Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=STEAM. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. 

To one direction, the railroad tracks led through a town choked and busy with deals being made, horses drawing carriages to protect the well-heeled in habitants, and creaking wagons wide open and welcoming the cloudless sky, their boots crammed with sleepy children after a successful day at market, wedged in between baskets and the few wares that hadn’t sold; beyond the town’s borders, dusty roads and half-grown fields shimmered in the late-day heat.

They were all returning home, but she was not.

She turned her gaze back to the river, listening for the sound of a steam-driven paddleboat that was surely just around the bend, even if running late.

Pulling her carpet bag a bit closer to her skirt and sturdy boots, she sat up straighter on the bench by the quay, adjusting the ribbons of her church-going hat.

Except that she wasn’t going to church, was in fact leaving the parish to somewhere in the future when her options would not be as limited; she had dreams that did not include transfer from her father’s home to the household of the recently-widowed banker with half a dozen “challenging” children.

The paddleboat might be running late, but she was just in time; her father and the banker had gone on a week-long business trip together in the big city, and the rest of the town—though they would miss her—sympathized; none of them would have anything to report about her departure.       

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2026)