Today is part two of two where we are talking to Stormi Lewis about her novels. After today you will have heard about writing since she could put sentences together, getting in trouble in school for writing longer stories, life being bipolar and using that to fuel helping others, pulling out old stories you’ve written to write your novels, learning how to market your books in a way that works for you, unique ways to create your characters, and her advice to do things your way so you enjoy the process more.

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Stormi Lewis, a resident of Kansas City, MO, is a multifaceted individual who has led an extraordinary life. She has served as a cocktail server/bartender, professional ballerina/tapper/jazz and contemporary dancer, American Sign Language interpreter, business manager/marketer, and Lincoln concierge, amongst other roles. Her diverse experiences have led to the accumulation of fascinating stories, resulting in her becoming a multi-published author in the nonfiction bibliography genre. However, a story that she created during her middle school years still demanded to be told, and thus, the Sophie Lee Saga was born. If you wish to be informed about the release of Stormi's next book, please visit www.chasingstormi.rocks to subscribe to notifications.

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Welcome to Freya's.

Fairy tales.

We believe fairy tales are both stories we enjoyed as children and something that we can achieve ourselves.

Each week we will talk to authors about their favorite fairy tales when they were kids and their adventure to holding their very own fairy tale in their hands.

At the end of each episode, we will finish off with a fairy tale or short story read as close to the original authors version as possible.

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Today is part two of two where we are talking to Stormi Lewis about her novels.

After today, you will have heard about writing since she could put sentences together.

Getting in trouble in school for writing longer stories, life, being bipolar and using that to fuel helping others.

Pulling out old stories you've written to write your novels, learning how to market your books in a way that works for you.

Unique ways to create your characters and her advice to do things your way so you enjoy the process more.

Birth of the Legend the disappearance of a college student marks the beginning of a new game, one that Algos had carefully orchestrated before his departure.

Little did Claudia Hayes know that when she woke up, her life would take a twisted turn.

Instead of studying psychopathic serial killers, someone enhanced her to become one.

The leading lady in a sick game of chaos.

Clarice's father gave her everything she ever wanted in death, or so she thought.

An unknown legend is awakening, and the cost of its emergence may prove too high for Clarice to bear.

Now a new player has arrived to take away everything Clarice ever wanted.

She must decide whether to save her niece from being consumed by evil or become second in command to her father's greatest creation.

Once again, the prophecy unfolds as a raven awakens and an intruder joins the fray in the dream realm, sophie's losing control of her gifts.

Rebecca is missing.

And she's not the only one.

Corbin must save the woman he's falling in love with before she falls victim to Claudia's plan of destruction.

People are getting taken out in shocking and mysterious ways, and their only connection is being a part of book talk.

However, a secret society known only as the guild knows the actual truth.

The legend they vowed to protect has come to life.

But as the Guild's corruption threatens to consume the realms with pure evil, as Claudia's plan develops, the only hope is for the few members left to survive.

The ultimate battle will they find the raven in time to save the realms?

Or will the legend they were sworn to protect destroy them?

The legend is now in motion.

And the only question is who will survive?

And it was interesting because I was writing Dead Draw and I was stuck in how I was going to lock Algos out of the dream room.

And so my parents had gone to the funeral home and the bedroom, this bedroom that she stays in.

The door was closed.

And I was like, okay, I have to go in there.

I have to make myself go in there, and I need to do it now while they're not here.

And I expected it to be super cold and just reek of death.

But when I came in, it was just so warm.

It was like being wrapped up in a hug of sunshine.

And so I went and she always sat in the recline, the rocking chair over here by the window, because she liked to stare at mom's flowers and lecture the birds about not chasing the swirls off.

Yeah, she was awesome.

So I sat in a recliner and I had been in writer's know because of everything that was going on and that whole scene played out.

And then I heard a voice of now get to work.

And I was like, you just showed it to me.

So it was about Dead Draw that Nana started co writing with me.

And so now when I get stuck, I kind of ask for help.

And sometimes we disagree with the scenes she's sensing, but for the most part, she's a pretty good writer, so we just roll with that.

But that was the time where I was like, okay, that's how I became writing paranormal.

And I didn't know I was writing paranormal until I got on TikTok.

And TikTok was like, oh, this is a great paranormal thriller.

And I was like, what?

And they're like, you're writing paranormal?

Sure.

So most of the time TikTok tells me what I'm writing.

But it was going through all of that that after Dead Draw had finished, was when Joshua made his joke of how many books do you have versus how many you read?

And I was just being a smart alec like I always am.

And I was like, ha, yes.

I know who's going to die in my next book.

And then he in all caps.

Oh, my god, I would love that.

And so I was like, okay, one person.

I could do that.

And then everybody was like, me too, me too, me too.

It got so bad, I didn't know that was a thing, first of all.

And then I was like, wow, you all are thicker than I am, which was hilarious.

And I had to make a Google doc so it would fit into because I had over 200 people apply.

You are not the first author that I have talked to that had the other one was writing a story for school, and the classmates were like, I want to die.

Can I pick how I die?

And then her teacher is like, this is so morbid.

And she's like, well, they all agreed to it.

Yeah, I mean, you're given consent.

But that was the thing I told them.

I was like, you don't get to tell me.

You just get to give me generic information, but you don't get to tell me how you're going to go.

Because I wanted to really play with it.

And some people, like, Amanda West is allergic to the sun, and I was like, going in a tanning bed.

Love it.

So, like, some people gave me stuff without realizing they gave me stuff.

And then other people, I had to get creative, which apparently I got a little too creative because Nikki Johnson said she still hasn't ridden on the back of a motorcycle because she rides on the back with her husband, and she hasn't done that since she read how she went on the book.

Or you get ones like me, and I'm literally like, do your worst.

And I got a lot of those too.

And I was like, okay, listen, be careful what you ask for.

And then I got the migraine, and I've had it for almost two years at this point.

And I was bummed because I was really knocking out at least two books a year.

And then with the migraine, I'm down more than I'm not.

And so it makes it very difficult to write when you can't even sit up and turn on the light.

So I had a much harder time getting the enhancement out.

Well, it's not the enhancement anymore.

It's birth of the legend.

So that took a whole year to get out.

So my writing really slowed down, and I used to get really frustrated with it, and then I just figured my body's making me kind of slow down a little bit.

I mean, you look at too, what trad publishers do.

You're looking at a book usually depending on how long of books they write, usually once a year, every other year.

Or if you look at George R.

R.

Martin, that's like one book every ten years or something, right?

Yeah.

And my dad's a huge Stephen King fan, so we always buy his book every whenever it is, September, October that he publishes.

But I also only have about 20 years, give or take, left.

With the bipolar disorder, it's like Alzheimer's.

So eventually my brain will kind of take over and I won't be able to function as well.

Plus, the Alzheimer's and the dementia does run in my family.

So based on all the tests they've run, it'll be about when I turn 65, and I'm 43 now, so that I won't be able to write anymore.

So that's what was really stressing me out, was I want to write as much as possible, and then suddenly I got knocked down to one book a year.

I mean, realistically too.

That's all guesses.

For all they know, all this writing is going to keep your brain active and alive for longer.

That's kind of what I'm hoping.

Because they do say as a sign language interpreter, the more you can keep your brain going, the less the Alzheimer's and the dementia kicks in.

That's why before she got so bad that she couldn't hold the cards anymore, we would play Remy with Nana and she would cheat her b*** off because that's what she's good at.

And so it always keeps you guessing because she was sweetest woman on the planet, but talk about a s*** talker.

During cards, that's my whole family.

So like, I get it.

I was like, Dang, Nana, what happened to this sweet little old lady?

And she was like, not when I'm playing cards.

And I was like, okay, Ma'am.

So then typically next I would ask about audio.

So we got connected through the Femme Audio Takeover, the first one that happened.

And you had me do clips from each of the three books that were released at the time.

I don't know that I ever propositioned you afterwards.

I don't remember how it came about that I ended up narrating your audiobooks.

I just remember doing them because you did preposition me.

And it was something that I really wanted to do but I didn't think was ever going to be possible because I always believe in paying people what they're worth.

And so I knew it cost like $5,000 or whatever it is to narrate a book.

And most people didn't want to do the royalty share.

And so when you offered that, that's why I was like, I feel bad because you wouldn't get paid what you're worth.

And you were like, no, I do this for people like you.

Well, and your books would never have cost 5000 even if you were paying me out of pocket.

I don't know why everybody throws that.

I think Paige just did a video this last week about that's, like the number that publishing houses throw out to scare you into signing with them to do your audiobook, where realistically, your books are like, what, 1213 hours audiobooks?

That's like maybe 1000.

The standard rate is like 250 an hour for each finished hour.

So I can't math my brain is still sleepy, but 250 times 13 to 15 hours is not 5000, right?

But I still am on the Ramen noodle diet college, because I think I will forever be the trailer park girl.

But when you offered that, I cried all that day.

I was like, she's the nicest person.

I was so excited.

And then you did the first one.

And I'll admit I've been a bad author because I keep telling me I'll remember and then I don't.

Because after you sleep from publishing a book, you think you'll remember all of it.

But you don't.

And by the time the story had changed, because all of book talk was now creating my stories, I started to feel like the key wasn't as strong of a first book based on where we're at now.

And then you read it, and I fell in love with it all over again.

And I was like, no, this was not a bad first go.

It was a good introduction to the characters.

Yeah.

And so I really did.

I have fallen in love with that story all over again.

Protector.

Although I do have my notebook, and I'm making little notes of, okay, we still need to close this because I kind of just left it open around it.

But for the kickstarter that's coming, that will happen in June.

Some of the stretch goals are like kind of prequel stories, so some of that will be covered in that.

So that'll be good.

What was it like hearing so, like, the little snippets that we did for the Femme Audio Takeover are obviously little tiny snippets.

What was it like hearing all your characters?

Well, you I did totally different than any other author because I sent you a shopping list of voices.

I have so much fun shopping for voices.

Well, because we kept going back and forth, and I was like it's hard when I always give my character even when I'm reading, I hear their voices where it's just my head going crazy.

I don't know either know, and so you kind of have a mindset of what they should be.

And there was I forget which character it was.

It was James.

James was the first one.

James.

And I was like, because you were just so calming.

And I was like, he sounds like he's like 40.

And you were like, what?

I know, but he sounds like and so you were like, okay, fine, here, these are all the voices I've had.

And I swear I was giddy.

My dad was like, what are you doing?

And I'm like shopping for voices.

And it was like, I would go there were a couple that I had to go back and forth, but it was so much fun going, oh, my God, that's Mario.

Oh, my God.

That's Corbin.

It really was.

Wait till you listen to the bonus chapter at the end of The Protector, because I got there and I'm like, corbin and Mario sound almost exactly the like, trying to do this bonus chapter where they're so similar in voice.

I'm like, you got to drop Corbin down a little bit more so you can tell the difference.

But it really was the best I hate shopping, but that was the best experience I ever had, was listening to these little clips.

And then because you had given it to me from that novel I told you, I'm trying to guess if that particular novel was like, I hear the dance terms.

So I was like, are they dancing?

Noel no, they're talking about unaliving.

Okay, guess the story as I jump voice to voice.

So that was kind of fun for.

Me when I actually sent you voices from two separate just books that I had done that had a ton of characters.

So some of them may have had character overlap.

Like the characters sound the same, but I think each of those books had over 100 voices that I had had.

To voice for them.

So I'm like, here's two massive groupings of voices that might have overlap, but massive groupings of voices.

And I love jerk voice one and jerk voice because I was like I was just it truly was.

I hate shopping and that was the most fun I've ever had.

Shopping.

Yeah.

And let me tell you, the Jerk Voice one two, male one two.

The series that came from there are so many speaking characters.

I have like a spreadsheet with a grid of what characters talk in the same scenes so that if one character only talks for one or two chapters, it's going to get one of the numbered voices.

It'll get one of the jerk or the male or the female numbered voices.

And then I just kind of cycle through as I go.

My general rule of thumb for that series was if they talk in less than five chapters across the trilogy that I have done so far for that one, I'm like, they don't need a unique voice.

They can just share a voice with other not unique characters.

It may be weird that I named them jerk.

Voice One jerk voice Two But if it's like a guy kidnapping her, I'm not going to give it some nice fatherly voice.

It'd be weird.

It was so much fun because I did have some really I have snotty characters, too.

And I was like, yes, it was awesome.

It was the best shopping experience I have ever had.

Now I still pull it up to listen.

Now, by the time this time airs, you will have book four will be released.

So what is book four is the big one that everybody applied to be unalived in what comes next after that.

So it'll be Reign of the Raven.

Now, this has been kind of a fun experience, but being bipolar, I had a librarian that let me hide in the library to not be bullied at recess and things like that.

Because, again, I didn't know what was going on.

But I would go nights without being able to sleep.

So I read just to pass the time.

And so I really love because in book four we learn there's a legend and there's a raven because one of the many rabbit holes I went down, everybody was talking about a spirit animal.

And so for my birthday is in November and a spirit animal is the raven.

And I was like, oh, my gosh, that is so perfect, because they can cross between the living and the dead and yada, yada, yada.

But there's a guild.

So the Book Talkers, because I was like, there has to be a reason why they're all just getting so and then Nana gave it to me, and I was so excited.

And I think it really honors the Book Talk community and Nana and anybody who loves books.

So basically the book talkers that are being on live are it's kind of like never ending story.

When you read the story it gives it life.

Well they read the stories it gives the realms, the many realms that exist their life force.

And so that's how these book talkers have all this power is that they read so many books but they're real mini world they just don't know it and so they're giving them the life force.

So in the last one it's really going to be a wrap up of that power, what causes it, why the legend is what it is, the raven's purpose.

It's going to give closure but also honor everybody that loves books.

Cool.

What is the best piece of advice you've ever gotten for writing and the.

Worst piece of advice you've ever gotten for writing?

You're terrible.

The best piece of advice was it really was.

Especially when it comes to both writing and marketing.

I told you I was trying to do what everybody else was doing and it didn't felt right.

It was not me.

And it was kind of funny when I just was like okay, I am now a serial unaliver somehow so I'm just going to have fun with it and I just do things my way.

I stopped trying to be standard and what everybody expected and I don't market, trust me, I have a marketing degree.

I know the whole build up of the title but listen, I'm the type of person that is so freaking excited.

I'm like look here, see it?

I have to do it the way what makes me happy because if I'm not happy then it's not joyful, right?

My TikTok videos are for nobody but me because I'm laughing my b*** off going you're know when I really started kind of stepping back from trying to make everybody happy and do it standard and I just did it my way.

Like Tony Bennett sings or Frank Sinatra I did it my way.

That was me.

And it made it a much more enjoyable experience and that even played in when I had the migraine I had to give myself grace but I was still going to do it my way.

So you're going to get a lot of advice.

There's a plethora of advice and you really just have to take it and say, okay, how can I make it work for me?

You might have to think outside of the box and play a game of Clue and break book talk in the TikTok app but just have fun with it because the day it stops being fun, then it's not worth it.

Right.

As for the worst advice, pretty much anyone that says you have to have this and you have to do it this way.

No, there's always another way.

And a lot of people get stressed out because putting a book together is very expensive.

It just is.

You have to pay for a cover and some people pay for editing and stuff like that.

And it was very stressful trying to figure out how I was going to pay for all of it.

And when I took the opportunity to sit down and say, okay, if I wait till I have the money for all of it, it'll never go out.

And realistically, I have bought books from Tread Publishing that have had spelling errors in them and all this other stuff.

And so it was either wait till you have the money for all of it and never share your story, or pay for what was important and do your best and just keep writing.

And so I really had to switch it because for all the people that tell you, anybody that tries to tell you how to do something and says, there's no other way, you have to do this, when you hear, I have to, that's terrible advice.

Now, I always watch the videos because.

It'Ll either be you have to do this, or they'll say, like, your book doesn't seem professional if it's like, whatever.

But half the times the things that they say make it seem unprofessional or like, you're a newbie writer or whatever are things that I love in books.

So I'm like, why am I going to listen to you when I like that in the books that I read?

Exactly.

For example, you've read through the book that I'm currently working on.

The entire first chapter is mostly like her inner reminiscing about Christmas and Christmas with her family and how she's like, going through these decorations and how she there is barely any dialogue in that at all, which is, according to them, a huge no no for anything.

And I'm like some of the books that I have loved narrating the most have been that way.

Oh, yeah.

They said traditionally, publishing never start with a dream, and that's how the key starts.

And I was like, Well, I'm screwed anyway.

Might as well have some fun.

Recently I saw you don't need to start your book with the character waking up for the day.

And one of my favorite ones that I've narrated, she's going, It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, as she's like, having a nightmare starts with her waking up from a nightmare.

Yeah.

Worst advice is anybody trying to tell you specifically because your story is your story and you're not I mean, it's going to tell you how it wants to be written regardless.

It doesn't have to match anybody's.

But yeah, anybody that says it has to be or you're not professional, or you're not this, you're not that.

That's terrible advice.

You know what?

My book may not be for you, and that's okay.

Exactly.

I'll talk to you later.

Bye.

As Stormi got older, she liked Little House on the Prairie.

Little House on the Prairie is an autobiographical children's novel by Laura Ingles Wilder published in 1935.

It was the third novel published in the Little House series, continuing the story of the first Little House in the Big Woods, but not related to the second.

Thus it is sometimes called the second one in the series or the second volume of the Laura years since this story is not yet available in the public domain.

Today we'll be reading the first chapter of O Pioneers, a novel about an immigrant family that moves to Nebraska to become farmers.

Don't forget we're reading Le Mort de Arthur, the story of King Arthur and of his noble knights of the roundtable on our Patreon.

You can find the link in the show notes.

Part One the Wildland One 1 January day, 30 years ago, the little town of Hanover anchored on a windy Nebraska table.

Land was trying not to be blown away amidst a fine snowflakes was curling and eddying about the cluster of low, drab buildings huddled on the grey prairie under a gray sky.

Dwelling houses were set about haphazard on the tough prairie, sod some of them looked as if they had been moved in overnight, and the others, as if they were straying off by themselves, headed straight for the open plain.

None of them had any appearance of permanence, and the howling wind blew under them as well as over them.

The main street was the deeply rutted road, now frozen hard, which ran from the squat red railway station and the grain elevator at the north end of the town to the lumber yard and the horse pond at the south end.

On either side of this road straggled two uneven rows of wooden buildings, the general merchandise stores, the two banks, the drugstore, the feed store, the saloon, the post office.

The board sidewalks were gray with trampled snow, but at 02:00 in the afternoon, the shopkeepers, having come back from dinner, were keeping well behind their frosty windows.

The children were all in school, and there was nobody abroad in the streets but a few rough looking countrymen in coarse overcoats with their long caps pulled down to their noses.

Some of them had brought their wives to town, and now and then a red or plaid shawl flashed out of one store into the shelter of another.

At the hitch bars along the streets, a few heavy workhorses harnessed to farm wagons shivered under their blankets.

About the station everything was quiet, for there would not be another train in until night.

On the sidewalk in front of one of the stores sat a little sweet boy, crying bitterly.

He was about five years old, his black cloth coat was much too big for him and made him look like a little old man.

His shrunken, brown flannel dress had been washed many times and left a long stretch of stocking between the hem of his skirt and the tops of his clumsy copper toed shoes.

His cap was pulled down over his ears, his nose and his chubby cheeks were chapped and red with cold.

He cried quietly, and the few people who hurried by did not notice him.

He was afraid to stop anyone, afraid to go into the store and ask for help.

So he sat, wringing his long sleeves and looking up a telegraph pole beside him, whimpering, My kitten.

Oh, my kitten.

Her will freeze.

At the top of the pole crouched a shivering gray kitten, mewing faintly and clinging desperately to the wood with her claws.

The boy had been left at the store while his sister went to the doctor's office, and in her absence a dog had chased his kitten up the pole.

The little creature had never been so high before, and she was too frightened to move.

Her master was sunk in despair.

He was a little country boy, and this village was to him a very strange and perplexing place where people wore fine clothes and had hard hearts.

He always felt shy and awkward here and wanted to hide behind things for fear someone might laugh at him.

Just now he was too unhappy to care who laughed.

At last he seemed to see a ray of hope.

His sister was coming, and he got up and ran toward her in his heavy shoes.

His sister was a tall, strong girl, and she walked rapidly and resolutely as if she knew exactly where she was going and what she was going to do next.

She wore a man's long ulster, not as if it was an affliction, but as if it were very comfortable and belonged to her carried it like a young soldier, and a round plush cap tied down with a thick veil.

She had a serious, thoughtful face, and her clear, deep blue eyes were fixed intently on the distance without seeming to see anything, as if she were in trouble.

She did not notice the little boy until he pulled her by the coat.

Then she stopped short and stooped down to wipe his wet face.

Why, Emile, I told you to stay in the store and not to come out.

What is the matter with you?

My kitten sister.

My kitten.

A man put her out, and a dog chased her up there, his forefinger, projecting from the sleeve of his coat, pointed up to the wretched little creature on the pole.

Oh, Emile, didn't I tell you she'd get us into trouble of some kind if you brought her?

What made you tease me so?

But there, I ought to have known better myself.

She went to the foot of the pole and held out her arms.

Crying, kitty, kitty, kitty.

But the kitten only mewed.

And faintly waved its tail.

Alexandra turned away decidedly.

No, she won't come down.

Somebody will have to go up after her.

I saw the Lindstrom's wagon in town.

I'll go and see if I can find Carl.

Maybe he can do something.

Only you must stop crying, or I won't go a step.

Where's your comforter?

Did you leave it in the store?

Never mind.

Hold still till I put this on you.

She unwound the brown veil from her head and tied it about his throat.

A shappy little traveling man who was just then coming out of the store on his way to the saloon, stopped and gazed stupidly at the shining mass of hair she bared when she took off her veil.

Two thick braids pinned about her head in the German way, with a fringe of reddish yellow curls blowing out from under her cap.

He took a cigar out of his mouth and held the wet end between the fingers of his woolen glove.

My God, girl, what a head of hair.

He exclaimed.

Quite innocently and foolishly.

She stabbed him with a glance of Amazonian fierceness and drew in her lower lip most unnecessary severity.

It gave the little clothing drummer such a start that he actually let his cigar fall to the sidewalk and went off weakly in the teeth of the wind to the saloon.

His hand was still unsteady when he took his glass from the bartender.

His feeble, flirtatious instincts had been crushed before, but never so mercilessly.

He felt cheap and ill used, as if someone had taken advantage of him.

When a drummer had been knocking about in little drab towns and crawling across the wintry country in dirty, smoking cars, was he to be blamed if, when he chanced upon a fine human creature, he suddenly wished himself more of a man?

While the little drummer was drinking to recover his nerve, alexandra hurried to the drugstore as the most likely place to find Carl Lindstrom.

There he was, turning over a portfolio of chromos studies which the drug is sold to the Hanover women who did china painting.

Alexandra explained her predicament, and the boy followed her to the corner, where Ermeel still sat by the pole.

I'll have to go up after her, Alexandra.

I think at the depot they have some spikes I can strap on my feet.

Wait a minute.

Carl thrust his hands into his pockets, lowered his head and darted up the street against the north wind.

He was a tall boy of 15, slight and narrow chested.

When he came back with the spikes, alexandra asked him what he had done with his overcoat.

I left it in the drugstore.

I couldn't climb in it anyhow.

Catch me if I fall, Emile, he called back as he began his ascent.

Alexandra watched him anxiously.

The cold was bitter enough on the ground.

The kitten would not budge an inch.

Carl had to go to the very.

Top of the pole and then had some difficulty in tearing her from her hold.

When he reached the ground, he handed the cat to her tearful little master.

Now go into the store with her a meal and get warm.

He opened the door for the child.

Wait a minute, Alexandra.

Why can't I drive you as far as our place?

It's getting colder every minute.

Have you seen the doctor?

Yes, he's coming over tomorrow.

But he says Father can't get better.

Can't get well.

The girl's lip trembled.

She looked fixedly up the bleak street as if she were gathering her strength to face something, as if she were trying with all her might to grasp a situation which, no matter how painful, must be met and dealt with somehow.

The wind flapped the skirts over her heavy coat.

About her.

Carl did not say anything, but she felt his sympathy.

He, too, was lonely.

He was a thin, frail boy with brooding, dark eyes, very quiet in all his movements.

There was a delicate pallor in his thin face, and his mouth was too sensitive for a boy's.

The lips had already a little curl of bitterness and skepticism.

The two friends stood for a few moments on the windy street corner, not speaking a word as two travelers who have lost their way sometimes stand and admit their perplexity in silence.

When Carl turned away, he said, I'll see, dear team.

Alexandra went into the store to have her purchases packed in the egg boxes and to get warm before she set out on her long, cold drive.

When she looked for a meal, she found him sitting on a step of the staircase that led up to the clothing and carpet department.

He was playing with a little bohemian girl, Marie Tevesky, who was tying her handkerchief over the kitten's head for a bonnet.

Marie was a stranger in the country, having come from Omaha with her mother to visit her uncle, Joe Tevesky.

She was a dark child with brown curly hair like a brunette doll's, a coaxing little red mouth and round yellow brown eyes.

Everyone noticed her eyes.

The brown iris had golden glints that made them look like goldstone or in softer lights, like that Colorado mineral called tiger eye.

The country children thereabouts wore their dresses to their shoetops.

But this city child was dressed in what was then called the Kate Greenaway Manor, and her red cashmere frock, gathered full from the yoke, came almost to the floor.

Miss, with her poke bonnet, gave her the look of a quaint little woman.

She had a white fur tippet about her neck and made no fussy objections when Emile fingered it admiringly.

Alexandra had not the heart to take him away from so pretty a playfellow, and she let them tease the kitten together until Joe Tevesky came in noisily and picked up his little knees, setting her on his shoulder for everyone to see.

His children were all boys, and he adored this little creature.

His cronies formed a circle about him admiring and teasing the little girl who took their jokes with great good nature.

They were all delighted with her, for they seldom saw so pretty and carefully nurtured a child.

They told her that she must choose one of them for a sweetheart and each began pressing his suit and offering her bribes, candy and little pigs and spotted calves.

She looked archly into the big brown mustached faces smelling of spirits and tobacco.

Then she ran her tiny forefinger delicately over Joe's bristly chin and said, here is my sweetheart.

The Bohemians roared with laughter, and Maurice's uncle hugged her until she cried, please don't, Uncle Joe.

You hurt me.

Each of Joe's friends gave her a bag of candy, and she kissed them all around, though she did not like the country candy very well.

Perhaps that was why she bethought herself of Emile.

Let me down, Uncle Joe, she said.

I want to give some of my candy to that nice little boy I found.

She walked graciously over to a meal, followed by her lusty admirers who formed a noose circle and teased the little boy until he hid his face in his sister's skirts and she had to scold him for being such a baby.

The farm people were making preparations to start for home.

The women were checking over their groceries and pinning their big red shawls about their heads.

The men were buying tobacco and candy with what money they had left or showing each other new boots and gloves and blue flannel shirts.

Three big Bohemians were drinking raw alcohol tinctured with oil of cinnamon.

This was said to fortify one effectually against the cold, and they smacked their lips after each pull at the flask.

Their volubility drowned every other noise in the place, and the overheated store sounded of their spirited language as it reeked of pipe smoke, damp woolens and kerosene.

Carl came in wearing his overcoat and carrying a wooden box with a brass handle.

Come, he said.

I fed and watered your team, and the wagon is ready.

He carried a meal out and tucked him down in the straw in the wagon box.

The heat had made the little boy sleepy, but he still clung to his kitten.

You are awful good to climb so high and get my kitten, Carl.

When I get big, I'll climb and get little boys'kittens for them, he murmured drowsily.

Before the horses were over the first hill, emile and his cat were both fast asleep.

Although it was only 04:00, the winter day was fading.

The road led southwest toward the streak of pale, watery light that glimmered in the leaden sky.

Light fell upon the two sad young faces that were turned mutely toward it.

Upon the eyes of the girl who seemed to be looking with such anguished perplexity into the future.

Upon the somber eyes of the boy who seemed already to be looking into the past.

The little town behind them had vanished as if it had never been, had fallen behind the swell of the prairie and the stern frozen country received them into its bosom.

The homesteads were few and far apart.

Here and there a windmill gaunt against the sky, a sod house crouching in a hollow.

But the great fact was the land itself, which seemed to overwhelm the little beginnings of human society that struggled in its somber waists.

It was from facing this vast hardness that the boy's mouth had become so bitter because he felt that men were too weak to make any mark here that the land wanted to be let alone to preserve its own fierce strength, its peculiar, savage kind of beauty, its uninterrupted mournfulness.

The wagon jolted along over the frozen road.

The two friends had less to say to each other than usual, as if the cold had somehow penetrated to their hearts.

Did Lou and Oscar go to the Blue to cut wood today?

Carl asked.

Yes.

I'm almost sorry I let them go.

It's turned so cold.

But Mother frets if the wood gets low she stopped and put her hand to her forehead, rushing back her hair.

I don't know what is to become of us, Carl, if Father has to die.

I don't dare to think about it.

I wish we could all go with him and let the grass grow back over everything.

Carl made no reply.

Just ahead of them was the Norwegian graveyard where the grass had indeed grown back over everything shaggy and red, hiding even the wire fence.

Carl realized that he was not a very helpful companion, but there was nothing he could say.

Of course, Alexandra went on, steadying her voice a little.

The boys are strong and work hard, but we've always depended so on Father that I don't see how we can go ahead.

I almost feel as if there were nothing to go ahead for.

Does your father know?

Yes, I think he does.

He lies and counts on his fingers all day.

I think he's trying to count up what he's leaving for us.

It's a comfort to him that my chickens are laying right on through the cold weather and bringing in a little money.

I wish we could keep his mind off such things, but I don't have much time to be with him now.

I wonder if he'd like to have.

Me bring my magic lantern over some evening.

Alexandra turned her face toward him.

Oh, Carl, have you got it?

Yes, it's back there in the straw.

Didn't you notice the box I was carrying?

I tried it all morning in the drugstore seller, and it worked ever so well.

Makes fine big pictures.

What are they about?

Oh, hunting pictures in Germany and Robinson Crusoe and funny pictures about cannibals.

I'm going to paint some slides for it on glass out of the Hans Anderson book.

Alexander seemed actually cheered.

There is often a good deal of the child left in people who have had to grow up too soon.

Do.

Bring it over, Carl.

I can hardly wait to see it.

And I'm sure it will please father.

Are the pictures colored, then?

I know he'll like them.

He likes the calendars.

I get him in town.

I wish I could get more.

You must leave me here, mustn't you?

It's been nice to have company.

Carl stopped the horses and looked dubiously up at the black sky.

It's pretty dark.

Of course.

The horses will take you home.

But I think I'd better light your lantern in case you should need it.

He gave her the reins and climbed back into the wagon box, where he crouched down and made a tent of his overcoat.

After a dozen trials, he succeeded in lighting the lantern, which he placed in front of Alexandra, half covering it with a blanket so that the light would not shine in her eyes.

Now wait until I find my box.

Yes, here it is.

Good night, Alexandra.

Try not to worry.

Carl sprang to the ground and ran off across the fields toward the Lindstrom homestead.

OOH.

He called back as he disappeared over a ridge and dropped into a sand gully.

The wind answered him like an echo.

Hoo.

Alexandra drove off alone.

The rattle of her wagon was lost in the howling of the wind, but her lantern, held firmly between her feet, made a moving point of light along the highway, going deeper and deeper into the dark country.

Thank you for joining Freya's fairy tales.