A Canadian Morning : A Short Story
3:35 PM
Hello all,
The muse has been at it again....bored with response papers, it has created a character sketch instead.
What is a character sketch? It's a really short story or a dialogue. I first heard the term "sketch" in Anne of Avonlea, as Anne is stuck in a duckhouse and she thinks of a cute dialogue story. It can be used for exercises as well. It's a great term for this story.
I was partially inspired by an episode of When Calls the Heart, but it's mainly a product of my rebellious muse. For this story, I wanted to my muse to play with humor, sarcasm and covert dialogue after imagining the main storyline. Please critique in the comments and enjoy!
Catherine
A Canadian Morning
“Good morning,
Mrs. Brackman.” The post office clicked shut behind a stout woman
as she stepped up to the mercantile counter.
“Good morning,
Mrs. Hersh. It is simply too good of a morning to be an ordinary
one.” The middle-aged postmistress moved to the back slot to reach
her neighbor's mail.
“I would quite
agree, it is an extraordinary morning.” Mrs. Hersh simpered.
“Oh, I don't
believe it was an extraordinary one, just an ordinary one. Morning,
Mrs. Brackman and Mrs. Hersh.” The door had banged open again to
reveal a rather skinny personage with soft black hair and piercing
blue eyes.
Mrs. Hersh and Mrs.
Brackman exchanged smiles. They had seen the call of those blue eyes
as clear as day.
“Just an ordinary
one, Miss Sable?” Mrs. Brackman arched an eyebrow.
“Mmm. No ruckuses,
no embarassments. Just an ordinary pleasant day.”
“Oh? Tell me, Miss
Sable, what is so ordinary about today?” Mrs. Brackman leaned
forward as she handed a small parcel to Mrs. Hersh as Miss Sable
began her story.
“Well…...there
was a handsome Mountie who was on his beat not too long ago.
Naturally he was in a civilized part of the town, never the backwoods
for him. He never did appreciate the fine qualities of coal dust in
the air.” To which sentiment, Mrs. Brackman and Mrs. Hersh nodded
in agreement.
“He spurred on his
horse, naturally a very majestic black horse with a white star. A
brown horse with mismatched socks simply is undignified for a Mountie
to ride.”
“Of course, but a
man can't exactly look a gift horse in the mouth, Miss Sable.
Particularly a Mountie.” Mrs. Brackman said briskly. Now that he
had been positively identified, the story was beginning to get
interesting for the two ladies.
“As he passed the
general store, such as a gentleman should, he tipped his hat to the
lady on the porch.”
“Any particular
one? I've heard that quite a few have set their cap for that
particular Mountie.” Mrs. Brackman gave a knowing look.
“Of course it was
a dark haired beautiful young woman. Would you expect him to tip his
hat at a simpering blonde, or worse a dumbstruck little chick with
hair that was not just one shade?”
“He would not be a
true Mountie if he did not.” Mrs. Brackman agreed, almost laughing
to herself. It was hard to identify just what color Jessamine
Coulter's hair really was. Why she was
favored with the Mountie's attention was beyond her personally, but….
“And just as
naturally he passed by, with her gazing blue eyes behind him.” Miss
Sable gave a toss of her head.
“Is that all?”
Mrs. Hersh sounded rather disappointed.
“Well of course
that was all! It would simply be disgraceful to mention the wagon
rushing by like a gale, cutting of the view of so many....” Miss
Sable's rogue eyes betrayed her shamefully.
“Not old Silas's
wagon, surely??” Mrs. Hersh broke in.
“Oh, the very
same.”
“Oooohhh, that man
ought to put slots on his wagon so that a self-respecting busybody
can know what is going on in this town as he passes by...” Mrs.
Hersh sputtered.
“With how fast he
was probably going, it would not have mattered, Mrs. Hersh.” Mrs.
Brackman turned back to Miss Sable. “I would suppose that,
naturally, his horse behaved in the best manner possible?” She
asked with a twinkling eye.
“Not even a toss
of the head, never mind the hooves.” A rogue smile crossed Miss
Sable's face, thinking that surely the sky must have been torn
asunder by those said hooves.
“I'm sure that the
Mountie in question maintained perfect poise through all?” Mrs.
Brackman's voice held strong despite all.
“I don't think
I've heard such an….ahem….eloquent address as the one that the
Mountie gave at that time. Or seen such a….um….graceful...dismount
from a horse.” Miss Sable could not resist a grin.
“I would suppose
that it would have been equally insignificant to mention the state of
his uniform?” Mrs. Hersh ventured, finally catching on.
“Equally, Mrs.
Hersh. Of course it was a spotless bright cherry red! After all, a
Mountie wouldn't dare leave the barracks, much less mount his horse,
in a uniform that even showed the slightest hint of a common color
such as BROWN.”
“Oh dear! Were the
roads ever so bad?”
“Well, Mrs. Hersh,
it DID rain last night….” Mrs. Brackman suggested knowingly. “And
his hat, Miss Sable?”
“Of course it was
the rounded variety! How do you expect any man to wear one that was
flat as a pancake?”
Mrs. Hersh caught a
laugh before it escaped completely. “I dare say he would look
rather silly if he did, Miss Sable.”
“With a man with
such poise, such rugged handsomeness, he would be in a class of his
own, Mrs. Hersh.” Mrs. Brackman drolled as she handed Miss Sable
two letters.
“A fine example of
manhood is our young constable. So strong and independent….” Mrs.
Hersh sighed.
“Aye, Mrs. Hersh.
But even the strongest fall at least once. And they that fall often
need help to get back up again.” Mrs. Brackman looked knowingly at
Miss Sable.
Miss Sable snorted.
“It would be disgraceful to think of him so weak as to need
assistance in anything, Mrs. Brackman. Surely those beings helping
him onto his charger were ghosts of the old friendly miners from
years gone by.” Miss Sable looked a little guilty at this
admission. The miner's progeny really was much friendlier
and...helpful as well.
“Leaving his boots
much blacker, eh?” Mrs. Hersh simpered.
“Aye and much more
too!” Mrs. Brackman's laughter joined that of Mrs. Hersh and Miss
Sable at the pretty picture now in their minds.
“All in all, a
very ordinary morning. Good day, Mrs. Brackman, Mrs. Hersh.” And
with her tale told and her mail collected, Miss Sable left the post
office.
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