Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Mattie Rose
    Mattie Rose
    Mattie Rose
    Ebook130 pages1 hour

    Mattie Rose

    By Taber McMordie

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Mattie Rose Tomlinson 43 (MR), PhD, and head of the Business Department at Ft. Lewis College in Durango, CO and owner of four vehicle dealerships in Montrose, CO she recently inherited from her father. A Joan Fontaine look-alike without her glasses, she lives alone in the small (pop. 436) mountain town of Sierra Bend, CO in the grand old family home. She is an exceedingly bright, most extraordinary woman who is in the process of selling her businesses and leaving academia to study for the Episcopal priesthood.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateSep 19, 2016
    ISBN9781483581415
    Mattie Rose

    Related to Mattie Rose

    Related ebooks

    Suspense For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Thornhope, Indiana

      Jan 1, 2020

      Thornhope, Indiana
      17 min read

    • Article

      Cousin Charlie and THE DEMON TRUCK

      Oct 5, 2021

      The incident with my cousin Charlie’s truck began like most affairs—in a common and ordinary way. But for a while, that truck made Charlie the most famous man in town. Charlie was one of those good old-fashioned people who believed that if you really

      4 min read

    • Article

      Running Away

      Feb 22, 2021

      Leaving London behind her, Millie drove faster, picturing thousands of crazed fans in pursuit, desperate for what – a lock of her hair? Or Julian; except after the last gig, somehow she knew he wouldn’t follow. She knew from bitter experience that di

      5 min read

    • Article

      Anna

      Feb 5, 2018

      Anna
      7 min read

    • Article

      The Smoke of the Land Went Up

      Mar 4, 2024

      The Smoke of the Land Went Up
      11 min read

    • Article

      Dirty Stuff

      Aug 14, 2019

      Dirty Stuff
      3 min read

    • Article

      Of Rats and Clyde

      Jun 20, 2023

      Of Rats and Clyde
      2 min read

    • Article

      Intarsia

      Feb 6, 2020

      Intarsia
      6 min read

    • Article

      Hollywood, Ending

      Feb 13, 2018

      Hollywood, Ending
      7 min read

    • Article

      Faces Across America

      Mar 1, 2021

      Faces Across America
      6 min read

    • Article

      Summer Reads

      Dec 30, 2019

      Summer Reads
      7 min read

    • Article

      Amphibian Assault

      Sep 8, 2022

      In the annals of some 37-plus years of legal driving, I have encountered a variety of animals while behind the wheel. There have been raccoons, possums, mice, and birds—lots of birds, most of which just resulted in a thump followed by a floof of feat

      3 min read

    • Article

      Here Goes Something

      Sep 21, 2018

      Here Goes Something
      11 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems

      Jul 1, 2019

      Ray spit in my hand. Motor oilleafed on still water and he spoke over mesaying I waver when I issue commands.He kicked the drowned cat to shower mewith its pocket of brown lake.Said I wasn’t worth the fuss I madeshowing the boys their loneliness in t

      3 min read

    • Article

      Every Dog Has Its Day

      Sep 24, 2021

      Every Dog Has Its Day
      4 min read

    • Article

      Breaking Good

      Aug 19, 2020

      Breaking Good
      12 min read

    • Article

      Breaking Good

      Aug 19, 2020

      Breaking Good
      12 min read

    • Article

      Dirty Stuff

      May 20, 2020

      Dirty Stuff
      3 min read

    • Article

      A Voice in the Rain

      May 26, 2023

      A Voice in the Rain
      3 min read

    • Article

      Stonehenge

      Jul 11, 2023

      Stonehenge
      7 min read

    • Article

      Three Ordinary Women

      Sep 4, 2022

      Three Ordinary Women
      2 min read

    • Article

      Hunting T-rex

      Feb 12, 2023

      While ‘the little old lady from Taft’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as ‘the little old lady from Pasadena’ (who owned — according to songwriters Jan and Dean — a ‘brand new shiny red super stock Dodge’), Mark II and I were nevertheless on ou

      10 min read

    • Article

      Hunting T-rex

      Feb 12, 2023

      While ‘the little old lady from Taft’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as ‘the little old lady from Pasadena’ (who owned — according to songwriters Jan and Dean — a ‘brand new shiny red super stock Dodge’), Mark II and I were nevertheless on ou

      10 min read

    • Article

      The Straw Hat

      Aug 2, 2018

      The Straw Hat
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Locksmith

      Jun 1, 2022

      THE LOCKSMITH cannot speak well. He never liked school. When he was a child, the others called him Tombstone. They threw things at him. Bottles and food waste and dirt clumps studded with gravel. Though he was much larger than they were, he remained

      9 min read

    • Article

      Table Talk

      Sep 1, 2017

      Table Talk
      8 min read

    • Article

      The Walk Book

      Dec 5, 2023

      On a cold but sunny Thursday in March 2014, I set out from my girlfriend Rosie’s apartment in West Philly to walk across the country. I’d been going to school nearby at Swarthmore, but for reasons that aren’t worth belaboring, left in December 2013,

      30 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Mattie Rose

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Mattie Rose - Taber McMordie

      NOTE

      PROLOGUE

      Struggling up the brushy, rock-strewn embankment that led to a deserted Farm-to-Market road, Jack McKenna lost his footing and sprawled face down. He lay still for a few minutes getting his breath, listening to the rising northwest wind moan through the jack-pine boughs and cedars. The first large flakes of the late February storm swirled around him. He was so sick.

      Even in the icy weather, he was burning up. He felt disoriented, thought maybe he was beginning to hallucinate.

      He was where he was for a reason, but whatever it was escaped him. Then suddenly: yes, he had a vague recollection of having to drive, be somewhere for some reason. But he couldn't pull up why or where. But if that were so, where was his car? Why wasn't he in it? Why had he left it? Where had he come from?

      The leather flight jacket and sweats. Why was he dressed the way he was? Those things were pitifully lacking against the steadily falling temperature on an ever sharpening and freshening wind.

      Somewhere in his half-conscious mind, a spark of mildly amusing humor rose to the surface: not having a head covering was the perfect way to vent his raging body heat.

      A wind-driven ball of sagebrush struck him on the side of his head stirring him to a sitting position. He looked up the embankment. At the top, he could see the roll of a road shoulder. Surely he must have a car up there? Why was he down where he was? Maybe to relieve himself? He had to go up and see. But he felt too weak to try. Maybe if he took a short nap his strength would return and when he awakened he would remember everything; at least far more than he did now where everything seemed so surrealistic.

      ***

      Harley Sewell, a thirty-something bricklayer was squinting through the sandblasted windshield of his blue 1993 Toyota pickup with only one operable headlight, was crawling northward from his two-acre rundown country house. His hired hand Clarence Taylor in the passenger seat was snoring, dead to the world, sleeping off one beer too many. They were driving on the two-lane access road paralleling Highway 50 with groceries and kerosene for lamps he'd bought in Sierra Bend when a southbound ambulance blew past him in a spray of red, white, and blue flashing lights.

      He had automatically pulled off the pavement giving the ambulance full right of way. And then, he did a double take and stopped across from a dark green Jaguar resting next to two guardrail posts with what appeared to be a door ajar on the drivers side leaving the dome light on.

      The bricklayer got out with a four-cell flashlight and walked cautiously over to the green car flashing the light about as he did. Seeing no one or anything but the car, he supposed the ambulance had taken the driver, and passengers if any, on in to Montrose. That made sense to Sewell. But then why hadn't a wrecker been called he wondered? Leave a car like the obviously new and expensive Jag just sitting out abandoned? Well, maybe a wrecker was on the way. Yet there were no headlights in either direction.

      Harley Sewell was about to go on his way when curiosity made him flash his light through the car's interior. There was nothing to see but a nice looking parka on the front seat. He looked around again: still nothing or nobody. He opened the driver's side door, stuck his head in, and was immediately all but overcome by a powerfully sickening smell. Damn, he yelped, pulling quickly back. Holy Shit! Somebody puked. Damn!

      He stood there shivering for a minute, then trotted over to his truck, tried unsuccessfully to waken the snoring hired hand, grabbed a burlap bag covered jug of drinking water, some shop rags, and his last two cans of Coors.

      After opening all the doors to vent the interior as much as possible, he flushed the offending door with water while gingerly scraping at the heaviest soil with his rags, then finishing the mess by dousing it with beer.

      Christ, he said, glancing skyward. He was shaking with cold now and looked back in at the parka. What the hell, he figured, he could damn well use a better coat that the dirty and stained quilted vest of his. He reached in and snatched the coat. Pulling it out, his could hardly believe his eyes: the keys were still in the ignition.

      He stood outside and slipped into the parka thinking what to do. His hands were freezing and he slid them into the side pockets of the heavy coat. When he pulled out what his right hand had touched his heart caught in his throat. A seal skin wallet with an array of major credit cards and a driver's license.

      Hot damn! He waited a second, then, with partially held breath, he slid in behind the steering wheel and turned the key. The engine purred to life. Whoa, awright baby. He put the car in gear and moved it a few feet, stopped, turned engine off, sat for a minute thinking, then got back out and opened the trunk.

      Two super expensive leather suitcases, he thought, stared back at him. He shut the deck lid them crawled back inside the car, his mind racing, and the lingering foulness of odor all but forgotten. Well, why the hell not? he wondered aloud. He ran back to the pickup and found Taylor more or less wide awake.

      "Clarence, don't have time to 'splain. You sober ‘nough to drive?

      What the hell you talking 'bout Harley?

      Hey, jus' said, got no time to 'splain, jackass. Anyhow, got us a brand new Jag. We gonna head on home. Just follow me.

      He ran back over to the Jag started it again. There were still no headlights in either direction. He lowered all four windows a few inches then resumed his careful but somewhat faster rerouted southbound run to Montrose with Clarence right in behind him.

      ***

      A sudden blast of cold air raised the man from his nap and caused him to draw his head into the wool of jacket collar. His only waking thought was that he knew he had to move. He rolled over on hands and knees and crawled the last ten yards to the road. He waited for a moment in the gravel and dead weed patches of the shoulder, then stood on shaking legs and looked up and down the black top: no parked car and no traffic.

      The flakes were bigger now and driving harder; it was getting darker. He had been a fool to think he could outrun the fast moving Arctic front into Grand Junction. Wait. Wait a minute! He was remembering; he hadn't completely lost his mind. The wind shrieked around him and he put his hands over his ears to warm them. Something felt strange. He pulled his hands down and saw that the tips of his fingers were cover in congealed blood. He felt further: his head was riddled with knots and cuts and he was then aware of bruises over his entire body, especially his knees and shins. Strangely, he felt very little pain, only an accelerating panic.

      His mind began to drift again, providing only vague and fleeting snapshots of some distant fading reality. The one thing perfectly clear was that unless he found shelter, and quickly, he was going to freeze to death.

      Across the road and off and down to the left, he saw a wash or dry creek bed running out of the trees. Maybe there would be a metal or concrete culvert under the highway big enough for him to crawl into. When he stepped out onto the road to cross over, his feet snaked out from under him. He landed heavily and painfully. The roadbed was solid ice.

      He groaned and pushed off the pavement on his back and was comforted by the relative softness of the shoulder, the course sand and tufts of dead grass forming a whimsical source of comfort.

      Curling into a fetal position on his side, clasped hands forming a pillow for his head, he closed his eyes and tried to think. Nothing came into focus. Somewhere in the distance a cow bawled. If he could find the animal, he might find a barn or a farmhouse. He sat up and listened for a few moments, turning his head this way and that; waiting. He reasoned the cow was up-wind, and when he instinctively turned his head to the northwest to listen more closely, he saw a small half-crumpled primitive billboard a few yards off the pavement maybe thirty feet down-road, its fallen shape resembling a low lean-to; a good windbreak, he thought; better place than a culvert. From behind and under the billboard, he would be able to hear a car if one came by.

      He stumbled more than walked to the half-collapsed sign, muttering over and over, Come on, come on, come on, an incantation of indiscernible origin.

      Behind and under the sign, the size of the space reminded him of a

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1