“Why me,” she moaned, standing in front of the dilapidated house and outbuildings in a yard overgrown with noxious looking weeds. “Who the hell was third-cousin-Harley-five-times-removed?” she asked out loud. “Why do I have to settle his estate?”

She walked carefully across the sagging porch; keys screech in rusty lock. Pushing the door open spawned a dust-tornado skipping across worn wood and peeling linoleum floors. “Achoo!”

Three years later, she is curating the “Harley House Family Museum” with displays of everything from kitchen kitsch and wedding trousseaus to farm implements and mechanics tools. And, Harley’s prize possession . . .  (100 words)

for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. (August 20, 2021) Photo credit: © Lisa Fox

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