STOLEN IN PARIS: The Lost Chronicles of Young Ernest Hemingway: The Indian Girl He Couldn't Forget

By David Wyant

The Lost Chronicles hits home with the teenage genius search for truth in all of us.

Ernest Hemingway's first wife lost a suitcase full of prized manuscripts on a trip home from Paris. These missing stories were never to be seen again. Who knows what literary classics that suitcase may have contained?

In the imagination of this author have been found those missing memoirs—a series of twelve exciting adventures, with more to come, found by way of "biographic fantasy noir." "The Lost Chronicles of Young Ernest Hemingway" unveil his earliest, most fascinating adventure stories, and monologues read like eaves-dropping while he unloads in his priest's confessional booth.The author imagines what the childhood and teenage life of Ernest Hemingway in Petoskey must have been like.

Young Ernest Hemingway is 11-years-old. Surrounded by a slew of sisters, an overbearing mother, and a timid father, Ernest finds companionship with the children in the Native Tribes of the region, which leads to an interesting summer full of lessons.

This stylish series of young adult novels reveals literary merit, fine design, and strong kid-relevance. Filled with unbridled Victorian romance, adventure, betrayal, parent-sibling drama, and tribal temptations tastefully presented like a cathartic, primal glimpse into one, very troubled, sub-conscious.

History comes alive in these historical adventure stories!

"The Lost Chronicles of Young Ernest Hemingway" is indeed the perfect platform on which to expose those early, deeply gnarled roots of America's most analyzed, literary bad boy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Wyant
• Release date: May 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476140094

David Wyant

David Henry Wyant, M.Ed. was born in Rogers City Michigan, just 60 miles directly east of Petoskey, along Lake Huron. He graduated with honors from RCHS in 1959 during a time when most young Americans strongly felt the need to do what they could to beat Russia into outer space. At seventeen, he drew rocket plans for NASA.A graduate of Concordia Univ. Chicago(BA) and Wayne State Univ. Detroit, MI,(MA), Mr. Wyant taught elementary school for 30 years specializing in Art. He worked on a team which wrote the state Art curriculum for Florida.Author Wyant currently enjoys visits with his daughter, Lisa Luebke (wife of Randall), five grandchildren and one great grandchild who all live nearby in Boyne City, Michigan. Experiencing Petoskey's north woods will never be the same after you read, "The Lost Chronicles of Young Ernest Hemingway." "The Town that Haunted Hemingway"..."Side Door to Heaven for Hemingway"Mr. Wyant's previous books were environmental in nature:"A Compilation of Poems", Landscape painting with words"My Petoskey Stones"(192 pages regional poems) Extolling the natural beauty of Petoskey, MI"The Town that Haunted Hemingway." Extensive research of Hemingway’s youth in Petoskey area."Art Curriculum, State of FL." What every child should know about Art, K-12Mr. Wyant is available for readings of his books, writer's workshops and readings of his unique regional poetry.

Book preview

The Lost Chronicles of Young Ernest Hemingway

Book 1: Prudence, The Indian Girl He Could Not Forget

Published by David Henry Wyant at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 David Henry Wyant

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1: In the Hemingway Cabin on Walloon

Chapter 2: Matters of the Heart

Chapter 3: What are Friends For?

Chapter 4: Life's Indelible Moments

Chapter 5: The Greatest Day of my Life

Chapter 6: The Blue Heron Caper

Chapter 7: The New Cracken Adventures

Chapter 8: The Summer I Became a Man

Chapter 9: A New Religion I Now Leave You With

Chapter 10: Epilogue

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Chapter 1: In the Hemingway Cabin on Walloon

Hemlock bark piled on the old hay wagon was almost ready to haul to Horton Bay docks.

The Natives had been skinning Hemlock logs now all week. The pile was enormous. Boyne City tannery bought all the bark that Indians could peel. I'm thinking it will take a good team of horses to get that load down the hill to Horton. Uncle Charles or Joe Bacon will probably lend his team to the Natives. That reminds me... I left my shoes on that wagon. Well, I'll get them when I fetch milk for the family. Got to get home to the cabin in time for supper now. I hope Father has more of that black squirrel stew we had yesterday.

Walking barefoot all summer sure toughens a kid's feet. I bet I could step on broken glass right now an' not feel nuthin'. Sure feels swell goin' all day without shoes an' socks. Hope Auntie Charles finds my shoes an' takes 'em into her shed. I'd hate for a skunk to pee all over 'um. Cripes! Wouldn't that beat all? Father would whoop my butt good... naw he wouldn't... or would he? If he was in one of his self righteous moods again, hard tellin' what he might do.

Hi, Father. I had fun today picking apples for Auntie Charles. She sent along a bunch of culled Ida Reds. Enough for a couple apple pies anyway.

Praise the Lord, Ernest. Please don't slam the door. Please put them in a colander at the sink, then pump some water to wash them up good. I'll peel them later. 'Squirrel supreme' once again for supper! Paaalease wash those feet, they are filthy.

Yes Father. You know how I enjoy supplying food for our table. Billy Tabeshaw taught me how to hunt squirrel. You like my shooting?

Indeed I do, son, but where are your shoes?

Oh yeah, a-a-a-ah, yeah...left my shoes on Uncle Charles' hay wagon. Don't worry, a skunk won't pee on them. I'm hoping Auntie Charles took them inside.

You better hope she did indeed, young man. Now wash up. We'll be saying grace in a minute. Ernest, please don't talk about pee in front of your Mother and the girls.

You bet, Father. That talk is just for us men... Gee, Father, thanks for letting me pitch a tent by the cabin. That way I can get some sleep and be up early to shoot crows. You know how we all hate crows. Those rascals wake us way too early every morning and they raid our garden at Longfields.

Marceline, darling, thank you for setting the table, dear, but forks always go on the left. Forks on the left, darling. Sorry, Ernest, what were you saying? Oh, yes, the tent.

Geez, Marceline! Quit interrupting all the time when Father and I are having a man-to-man here!

Now, Ernest, your sister didn't mean to clatter with the silverware I am sure.

But Father! She always tries to butt in when we are talkin'! Geez!

No need to take the Lord's name either, Ernest, my older sister jutted in.

Now, Marceline, don't start something!

My youngest sister wandered into the room.

Well look! Here is my big girl, Sunny. Oh you are so heavy I can hardly lift you, Father exclaimed.

Hi Father, Ernie, Marcy. Mother sent me in to tell you her painting is all finished and she's ready to take sustenance. I guess she means she wants to have her supper now. Tee hee.

Sunny, we're eating some more black squirrel I shot with Billy Tabeshaw ,an' I brought fresh apples for apple pies.

Ernie when do I get to go squirrel hunting with you two? I get bored hangin' 'round the cabin fetching Mother's paints and brushes. Mmmmm— smell that squirrel stew! Ain't nuthin' tastier than squirrel, right big brother?

Right you are, Sunny. To answer your question about hunting with Bill and I— well I guess that is up to our parents, don't you think?

Well I'll have you know, Father is training me on the .22 rifle.

Are you serious?! I exclaimed.

Yes, Father and I have done target practice where you go to sight in your big rifles. Now what do you think of that?

Must've been those shots I heard yesterday while hauling hay at Uncle Charles', hmm. Well, if Father thinks you are ready... I guess... okay? For a girl you sure have taken to fishing, but squirrel requires a lot of stealth and teamwork. The Indians have taught me a lot of that. Well, let's get ready. Fold your hands, Sunny, Father wants to ask the blessing.

Pssst, Ernie, wasn't that swell when Father let us all go skinny dippin' last night?

Shush, kid, Father's still prayin' to God! For Cripe-sakes, Sunny— some other time!

Mother did most of the dinner chatter. All the rest of us were smackin' on the sweet squirrel an' baby red-skin taters and fresh green beans with fresh creamy butter from Bacon's farm. Mother just carried on and on about opera and famous artists, like she was some kind of diva or somethin'. Heck, she only sang once in Madison Square Garden and then quit to run off to Europe gallivantin' all over on Grandad's money. Claims the bright lights cut her operatic career short. I says bow shit! I says she was skeert! But I would never say that to a soul. Well, here comes dessert.

"Good evening, family, thanks to all your hard huckleberry picking, I put together