemate, she asked the librarian, “Is there a roll of people who died in the various yellow fever epidemics?”

“You might find that at some of the churches. They kept lists of parishioners, births and deaths so there may be such a list at one or more of the downtown churches, like Christ Church. I think they actually had a priest pass away who tried to nurse a lot of his flock.”

Lu wondered if it was one of the ones she’d seen in the park.

“Remember, the town was much smaller then so it wouldn’t be too daunting to visit the few churches that existed back in those days. Let’s see if we can find a record of the ones that were here from the seventeen-hundreds to like eighteen-fifty. Does that sound like your date range? The biggest yellow fever issue was in eighteen-o-two so we should be good to search that hundred and fifty year time frame.”

The woman worked tirelessly and Lu eventually left the library with a list of places to inquire. Who knew there were so many churches back then?

Since I started NaNoWriMo today with a new story– first time I’ve written in months–I am sharing here on Tuesday Tales. This is the opening scene- unedited of course. This week, the word prompt is arm.

Check out the other tales here.

The park at Seville Square is usually quiet. Sometimes, there are school kids on field trips to the historical district who run off excess energy while eating their sack lunches al fresco under the shade of some of the huge oaks. Other times, when there’s a festival, such as the seafood one in September, there are booths of food, crafts, and activity centers for the children. Shoppers galore visit neighbors and friends as they mill about looking for treasure.

The Gulf Coast Arts Festival the first weekend in November had long been a favorite of Lula Mae Haverstock. But not this year. Not while she was flat on her back next to the gazebo, knowing she might have had a psychotic break and trying to hide it from all the concerned faces of the people looking down on her in dismay.

Vision blurred, she was unsure exactly how she got here, but she was pretty sure she was seeing some strange things. It had been a sunny day, but some kind of fog now lay over the park and wisps of smoke or something flitted in and out of her peripheral vision. Some actually appeared to be people—vaporous and in strange garments—yet not solid and touchable.

 Her friend, Amanda Bonds, patted her hand. “Are you all right, Lu? That was a nasty fall. Say something.”

All that came out was, “Thomas Jefferson?” Lu knew she’d probably suffered brain damage as she stared at one of the men standing over her. He was dressed in what she could only identify as maybe colonial garb, with a huge hat that actually reminded her of the style Napoleon Bonaparte wore. It made her head hurt worse trying to decipher what or who he was. Wasn’t Bonaparte older than Jefferson?

The man in the big hat looked at her askance. “Thomas Jefferson? Good Gad, woman. What kind of person do you take me for?”

Lu tried to shake her head, but it hurt too much. And now that she could focus just a little more she realized her left arm was hurting.  She reached over to investigate and touched something sticky.