Buster, and Other Stories

By Burr Cook

The first story is a fictional novel in which a young man from an Upstate New York community, inherits a South Carolina plantation and becomes a slave owner which is the last thing he wants to be. Although he hasn't given it a lot of thought in the past, he gradually becomes strongly opposed to the institution of slavery when he meets Buster, a slave. The second story involves a P-51 pilot during WWII. He was shot down and parachuted to safety but was captured by the Germans. He spent a year as a prisoner of war. The latter portion of that imprisonment was at Stalag VII-A Moosburg. After the war he returns to Germany to resolve a personal conflict. Next is a work of fiction in which a young man returns from World War I after being poison gassed in a trench in France. He falls in love with a nurse and moves to Arizona where he can breathe and get better on a sheep ranch. Lastly is a fast moving fictional romance. The location moves from Buffalo, New York to a Montana cattle ranch. A lonely widow answers an ad in a lonely hearts magazine and gets involved with a hard drinking cowboy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Burr Cook
• Release date: Dec 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370094202

Burr Cook

Burr lives in Syracuse, New York, has 4 children, several grandchildren and says that Great grandchildren are arriving at an alarming rate. Burr is a history buff and works hard on his family's genealogy and has a web site at www.burrcook.com which is partially biographical. He may be contacted through this site. He has traveled extensively throughout the US, Europe and Asia by air, rail and highway. Burr has enjoyed a 50 year career in information technology, has owned a worldwide seminar business and a company called “Cyburrsource” providing the public with internet connections. He is now semi retired and enjoys a life as a freelance writer of action/adventure/romance stories primarily in a historical western setting.

Book preview

Prologue

Dillon MacDonald was taking a leisurely walk in the trees which were part of the South Carolina plantation he had recently come to own. An inheritance left him by his dad, William MacDonald, who he had never known. He was carrying a shot gun in case he came across any game on his walk in the woods although he was not there just for hunting. He had not yet explored all of his property that consisted of thousands of acres, although he did not remember exactly how many. It was a nice mid summer day and he was now a country gentleman. His property was an island and he owned it all. It was completely surrounded by the river waters and approachable by only one bridge just wide enough for a horse and wagon to cross.

Suddenly a rabbit darted in front of him. It was an easy shot and Nanny, his cook, would make a stew with it for dinner. As the echo of the gun shot faded from his hearing he was startled by a strange sound coming from a nearby grove. He was sure there weren’t any large animals such as bison or bears on the island although there were some in the surrounding forests on the mainland. He cautiously moved toward the sound. It came again from the same direction. He started poking in the brush not finding anything when he heard it once more. This time he was astonished and a little frightened, he was sure now, that it sounded like a human groaning. He took several steps toward the sound and nearly tripped over a man lying on the forest floor. He could see that it was a fairly large black man and that he was covered with blood. What on earth could’ve happened! he soliloquized as he took some water from his canteen and washed the man’s forehead with a handkerchief. The man tried to speak and Dillon cautioned him to go easy since it was obviously hurting him terribly to try to talk.

After Dillon had spent a few moments poring water over the man’s face and washing his brow the man asked, Who’re you?

Dillon replied, I’m the owner of this plantation.

Please don’t turn me in! was the man’s only statement, please don’t turn me in!

Turn you in to whom?

To the slave catchers, the man replied.

Did they do this to you?

Yes, one hundred lashes and they left me for dead. I crawled here from over there, he said as he raised one arm a little pointing toward the river.

What’s your name? Dillon asked, not knowing just what to say.

Buster, my name’s Buster. Please don’t try to move me.

I’ll go for help, said the land owner as he started running toward the house.

Chapter 1 Home

It was spring time and Dillon MacDonald sat on the front porch reading a news paper dated April first, 1860 and was a couple of weeks old but where he lived that was about the best he could do. There was a lot of talk in the news about the institution of slavery in the southern states however Dillon lived in the north where the abolition movement had been gathering momentum recently. He hadn’t given the topic a lot of real thought but he had discussed it with many of his friends. They seemed to be split down the middle on the subject. He really wasn’t sure where he stood and certainly wasn’t convinced that all of the talk of cruelty was factual. After all there must be laws against such things. This is America he thought. None the less there was a lot of discussion about it in the Syracuse paper he was presently perusing. He’d seen articles written by abolitionists in many papers and magazines recently. He had also glanced through issues of North Star (an anti-slavery newspaper). Syracuse appeared to be the center of the abolitionist movement in Upstate New York. The underground railway was talked about openly as well as the Fugitive Slave Act of eighteen fifty requiring the authorities in the northern states to return runaway slaves to their southern owners just like any other property. If one looked over the news these issues couldn’t be missed. He had never seen a black person that he could remember. From everything he had heard from his friends and family they were not intelligent enough to be on their own.

Dillon was the stepson of a farm family living in the Upstate New York, County of Ontario which is located midway between the cities of Rochester and Syracuse. Having recently become twenty one years of age he was still small in stature but was considered to be handsome and he was looked on fondly by the local girls even though he walked with a slight limp as a result of an accident early in life. He wore his hair long and it was curly and very black and he had pale blue eyes. He was about five and a half feet tall, weighed about a hundred and sixty pounds and was solid and muscular due to his life of farm work. Dillon was fond of music and had taught himself to play the old violin that he had found in the attic. He had saved his allowance for a considerable length of time to buy a new one when he got serious about it. He was generally dressed in typical farm clothes but dressed in a modern style suit when he went into town.

He had lived with the Chapman family – Mabel and Stanley - since he was quite young. They were not exactly a loving couple, at least not outwardly, but were never abusive. Dillon was happy living there and knew them as the only parents he’d ever had. The Chapmans had never actually adopted him legally so he still kept the family name of MacDonald. Stanley and Mabel Chapman owned a hundred acres of prime farm land and got by quite well although they were not wealthy. Mabel was a stocky woman but not plump. She was a tough farm wife and accustomed to hard work. She constantly busied herself around the house and barn keeping a garden and caring for small animals. Stanley was a large man; very strong even though he was nearly sixty, about five years younger than Mabel. He still had a good head of wavy hair although it was quite grey. The couple wasn’t deeply religious. They attended church mainly out of a need for social intercourse.

Dillon was a good farm worker even with his twisted leg. He was especially fond of horses, dogs and various farm animals. He never knew his parents. He had heard that they were killed in a buggy accident, involving run away horses and that it was in that accident that he had injured his leg which never healed properly and left him with a limp. He got around pretty good and could do most kinds of farm work even with a twisted leg. He had a dog that followed him everywhere he went on the farm. He was a fairly large animal and Dillon named him Champ when he was a pup. He had to shut Champ in the house in order to go to town without him.

Although Dillon had never graduated he did have a basic education and enjoyed reading. He had no real bad habits except for pipe smoking, which most men did, and an occasional beer with his buddies in town especially on the Saturday dance nights. Most of his time was spent helping out on the farm. He loved to watch the corn grow; it grew so fast in the hot summer months. They also raised lots of wheat, potatoes and beets and they kept a few dairy cows, some beef cattle and chickens.

Due to his lame leg he had never participated in the games that the young men were interested in except that he was fond of hunting. He owned a shot gun and a small gage rifle and was an accurate shot with them. But young Mister MacDonald had a hobby that brought him in contact with many young women. He played the fiddle in a country band, often for local barn dances. He did not often have the nerve to ask a girl to dance and seldom had the opportunity since he helped furnish the music. He thought about it a lot however.

There was little romance in his life, although that was not his choice he just didn’t know how to go about it. He liked a neighborhood girl as a friend; her name was June. His thoughts and fantasies often had a lot to do with her but he had not yet gathered together the courage to approach her romantically. He was very shy and lived several miles from the nearest village where he had attended school.

His work was rather hum drum and he had plenty of time for fantasies which usually included June. He often thought of her and hoped some day to get the nerve to ask her to dance and he was sure he would if he wasn’t always with the band. He liked her way of being like one of the boys and a good friend although he thought of her a lot in other ways as well but it was all just in his fantasies. Even though they were especially friendly toward each other they hadn’t had any physical contact as yet other than holding hands. Many times they would lie on the hay upstairs in the barn over the cows and just talk about lots of things. Both of them dreamed of traveling some day, having never been further than the surrounding counties. He was fond of June and thought he would soon get up nerve to ask her to teach him to dance. She had offered a couple times but he put it off because he thought he might mess up having a bad leg and a slight limp. He used the band as an excuse. He knew if he really thought about it that people were kinder than that; he was really just self conscious. She was certainly attractive enough, even though she was a little heavy she was still a shapely young lady.

April 15, 1860 was a Sunday. It was a custom for Dillon to accompany the Chapman couple to the Baptist church in the nearby village. He had never thought much about religion but always attended the service because he knew that was what his step parents wanted him to do and also because he knew that June was often there. On special occasions he would play hymns on his fiddle in church. He knew that he did it well and he usually got lots of praise for his performances.

As he sat in the pew his mind wandered in spite of the loud preaching from the pulpit. He was day dreaming about the previous afternoon when he was fishing in the river with his friend June. They had waded in the shallow part of the stream and laughed together as they enjoyed one of the warmest days so far for the year. It was at this time that he learned that her full name was actually May June Wager; A name that was chosen because she was born on the last day of May right around midnight. They waded in the river and had splashed each other and got a little wet then lay in the sun to dry. All in all it was a memorable day and he realized that he was developing feelings toward her. He remembered looking fondly at her long dark brown curly hair and big brown eyes with speckles while he gently touched her hand. She was seventeen years old and well developed. He liked the fact that she wasn’t taller than him as many of the girls were.

Upon leaving the church service he was disappointed to find that June was not there although he knew she would ride her pony, Priscilla, over to visit him in the afternoon which was her custom on Sundays. They had more privacy at his home than at hers. The Chapmans left them pretty well alone while June’s parents were constantly keeping an eye on them. Not that they were misbehaving, they just wanted to be by themselves.

The following Saturday Dillon rode his horse to town to visit with some of his buddies and practice with the band and buy some things for the farm at the general store. The store also served as the post office and he was surprised to find that he had received a letter. Getting mail was very unusual for him and even more strange was that the mail had come from Charleston, South Carolina. After noting the thickness of the envelope he decided to wait till he got home before opening it. He was curious but he soon forgot about it for a while because he had run into a couple of his friends at the store and was busy visiting and having a few laughs about nothing in particular. The crowd that he normally roamed around with was not into hanging around the saloon like many of the young men in town. Alcoholic beverages were only for special occasions with them so they hung out in the back room of the general store. The store owner’s son, John, was a member of the band and they often used the room for practicing.

When he got home Dillon delivered the items he had brought from town for the Chapmans, placing them on the kitchen table. Mabel Chapman thanked him and went about her work. She was always busy with laundry, kitchen work and she usually, for some reason, took charge of the chickens and she fed them much of the leftover food which would otherwise spoil.

He was curious about the letter he had received, so, alone in his room, he opened and read it. The letterhead read Jameson and Scruggs, Attorneys at Law, Charleston, South Carolina.

Dillon did not understand all of the legal talk in the letter and accompanying papers but he got the general idea of it. He was shocked to read that his father, William D. MacDonald had recently passed away. He couldn’t help thinking out loud, So he didn’t die in the accident like I was led to believe. That would mean that when his mother was killed it was his father who’d left him with the Chapmans. They’d never told him. He was also learning that his father had some money in the bank in South Carolina where he had settled and that he also was the owner of some property. His father had written a will and was leaving everything to Dillon, his only surviving relative, his son. According to the lawyers, all he had to do was to come to their office in Charleston and sign some papers to claim his inheritance.

Once he was over the shock of what he had just learned about his father he sat back and thought about a trip to the south. First of all he had little assets and such a trip would certainly cost more than he had. It would, however, offer a welcome break in the monotony of farm life.

He kept the letter to himself for a few days until he went to town for band practice where he shared it with his buddies. They were very excited by it. His best buddy Phil took a pull on his pipe and exclaimed Dillon you could be getting a lot of money. The property must have some value.

Yes but I’ve got to get there first.

They all agreed that they would take up a collection among the group then someone came up with the idea of holding a special dance to collect funds for the trip. This they did and some money was raised but it certainly wasn’t enough to finance a trip to South Carolina.

So the day following the dance, at the dinner table after they had eaten, Dillon shared the letter with his step parents. He told them how much money he had collected from his friends and the dance and lamented that he didn’t think it would be enough.

Mr. Stanley Chapman sat back deep in thought after loading and lighting his pipe. Following a long draw on the pipe he blew a smoke ring and said "Dillon, you’ve been a big help to us here on the farm; the nearest thing to a son that I ever had, and I’d like to do something for you.

I’m sorry that we never told you about your father but he didn’t want to have anything to do with you at the time. I’ll tell you the whole story whenever you want. He was a hired man here on the farm; but for now I want you to know that I’ve got some savings at the bank down town and I’d like to make you a loan. I’m sure it’d be enough to finance the trip when combined with what you have raised and it’d make me happy to do that for you. You’re an adult now and I know you’ll be quite capable of making the trip on your own. I’d go along with you if I could get away, but I can’t right now. Anyway it sounds like you’ll be able to pay the money back when you return.

Oh gosh, Dillon replied, it’d be a great experience. I’ve never travelled anywhere. Of course, I’d pay you back if I’m able. As soon as things are settled down there, I’ll come right back and I also hope that I can repay you for helping me with my life so far. It sounds like my father had a little money saved up. Did you know about that?

No, we never heard from him after his wife was killed and he left you here. He was heartbroken over the loss of his wife but never really bonded with you, his son.

As Dillon lay in bed that night he was not able to sleep. His mind was full of thoughts about going to South Carolina which he knew very little about. He was accustomed to reading the weekly news papers and had read about the issue of slavery. Young Mr. MacDonald was sure that he wouldn’t be affected by the practice while visiting South Carolina, however, and he wasn’t sure if he was apposed to the institution of slavery or not. He knew that it was widely practiced in the south. He didn’t like to think about the cruel way they were captured in Africa and brought to America, but after all, he believed them to be savages living like animals in the jungle.

He had a lot to do to get ready for the trip. Over the next several days he purchased and packed some things he would need. This took some time since he had never travelled before. He was able to borrow a trunk from one of his buddies in the band.

On the next week end he saw June and told her about the letter and that he’d be leaving shortly but he’d be back within a couple months or less for sure. Little did he know that his life was about to take a radical turn and he would actually be gone for years. After walking with her to the near by bank of the creek he told her all about his plans for the trip south. June became quiet for a while after all that was said and Dillon couldn’t help wondering why. In his mind he asked the question does she really care for me that much? That thought stuck with him for a long while. He hoped that she did care for him. He knew that he cared for her a lot.

Finally June asked Will you be around for the dance on my birthday? It’s only a few days away.

Of course, if it’s important to you, he replied.

It is, she said, and I was hoping that you could maybe get someone to take your place in the band for at least some part of the night so that I can start teaching you to dance.

I’d like that. he answered we could spend a little more time together that way.

She was very close to him now and looking directly into his eyes. He found it very natural to kiss her then. This was the first time he had ever kissed a girl. The first kiss was quick but followed up by several longer ones. She almost cried when she said I love you Dillon and I’ll sure miss you while you’re away.

It won’t take long, and I’ll be back and I love you too and I’ll miss seeing you too but it won’t be for long.

The couple sat on the bank of the creek embracing and kissing for another hour before leaving. Champ remained quiet for the duration. He was curled up at their feet.

Saturday night came along quickly and it had sunk in that he had agreed to dance. But the birthday went well and Dillon actually did dance. There were enough musicians without him. June was a good teacher. They danced for most of the night. It started with a kind of reel and Dillon found it easy to learn the steps but all he could think about at first was that people were watching him and laughing at his mistakes. He fumbled sometimes because of his bad leg. But as the night went on he gained more and more confidence in his ability and even forgot about his leg. After a while he actually enjoyed the dancing. Being close to June excited him. It was the most time he had ever spent that close to a girl. He liked it. For a change he didn’t drink any beer with his fellow band members on this night. It was June and his night to be together.

Dillon had ridden his horse, Molly, to the dance and June had come on her pony, Priscilla, so he accompanied her on the ride home. Before reaching her house June stopped by the creek side and got down from her pony. Dillon followed and sat himself beside her. And they listened to the sound of the stream as they kissed a few more times on the river bank. He really enjoyed being with her even though his mind occasionally wandered to thoughts of far away places as the ripple of the water put him in a meditative state. He alternately thought of how much he loved June and thoughts of his new property in the south. Would it be near the water?

Later, as Dillon lay in his bed, he wished he’d gone further than just kissing with June. He wasn’t sure if she wanted him to, but he thought that she did, however he was just too shy to find out. He vowed to get over that. He was ashamed of himself for lacking the boldness to make love to her. But