Wind Dancers

By Darlene McKeen and Sandra Farris

The Little Time Machine The year is 1916, Ida Owens boards a train for the first time in her sixteen years. It will take her to an adventure that will forever change her life.

New Beginnings Morgan Shelton faces the failures of past hopes and dreams when a divorce sends her home again.

Angels Kiss Sierra Martin is torn between her love for Matt and giving up her lifes dream. An almost deadly accident forces her to make a decision.

Change of Heart Tory Hollands brother is murdered because of something in his possession. Now, those assassins believe Tory has the unknown object. Would Detective Colt Adams be able to save her from the same fate?

Wind Dancers A skydiving accident leaves Katy Brannigan with amnesia and lost in the forest with Stone Michaels. Was it really an accident and was Stone a friend or foe?

A variety of thoughts and feelings are expressed through poetry in 9-11, Proud Heritage, Rain Forest (national pride); Whos the Child, Christmastime, Angels on Earth, The Best Mother (family and home); Road Rage, Men, Chocolate, Dreams, A Fleeting Thought, Masculine Gender (frustration); Time and Memories, The Time Machine, Old Movies (nostalgia); I Am Yours (religion) and Skiing (just plain fun).

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 10, 2002
• ISBN: 9780595745654

Darlene McKeen

Sandra Farris makes her home in Tucson, Arizona. Writing has been her hobby since grade school and has now become a priority since her sons are grown. Darlene McKeen began writing poetry at 11 but became more serious about it as a teenager. She currently resides in Alta Loma, California. This is Sandra and Darlene’s first book.

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Wind Dancers

Sandra Farris and Darlene McKeen

Writers Advantage

New York Lincoln Shanghai

Wind Dancers

All Rights Reserved © 2002 by Sandra Farris and Darlene McKeen

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

Writers Advantage an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse

2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

ISBN: 0-595-25781-X (Pbk)

ISBN: 0-595-65329-4 (Cloth)

ISBN: 978-0-5957-4565-4 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

9-11

Who’s the Child

Time and Memories

The Little Time Machine

A Time Machine

Proud Heritage

New Beginnings

Men!

A Fleeting Thought

Do You Remember?

Christmastime!

Old Movies

Skiing

Angel’s Kiss

Angels on Earth

My Buddy, Bruno

The Masculine Gender

Chocolate

Change of Heart

Road Rage

Dreams

Echoes from the Past

The Rainforest

Who Will Stop the Dragon

Wind Dancers

The Best Mother

I am Yours

About the Authors

In loving memory of my son, Roland Farris (1959–2000) and my father, Lonnie Russell (1917–2001). To my sons, Dennis and Kevin Farris, my mother, Esther Russell and sisters, Mary Barta, Janice Lomen, Brenda Smith, Darlene McKeen (co-author of this book) and my two granddaughters, Jena and Jessica.

Sandra Farris

If I’ve learned nothing else in my life, it’s that family is everything. With that in mind, I want to thank my mother, my sisters, my son, my nephews and my husband, for they are my heart and soul, my life and true inspiration.

Darlene McKeen

9-11

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Where were you on that fateful day

When America’s innocence was taken away?

Were you asleep and unaware

Of the evil that lurked out there?

Or were you staring in disbelief

At the unfolding of horror and unspeakable grief?

Did you feel helpless and uncontrollably weak,

Unable to move, think or speak?

The tragedy continued throughout the day,

Thousands of lives just fading away.

Innocence spent, but faith reborn,

As brothers and sisters we acted as one.

We may have been struck, but it isn’t defeat

We shout from the hills down to the streets

"You can’t break our spirit or freedom you see,

‘Cause God blessed America, land of the free!

We may be different in colors of skin,

Have different backgrounds and places we’ve been,

But united we stand throughout it all

For we are Americans and we stand tall!"

Who’s the Child

It’s a boy! the doctor cried

Then he laid you by my side.

You looked at me with trusting eyes,

While letting out some tiny cries.

I counted each finger and then your toes,

Looked at your ears and tweaked your nose.

I wondered as I gazed down upon you

What will you be, what will you do?

I thought of the things I’d want you to be

My wishes for you were simple you see.

Good health, of course, topped my chart,

Be of good mind, body and heart.

Be thoughtful of others

(Especially your mother).

Be self-reliant and forthright,

With a level head and good insight.

Be playful of spirit and witty in mind,

But know when to be sensitive, when to be kind.

You’d cheer me up when I was blue,

Just by saying, Mom, I love you

I’d teach you everything a mother should,

Everything in my power, all that I could.

You’d be the best son ever known

You’d make a difference when you were grown.

But what I wasn’t prepared to see

Was how much you’d wind up teaching me;

Like how to be generous and see the good

In all God’s people, the way we should.

To love someone with all your heart;

You’re never a whole, when you’re apart.

The difference you made, you will see

Is not in all of mankind, but just in me

And now I wonder with a smile

Who’s the parent, and who’s the child?

Time and Memories

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The morning sun beats down upon

The golden surface of the pond

As gentle breezes meet the trees

And flowers welcome hungry bees.

The grass is green and wet with dew,

The sky is bright and filled with blue.

It’s springtime break and my thoughts retreat

To simpler times and small, bare feet

Running through the cool wet lawn

To our neighbor’s house and way beyond.

Playing tag and ball and dolls and such

Without a care of anything much.

We eat a Popsicle to quench our thirst

And race to see who’s done first.

With brain-freeze as our just reward,

Popsicle juice on our hands and more,

We play until the sun goes down.

And lights come on throughout the town.

Then mothers call their little ones home,

So back to our houses we begin to roam

And as the doors all open wide

We feel the warmth of the rooms inside.

Wonderful aromas of dinner we smell,

But mother’s rules will always prevail

So off we go to clean our hands

Of Popsicle juice and castle sands

And as we finally sit down to eat,

Nothing was a greater treat

Than Mama’s home cooking, made with love.

Then we’d thank the Lord from up above

For all the blessings he has given

And for the life that we’re now livin’

After dinner we sat and listened to

Mr. Dunphy and the evening news

Mom would comment on his silver hair

And Dad ignored her, as if not there.

We’d watch a comedy or action show

Then off to bed we’d have to go

To rest our weary little heads

We’d snuggle down into our beds

And wait for the morning light to beam

So we can begin the day again.

Oh what fun it would be

A youngster playing wild and free

Now our space is all in cyber

And our diets all need more fiber

And time is a valued commodity

We sometimes spend on our memories.

The Little Time Machine

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Claire Wells stepped from the black limousine and looked upward, appraising the dark heavy clouds. Her soul felt the same, dark and heavy. Today she buried her best friend, her companion…her grandmother…and her sadness was overwhelming. Theirs had been a family of five generations, and now they were four. She drew a deep breath and walked up the wet sidewalk to the small cottage where she had built a lifetime of memories. Soon there would be a parade of people coming to pay their respects and she needed to pull herself together. She opened the door and stood a moment before entering. Claire gathered strength from the sights and smells that opened the door on those memories emanating from the house. She would get through this day, she knew that, and then she would sleep for a long time until the pain was dulled.

Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Betsy Corral opened the door and took Claire into her arms. She had stayed with the house to discourage any would-be burglars taking advantage of such occasions, and would stay to help Claire through the rest of the day.

Thanks, Betsy. You have been a Godsend and I appreciate your help more than you can know. If you will do me one more favor?

Name it.

Could you just greet the people for a few minutes? I just need a moment or two before…

You bet, hon. Can I get you something?

No, I don’t need anything. Has Mom gotten here yet? No, I haven’t seen her. She’ll probably be along soon. Claire went to her room, removed her hat and gloves, and started

down the hall to the bathroom. A wet washcloth would feel so good on her face right now. As she came to her grandmother’s room, she stopped and looked in. Her gaze took in everything, the big four-poster bed, the bureau (her grandmother’s word for the chest of drawers), a rocker in the corner of the room…all seemed to be awaiting Ida’s return. Claire walked across the room dragging her fingers lovingly across each piece of furniture. As she came to the corner table, her gaze fell upon the large metal box, which had occupied that space for as long as she could remember. Her hand lay upon the lid while her mind reached back through the years…

Gran, what’s in this box?

That’s a little time machine, my dear. Ida smiled as she lifted the lid and brought out a large book, worn from long years of handling.

Claire’s little fingers traced the word embossed across the front. But, Gran, this is a book of pictures.

Ah, but it is much more than that. Let me show you. She turned to the first page and pointed to the photograph of a young family. The mother was seated with a baby on her lap. Her eyes held no expression. Time and hard work had etched deep lines prematurely upon her face. The father stood beside her, his hand resting upon her shoulder. His hair, dark and crudely cut, lay close to his head as though he had just ran his hand across it, pressing it into place. In front of him stood a young girl to whom Ida pointed. That’s me right there. Bold and brassy even then. I remember my mother trying to keep me still for the photographer. This was a rare and special treat when the traveling photographer came to call.

Claire slowly turned past pages of the children at various milestones in their young lives until she came to her favorite photograph. She lovingly traced it with the tips of her fingers. It was a picture of Ida at sixteen grasping the handrail of the train as she prepared to board. One foot was in mid-air and her head was turned toward the photographer, a huge grin upon her face. This was Claire’s favorite because it was the beginning of a great adventure, one that Claire knew by heart.

******

June, 1916

Ida pushed through the clusters of people on the boarding platform and hurried to the waiting train.

Don’t get on board without a proper goodbye, young lady. Her mother called after her. Ida, slow down, you’ve plenty of time!

Looking over her shoulder, Ida smiled tolerantly. She couldn’t slow down even if she tried. Her future awaited…there by the platform, hissing steam and emitting a sharp whistle, calling her to hurry. Ida had never been on a train before, nor even seven miles beyond the town in which she lived, and now she was about to travel a hundred miles away. This would be a great adventure; she could feel it in her bones. Only when she ran past the baggage car and found the passenger coach, did she slow down and wait for her family to catch up to her.

Mama, Papa, hurry! she exclaimed. Oh, I can’t wait. Did you bring the camera? I want to take a picture of you two and…where is Brian? She stomped her foot in frustration. Her ten-year-old brother was forever wandering off at the most inopportune moments.Bri…oh,there you are. Go over and stand next to Mama and Papa in front of the train.

Mrs. Owens carefully handed Ida the new camera. Be careful now, don’t drop it. You be sure and tell your aunt Margaret thank you for sending this to us. I don’t know how much longer the old one would have lasted.

Ida looked into the viewfinder and motioned with her hand to her mouth for the group to smile. Just as she took the picture the conductor began calling all aboard…’board. She handed the camera to her mother, gave them all a quick hug, and started to board the train.

Ida, look this way, her mother called and snapped the picture as Ida boarded. She handed the camera to her husband and took a handkerchief from her purse, dabbed at her eyes, then waved it at her daughter and back to her eyes again.

The train bumped and clanked as it moved slowly from the platform. Ida waved enthusiastically through the window at her parents and brother for as long as she could see them. Her father put his arm around her weeping mother and her brother stuck his tongue out at her. He was still upset because he couldn’t go too.

At last the station disappeared, along with her family. Ida turned in her seat and tried to contain her excitement. It seemed like a dream, even when her Aunt Margaret sent her the ticket she couldn’t believe it. Now, here she sat watching the countryside roll by the window. She was on her way to take care of the animals on Aunt Margaret’s farm as she went to attend the birth of her grandchild. New sights awaited her, as well as new people to meet along the way. She turned from the window, summoned by the conductor taking tickets. Obligingly, she handed him her ticket, watched as he punched a hole in it, and anxiously took it back again. This would go into her treasure box when she was home again.

Ida settled back in the seat and wondered about the people on board with her. Where were they going, and what would they do when they got there? Such a mixture of people gave her no clue…families, farmers, men dressed in suits and hats, women in their finery, and some in plain dresses…it was all too much for her. Ida decided to get some rest, having been awake a good part of the night in her excitement about her trip. She closed her eyes and soon drifted off to sleep, lulled by the movement of the train and the clackety-clak of wheels on rails.

Sometime later she was awakened by someone gently shaking her shoulder. The train had stopped and a few people were getting