Spring's Beginning

By J.L. Kudlo

Spring's Beginning is book one of the Season's Series and is the story of William Huntslow. Orphaned at the age of four, Will is taken in by his quirky and whimsical aunt in a small mid-western town where he slowly learns that life can be about more than just loss. Now, at the age of seventeen, as he is beginning to find his place in the world, a mysterious girl, Freya, comes to town and strange and dangerous events begin to unfold leaving Will to discover that the life he is living is not the life for which he is destined.

As Will’s feelings unexpectedly grow for Freya, so does the threat of danger to himself and those around him. Mythological creatures begin to make their appearance in his otherwise quiet town and Will is forced to discover the connection between Freya and the supernatural beasts. Soon, Will learns that the girl he is falling for is not just an ordinary girl and she has come to protect Will from the dangers that lie ahead.

Upon learning that Will plays an integral role in the future of the world he knows, he is forced to stand up and fight for the small town that provided him a safe harbor after the loss of his parents, his close friends and family that nurtured his wounded soul, and for the girl that he has grown to love in ways he never thought possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.L. Kudlo
• Release date: Dec 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311736369

J.L. Kudlo

J. L. Kudlo hails from a small midwestern town where she lives with her husband and four rescue pets. She is a fierce advocate for the adoption of shelter pets as well as possesses an extreme love for baking. Kudlo grew up with a pen and paper in hand, jotting down short stories that would often gain her invitations to writing workshops. Realizing the narrow margin of writers that succeed professionally and taking some sage advice from her mother, Kudlo attended graduate school and became an occupational therapist, but her strong penchant for writing never faded. Kudlo combined her passion for adventure, animals, baking and growing up in Small Town, USA and created the Season's Series, character driven novels about a young man that believes he is living an ordinary life only to discover that life has other plans for him. Book one of the series, Spring's Beginning is slated to be released in early December 2014.

Book preview

Spring’s Beginning

J.L. Kudlo

Copyright 2014 J.L Kudlo

Smashwords Edition

For Phillip,

Thank-you for showing me that the leap

is much more exciting than the view.

—J

"I don’t know that I believe in the supernatural,

but I do believe in miracles and our time together

was filled with the events of magical unlikelihood."

—John Perry Barlow

Preface

I never considered myself exceptional. Nothing I did ever surprised me, let alone fascinated others. I flew below the radar, so to speak. I was an average athlete, I kept an average focus in school which earned me an average grade point, and my hobbies were nothing that would be defined by my classmates as interesting or even intriguing.

When it came to relationships, I guess one could say average also came to mind. I dated girls, but in the end, my interests in the world of long-term relationships fizzled and friendship was the end result. One could say that through these relationships, I gained many friends of the female variety, offered valuable advice into the psyche of the stereotypical high school male, and spent many Friday nights alone due to my abilities to create lasting relationships for my fellow school mates, which, in the life of teenagers, was four to six months.

I didn’t mind it though. I liked my time alone if the alternatives were the typical Saturday nights of a high school junior. Most of the people I go to school with think that I am different. If they only knew how right they really were. While my classmates were at the movies or hanging out at The Parlor, I would often find myself, melting into the warm atmosphere of Cafe Crucible, becoming lost in the sweet notes of jazz floating up from the musicians’ hands. The dark, bold aroma of coffee invaded my senses of taste and smell while my eyes were delighted by the invitation to dance with the music or be lulled by the twinkling candles and stringed lights that spiraled around the bannisters. The burgundies, golds and moss colored overstuffed chairs created my own private island—just me and a book. I was only interrupted by waitresses offering me a refill. Yeah, I think it was fair to say that I didn’t mind being alone.

It was here at Cafe Crucible that I realized why these Saturday nights were spent alone. It was me. I took the entire blame because even though the term normal is relative, I considered myself anything but a normal seventeen year old guy. I read between the lines when things were black and white and I looked for a deeper meaning in conversations when it was best to take what was said at face value. I couldn’t help it. I read a lot and it effected me when I thought about how two people were suppose to act on a date when they liked one another. My experiences were definitely outside my wheelhouse. I found the absence of depth in conversations and the lack of patience these girls had for me to open up to them compel me to end these relationships before they began. Opening up to people was not something that was easy for me. Perhaps it was her and the events that transpired over the past months that allowed me to realize that I was meant for a life unimaginable. Perhaps it was the nearness of death that awakened me to the idea that I wasn’t average and that something more had always been waiting for me. It had to be because in my world before her, nothing had made sense. After her, my whole world came into focus.

Chapter 1

I awoke to three of my favorite things. They were worth getting up for and consisted of the sun shining through my window casting its glowing white beam on my face, the smell of cinnamon accompanying the duet of coffee, and bacon, and, the voice of Nissa, singing her best Lauretta from Puccini’s Gianni Schicchi. Nissa prided herself on O Mio Babbino Cara being her greatest performance which is why I lovingly called it O Mio Mondays. Tomorrow, will be Tosca Tuesdays, but Nissa will tell me as she does every Tuesday that it is a work in progress.

Nissa is my aunt. She forbade me when I came to live with her at the age of four to call her Aunt Nissa. She sat me down in a chair, brushed her delicate hand over my tear stained cheek and told me that when you had to grow into a young man over night, titles such as aunt were not for the house in which we lived. She and I were to be partners, a team. She was Nissa and I was Will, plain and simple. I didn’t think this as strange, as being a four year old at the time, I knew very few people and called them by their given names. Dad was never used in my previous household as Thayer died in combat overseas when I was barely a year old. I have no memories of him. Susanna, my mother, died three years later in a car accident, and although I remember her bright blue eyes and long flowing gold hair, the memories of her were scarce, but they were committed to my memory, locked away. I held onto them like a child holds a balloon, afraid to let go, understanding the consequences of an untethered balloon floating away and to never be seen again. I didn’t want my few memories of Susanna to fly away and disappear behind a cloud forever. I held firmly onto the weathered string that was eternally tethered to my heart.

I loved Nissa and was grateful for her opening her home to me, practically a stranger. She said that although she loved Susanna, she did not see her often and that given Susanna’s untimely death, Nissa would forever regret not being closer to her older sister. Nissa would leave the conversation with a sadness so profound that I feared to plague her with further questions, taking comfort in the idea, that one day she would tell me everything. Until then, we would have many more mornings just like this Monday morning. Monotany was okay with Will Huntslow. I knew what to expect. I could control it.

With my stomach growling, I had no choice but to relinquish the idea that further sleep was an option. Reluctantly, I pulled the covers off my body and swung my legs to the side of the bed. As I headed toward the closet, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My sweat pants hung off my hips and I immediately thought that my rugby coach was going to be cursing me for not putting on weight. Maybe I should have been a runner I thought as I ran my hands over my stomach, feeling my hip bones.

Another day. I grabbed my black horn-rimmed glasses from the night stand and looked around the hardly meticulous room for today’s clothing. As a teenage male, the idea of variety was a lost notion. In the world of jeans and t-shirts, besides the usual necessities of boxer briefs, socks and an all season hoodie for the ever-changing Michigan weather, nothing else was needed. Today’s selection was a pair of faded jeans that were Nissa’s least favorite. I caught her trying to mend the hole below my right knee and hem the shredded ends that had dragged on so many surfaces of our small town. It was like watching an old friend receive a lobotomy…they would never be the same. I thanked Nissa for her kindness but informed her that she would not have to tend to my laundry and that as a team member in the house, I would begin to launder my own clothing. With that, I grabbed my poked and prodded friend and promised that they would never be in the hands of another again.

After throwing on a long-sleeved shirt and my aging Jane’s Addiction t-shirt, I laced up my boots, brushed my teeth, ran my hands through my unruly dark hair, gave some thought to a morning shave and deciding against it, I trampled down the stairs, two at a time, rubbing my face where the infancy of a beard had begun. A little bit of facial hair was mysterious, I began rationalizing. A full-on beard was of the axe crazed woodsman variety and I was not about to cross into that realm. I would shave tomorrow, I decided, but maybe keep the mystery.

As I entered the kitchen, Nissa was leaning against the sink, drying her hands on her gingerbread apron. The battalion of gingerbread men holding hands, forming a circle around Nissa’s waist always brought a smile to my face. As a child, I imagined these men of cookies jumping off the cotton and helping Nissa create magnificent desserts only to return to the apron at the sound of my feet running down the stairs. Those smiling faces of spiced deliciousness might have believed that they were protecting their secret but little did they know that I had figured them out and their secret would always be safe with me. At seventeen, I knew there were no magical, dancing gingerbread men helping Nissa in the kitchen but it still warmed me deep inside at the memories. Some of my childhood memories could have that effect on me.

Nissa looked at me as if I was not whom she expected to see. Goin’ to school or roughing it in the woods? I couldn’t tell if Nissa’s remark was a statement or a question. But then, I could read the playfulness in her eyes.

Roughin’ it. Quitting school, writing poetry, living off the land, I replied playing along, grabbing a piece of bacon and pouring some coffee.

Okay, well don’t forget to write, Nissa said as she tilted her head back and began the sweet laughter that I had so many times come to rely on for comfort, for shelter.

Nissa approached me, and like when I was four, placed those strong yet beautiful hands on my cheeks, acknowledging the growth that I had contemplated ridding my face of just minutes prior. Nissa gave me her approving smile and then placed her hand on my shoulder and administered a nudge.

Will, this just means you are getting older, which means I am getting older. Thanks for the reminder, mister. Winking at me, she walked over to the oven, swinging her dish cloth like a windmill and pulled out the cinnamon rolls that were giving away their secrets when I woke.

Nissa placed the rolls on the table and went back to the sink where she began to wash the dishes, humming another song that I did not recognize. I couldn’t help but admire her youthful appearance. Nissa barely looked older than me, yet she told stories that were long before my time. I never asked Nissa her age because even though we had no secrets between us, I was smart enough to know that you never asked a lady her age. Nissa’s beauty was timeless and she moved with such grace and fluidity of motion that I wondered if her feet ever touched the ground. Her auburn hair hung in ringlets around her face and often a single curl would reside on the bridge of her nose. She would exhale to blow the curl away, always teasing that if the curl merged to the right side of her forehead, the Nissa that I had come to love would continue to be present but if the curl found its way to the left, the horrid Nissa would show her face. She would then proceed to put her two fingers behind her head like horns and attempt to touch her tongue to her chin. As a child, I would know that the horrid ‘Nissa face’ was to appear and I would become fearful yet excited, not knowing whether to cover my eyes with my hands or steal a peak through the tiny crevices my fingers made in attempt to shelter me from my fears. In the end, Nissa would smile and wrinkle her freckled nose, while her hazel eyes met mine through my hands that served as guards, and I knew that no matter what, it was always my Nissa, a safe harbor.

Nissa, do you ever wonder what life would be like for you if I had not come to live with you? Realizing that my question sounded offensive, I tried to rephrase my intrusive line of questioning. I… um, I mean, you are still so young and I sometimes feel like I could be in the way for you to get out there, you know, and do your thing so to speak. I hid my face behind the oversized coffee mug wishing that I could take back the question.

I didn’t know what made me ask her this, and I felt that I had maybe crossed some unspoken boundary as I watched her from the brim of my coffee cup contemplate my question.

Her back still to me, she stopped washing the dishes upon hearing my question and placed her hands on the edge of the sink, leaning into, almost over it, as if she was straining to look out the window at something transpiring in the yard. Then, without hesitation, and such briskness, she was sitting at the table causing me to spill my coffee. I had only just blinked and Nissa was facing me, our knees almost touching. She did that often. Nissa’s expression was one of surprise, pain, and love. One could never mistake the love in Nissa’s eyes.

Will, three things. One, the day we met, I knew we would be a winning team. A dynamic duo, force of nature. From that day, I knew you and I would do great things. I only wished that the circumstances in which you came to live with me were different…for both of us. She bowed her head and curled her fingers around her apron ties, recovering from the memory of Susanna’s death. Once the sadness subsided, she slowly met my eyes, raising her eyebrows as if to emphasize her next point. Two, who says I am not out there doing my thing? I have my bakery, doing what I love, catching up on the town gossip. I have my outings with the girls. That’s my thing. That’s the life I chose before your arrival and it is the life I choose for myself now.

As if on cue to add credibility to her argument, a small bark and a scratch at the door prompted Nissa to retreat to the back entrance of the kitchen. Barreling through the door, a medium sized brown and white terrier sauntered into the kitchen, approaching me and placing her head which seemed two sizes too large for her petite body on my lap. I proceeded in the ritual of scratching her behind the ears and she showed me her appreciation by wagging her tail so furiously that I imagined her back end lifting from the ground. Instead, she turned to Nissa, having caught the scent of a homemade dog treat.

"Oh, yes. Brucie and I have grand times together when you are off doing your thing, Will. Don’t we, Brucie?" As if in agreement, Brucie politely situated the treat between her front teeth and proceeded to her small bed by the kitchen pantry, where she zealously feasted on her biscuit, gave a loud sigh, and dozed off into a sleep so deep, that faint snores could be heard.

Ah, the life of Brucie. Tis a difficult cross to bare, Nissa declared dramatically.

Nissa glanced at the grandfather clock next to the stairs in the living room that could be seen from the kitchen and turned to me in surprise. Oh, the time! My most inquisitive young man, you are going be late for school and me for work. Off you go. She grabbed a travel mug, poured me a to-go cup of coffee and wrapped a cinnamon roll in wax paper tied with baker’s string—Nissa’s attention to detail with her confections was never lost, even on me.

Throwing my backpack over my left shoulder and grabbing my coffee and roll, I turned back to Nissa, Number three! I shouted.

Without a need for explanation, Nissa began that sweet cantada of laughter, throwing her head back, placing her hands on her hips and lifting her left leg behind her as if posing for a magazine. For calling me young, sir, I do declare you a gentleman, she said in her best southern drawl. And with a smile, I was out the door for school.

***

As I headed to my car, I couldn’t help but wonder what motivated me to ask Nissa whether she had any regrets about me living with her. I sincerely hoped that I had not broken something that could not be fixed between us. Given her good humor, I felt that I was still in a safe place with her. I needed to be. Nissa was one of the few people that I always needed to be right with and because of this, I felt an intense need to protect her. I was not sure from what, but I always knew I would do whatever was needed to be done to ensure her safety.

The thought made me uneasy. What was wrong with me today?

Shake if off, Will, I murmured under my breath and then turned focus when I saw my car parked next to the back steps of the house. The metallic, slate blue Saab had been my car when I turned sixteen and she proved to be durable and reliable. Despite her age she was well maintained but would most certainly require new upholstery if I continued to leave the windows down during rainstorms that were seemingly a daily visitor during Michigan’s spring season. Nissa would always joke about knowing if it was going to rain if I left my windows down, and yet, I did it again. What was that saying about the definition of insanity, I thought to myself.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the towel from the backseat that would provide a repeat performance of drying the leather seats and dash. Sorry, girl, I moaned as the towel emerged from the seat with a dampness that I knew my back side would experience on the way to school.

Reluctantly, I slid into the seat, waiting for the moisture to adhere to my jeans. To my relief, I was in the clear…so far.

That’s one for Team Huntslow, I mumbled to myself. I put the keys in the ignition and listened to the engine come to life without fail.

I loved this car and felt a greater pride with the knowledge that I had worked two summers and three days a week after school at the local veterinary clinic to purchase the Saab. I had researched reliable cars on-line and when I saw a for sale sign by owner, I felt an immediate draw to it. It was safe, reliable, and like me, a little unusual for my generation. I grabbed Nissa that day and test drove it. As I was down shifting to a stop, I turned to Nissa and asked, What do you think?

Nissa ran her hands along the dash, and smiled, It’s groovy, Will. Vintage, a classic. It’s you. Her approval was all I needed to hear. I gave the seller cash and drove it home. Like Nissa, it had never failed me.

I backed out of the driveway and began my pilgrimage to school. The drive was less than ten minutes but I never rushed it. Nissa and I live in a whimsical stone cottage in the woods on the outskirts of the city making the journey into town one filled with stunning scenery. The roads were covered by a canopy of trees, extending their branches to touch one another from alternate sides of the road. Whatever the season, the beauty of it always astounded me. During the spring, the trees were budding and faint pinks, purples, and ivories were peaking out from behind the leaves on branches that swayed in the breeze, uncovering glimpses of the blue sky above them. It was entrancing to behold and just when it felt that the road was unending, I made two lefts and a right and I was in the middle of the town.

Galesburg is a small town in Michigan that boasts the convenience of being half way between Detroit to the East and Chicago to the West. It is the town that I have known since I came to live with Nissa and found the people to be inviting, generous, and kind. They are curious of outsiders, but never treat them as such. They are truly interested in those from outside the city limits and the adventures that might have brought them to the quaint town, home to a little over two thousand souls.

It was a nostalgic town, possibly one that Norman Rockwell might have painted. The various antique stores sold wares from days long past but became treasures of the many that lived in and outside of Galesburg. I often wondered if the original owners could have ever imagined that their belongings such as grandfather clocks and wind up phonographs would ever find their way into the homes of the 21st century where cellular phones could perform the duties of both these relics. The thought always made me smile of the contradiction that the world was being made to go so much faster with technology, yet, people from neighboring states would come to our town to peruse, admire, and tell stories of times gone by, the good ole’ days.

I could understand the allure of these stores that sold memories. I would hear families picking up items and telling stories about how their grandmother had metal candy trays just like them and how after school, their grandma would fill the dishes with sweet candy-coated chocolates. Or, a middle-aged man, holding a framed set of world series tickets to some historical game would tell his wife of the day his father took him to that game but mistakenly threw away the tickets. They had memories of their families and these aging baubles brought about those feelings that they had experienced in another time. I had no memories of my family or stories to tell about Thayer or Susanna. I would walk through these stores with creaking wooden floors that probably had only been mended, but never replaced. I would pick up items that hung from the walls and nooks where they were nestled such as wooden tennis rackets or an old baseball mitt, but these items could not perform the magic on me that they did for others. Perhaps I was not meant to remember my life before Galesburg.

I continued through the town square, passed Nissa’s bakery, Sweet Nothings, and saw a few of the regulars that frequented her establishment, sitting on the bench outside, eager for Nissa to turn the closed sign to open and begin their daily rituals of coffee, breakfast and good conversation. It didn’t surprise me that the patrons at her door were all men of course. They would tell me that Nissa made the best coffee and that her desserts could make grown men cry. I do believe that many a man had been emotional in the presence of Nissa, as she in her bakery is what I believe to be the equivalent of a good bartender—always available to lend an ear to a customer in need, passing no judgements. Because of this, many of her customers became fond of her in ways that Nissa thought of as flattering but had little interest in entertaining. She always told me that she never would mix business with pleasure but that as long as her customers kept showing up at her counter she would keep providing them with the most delicious desserts, coffee, and customer service imaginable. The women of our town enjoyed the bakery as well. I believed that many of them were a little curious about Nissa as she was a successful business owner, young and beautiful, and seemed to have some of the most eligible men in town and in some of the adjoining counties making Sweet Nothings a daily stop even when it was twenty miles out of their way. The women would sit in the booths studying Nissa speaking to the customers, truly interested in what they had to say and then be delighted when she would pour them some fresh hot coffee and sit next to them in a booth and ask them about how their children were doing in school, if their mother was recuperating from her ailments, and where they ever bought such a beautiful scarf to bring out those blue eyes. One could see it in every customers’ eyes when they were in her establishment. They were under Nissa’s spell. That is what made Sweet Nothings such a success. It was a true reflection of Nissa, people knew it, and like a drug, could never get enough.

Half a mile from the bakery was Galesburg Augusta High School, sitting in a field of wildflowers that had not awakened from their winter slumber. Maple trees and evergreens stood like tall majestic soldiers, casting shadows throughout the school grounds. The parking lot was practically full, but the parking space in which I usually left the Saab was vacant. Finn and Leo were waiting for me by Finn’s Jeep Wrangler that had once been white but was now covered in mud. Finn must have been taking it joy riding through the woods again behind his house. I was glad to see it fared better than the previous time when he drove it to school minus the front bumper.

I grabbed my backpack and placed it on the roof of my car as I situated the rest of my belongings. I gave Finn a look after assessing the mud-ridden disaster that his Jeep had endured.

Don’t ask, he said as he punched Leo in the shoulder for laughing.

I wasn’t going too, I replied while the three of us began to walk to class as we had done since the first grade, ten years ago, yet this day felt different from any other day. Now I knew my senses were correct and that I should have trusted them all along as this was the day that my average life would begin to change in ways that I could never have comprehended. This was the day I met her.

Chapter 2

Man, if I were you, I would steer clear of Ashley, Will, Leo warned me as we were seated in our second period American Foreign Policy class. She is going to convince you to ask her out, and she is not going to take no for an answer. I am telling you, if I were you I would… Leo suddenly stopped and turned in his seat to face the front of the classroom. His reaction was all too telling.

Will Huntslow. There you are. We need to talk. It was the voice of Ashley Marrin, an attractive girl, but she knew it, which took some of the allure away for me.

Ashley sat next to me, flipping her golden hair behind her ear, while crossing her long bronzed legs left exposed from her fraying jean skirt. You know, Will, and I am sure you do since Leo here can’t seem to keep his big mouth shut, that I am waiting for you to ask me to the Spring formal, she said as she leaned over and hit Leo on the shoulder.

Ow! Sheesh. Why is everyone beating on me today? Leo asked while he rubbed his shoulder.

Because you are an idiot, Finn chimed in while he rummaged through his backpack for a pencil.

They continued to chide one another which served as good entertainment until I looked at Ashley with her head cocked to one side. I realized that she was waiting for an answer.

Really, Ashley. I appreciate you thinking of me, but the spring formal? That really isn’t me. I am more of a sit in silence, low-key kind of guy, but you kind of knew that, I said. Ashley was a smart girl and I was counting on her to accept my excuse as being final.

She didn’t. Leo said Ashley would be persistent. The idea of her being rejected would not be taken lightly. I admired her tenacity. Honestly. We would have a good time. Daddy said we could get a limo and have all of our friends join us.

Hell, I’ll go with you, Leo said turning around in his seat. As if wounded by Ashley’s stoned glare, Leo returned his stare to the front of the room.

Seriously, Will. I have been asking you out since the first grade. When are you going to say, ‘yes’? Ashley resorted to the one ploy that had a similar affect on me as nails running down a chalk board. She asked the question, whining like a baby. For further dramatics, she stuck out her lower lip. Why do most men find this irresistable?

Well, then, Ashley, since you have been asking me for that long, then you should know the answer, I teased.

I didn’t want to hurt Ashley as she had been a good friend, yet her shield of vanity was always an issue for me. She was so used to getting every material possession she wanted, she began to see people in the same way. Many of my friends didn’t care about her seemingly shallow demeanor and could only see the bright shiny package on the outside, but I knew that when you opened such a package, there was nothing of sustenance inside and you could only stare at the pretty bows for so long.

Ashley understood that there was no use in trying further and Ashley Marrin did not beg. Okay. I just thought I would ask, Will. I figured you would rather hang out at that dark dingy coffee shop with that weird music. I just thought that since this is our junior year, you might want to try something new, more social. I mean, after this year, there is only one more of these dances left, Ashley said as she started to gather up her things to move to a seat closer to her girlfriends that were doing their best impersonations across the room of acting disinterested in Ashley’s and my conversation.

Thank, God, Finn said. He too was served with Ashley’s disapproving look. Sorry, Ash. But guys just go to the dances to make the girls they like happy. You know Will, he doesn’t do the normal.

Ashley bowed her head and gave me a sincere half smile, I know, she agreed, realizing she was defeated. Bye, Will. Finn, Leo, she said, nodding at them. Without even a look of disappointment, she joined her friends, never letting on that the most popular girl in school had been turned down on a date.

Dude, that could have been fun, Leo said once again turning in his seat. "You are seventeen, you don’t have to