An Excerpt from The Fall

Hello friends!  I am still writing like the wind, nearing the twenty thousand word mark, but I have heard your pleas to read for a sample, just a little taste of what I'm working on, and I have decided that it is time to let you have it by posting the beginning of my novel.  Enjoy!

An Excerpt from The Fall

Chapter 1 – The Pumpkin Patch

“That one’s good for nothing – it’s all bruised!” Madelyn laughed with a wink.

“Well, I think it’s rather cute and would be perfect for pumpkin carving.  Just think – it already has plenty of attitude and spunk!” Evelyn replied with a grin.

“Yes, just like you.  You two would be an unbeatable combination at the contest.  I’m sure you’ll come up with a splendid design again this year.  What sort of face are you considering making?”

“Hmmm…I don’t know.  I was thinking about a cat, but with that pumpkin, I might be able to make an old cat lady, with all the wrinkles and scars to hint at her dark past. Mwahahaha!” Evelyn chuckled as she cut the pumpkin free of the vine.

“Oh, you are prophesying about what you will look like in 50 year!”

“You and me both, girl!” said Evelyn, reaching round to poke Madelyn in the side.  “In half of a century we will be like the two old ladies in Arsenic and Old Lace!”

“Oh goodness gracious!  That movie was hysterical!” Madelyn replied, starting down a new row of pumpkins.  “I hadn’t seen it since high school until we watched it last night.  Great job with the creepy décor!  I thought that sparkling spider was going to jump off the wall!  And those poison bottles looked perfectly vintage.  I had totally forgotten the plot, but when I heard that it had Cary Grant in it, naturally, I had to see it!  Of course, I still think that An Affair to Remember is my favorite of his films.”

“No, no, no!” Evelyn countered.  “His Girl Friday is by far the best!  The dialogue is wonderfully witty and Hildy is so firey. Rosalind Russell – I like that kind of gal.”

“But An Affair to Remember is so sweet and it makes me cry every time.  Sure I love a good comedy, but it just can’t compete with a classic romance,” Madelyn answered dreamily, closing her eyes for a moment, only to stumble over a hose on the path, dirt flying, but with hands extended, caught herself just before completely face-planting.

“Always the romantic, Madelyn Campbell!  Head in the clouds and tripping over your own feet!  Are you okay?” Evelyn asked, extending her hand.”

“My own feet?  That was a hose!  They ought to keep the paths clear!”

“Oh, calm down, feisty!  It is a pumpkin patch.  Naturally, they will have hoses and shovels and other equipment necessary for tending and maintaining their crops.”

“Sorry, I was just a little startled,” Madelyn apologized.  “I wonder why we even associate pumpkins with the fall holidays…”

“Just one moment, and I’ll Google it,” Evelyn said, pulling her iPhone out of the emerald handbag she had slung over her shoulder.

“Apple to the rescue!” Madelyn exclaimed.  “I was just voicing a thought, not requesting an answer.”

“Now don’t give me a hard time about my phone,” Evelyn replied looking up.  “You’ve made me curious.  I don’t understand why you dislike technology so much when it can be so very helpful, especially in moments of ignorance and uncertainty like the one we find ourselves in right now.”

“Oh brother!  I just don’t like being tethered to a piece of plastic.”

“Yes, I know, dear.  Now let’s see…here we go.  Wikipedia says, ‘Pumpkin Patch is a chain store based in Auckland, New Zealand. Mostly focuses on the design, marketing, retail, and wholesale of children’s clothing…’  Yeah, I don’t think that’s what we were going for.  How about pumpkin patch dot com.  That sounds promising,” Evelyn mumbled to herself while scrolling through the page.  “Aww, yes.  ‘Pumpkins are believed to have originated in North America.  Seeds from related plants have been found in Mexico dating back to 7000 to 5500 B.C.  The name pumpkin originated from the Greek word for large melon…’ Blah, blah, blah.  ‘Native American Indians used pumpkin as a staple in their diets centuries before the pilgrims landed.  They also dried strips of pumpkin and wove them into mats….’ That’s nice.  Oh, here we go, ‘early settlers used them in a wide variety of recipes from desserts to stews and soups.’”

“Oh, yes, so fascinating,” Madelyn retorted sarcastically.

“Just a second, I’m getting to the relevant part, Miss Impatient.  ‘The origin of the pumpkin pie is thought to have occurred when the colonists sliced off the pumpkin top,’” Evelyn continued reading, “‘removed the seeds, and then filled it with milk, spices and honey.’”

“Well, pumpkin pie is my specialty.”

“It certainly is, Mademoiselle Cordon Bleu,” Evelyn replied.  “I can’t wait to have some at our Thanksgiving party.  You’d win my vote in any baking contest.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Madelyn bowed.

“You bake and I eat.”

“I cook and you clean.”

“We truly are perfect for each other,” Evelyn said putting her arm around Madelyn’s shoulder.

“‘When you’re the best of friends…’” Madelyn sang.

“‘Having so much fun together,’” Evelyn sang back.

“‘You’re not even aware,’” they sang in unison, “‘you’re such a funny pair.’” Both girls started giggling.  “‘You’re the best of friends!’” they exclaimed as they both fell down laughing.

The sun was beginning to lower on the horizon, changing the hue of the sky to a rich terra cotta, as the childhood friends sat laughing among the pumpkins and sang lines from their favorite Disney songs.

The girls had met in fifth grade Sunday school when Madelyn first moved to Anaheim from Colorado, and they had been inseparable since.  Both valued the arts in their own way, Madelyn excelling in the culinary and liberal arts, while Evelyn had pursued sculpting.  They had attended school together, went as each other’s dates to prom, were college roommates, and now lived together in Fullerton pursing their masters’ degrees.  Madelyn had chosen to study Medieval literature due to her love of Dante’s Divine Comedy, and Evelyn, inspired by the works of Rodin and Degas, was studying Art History.  They were both fascinated by the beauty and the power of imagery to move an individual toward God, whether through the written word or the visual artistic creation.

“I’m starving!” Madelyn exclaimed.

“‘Be our guest.  Be our guest.  Put our service to the test,’” Evelyn laughed.

“Seriously.  We have to get going.  What time is it, anyway?” Madelyn asked, standing up and dusting off herself.

“It is a quarter after five of the clock,” Evelyn replied with a smirk, glancing at her iPhone.  “What’s the hurry?”

“What’s the hurry?” Madelyn asked in shock.  “The party’s at 7:30 and I haven’t even worked out my costume details yet.”

“Well, as soon as you pick a pumpkin we can head home.  What about that one?” Evelyn pointed at a dinted one by her foot.

“Certainly not.  I may not be a sculptor, but I at least want to start with a pretty pumpkin.  Let’s see.  I’ll take…this one!” Madelyn declared, lifting a perfectly proportioned one, without a scratch.  “See, it’s perfect.”

“You know, physical perfection is not always the highest virtue,” Evelyn chided.

“So says the modern artist,” Madelyn jested, rolling her eyes.

“Say what you will, but the bumps and bruises of life, the wrinkle around the mouth or the scar across the cheek often demarcate a much more interesting personality, than the picture perfect Barbie.  Fashions are always changing.  One century the preference is for curvy figures, the next it is the twigs.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I still think that everyone naturally picks that which best represents the ideal, such as the ideal pumpkin – smooth and round, and with a tasty orange rind,” Madelyn replied, carefully nestling it in her arms.

“Pick which pumpkin you will, but I’d rather study the unique lumps and bumps of my pumpkin than seek to shield my delicate pumpkin from all outside forces,” Evelyn said, shaking her free hand, as though she were quivering from the appearance of a ghost.  “Speaking of lumps,” she continued, “you know what I’d love right now?” Evelyn asked with a twinkle in her eye.  “Mashed potatoes!”

“Hey, no making fun of my mashed potatoes!  Just because I haven’t been able to find the perfect balance between lumpy and creamy…” Madelyn argued.

“No ridicule here.  You know how much I love your mashed potatoes, precisely for their lumps.”

“You’re too kind.”

“It’s true.  I like my potatoes lumpy.  What can I say?”

“You always did have quirky tastes.”

“Me?” Evelyn asked feigning shock.

“You can’t fool me, Evelyn Bailey.  You’ve always preferred the original design to the one that fits the mold.  It must be the artist in you.”

“And that’s why you love me!” she retorted with sisterly affection, throwing her arms around her best friend.  “Let’s go whip up some dinner and figure out our costumes.  You never know who’ll be there…”

                                                                    *****