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    Grace
    Grace
    Grace
    Ebook75 pages1 hour

    Grace

    By Robert Moulthrop

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The seven luminous stories collected in Robert Mouthrop's "Grace" range from lightly comic to darkly complex. The voices are diverse — hopeful, angry, uncertain, amused, despairing — even where loss is profound, there are grace notes.

    Sample from "Mrs Mellors":
    "In mid-March she had bent over a cluster of yellow crocuses, strongly pointing out their snow bravery to her excited fifth graders. The star that burst so suddenly in her brain made her blue eyes go wide with surprise. She moved gracefully to her knees in the snow as the children watched. She was always full of unexpected drama, and they were a willing audience. She fell, quite slowly, sideways in the snow, and only after some seconds did one tiny dark-haired girl begin to cry..."

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWordrunner eChapbooks
    Release dateNov 14, 2014
    ISBN9781310356865
    Grace
    Author

    Robert Moulthrop

    Robert Moulthrop, author and playwright, lives and works in New York City, where he is a member of Paragraph. A New Jersey State Council on the Arts grant recipient, his stories have lately appeared in Berkeley Fiction Review, Confrontation, Eclipse, Portland Review, Rio Grande Review, River Oak Review, Sou’Wester, The MacGuffin and Willard & Maple. His play “Half Life” (about a pedophile returning to his community) won the ‘05 New York Fringe award for outstanding playwriting; “T.L.C.” (about a mother fixated on her son) won the NY Fringe ‘06 outstanding performance award for its actress; nytheatre.com called “Lecture, With Cello” (’08 Fringe) “a remarkable feast for the intellect.” His debut story collection, To Tell you the Truth, published by Red Hanger Publications in February 2014, is available on Amazon in paperback and on Kindle.

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      Book preview

      Grace - Robert Moulthrop

      Grace

      Selected Stories

      by Robert Moulthrop

      Published by Wordrunner eChapbooks

      (an imprint of Wordrunner Press)

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2014

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Contents

      Mrs. Mellors

      Grace

      Furniture

      Friends In Need

      Uncle Louis

      Elvis’s Dog, the One Named Moonbeam

      Olden Days

      About Robert Moulthrop

      About Wordrunner eChapbooks

      Mrs. Mellors

      They ate earlier now, then moved to the den to watch the seven o’clock news, two bodies in two chairs in the dark. The wood paneling still bounced around the light from the flickering pictures, but the words no longer collected in the room; now they seeped away through the membrane of books, drapes, and carpet. But the river of sound and the changing light were sometimes quite soothing to Helen.

      She heard Allen now, muttering at the television. Facts, where are your facts? You opinion boys. Opinion. . . He trailed off. She tried to remember. It is round, she heard herself think. Round and silver, something shining at least. She watched the screen for a clue, but there were only men walking on a road. Opinion, she thought. What a nice sound.

      After the news he changed the channel, then adjusted the afghan more securely across her lap. I’ll just be downstairs, he said. Just there.

      Helen’s eyes focused on the flickering light. There was something dim beyond the deep, nibbling at the edge of remembrance. She looked down at her bad hand, picked it up with the good one, and moved it. She saw the vein and remembered the royal purple dress she had worn to the class concert. How rich the color had felt across her shoulders. She willed the memory, so complete, to stay, yearning for it as it slipped away, trying to hold it even as she wondered why she felt a yearning.

      In mid-March she had bent over a cluster of yellow crocuses, strongly pointing out their snow bravery to her excited fifth graders. The star that burst so suddenly in her brain made her blue eyes go wide with surprise. She moved gracefully to her knees in the snow as the children watched. She was always full of unexpected drama, and they were a willing audience. She fell, quite slowly, sideways in the snow, and only after some seconds did one tiny dark-haired girl begin to cry. Finally, the two biggest boys ran in stride across the schoolyard to find someone, while the rest of the class stood guard. Now it was cold again. By an effort of will she forced her arm under the blanket laid across her lap and closed her eyes.

      Allen’s other equipment had been pushed off to the side and his work bench now held spools of copper wire, solder, diodes, computer chips, and several neatly folded diagrams and instructions. He soothed his evenings with reading, understanding, doing. He had no notion of where the radio would be, how it would fit into his life when it was finished. He had always pictured his futures, his days, wrapped in thick white paper resting neatly on cool, dry shelves. Unopened, still, quiet, none would reveal any uncomfortable surprise. Each would provide the small satisfactions of order and solutions.

      Later, when he paused midway up the stairs, it was not so much to catch his breath as to assess once more the day’s progress: five circuits done and four laid out. He closed the cellar door and pulled the neatly folded letter from his pocket. From across the darkened room he was again amazed at the angles her body now chose for sleep; her previous self had always been so composed. Now she was all askew, aslant.

      Skew-gee, his sister Bert had called it on her brief visit North. It’s different is all I mean, she had said, patting his arm.

      He fingered her letter, then moved the straight-backed chair across from Helen and sat for a moment with his hands folded, watching her. He was about to reach out and touch her gently on her good arm, when she opened her eyes and looked at him in gradually fading terror. He wondered where she had been in sleep, then helped her adjust her body.

      We got a letter from Bert today, he said, sitting back down. She frowned, then smiled, remembering Bert, remembering that endless laughing evening at the Oyster House when the waitress had delivered the great Corn and Bunion Saga with every order of steamers. Articulated joy, she thought, described that evening best. She wished she could share the remembrance with Allen, but knew her speech

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