Trafford Publishing: Cedar Springs: 30 Short Stories

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Cedar Springs: 30 Short Stories

by Wilhelmine Estabrook

261 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0213; ISBN 1-55212-813-X; US$23.00, C$26.00, EUR19.00, £13.50

These stories are realistic fiction, reflecting the vernacular, attitudes and behaviours of people in a part of rural New Brunswick.

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about the book reviews about the author sample excerpt catalogue info

About the Book

Welcome to Cedar Springs, where you'll meet barbers and bootleggers, preachers and poachers, farmers and charmers, undertakers, lawyers, liars and laborers, jackers, hackers, wits and waitresses, young and bold men, wise and old men, women of class and brass and perhaps even a witch or two. Shed a tear or enjoy a belly laugh as you get acquainted with the people of Cedar Springs.

Reviews

From the Fredericton Gleaner, Saturday, September 22, 2001:
Stories create a picture of a fictional town
Rural New Brunswick seems to hold a lasting fascination to our province's writers, seemingly more so than any of New Brunswick's metropolitan centres. Writers as diverse as Herb Curtis and Don Hannah have explored rural New Brunswick in their novels. The list would go on of course, and it now includes Wilmot's Wilhelmine Estabrook, whose collection of short stories was published this summer.
Cedar Springs is Estabrook's first book and it features 30 stories, all set in the fictional hamlet of Cedar Springs. The stories are linked, with characters and situations recurring throughout various episodes in the life of this small town with a population of 750.
Thus the discovery of a woman's bones near Renous, and their subsequent identification, play a role in several of the stories.
In "Fly Dope and Whisky," the sad life of the woman is recounted by one of the older citizens in a casual chat at the corner store. In "I Remember Anna" the narrator reminisces about the lost woman over coffee at a local restaurant. In a small town everyone is connected to everyone else of course, a fact of rural life mirrored in the structure of Cedar Springs.
While there are episodes of humour scattered throughout the book, these aren't comic stories. Rather, the tone is often tinged with sadness and nostalgia, if not outright tragedy. "Covered Bridge Secret" deals with the rape and murder of a ten-year-old girl, while "Suicide" deals with the death of a young student from the town.
Tragedy strikes Estabrook's characters, but they carry on, quietly and with dignity. "A Life for Lilian," the final story in the collection, begins with the tragic death of a young mother but ends on a note of hope for the future.
The stories in Cedar Springs are short and pithy, fuelled by dialogue. The writing is straightforward, with little attempt at poetry. Instead Estabrook concentrates on the language of her characters, creating a credible picture of her fictional town.
A professional writer with a wide variety of experiences, Estabrook brings that experience, and the results of her observations to her stories. "I am an inveterate people watcher and an unrepentant eavesdropper," she admits in the book release for Cedar Springs. "Sometimes I catch a few words of people passing by, or seated in the next booth, and a story will weave itself around those few words."
reviewed by RAY CRONIN

Estabrook's writing style is well known to county residents who followed her newspaper columns for years. Now the fictitious tales in Cedar Springs renews readers' interests in her wit and storytelling ability. The characters remind the reader of the real-life characters who exist in Carleton County. They are portrayed with a gentle humour and honesty. --The Bugle, Woodstock, NB

Three years ago Wilhelmine Estabrook of Wilmot began the task of capturing the essence oft he St. John River Valley in print. Now she has the end product of 30 short stories in a collection titled Cedar Springs.
Estabrook has created a fictional village and closely examined the workings of a small, gossip-filled, God-fearing town...
Cedar Springs is a book that will give clearer understanding for any person looking to make sense of the place so many call home. --The Observer, Hartland, N.B.

About the Author

For over 25 years Wilhelmine Estabrook earned her living writing news stories, essays and features for newspapers, magazines and radio as well as a column in the local weekly. Prior to full-time writing, she worked as a secretary and office manager in advertising, accounting and publishing. She picked potatoes, drove a coffee truck, waited tables, set up a children's art centre, welded magazines for the Enfield rifle, cared for senior citizens, served as usherette at the Duke of York Theatre in St. Martin's Lane, London, England, repaired jewellery and sewed costumes for the National Ballet.
She and her husband Robert F. Nielsen live in New Brunswick.

Sample Excerpt - The Journey

Down among the bulrushes tiny bugs flit across the brackish water, fireflies tip tiny pins of light into the depths playing across the sparkling baby trout. A moose has come to the water to drink. He dips his head down, then raising his giant rack of antlers, bugles softly into the dusk. Further on his call is answered.
A woman walks on the path, her feet silently rising and falling on the dusty earth. She doesn't seem to be in a hurry, yet she is moving purposefully forward. She is wearing a three-quarter length woollen coat of indeterminate colours and a bonnet, so it is not possible to see her hair, once raven black, now thinning and nearly white, wound into a bun at the base of her neck. Her dress is long and dun-coloured. She wears a heavy butcher's apron over the front. Her boots are sturdy and strong, scuffed at the toes. Over her shoulders she wears a shawl. One hand holds the shawl in place. In the other she carries a covered wicker basket. Along the water's edge she lingers, setting her basket on a nearby rock. She is tempted to take off her shoes and stockings, but contents herself with a short break. She has already walked nine miles over rough terrain but it is not far enough yet. She will walk until near exhaustion and then leave the path to rest in a small thicket.
It is early summer. Anna Walker is 71 years old. This is the second day of her last journey.
In the past few months Anna has experienced several disturbing episodes where her mind seemed to play tricks on her, even abruptly shuting down on her. One day she went out walking and looked down to see that she had put her shoes on the wrong feet. She'd mislaid her telephone book and forgot she'd lost it until one morning she looked in the fridge's freezer compartment and found it there.
Her recent dreams were awash in terror; her bed would be on fire and she would dash to the kitchen for water to put the fire out; nuns, purple-faced with rage, swooped in like demons and cursed at her. Her routines were suddenly disrupted by bizarre happenings. She would make her morning cereal, then pour tomato juice over it.
Although Anna had never given much credence to the medical profession, she had read extensively and knew that something was happening in her mind that she could not control. She made an appointment to see Dr. Ted White. Doctor White sent her to specialists and various tests were carried out. It was several weeks before she heard the results of the tests which, by then, she had come to accept herself. The disease of Alzheimers was stealing her mind bit by bit.
"How rapidly will this disease progress?" she asked Dr. White.
"Hard to say. Weeks, months, even years," he said. "Everyone is different. Of course, keeping active and mentally alert as you can is said to help stave off the inevitable. Do you play bridge?"
"No. math is not one of my talents."
"Chess?"
"No. I can't say I am good at strategy. I either know the correct answer or I don't. But I see where you are leading. Mental exercises may help."
"It's possible." Dr. White studied Anna for a few more minutes. He was a kind and good man, but troubled.
Anna stood up to go. "Well, you have other patients waiting. Thank you, Dr. White, for your time and interest. Then she looked closely at him and said: "Yes, Gail Whitney was on the bridge the night it burned. She was already dead by then. But her murderer is still among us."
"How do you know?"
"Some things I always know. But you, Dr. White, you will meet the murderer and you will know what to do." Then Anna picked up her basket and walked out of his office.
Dr. White sat back down at his chair. The nurse popped her head into the examining room, "Ready for the next one?"
"Give me a minute," he said.

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