Catherine Hammond

Catherine Hammond has a BA in writing from Northwestern University and an MA in Education from Wayne State. As a school principal and the mother of four young adults, she spends her days motivating people to understand and nurture themselves, others, and the world. Her favorite words are "travel," "listen," "taste," "believe," and "gone fishin’." Her publications include "The Knowing" with Dreamers Creative Writing (online and in hard copy) and "A Different Kind of Smart" with Friday Flash Fiction (online).

A Slow Fever: The Nearly True Story of Typhoid Mary

October 1906
Another family with kids. What I wouldn’t have given to work for an old maid with no children. Just me and her and a bright, clean kitchen. But I was happy. I was cooking.
Portia, who had recently turned six, darted into the kitchen and ran around the oak table. Tristan rushed in behind her.
“Give it back.” His voice was high and whiny.
“It’s the last one.” She held a crumpled scone over her head.
“Stop that,” I said.
They peered up at me. I was a big woman, and I could scare little kids. Portia’s hand fell to her side.

Long Short Story

Catherine Hammond

Catherine Hammond has a BA in writing from Northwestern University and an MA in Education from Wayne State. As a school principal and the mother of four young adults, she spends her days motivating people to understand and nurture themselves, others, and the world. Her favorite words are "travel," "listen," "taste," "believe," and "gone fishin’." Her publications include "The Knowing" with Dreamers Creative Writing (online and in hard copy) and "A Different Kind of Smart" with Friday Flash Fiction (online).

A Slow Fever: The Nearly True Story of Typhoid Mary

October 1906
Another family with kids. What I wouldn’t have given to work for an old maid with no children. Just me and her and a bright, clean kitchen. But I was happy. I was cooking.
Portia, who had recently turned six, darted into the kitchen and ran around the oak table. Tristan rushed in behind her.
“Give it back.” His voice was high and whiny.
“It’s the last one.” She held a crumpled scone over her head.
“Stop that,” I said.
They peered up at me. I was a big woman, and I could scare little kids. Portia’s hand fell to her side.

Long Short Story

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