The Chimney Sweeper©

Free Online Short Love Story

Written by American Author Sky Taylor

"I'm cold!" Jack fussed, crossing his arms and shivering wildly to get his point across, his gray eyes caressing Heather's resolute-looking face as he paused to stare down at her resolute form.

Through the deafening silence, he emphasized, "I'm old and old things get really cold. And if I weren't as old as a durn turtle, I'd scale the ladder and clean the chimney myself. Chicken!"

Heather narrowed her blue eyes at her grandfather. No way was she going to climb up on an icy roof and clean out his chimney. Sure, it felt like an iceberg in the old two-story farmhouse, but it was Grandfather's fault that he hadn't arranged to have the chimney cleaned before the first brisk northern blew through.

If only that bird hadn't made a nest in the top of the chimney last spring, then she supposed that there wouldn't have been an issue in starting a fire. But it was a huge nest and lately, their luck was running sour.

"I can't believe that you're even asking me to clean out the chimney! There's a sheet of ice out there," she reminded him unnecessarily, folding her arms as he huffed and puffed, then labored a bit with his rickety legs before suddenly landing in the soft cushions of the old sofa.

"And don't you dare sulk," she warned, shaking a pink-painted nail at him.

"You couldn't even begin to imagine how cold I am right now, little girl. In fact, I'll probably catch a rotten cold. You know, a bad cold can kill an old codger like me. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then this would all be yours."

"Humph," Heather mocked, refusing to succumb to her grandfather's crazy remark.  

She wasn't a chimney sweeper - had never done it and wouldn't even know where to begin - even if she agreed to his cockamamie idea.

"It will all be your fault," he continued to grind.

"My fault?"

"Yes, your fault when I die," he assured, wincing his mouth at her. "Why don't you get a boyfriend to take care of you? Running out of gas - and now we're stuck here. In the cold. No way to light a fire without cleaning out that chimney, either. Why didn't you get gas before you headed out here?"

"Look - how could I have known that your car was in the shop? And how could I have known that my gas gauge was flaky?"

"Are you going to clean out that chimney, or not? I'm freezing!"

"Let me get this straight in my head. You want me to get out in the ice, climb up on a slippery ladder and plunge the chimney clean," she summed up, sticking up three fingers, one at a time as she pointed out each issue.

Then, "Grandfather, you know how clumsy I am - in the best of situations. If I try to clean out your chimney, I would surely meet my death."

"It's either you or me," he grumbled, and Heather suddenly detested his hard-headedness.

"Fine!  If that's what you want, then so be it. Where's your ladder?"

"You will?" Jack asked for confirmation, springing from the sofa like a young buck, and Heather could have sworn she heard a 'boing' amid the catapult.  

"Where is your ladder?" she asked again, still miffed. If she fell and broke her neck, it was all going to be his fault!

"The crooked, heavy one that I made last summer?"

"That's the one-"

"Propped against the house," he told her, returning to the Land of All Things Spry.  

Phillip Jordon held the binoculars in steady hands, pausing to readjust the lenses as he continued spying on his neighbor's house.  

Surely he was seeing things.

What was that ninny-of-a-girl doing out in the ice, scaling a ladder that looked like it came off the first man-made fire engine? It was more crooked than a fixed deck. Certainly not Amish-made.

And what was that outfit she had on? Talk about layered clothing - she had on so many layers that her arms looked like wings on a plane.

Heather had managed to climb to the roof of the house, clawing her way over to the top of the chimney where she clung for dear life.  

And it wasn't an easy task as she had donned too many layers of clothing. She couldn't even bend her arms to lend support.

"Grandfather! What do I do now?" she asked, quite breathless.

He was standing by the ladder, anchoring it as she had made the long climb.

He yelled up to her, "The bird's nest is stuck in the top! Can't you see it? Plunge the devil out of it!"

Phillip continued to gaze through the binoculars.

It appeared that Jack was yelling up at the ninny - probably telling her what an idiot she was for making the potentially fatal climb.

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