Mohawk Moon: Mohawk Trilogy, #1

By N Kuhn

Janelle hasn't been home in ten years. All of a sudden, she has to deal with her mothers death, her broken relationship with her sister, and some sexy stranger following her. She doesn't know whether to be scared, or excited.

Damien needs to restore his family's honor. He needs Janelle to do it. There's one problem. Someone is standing in the way. He's vowed that no one will stop him from getting what's rightfully his.

Together they must save what's left of both their families, and along the way, deal with what's going on between them. Join them on the beginning of their journey, under the Mohawk Moon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: N Kuhn
• Release date: Apr 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781498917636

N Kuhn

N Kuhn grew up in a small town in Western New York. Having spent her afternoons outside or with a book, she grew up with a love of reading and writing. Her mother and grandmother fully encouraged this in her. Many years later, after a husband and children, she made a promise to her dying grandmother to fulfill her dream of being an author. Her grandmother lived to see N's name in print. This was a turning moment for her. Driven by ambition and a promise made, she has since published several titles including the Mohawk Trilogy, Tucked In, Buffalo Rocker and the Tricks series. N Kuhn has several other books that will be out later this year. When she's not writing, she is in college for a Business degree, runs her blog, bartends and promotes for other authors. Family and coffee are her two staples in life.

Book preview

Janelle

My heart starts pounding when I see the sign that says ‘Welcome to Fort Edward Population 3011’. The bus sails by, heading deeper into the Adirondack Mountains and I know what’s waiting for me ahead. My sister Samantha will be at the station. I haven’t been home in 10 years. I never thought I would return. Samantha and I were like twins growing up, despite the four year gap in our ages. We were always close in height, weight, and looks. I haven’t seen her for so long, but I’m sure she still looks like me. We both had our mother’s high cheek bones, long black hair, but our father’s wild green and brown eyes. We could always read each other’s mind, and it came in handy when things go rough at home. Phillip, our father, always said he could trace his family back to the beginning of Fort Edward, and argued with our mother when she defiantly told him the Mohawk people were here first.

When our father was drunk, which was quite often, he would tell stories he family passed on about killing savages, his favorite being the one of him, Phillip Sunderland, taming the ‘Wild Indian Woman’. This, referring to our mother and how he beat her for stepping out of line, was his favorite description of her. He was proud of it. My mother was Ahimsa Sunderland. In the Mohawk tongue, it meant nonviolent virtue. He had always tried, but never, until now, succeeded in beating her into complete submission. Our mother lived up to her name, choosing her words to battle my father, not violence. Most of the time, she only complied, to keep us safe. Why she had stayed with him, I never really knew. When he was sober, it was a whole other world. We were a real family then, but those moments were few and far between. He would run and play with me and my sister in the yard; he would take us to movies. We could pretend for a short time that we were all happy.

We weren’t fools though. We knew that things would always go back to the way they were before, and the older we got, the fewer times we spent happy. The beatings on mother got worse, and started to include us, no matter what she did. The nightly visits Samantha and I had gotten since the age of five became more frequent. I always thought mother knew, and was afraid to stop him. But, as I got older, I realized maybe she was in denial. I mean, what mother would let that happen to her children?

Two days after I finished high school, I left for good. I didn’t even stay for my graduation ceremony. I didn’t look back. Samantha and I used to stay up and talk long into the dark scary night about how we would travel the world together. It helped keep our mind off of what we knew would happen to us if and when Phillip came home from the bar. I know it tore us apart when I left without her. It was like an invisible Grand Canyon sprouted up between us. I know I broke her heart because we hadn’t spoken since. I always knew if I stayed, I would eventually be dead like my mother now is, or I would be rotting in jail for murder, Phillips’ murder. He finally must have managed to kill her. Another Mohawk head to add to his mantle. My reason for finally returning home.

I had heard talk growing up about the things his family did to our people. Stories of wiping out an entire blood line and of long lost family feuds. People claiming Phillip was a murderer. That he had killed someone when I was younger. I don’t know how much was true, made up, or glorified by Phillip. People tended to steer clear of us. Calling us ‘The drunks’ daughters’, ‘Mutts’, or even ‘Trash’. It was hurtful, but I learned how to fight, and the teasing stopped but the whispers didn’t.

As the bus continues up the winding road, I think back on the call I received only twenty four hours ago. I didn’t even recognize Samantha’s voice when I picked up. I was sitting in my loft in Chicago, unwinding from a long day on the streets. I had joined the CPD a few years ago when I decided to settle down. I’ve been a beat cop ever since. Everyone in the force is always trying to climb the ladder and make Detective or launch into politics. I was happy just riding the streets. I got to unleash fury and rage, inherited from Phillip, on the low lives and scrum I encountered daily. The job suited me. I loved handling a gun, having the power and authority over these people. I loved the respect that came with the badge. I had just finished a twelve hour shift, and was sitting in my dingy little apartment, icing a black eye, trying to drink myself to sleep.

Lounging on the couch with my cold Corona, blankly flipping through the channels on my small TV, my phone rang. I didn’t really have any friends there. Hell, I didn’t even think anyone knew that number.

Hello? I had answered. I was curious to see who it was. I heard the trembling voice on the other line reply, Jany, mom’s dead. If you’re coming home, the funeral is in two days.

Sammy? Is that you? What happened? How did you find me? Are you ok? What d-do you mean mom’s dead? My hands started shaking.

She’s dead Jany, there’s a bus leaving in the morning, I’ll have a ticket ready in your name if you choose to come home.

She had completely ignored my questions, and hung up. I sat there, frozen with fear and sadness, staring at a photo of us girls on my table. It was the only remnant of a lost life. I heard the phone beeping, realizing that I still had the receiver to my ear. I had placed it back in the cradle and jumped up to pack. I had felt a sickness in my stomach at the thought of returning home. I didn’t know what to expect, what things would be like. What Sammy would be like? I had collapsed onto the edge of my bed, fidgeting with the hem of my gray t-shirt, glancing around at the messy apartment surrounding me.

What do I pack? How long would I stay? I was so nervous. How would things be between me and Sammy? Would we fall right back into being close? Would she be as cold to me in person as she was on the phone? Does she hate me that much? Not that I don’t deserve it. I did abandon her. Maybe this would be a chance to redeem myself, fix things with her, and be family again. Sitting there, I had realized what I had been missing all these years. I sat there crying for who knows how long. Minutes, hours. I had a small one bedroom, but maybe Sam would return with me. Maybe she would want to come live in Chicago with me. I could buy a house, or rent a larger apartment. I had my money still, from our grandparents. Sam sounded so unhappy on the phone. Was that how speaking to me made her feel? Or was she just suffering from our mother’s death?

This may not be a great start to our reunion. I suppose she’s harbored hatred towards me after leaving. I can only imagine the horrors she has gone through staying with Phillip all these years. I used to think Ahi stayed with him because she felt we needed a father, but as we grew, I thought it was because she was afraid to leave. Afraid he would hurt one of us, or follow us, kill us. I never knew exactly what. She has her own money. She could have taken me and Sammy and left, we would have survived just fine. My own anger returns to the pit of my stomach as I’m pulled back to the present. She could have gotten us out of that situation a long time ago. Now look where it’s left all of us. Apart, alone, separate parts of the country, isolated from each other. Hopefully I can repair that while I’m home with Samantha.

The bus pulls up to a stop, as night sets in, and I see Sammy, standing there on the platform, her eyes piercing through the rain as it falls. I stand, and grab my bag. I’ve been the only one on the bus since it left Buffalo. I step off, and walk over to her. The rain falls down around us as we get soaked. She takes my bags and turns on her toes, and starts to walk away.

Sammy, please, and I grab her, trying to embrace her. I’m sorry. I had to leave. I couldn’t take you with me.

Not now, is her only reply, interrupting me, We can talk later. We need to go.

She pushes away and continues to the parking lot. My shoulders slump, and I hang my head, following after her. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back. I turn as I hear the bus pull away, and with it, my chance to run again.

I glance around at the same station I stood in all those years ago, anxious to escape. Nothing had changed, not even the paint. There are only a few people standing around. As we walk, I notice a man