Historical Fiction
To Slip the Surly Bonds
The St. Louis Hat Company St. Louis, Missouri Winter, 1883 Eunice stepped aside and Nahum entered the room. The man behind the desk was large and beefy looking. The window behind him looked out into the artificial canyon of the street below. Two matching craftsman style chairs made of varnished pine stood in front of the desk. A brass light fixture hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in a steady glow of electric light.
By Terry Longabout a year ago in Chapters
Beyond Love: A Story of Destiny
Hunfa and Salman’s story began in a small, quiet town, where they had grown up together, side by side, like two halves of a whole. Their bond was undeniable — a friendship that was as old as their memories. From childhood games in the park to late-night talks about their future, they shared everything. Yet, as they grew older, the world outside their little town began to tug at them in different directions. Life, with its responsibilities and expectations, began to pull at the threads of their connection.
By Urooj Khanabout a year ago in Chapters
To Slip the Surly Bonds
Winter, 1883 When Nahum arrived at the factory the next day, he once again threaded his way through the noise and chaos of the factory floor and went straight up to his office, which he now knew to be on the on the opposite side of the hallway from Toby’s small office and from three down from Simeon’s. Toby’s office was more like an alcove. Nahum had peeked a quick look at the space before leaving the previous night. The young man’s office had a small window overlooking the factory floor and barely enough room for a small roll-top desk, a chair and a stove. A clock had ticked quietly on the wall above the desk. The door opened as Nahum passed by and Toby emerged.
By Terry Longabout a year ago in Chapters
Kia Ford Attending The English Premiere Festivities
Despite having reservations at the bottom of the table, Kia Ford still felt safe and secure. “I do not care if I dine outside,” the star-spangled banner commentated about the early morning breakfast activity, “actually it is nice today.”
By Marc OBrienabout a year ago in Chapters
To Slip the Surly Bonds
Stubbs and Goddard General Manufactures Inc. Boston, Massachusetts January, 1883 The large red brick edifice was visible three blocks down the street when Nahum alighted from the streetcar twenty minutes later. North Roxbury was a beehive of industry. A forest of smokestacks dominated the skyline. The snow drifts piled against the buildings were tinged grey from the persistent coal soot in the air. Everything had a slightly grimy look. Little knots of people streamed down both sides of the street into the various factories and warehouses lining both sides of the road. The din of pounding machinery clanked and rumbled from inside as Nahum walked past the open doors. Heavy delivery wagons and the steady clopping of horses’ hooves on the frozen cobblestones added to the cacophony. The street was a frozen river, a slurry of snow, mud and horse manure.
By Terry Longabout a year ago in Chapters
Microsoft Warns All Windows Users—
Microsoft Warns All Windows Users—Delete Your Password May 2, 2025 — In a bold flow to redefine cybersecurity, Microsoft is now urging all Windows users to ditch traditional passwords in choose of extra comfy, cutting-edge authentication techniques. The agency’s new message is apparent: “Delete your password.”
By R. Howladerabout a year ago in Chapters
To Slip the Surly Bonds
January, 1883 Worcester, Massachusetts Two horses stood snorting in of front the house on Maple Hill, their breath misting in the cold January air. The wagon behind them was piled high with furniture, trunks of clothes and the other sundry belongings of the house’s occupants. The door opened and two men in coveralls and thick winter coats came out. They were carrying a heavy chest of drawers and sweating profusely, despite the freezing temperature. They picked their way carefully across the bare snow covered yard from the house to where the freight wagon stood weighed down with furniture. Their hobnail boots skidded on patches of ice hidden under the snow several times.
By Terry Longabout a year ago in Chapters
My Schmuddy Valentine, Chapter Two
*** The Undersheriff *** The Undersheriff struggled for a moment internally, his eyebrows drawing together slightly as the desire to touch this lovely woman’s hand warred with the instinct not to tarnish her hand with schmud.
By Delilah Jamesabout a year ago in Chapters
