Stopwatch Stories vol 12: Stopwatch Stories, #12

By M Todd Gallowglas

The twelfth and final collection in the Stopwatch Stories collection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bard's Cloak of Tales
• Release date: Nov 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386459149

Book preview

For SANDRA TAYLER

She is the omega to Howard Tayler’s alpha.

I saved the best for last.

In the days when the work is hard, and I just want to give up,

I remember our conversation at WorldCon, put my fingers to the Keyboard, and keep on typing.

MISTLETOELESS

Penelope Grey pushed the pram down the lane as light snowflakes descended around her. The sounds of carols sounded in the distance. The warm glow of holiday lights pouring from windows gave the town a sense of perpetual twilight. Since returning husbandless and friendless to the Commonwealth, Madam Grey had decided to retire from the adventurers’ lifestyle. Instead, she arranged speaking engagements, not attempting to dissuade young gentlemen and ladies from answering the call, but to have them be fully informed about what the consequences might be if they did.

After learning of her pregnancy, the symptoms of which she first thought were being residual aches and pains from surviving the wreck, Penelope settled into domestic life and the handling of her and her late husband’s combined estates. It was the least Penelope could do for little Francesca. Her daughter might grow up without a father, but she would not grow up without prospects.

A young lad skipped up to Penelope and the pram, quite a feat considering the slick and slippery cobbles due to snow and ice. He slid to a stop and tipped his cap.

Mistletoe for you Mum? the lad asked.

No thank you, young man, Penelope said. I’m afraid it would be wasted on me.

Sorry to hear about what ever ails befell the father. The lad tugged his forelock. But no one, he nodded at the pram, be they young sir or young miss, should be mistletoeless on their first holiday.

He offered Penelope a sprig of the plant.

It’s not for me, Penelope said. Put it on the pram.

The lad grinned and affixed the mistletoe to the pram directly over Francesca. He tipped his cap and turned to leave.

Young man, Penelope said. Normally, I’d have the young miss receive her first mistletoe kiss from her father, but that is not possible. I can’t think of a finer gentleman than you to do the honors.

The boy’s grin widened, threatening to split his face in two, and he blushed red as any ornament or stocking. Still, he nodded, leaned over, stuck his head in the pram, and gave Francesca a gentle kiss on the cheek. Francesca promptly grabbed the lad’s lip and nose. She giggled as he cried out and tried to gently free himself.

Yes, she was her mother’s daughter. The name of Grey was in healthy hands. And the lad was correct. The young miss deserved the best of everything, regardless of the ache in her mother’s heart.