Tuesday Tales: From the Word Hazy

Welcome to this week’s edition of Tuesday Tales, the blog where stories are written for your enjoyment. Each week a 300-400 word excerpt is offered based on a word or picture. This week’s word is Hazy.

I’m continuing with The Price of Courage, Canadiana Series Book Two.  Enjoy.

The children, stomachs full, had gone to bed shortly after they’d finished eating. Okwaho had a kettle of bones simmering on the fire. He would use the broth and pemmican to make soup for tomorrow. While their supplies were limited, they would stretch easily to feed this family until they could all leave. The Mohawk had spread his bedroll on the kitchen floor since he had second watch.

Huguette sat in a chair near the fire, her sore ankle propped up on a log. She’d insisted on tending to the children herself, despite her difficulty climbing the ladder. Lucien couldn’t help but admire her fortitude. Now, dressed in clean clothing, a cup of spruce tea in hand, she sat in front of the blazing hearth next to him while Yves took the first watch.

“Can you tell me how you ended up in the root cellar?” He raised his own mug of tea and sipped.

“Six men arrived just as the blizzard started. My husband welcomed them, as was his custom. Men have little to do during a storm but play cards, stoke the fire, drink caribou, and tell tall tales. The second night, the children and I were in our beds when I heard raised voices. Urgel had been going on about something he’d heard last summer when trading with the Dutch. He claimed he’d been told of vast lands far to the west where the game covered the land as far as the eye could see and houses were made of gold. They accused him of lying, so he insisted on showing him a map he kept with the furs. When I awoke in the morning, my husband with me and the inside of the house was hazy with smoke. I got up thinking a log had rolled out of the fireplace, but when I got down the ladder, there were only embers and ashes in the heath. I opened the door and…” She swallowed, brushing away at her tears. “Laurian was dead, and there was so much blood. Smoke rose from the barn where we kept not only the furs but the ox, nanny goat, and chickens. Terrified that we were under attack, I ran inside, but before I could bar the door,  the men kicked it in. They forced the children, too frightened to make a sound, into the cellar.”

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