Tuesday Tales: From the Word Puzzle

Welcome to the last day of July and this week’s edition of Tuesday tales, the weekly blog where a small group of authors share their works in progress with you. Books are born here and you get to experience the growing pains. These posts are all unedited, first drafts of the work to come.

This week, the word prompt is PUZZLE and to use it, i had o create a conundrum in the story. So, I begin by expanding on the last paragraph from last week’s post. Enjoy!

“You must bring a gift for his wife,” Izzy said, rising from the table and retrieving a fine porcelain bowl from the cupboard on the wall. “This belonged to my mother. I painted the rosebuds onto it myself at C … France.” She licked her lips, her gaze finding that of her husband across from her. “All women love beautiful things,” she faltered. “I’m sure she will, too.”

Lucien frowned. The silence around the table was deafening, every member of the household suddenly fixated on the food on their plates. Why had the near slip of the tongue on a word beginning with the letter c or k upset them so much? It was baffling. As he dredged up the scene in his mind, he realized Sophie and the seigneur’s wife weren’t the only ones distressed by it. Strange, but this puzzle wasn’t his to solve. While the idea of never seeing Sophie again saddened him, it was a reality he had to accept. Shelving the memory once more, he finished his breakfast and helped Okwaho and Yves pack up their camp.

The Montagnais village was barely three hours away at a regular pace, but this morning, the trek would be longer, especially with the sled of supplies they lugged behind them. At least two feet of fresh snow covered the landscape, bowing birches and cedars with its weight. Thanks to the snowshoes they wore, they skimmed its surface, their strange footprints the only blemish on the pristine world around them.

They’d been traveling no more than an hour when a dark spot on the snow ahead claimed Lucien’s attention. He stopped and raised his hand to shade his eyes. The sun shining on the snow was enough to blind a man, but thanks to the hand-carved, bone sunshades with narrow slits to see through, a gift from the Montagnais chief years ago, the brightness was almost inconsequential.

“It looks like they’ve sent out a welcoming party,” Yves said, indicating the dark spot that was growing in size and assuming the shape of half a dozen men.

Lucien frowned. “I’m not so sure of that. A welcoming party infers they knew we were coming, or that we were here. I saw no sign of that when we made camp nor while I kept guard during the storm, and I sent no message ahead. Something’s wrong.”

That’s it for this week! Don’t forget to check out all the other posts on  Tuesday Tales.