                          Images
                             &
                        Reflections
                             
                Sample Short Story from the
                             
             PALO ALTO WRITERS 1996 ANTHOLOGY




         COPYRIGHT  1996 BY THE PALO ALTO WRITERS
                             
                      Second Edition

                             

    Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Palo Alto Writers
Palo Alto Writers 1996 Anthology
     1.Writing.         I. Palo Alto Writers     II.
     Title.Images & Reflections
     
     
     ISBN 1-57555-36-9 (soft cover edition) ISBN 1-57555-
     37-7 (electronic Book-On-Disk edition)
     
     
     All rights reserved. No part of this work may be
     reproduced or  transmitted in any form by any means,
     electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and
     recording, or by any information storage or retrieval
     system, except as may be expressly permitted by the
     1976 Copyright Act or in writing by the author(s) or
     representative(s). Requests for such permissions
     should be addressed to: Palo Alto Writers, 1520 Sand
     Hill Rd. #406, Palo Alto CA 94304-2039.
     
     
        Manufactured by CEDAR BAY PRESS L.L.C. in the
         United Federation of the Takelman-Kalapuyan
         
                   Released January 1996

                             
             PALO ALTO WRITERS 1996 ANTHOLOGY
  116 PAGES 8.5 X 11 comb bound $12.95 + $1.00 shipping

    Cedar Bay Press LLC Box 751 Beaverton OR 97075-0751

                             

       Table Of Contents

The Road Less Traveled by Eleanor K. Prager
Tablemates by Kate Kellogg
Remnants of the Past by Myrtle Carey
Tuesday Afternoons at Bubbies Dining Room Table by Carol
K. Rainwater
Holidays in Helvetia by Kendall Moll
The Day I Lost My Faith by Louise Burton
The Fire Boats by Kay Weis
The New Years Eve Party by Mary Kate Spencer
Rain Drops at Dawn by Shepard A. Insel
Family Secrets by Inge Golovin
Half Chinese, Half Irish by Leah Brooks McDonough
The Tree Left Standing by Vicky Kelly
Serendipity by Estelle Schultz
The Patrol by Walter Winterburn
The Players Party by Charles Shoens
Doing Something by Joanne Pasotti
Night on Ben Lomond by Jerry Lundquist
Josies Shooting Stars by Dolores Stevens
The Boar Hunt by Estelle Schultz
Hang Loose by June Swan
Too Much Togetherness by Anne W. Busterud
Earthquake Talk by Hans J. Schmidt
Trivializing Ezra by Don Volkman
The Baths at Atami by Kay Weis
Christmas is Coming by Helga Hardy
Home Sharing by Kathleen Chamberlain
Two Days of Surprises by Anne Marie Waller
Darly the defiant by Dan Meyerson
The Writers (Biography)




                          Images
                             &
                        Reflections
                             
                Sample Short Story from the
                             
             PALO ALTO WRITERS 1996 ANTHOLOGY




         COPYRIGHT  1996 BY THE PALO ALTO WRITERS
                             






                        Serendipity
                             
                    by Estelle Schultz
                             
   On that blustery December day of 1944, Helena Winzer,
dressed in a black karakul coat, colorful scarf, cloche,
gloves and fur-lined boots, stood transfixed outside the
antique shop in which two dust-laden carved chairs--one
nestled inside the arms of the other--were displayed in
the window.  She had noticed them before while passing by.
Having given it some thought, she decided to make
inquiries as to their authenticity.
     Mr. Sklar, the proprietor, was aware of her acuity
from previous purchases she had made throughout the years.
He recalled when she had rummaged through and dug out from
among the stacks of worthless and genuine antiques, a rose
quartz candy dish.  It was not an original Roman piece but
an exact copy for which she paid him, after much haggling,
one dollar.
     Alerted by the doorbell, the stooped, bearded owner
greeted his customer.  "Mrs. Winzer, what may I do for you
on this bitter cold day?"
   "How much are those two Chippendale chairs. . .?  If
the price is right, I'll buy them...May I see them close
up?"
   He climbed into the window, pulled out a soiled cloth
from the pocket of his leather apron, lightly dusted the
chairs and set them in front of her.  He tugged at his
beard and scratched his head while deciding what price to
ask. "That'll be...uhm...err...fifty dollars--a bargain
for you."
     "Not so fast, Mr. Sklar...I haven't had a chance to
examine them yet; she turned them upside down to test the
carved legs, frames and armrests.  "Did you know there are
loose carvings and two of the legs are detached from the
grooves?"  She pondered a moment.  "Considering the
condition they're in, I'll give you five dollars for
both...To repair and re-cover them will be costly."
      "Okay. . . " He sighed resignedly. "You win."
     After handing him his money, she asked, "Could you
possibly deliver them tomorrow...?  Meanwhile, I'll buy
the material and other necessary items."
   "I'll drop them off on my way to the shop...Are you
gonna fix them by yourself?"
     "Sure, it's my hobby since Mr. Winzer and I are
alone...Our sons are in the service and our daughter is
married...There's very little to keep me busy."
   The following morning, Mrs. Winzer directed Mr. Sklar
to the basement where he placed the chairs.  She thanked
him and as he was leaving, he said, "It's begun to
snow...Good day to stay indoors."
     Except for the occasional roar of the furnace,
stillness prevailed while Helena, with a damp cloth, wiped
off the wood on the surface and between the crevices,
further revealing the British crown on the backs of both
chairs.  She pried off the rusty nail heads, tore off the
ravelled peau-de-soie and ripped out the moldy, shredded
stuffing.  A folded partially-torn paper, yellow with age,
fell at her feet.  She picked it up and carefully spread
it out on the table.  Helena reached for her reading
glasses to decipher the fading calligraphy.
     Switching on all the lights, she sat down and slowly
read aloud.  Embossed on the letterhead was the British
Crown.  Underneath was handwritten:

          Buckingham Palace
          LONDON, ENGLAND                   February, 1862

              I am parting with my treasured
          Chippendale chairs, weddinq gifts
          designed especially for my beloved
          Albert and me.  Since God has taken
          him, I cannot, in all honesty have his
          armchair facing me.  Moreover, I do
          not want to see anyone else occupy it-
          -not even Benjamin Disraeli, whom I
          admire and respect.  For the reasons
          so stated, I have given them to my
          faithful servant, Glyneth, Lady-in-
          Waiting who is unaware of this note I
          placed inside one of them.
               May they bring you love and
          comfort.
                         Respectfully,
                         HRH ALEXANDRINA
                         VICTORIA QUEEN OF GREAT
                         BRITAIN
                         
     Although some of the words were blurred, Helena
managed to fill in the gaps.  Proud of her purchase, she
was anxious to tell her husband about her serendipitous
find.
     With ruler in hand, she measured the seat frames,
unfolded the silk damask on the table and cut and hemmed
it according to size.
     Having cleaned the mahogony chairs, Helena applied
Old English polish until the wood shone.  She stapled
buckrum to the slats underneath the seats and proceeded to
stuff them with wool.  Lastly, she connected the material
to the frame with new brass tacks.  By six o' clock, she
stood back to admire her work.
   At that moment, she heard her husband drive into the
garage, and she said to herself, I forgot to make dinner.
Throwing off her smock, she ran upstairs to greet him.
     Instead of giving her his usual peck on her cheek, he
held her at arms-length and asked, "What have you been up
to?  Phew!  You smell of mildew and your face is
smudged...Don't tell me you've bought another antique!"
As he hung up his hat and coat, he added, "You didn't even
take in the mail!  Here are two letters from the 'front'."
     Helena hastily ripped open the envelops and together
read the censored letters.  With the back of her hand, she
brushed away a tear.  "Thank God they're alive and
well...Maybe by next Christmas, the war will be over."
     "Let's pray that it will be...Now let me see what
     kept
you so busy all day."
   While in the basement, Helena showed him the chairs.
"More important is the letter I found in one of them."
Carefully, she handed it to her husband.  "I'd like to
frame it before it crumbles."
   He read it and slapped his forehead with the palm of
his hand and said, "I can't believe this is genuine, but
let's give it the benefit of the doubt...If we're lucky,
we could get a fortune if Christie's or Parke-Bernat would
auction it."
    That sounds great, but you haven't told me what you
think of the chairs...You should have seen them
before...Let's carry them upstairs, now...Of course, the
armchair belongs to you."
     Pausing briefly, he embraced his wife of thirty years
and kissed her with a tenderness he hadn't shown or felt
of late.  Helena responded to his sudden fervor.
     "Honey, you outdid yourself this time...We'll
celebrate with a martini...Dinner can wait."
     With Victoria's chairs in place, Helena and her
husband sat opposite each other.  He raised his glass and
winked, "Here's to you, your highness."






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