Mrs. Bracken - Kathy Link added 4/21/24

This link will bring up most updated version:  Mrs. Bracken working copy

Unfinished Draft - I'm trying to work on character, description, and writing a story that pairs and unlikely pair.   

Mrs. Bracken - FIRST DRAFT

Gray clouds covered the sun and a northerly wind sent leaves floating along cold drafts on their way down to blanket the ground.  A dog’s bark broke through the whoosh of the wind like a staccato beat of a drum.  A woman lumbered north teetering back and forth along the cobblestone street.  Her back bent as though she carried the weight of her past with her. The tails of her gray and black herringbone overcoat flapped behind with each breeze.  She carried a bulging black carpet bag, which hung from the crook of her left elbow.  It swung back and forth with each step, bouncing off her hip sporadically.  She carried a wooden cane in her right hand, her crooked fingers gripped the handle, moving the tip ahead to the next set of pavers with each step.  

Everyone in Taylorville knew Mrs. Bracken, or thought they did.  They knew where she lived, they knew who she was and could point her out of a crowd.  They knew she had been long widowed, had three grown children who never visited, and they knew she lived in the same house she grew up in, the house her father built before she was even born.  They knew her weekly pattern.  She grocery shopped every Monday, banked every Wednesday, tended her garden every morning at precisely 8:30, and paid the old man across her street to mow her lawn every Friday.  Townsfolk also kept their watches in sync as Mrs. Bracken began her afternoon walk sharply at 3:30 every afternoon, and returned home at 4:00 on the dot.  Mrs. Bracken rarely spoke, and that was mostly to the cashier at the IGA, the teller at Taylorville Land and Trust, and the old man who mowed her yard.  For the most part, the mysterious Mrs. Bracken kept to herself.

The children of Taylorsville made up all sorts of stories about her.  She was a witch that cast spells on the unsuspecting.  She used the herbs from her garden to mix up all kinds of potions to sell to all kinds of desperate people at night through her back kitchen door.  She hunted children and sold them to other witches in other towns.   She used her cane to whack kids who got in her way.  Her eyes could look deep in your soul and read your mind.  Of course none of this was true, and in fact, nothing could be further from the truth.  

Mrs. Bracken’s first name was Cindy, although no one called her that anymore.  Even though she was well into her eighties, her hair was void of gray hair, and under the hood of her coat, she was still blond as the sun.  Bright aqua blue eyes and pink cheeks were hidden under the cover of her hood as well.  Mrs. Bracken was indeed a contradiction of her reputation.  

Mrs. Bracken’s home was nothing spectacular, a two story brick square with a full front porch, like many in the area.  What made it stand out was the spectacular flower garden in front and the vegetable gardens in the back.  Wrought iron trellises covered with purple wisteria dotted the lawn, Arches covered winding footpaths shading them in fragerent honeysuckle vines, with beds of flowering annuals and perennials added more color throughout the garden. Climbing roses and mophead Hydrangeas broke up the darkness of the iron fence.while lavender, holyhocks, and fountain grasses softened the look on the ground.  Not a weed could be found.  But the iron fence in front kept visitors at bay.  Six feet tall with spikes, brick pillars on each side of the gate topped with gargoyles guarding the locked property.  No one had entered, save the weekly lawn mower, in years.  The back was just as impressive, herbs in one section, vegetables in the other, and in the very back corner stood a red barn storage shed, adorned with flower boxes and a small windows on each side of the door. For years, only Mrs. Bracken had been seen, silently pulling, cutting, watering, and caring for her meticulous and impressive garden

The fall weather this time of year showed signs of work needing to be done in both gardens.  The elderly Mrs. Bracken wondered how she could keep up with all the needs of her gardens, so she posted a help wanted notice at the IGA for someone to help her this year.  “Gardener needed, no experience necessary, able to lift, plant, and haul waste away. Contact Mrs. Bracken, you know where I live.”  And then she waddled back home and waited for someone to stop by apply.  

On the other side of town, a slight, pale, blond boy rolled out of bed and got ready for school, a place he felt unloved, unsafe, and a complete waste of his time as far as he was concerned.   His parents, ignoring the pain he experienced each day, compelled him to attend, thinking his teenage angst would pass and education eventually would save his future. He didn’t have a choice, so Nicholas threw on a pair of sweats, a hoodie and slipped into his Nike’s without socks, grabbed a strawberry pop tart and headed out the door.