Beatrice was known around town as a woman of mild temperament and recalcitrant humor. She made cookies for the bake sale, donated twenty dollars a month to the animal shelter and picked up her neighbors newspapers when they were away. But her true talent she kept hidden from almost everyone.
Her oldest daughter, Mel, discovered Beatrice's secret late one night in the horse barn.
Beatrice was at her workbench, goggles slung over face, sparks flying all around her.
Mel shouted, erupted, cursed, spit, gagged when she saw what Beatrice had created.
"Never again, Mother."
"I can't stop, Mel."
"You have to. The police will come if you don't."
She promised to put her tools away, but once Mel was back on the road to Missouri, she picked them back up.
"My tools, my tools," she croaked.
A woman of mild temperament and recalcitrant humor sits in her horse barn at her workbench. Beatrice will not stop creating.