Ghost Dance: A Novel

By Gale and Kandis Palmanteer

The Sematuse tribes peaceful existence is challenged when several visitors inexplicably arrive in their hidden valley: Spotted Fawn; a lovely young girl lost and alone awakes to find herself in an unusual Indian village. Lone Frank; suffered too much tragedy in his life and seeks solace in his trap line until Sematuse children find him outside their village after a great blizzard. Breed; half white and half Indian becomes a scout for the U.S. Army and finds a strange cave that leads him to an unimaginable fate. Spiritwalker; a mysterious man who is more ghost than human.

Outside the valley are three others intent upon their own goals and oblivious to the fate that awaits them. Roy; a cattle rustling scoundrel who is given several chances to save himself but chooses to ignore the warnings, Lance; intent only upon fulfilling his military duties and Father Donelli: a priest whose mission to save souls is overshadowed by greed. With peril awaiting Indians and soldiers alike, there is only one who can save themWaboka.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 7, 2009
• ISBN: 9780595612277

Gale and Kandis Palmanteer

Gale Palmanteer is a biologist with the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife and is a documented descendant of the Colville Confederated Tribe. Kandis Palmanteer is a retired singer/songwriter. They live on sixty mountain acres in the Kettle Mountain Range north of Spokane, Washington.

Book preview

Chapter One

War Is Hell

Twenty-six year old David Carl was a big man and not much afraid of anything but he was terrified now! Sure, he had been a little worried at times but this was an almost paralyzing fear crawling deep into his gut, making his arms feel like lead weights. He wanted to run but his legs felt frozen, his feet too heavy to lift. The fear was so tangible it stuck in his throat, making it difficult even to swallow.

As more gunfire ripped through the balmy night air, rudely interrupting the drone of cicadas, he felt a warm sensation spread over his groin and down his thighs. No! he shouted to no one in particular. I’ve been hit!

Shoving his hand down the front of his pants he felt warm moisture then jerked his hand out, checking for blood. It was too dark to see anything so he put his hand closer to his face and sniffed. Shit! he exclaimed, feeling a wave of embarrassment. He’d pissed his pants.

His momentary paralysis was suddenly cured when a burst of rifle fire chewed chunks of bark scarcely a foot above his head from an ancient oak tree. The wood chips bounced off his Yankee-blue cap. Goddamnit! he yelled and dove for the ground where, for an instant, his mind skipped to Julie with her long, black hair and big-brown eyes looking at him with a flirty look that both thrilled and aroused him. He imagined the smooth, white skin of her silky thighs wrapped around him.

With a deafening kaboom, the ground shook and seemed to peel away from him. He was launched into the air then slammed face first to the ground several feet away from where he had been; landing so hard it knocked the wind from his lungs. Sonofabitch! he choked, gasping for breath. His ears rang and his skull felt like it was being hit with a sledgehammer. Cannon! Shit, they have cannon!

His mind recoiled at the knowledge, not wanting to endure another onslaught of the previous treatment. Realizing his nose was bleeding, he rolled onto his back to staunch the flow and peered into the darkness around him. He could see nothing but the silhouettes of oak, hickory and maple trees forming a leafy fringe around the hole he was hunkered down in, apparently the bed of a dried up pond. There was nothing but night between him and the interlaced boughs hovering like hens on a nest. Thick clouds drifted over the wane moon, obliterating what frail light it tried to shed, making the night darker than a well digger’s pocket.

In the ensuing vacuum of silence an owl hooted in the distance. He could hear a mouse nibbling nearby and he was suddenly angry… no, he was furious. He shouldn’t be here in the first damn place and sure as hell didn’t plan to die here. He had to get out of this hole before the moon’s light gave him away. Silently he rationalized that the last shots came from his right, so…

Clutching his musket in one hand he scrambled to his feet and ran with angry abandon in the opposite direction of the shots, not caring if the ground was there for his feet to find, just hoping he would not fall before reaching the rim and protective cover of the waiting trees.

Panting, he skidded to the ground and against the abundant trunk of an uprooted oak tree. His head was pounding; his lungs were on fire and felt near bursting as he struggled to control the rapid thudding of his heart. He had to be quiet, evaluate his situation. Think, goddamnit!

He was in charge of an elite group of ten expert marksmen called the Bloodhounds, sent south to scout enemy strength and location and possibly create a little confusion, or even a bit of panic with a few sniper shots. From a vantage point on top of a knoll they discovered the gray-clad Confederate soldiers near a river. Four well-placed shots out of deep cover left four of those soldiers dead or dying in the tall grass along a riverbank. Then all hell broke loose!

Now, uncertainties knifed through his mind. Where were the others? Were they all dead? He couldn’t concentrate. His head hurt, he was exhausted and sleep tugged at his eyes. Once more he began to think about Julie, her mouth, her kiss but the sound of running feet yanked him back to the present.

Holding his rifle at the ready, making sure it was cocked, his finger massaged the trigger. The sound of heavy footfall, accompanied by the crunch of dried leaves and twigs, was closing on his position. Panic revisited, wrapping icy fingers around his heart as questions darted through his mind like minnows in a turbulent stream. Was this the end? Was he going to die here? Who would take care of Julie and their little, baby girl?

In a providential blink of moonlight he saw the Bloodhound insignia of his sniper unit showing faintly on the blue cap of the soldier racing toward him. Here!he whispered as loud as he dared.

The oncoming soldier seemed to skim over the prone tree and dropped to his belly next to David. Captain, is that you? a voice inquired in a hoarse whisper.

Yes, David answered then recognizing the lanky, young corporal anxiously asked, Charlie, where are the others?

Dead, Sir, all but us, Charlie panted.

Corporal Charlie Thorpe and Captain David Carl lay motionless for the remainder of the night next to the fallen oak, listening for sounds of the enemy. The rebels had to be nearby but all was quiet except for the curious and disarming sounds of a couple screech owls, self-proclaimed sentinels of the dark forest; their resounding cries warning all other woodland dwellers of human intruders. When it became obvious neither man could relax enough to catch a wink of sleep, they spent the remainder of the night discussing their situation and course of action.

I think we found a rebel company. It seemed like there was shooting coming from all directions back there. We’re lucky to be alive, Charlie whispered. I don’t know if you saw much before the firing started but I know we’re in a darn bad spot and we better figure a way out, pronto.

We can’t be more than fifty miles from Washington, at most, David quietly declared from his presumably, secure hiding place. There’s no way there should be rebs this close to Washington.

All the more reason to get out of here, Charlie confirmed. We have to get word back to General Scott.

David gave Charlie a look of unsuppressed amazement. With a touch of sarcasm he said, Our horses got run off during all the gun fire so we’re not only on foot, we are deprived of provisions. And if you haven’t noticed, we seem to be surrounded by the enemy so how the hell do you propose we get out of here?

Charlie ignored the tone and simply replied, Very carefully.

At the first, faint rays of dawn the two soldiers, captain and boy corporal, began moving. Charlie pulled a map from his coat pocket, badly crumpled from use, and after giving it a cursory look could only guess at their location. He stopped abruptly, turned to David and put a finger to his lips.

Voices, he murmured, close to David’s ear.

The drawl of a Confederate soldier could be clearly heard. They all should be dead but we need to make sure. We must not let anyone get away to take word of our position to the Union command.

They’re looking for us! David almost shouted.

As they frantically studied the map, hoping to find something familiar on which to base their route of escape, a .50 caliber slug slammed into a live oak not ten feet away.

Run for your life! Charlie exclaimed.

He was younger, faster and gone but David soon closed the gap as shots rang out and slugs whizzed overhead. Not looking back, they heard the hair-raising rebel yells as the gray-bellies chased after them, firing as they ran. Lead balls tore up the ground splintering bark from the trees. It seemed like the air was full of lead zinging past their heads, spurring their feet to an even greater pace.

David felt a hot sting burn his left arm. I’ve been hit!

There was no time to check the wound, only time to run, and they did so with reckless abandon, stumbling, falling and catching themselves on outstretched hands, propelling themselves away from the gunfire and the pursuing enemy. They leaped off a steep embankment and plummeted downward in long bounds, their boots hitting the ground only every ten- or fifteen-feet.

When they hit bottom, landing face down in the mud along a small stream, they stayed put, breath caught in their throats and hearts pounding for several minutes before David scrambled upright, recovered enough to ask, How far back are they?

Not far enough! Charlie replied. Gathering his legs under him, he streaked in full flight past a startled David. Let’s follow this stream! he yelled back not waiting to take a vote.

Okay by me. At least we won’t be going in circles.

Charlie maintained his lead until the sound of the approaching enemy reached their ears then shifted his pace from fast to faster. The creek bottom was dense with thorn-laden bushes of all kinds that ripped and grabbed clothes and skin. Devil’s club and wild roses slapped them in the face and arms while nettles and blackberry vines grabbed at their legs and hands.

David felt like he was being ripped to a bloody shred. His face and hands were on fire from the stinging agony of the bramble but he was running for his life, a good ten strides behind the long legs of Charlie Thorpe. There were no more shots fired but both men knew the Rebel soldiers were back there and still on their trail.

After a long hour that seemed like half-a-day, they cautiously stuck their heads out of the dense vegetation lining the bank of a small river to look around. What they saw made them jerk back like spooked turtles and dive to the ground. There, not fifty-yards from them were tents…hundreds of them up and down the opposite bank and many more down stream on their side of the river. Gray-clad soldiers were everywhere; standing, walking or sitting amid the rows of Rebel army tents.

This is no simple Confederate company, Charlie whispered excitedly. This is a whole battalion or brigade or even a division! I bet there are thousands of soldiers here! We’ve stumbled onto a massive troop movement hundreds of miles farther north than anyone in Washington knows about.

They must be planning a sneak attack on the capitol, David whispered. What do you reckon we do now, Chief? he added, hoping a little humor would improve a situation that was clearly as serious as sour milk.

The young Charlie played along as he scrutinized David’s Irish scalp. First we scalp the white man and throw him in the river as a diversion.

As they hunkered down in the dense brush next to the murky-brown river, recuperating from their exhaustive run, they checked their cap-and-ball single-shot muskets. They had no intention or desire to use them as a defense against a thousand rebels but there was some comfort knowing they were armed. They also realized both of them were bleeding extensively due to their thorn laden, stream bottom escape. David checked his arm, relieved that the lead ball had only grazed his bicep.

I have an idea, Charlie blurted, struck by an epiphany. And we don’t have time for much discussion. He spoke with authority belying his adolescent age then asked, Can you take orders from a corporal, Captain?

Depends on the corporal and the orders but right now I might take orders from Robert E. Lee if it would get us out of this mess.

I don’t think we have a chance of walking out of here, Charlie croaked. They must have sentries posted all over and they obviously know we’re around here somewhere, although they might think they’ve killed us by now but we can’t be sure what they’re thinking. He paused to take a deep breath. His throat was sore from running and having to whisper for so long. This is a crazy idea but it just might be crazy enough to work.

Laying his musket aside, Charlie pulled his knife from its leather sheath. David noticed it was not military issue but he could care less right now. Charlie cut two long pieces from a nearby clematis vine. Handing one section to David he said, Just do as I do.

Placing one end of the vine in his mouth, he gently held it in place with his lips while pinching his nose with thumb and forefinger. With his free hand he bent the vine into an upward arc then slid into the water face down; the arced, hollow vine extending just above the murky surface. David watched streaks of red from Charlie’s bleeding body flow behind him in the brackish water.

He wasted no time following the corporal’s lead. With faces under water, they floated down the dark river with only the backs of their heads above the smooth surface, legs spread wide as they drifted. As the current carried them along in what they hoped was a northerly direction, they sucked air through the hollow tubes. With their ears slightly immersed in the water they could still hear the chatter and laughter from both banks. Johnnie Reb was totally amused at the sight of two Union soldiers floating face down in the Shenandoah River.

David’s lungs burned and his chest ached as he struggled to get enough air through the tiny opening in the vine while concentrating on keeping his legs from sinking, thus revealing the deception. The ribald shouting and boisterous laughing eventually faded into the distance until he could hear nothing but the water lapping in his ears.

Did he dare raise his head? He wrestled with the thought. Slowly he tilted his head and with one eye out of the water, looked for Charlie. The corporal was nowhere in sight but he could see a riverbank lush with vegetation and thankfully no sign of the Confederate camp. He lifted his head higher and looked to the left bank. It was the same as the right; covered with trees, their leafy boughs dipping into the flowing water. Finally he spied the corporal floating on his back, vine sticking out of his mouth, both hands resting on his chest and wearing a shit-eating ear-to-ear grin.

By golly, Captain, I think we made it! Charlie beamed.

Still cautious but optimistic, David replied, Brilliant! Just brilliant! Remind me to promote you to General if we get back to Washington.

They couldn’t know how long they floated like debris in the water but it seemed like hours. They continued to alternately swim and float until they saw a low, sparsely- vegetated bank where they could easily climb out of the river then lay on the shore grinning like school boys, glad to be on solid ground.

Are you positive no one survived but us? David asked. He found it difficult to believe they had lost eight fellow Union soldiers.

Certain as I can be, Captain, Charlie answered. But I won’t be going back to check. Will you? he added with just a touch of sarcasm. Serious again, he said, We have to get back to headquarters as quickly as possible to warn command.

David stared at Charlie. He was a good-looking lad with broad shoulders; bony but bearing evidence of a future muscular-stature and potential for height, if one could judge by the size of his feet. He was a boy no more than fifteen or sixteen…who had saved their lives. He’s just a kid! We need to rest and assess our situation, he finally said. Our muskets are gone and our pistols are useless. We have no food and we don’t know where the hell we are. With a crooked grin he asked, You got any more bright ideas?

No, but I wish you hadn’t mentioned food. I sure am hungry, Charlie stated.

We should be in country friendly to Union troops, David observed. We can’t be far into northern Virginia. Let’s see if we can find us a farmhouse. I think we better avoid towns if possible.

You call it, Captain, Charlie joked. You’re back in command.

Don’t get smart, Corporal. David pulled his army-issue compass from his breast pocket. There was moisture under the glass; he wondered if it would still work. Holding it level about chest high, he watched the needle spin, bounce a couple times then point north. Compass says that way is north, he stated, pointing down the river. At least we got lucky there. The Shenandoah was indeed flowing in the direction they had hoped for.

The two of them set off with determined strides and found a farmhouse just before sunset. The occupants were cordial and gracious enough to feed them then allowed them shelter in a barn where they slept soundly on a fragrant stack of grass hay. In the morning the farmer’s wife prepared a breakfast of biscuits, eggs, side-pork and fried potatoes, which the hungry soldiers gratefully wolfed down.

After the kind lady filled a sack with leftover biscuits, a chunk of side-pork, apples, a few matches and a couple thread-bare blankets, the elderly farmer gave directions to get back to Washington where the Union Army Command Center was located.

After two days following one lonely, dirt road after another, constantly alert for Confederate soldiers, they finally found familiar surroundings. They were at least two more days from reaching the Potomac and General Scott’s army.

When Winfield finds out how far north the rebs are he just might suffer some kind of seizure, Charlie said.

David laughed, Well he sure as hell is not going to sit around and wait for the Confederate Army to march into Washington. There’s going to be one hell of a battle somewhere in northern Virginia and it’s not far in the future. As an afterthought he asked, Are you ready for a real war, Charlie?

I guess. I signed up knowing we would likely go to war. I believe it to be a worth-while cause, you know, freeing the slaves. I was never shot at before a few days ago and I didn’t like it but I’m no coward.

No, you most definitely are not but you are just a boy. How old are you Charlie? David probed. How the hell did you get into this mess at your age? He continued without waiting for an answer, not understanding why the Union Army would be signing up kids for war. Did you lie about your age? I’m not suggesting you’re not a good soldier or that you wouldn’t be an asset to any company you fought with, even if you are still a strawfoot. I’m just saying you have a whole life ahead of you and you shouldn’t be asked to put it on the line at your age.

Coming to a junction in the road, David halted the brisk pace they had kept most of the day and looked at the lad standing next to him. You saved my life Charlie.You’re a smart kid who should be working at headquarters, not out in the mud getting shot at.

Charlie had listened in silence as they walked but after they stopped he began to fidget, making half moons in the dirt with his boot, embarrassed by this kind of talk. I’m fourteen, he said with a touch of pride. I did what a lot of other kids did to get signed up. We wrote the number eighteen on a piece of paper and put it inside our shoe so when the recruiters asked if we were over eighteen, it was the truth to say yes. I don’t think I am going to like being in a war. How could anyone? But I am being paid a man’s wage to fight. His chest swelled at this last comment.

Hearing this, David’s tone turned from earnest to somber, I am a professional, a soldier trained to put my country or its causes above all else…even my life. However, this is not my country nor do I agree with the cause. I have a wife and child in Montreal and I want to see them again. This war is not just about freeing blacks from slavery. It is about power and wealth. It’s about a state’s right to govern its affairs or Washington’s right to control. I believe this is going to be the worst war this or any other country will ever see. No one will win and few will survive. He looked squarely into Charlie’s black eyes and vehemently declared, I’m not going back!

Charlie was stunned, not sure he understood what David was saying. What do you mean, not going back? he asked.

I mean I am not going back to Washington. I’m going to Canada to see my wife and little girl. I am not a coward either, but this is not my war.

That’s desertion, Captain! the boy blurted. They will hang you!

Not if they can’t find me. Besides, they may not even miss me. It’s going to be chaos around here in a very short time, he stated confidently.

What about warning Scott? Charlie gasped. You can’t just let our army be surprised. Hundreds, maybe thousands will die!

Thousands will die, probably hundreds of thousands, warning or not. That’s not why I’m leaving, David stated emphatically. I want you to come with me Charlie. Live your life. Don’t give it up at fourteen. We will never be missed if we both go. They will never know that we didn’t die with the rest of our men.

Charlie was never so confused in his young life. He looked up to David as a man and an officer. He admired the captain’s shooting ability, strength and intelligence. He felt as if all he believed was being questioned. What am I supposed to do? He wrestled with his conscience. Could he simply let Captain Carl desert? Was it his duty as a soldier to stop him? Could he stop him if he was determined to leave? His mind sorted through all his options like a squirrel digging for seeds then coming to a sudden conclusion he declared, I can’t do it, Captain. I can’t go with you. I have to tell someone about the Confederates. I’ll tell them I am the only one who escaped, that everyone else was killed in that fight.

Charlie, at his young age, believed a man’s word was his honor but he had been with David for a while, long enough to care about or even lie for him.The man and boy hugged and both silently wept, surreptitiously hiding their tears from each other. It was a painful parting, each hurting for the other, each making a decision, each doing what they believed they had to do. Charlie followed the main road leading to the capitol, Captain Carl turned onto a dirt trail leading north towards Canada and home.

Chapter Two

Sweet Home

David Carl had a long, hard trip ahead of him but it would be worth it to see Julie and their baby girl. She would be a year-and-a-half old by now. He missed her first birthday but he didn’t intend to miss another. He couldn’t remember much about her except that she was a delightful baby with chubby, dimpled cheeks and soft dark-brown fuzz all over her head and giggled with gay abandon when he made funny faces at her. The memory brought a smile to his lips. He had marveled at the strength of her tiny fingers when they wrapped around one of his. The only time she cried was when she was hungry. She was nursing at her mother’s breast when he left them.

As he trod the dusty path he pondered what she was like now; could she talk or how old did a baby have to be before they could. Maybe he would be there to hear her first word. He resolved that she would grow up knowing her father, unlike himself.

David had few memories of his deceased parents. He was a mere lad of nine when his mother and father fled Ireland, along with thousands of other immigrants, to seek a new and easier life in Canada. It took two, hellish months to cross the Atlantic only to fall victim to the dreaded ships fever. They were quarantined in the middle of the St. Lawrence River at a place called Grosse Ile while many on board the crowded ship succumbed to typhus. David was spared but found himself orphaned in a strange land, begging on the streets of Quebec City.

It was his good fortune that Francois Taureau, a Frenchman, happened along. He was one of the investors behind Mr. Molson’s paddle steamboat, a venture that proved to be so profitable that Monsieur Taureau invested in another, ocean-going vessel. He was visiting the shipyard in Quebec to check on the progress of that construction, making his way from his lodging to the shipyard, when he noticed the scrawny, red-haired boy hunkered outside the door of an apothecary shop, shivering in the autumn chill, tugging a tattered jacket tight around his small frame.

Monsieur Taureau was a widower with a small daughter and though he often dreamed of having a son, had no desire to remarry after the loss of his beloved Chippewa wife. He had resigned himself to never realizing that dream, until now. The hungry eyes of the boy caught the Frenchman’s attention and melted the man’s heart before he had a chance to resist. There was something about the ragged little boy that caused him to make an impulsive decision. It took little to convince the child to accompany him to view the construction of the new ship then took him to a nearby tavern for a trencher of meat, bread and cheese: watching, deep in thought as David ravenously consumed every morsel.

With a full stomach and abundant gratitude, David had asked the kind man, Please, Sire, is there some work I might do to repay you?

With a broad smile, Monsieur Taureau simply stated, You can be my son.

David remembered that day clearly. Not only did he gain a new father; it was the day he met beautiful Julie. But I can’t think about her now, he cautioned himself aloud. It’s going to take all of my concentration to make it home. He pulled the compass from his breast pocket, noticing the beads of water had not evaporated from the under-side of the glass but the needle moved faithfully. Thank God as a re-con platoon leader I was given a compass, he whispered, though no one was around to hear. As the needle settled on north, David took note of the general direction, replaced the compass and resumed his course.

Wondering how far he was from Montreal, he tried to mentally calculate the distance. The sum of at least fifteen-hundred miles left him with a hollow feeling in his gut. His mind was whirling. That could take two or three months if he walked all the way, providing he didn’t travel in circles or get lost somewhere. He felt his breast pocket and the compass. I should be alright as long as this compass keeps working and I can find the Hudson River. I could follow it home, he told himself and was suddenly encouraged. When he joined the Union Army he had traveled from Montreal to New York by train. Though most of that ride was during the night and he had no sense of the countryside, he rationalized at least half the trip had been along the Hudson starting not far from Montreal.

With new resolve, he allowed his mind to drift back in time. Julie’s father had been ill for some time, confined to the hospital for the last couple weeks of his life. The medical bills were exorbitant and should have been no problem, except for Taureau’s crooked partner. Instead of investing in a new steam-powered ship to be built in Ontario the other man had taken the money and run to parts unknown. Monsieur Taureau seemed to loose heart, consoling himself at the gaming tables or the race tracks before his health failed.

A scant six weeks after David and Julie were married, Francois succumbed to the illness of the lungs and left everything he owned…his house, his beloved daughter, and his debts to the orphan boy he had found near the wharf.

David still, grudgingly appreciated the American Army for a couple reasons. A couple months later after his graduation from West Point, the U.S. Army offered him a generous, year’s pay bonus and a promotion from second lieutenant to captain, due to his graduating top in his class. The offer had seemed like a godsend. The money solved his financial problems; the promotion fulfilled his father-in-law’s dying wish; for his adopted-son to become a respected officer in the military. It had been a deal too good to refuse.

I have to get rid of this uniform, he stated, addressing the task at hand. He began to realize for the first time since leaving Corporal Charlie Thorpe that he was a deserter, a fugitive! The army might not look for him if the lad kept his word but that didn’t change the truth. He carried very little of the money advanced to him, leaving almost all of it with Julie and the baby, keeping only enough to purchase passage home, whenever that day arrived, and any other small extras he might desire. The army had graciously provided for virtually all of his living requirements, food, clothing, horse, tack, weapons and shelter; the later only when he was there to enjoy it of course.

Reaching to an inside pocket, he pulled out a small wad of damp but intact, good old Union currency. Sorting through the bills, he counted nearly thirty dollars. A princely sum. His spirits lifted slightly. He would need different clothes to wear once he discarded his uniform but wanted to save the money as long as he could. He managed to steal a pair of pants and a shirt off an unsuspecting clothesline. The pants fit well enough but the shirt was a little small. He buried the Union uniform, captain’s bars and all, in the muddy bank of a meandering stream. Gathering confidence, he ventured into a sleepy little town and bought a pair of boots and a .44 caliber revolver along with lead and squirrel shot.

The long, difficult journey home was now officially underway. The distance alone was daunting and would have made a man of lesser conviction give up. Each step drove home the fact that he was fugitive, a criminal of war, a deserter, a crime punishable by death either by hanging or firing squad. David found little comfort in the choices. He did find solace in the belief that young Charlie would do exactly as he had declared he would; David would be listed as killed or missing in action.

You made the choice, Captain, he stated. That fact was obvious but he hoped saying it would strengthen his resolve. It did succeed in clarifying three things; it was his choice, he would have to live with it and he was no longer a captain.

When he enrolled at West Point he looked forward to a career as an officer in the army and he had been a good soldier. Now he was nobody, even considered a coward. His word, his honor and his profession were gone, all because he wanted to see his Julie and their child again and definitely didn’t want to die in a battle he saw as imminent for a cause he did not believe in. Could that be so wrong?

David’s mind dipped and darted like a manic hummingbird as he plodded north. His pace quickened until he found himself running along one dusty road after another, always moving, trying to force his mind to focus on his goal…Julie, the baby, home. He also thought about the young corporal. He owed his life and future freedom to that bright boy with the swift feet and quick mind who would likely die fighting for a cause he believed in, but was too darn young in life’s experience to know what to believe.

As he pushed northward day after day, sleeping only a few hours a night under whatever cover he could find, thankful for the warm weather and the farmer’s thin blanket, he formulated a plan. If he could reach Pennsylvania he’d risk buying a train ticket to Montreal or as close as a train would take him. People in Pennsylvania, he hoped, were disconnected from the problems in the south, unless they had sons or husbands in the military somewhere. Virginia, the Carolina’s and Georgia shouldn’t be places Pennsylvanians would be thinking about on a daily basis.

But David began to question whether his compass was actually working. The needle moved but sometimes it would give a heading of north or northeast then jerk to the east or west. That wasn’t doing a lot for his confidence in the thing but he figured it was better than trusting his own instincts. Should I stop at one of these farms and ask for directions? he asked the wind but decided that would be too risky.

He didn’t know how long he had been traveling; days, weeks, maybe a month. Early on he had managed to bag squirrels rather successfully and the rabbits he killed had been a special treat but now all his shot was gone and finding food was a challenge. He lost all perspective of time. The only thing consistent was hunger and right now it gnawed with a vengeance. I think my stomach feels as if my throat’s been cut, he grumbled. He needed to find food.

You better take a look, he coaxed himself as he neared a small farm. It seemed quiet. He hoped no one was around. He snuck closer and heard the cluck, cluck, cluck of chickens. Eggs were his first notion. Then he thought big. Why not chicken? If he couldn’t catch a chicken he didn’t deserve to eat. He watched a plump, brown hen fluffing her feathers less than five-feet away and made a dive for her. She squawked, jumped in the air and left David with his face in the dirt. A handful of brown feathers drifted to the ground around his head. Shit! he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet in hot pursuit.

For David it was a good day; no one was home at the farm. He gave up on the free-roaming foul and let himself into the fenced yard around the coop where he promptly captured two hens and swiftly wrung their necks. Now that he had the chickens he decided eggs would be too hard to carry without breaking them, plus, unless he wanted to steal a fry pan and pack it with him, there was no way to cook them. Chicken is just fine, he proudly assured himself.

Shortly after sunset he found a secluded spot and tossed his meager belongings down on the bank of an impressive river. Elated to have finally reached the Hudson and again thankful to the farmer’s wife for matches, he built a small fire. It’s dinner time and I have chicken!

He skinned one of the field-dressed hens, cut two forked sticks and one long, straight stick from a willow growing near the water’s edge, fashioned a spit over his fire, settled down on the grass and savored the smell of roasting chicken. As he waited for his meal to cook, his mind drifted to Julie and the first time he saw her. Even at his tender age of nine he thought she was the most delightful sight his eyes had ever beheld.

Upon returning with Francois Taureau to his luxurious home in Montreal, he watched a petite, black-haired little girl around six-years old come rushing down the veranda steps to greet her father with open arms and a squeal of delight. Monsieur Taureau gathered her up and swung her around in a circle, her arms clinging tightly around his neck, then planted her firmly on her feet before asking, Have you been a good girl today, ma cheri?

Oh, oui, Papa! she replied with exuberance. I did everything Madame asked me too. And I ate every bite on my plate, though it was not very tasty. She finished with a slight pucker to her rosebud lips.

Then you shall have this lovely gift I purchased especially for ma belle la fille! With a dexterious slight of hand, he dangled a pale-blue, satin ribbon before the child’s dancing eyes.

Oh, Papa, it is beautiful! Merci! she spouted. Turning to beseech the matronly woman waiting at the top of the steps she asked, Could Madam put it in my hair right away? Remembering her manners she hastily added, Plaire? She never acknowledged the waif standing behind her father before scampering up the steps with the blue ribbon trailing at her side.

Once satisfied that his feast was sufficiently cooked David pulled a leg from the bird and ate. Savoring what he considered the best chicken he ever ate. You couldn’t get a better piece of chicken than this if you were a rooster! He chuckled then becoming increasingly amused by that notion, he broke out in a full belly-laugh. When he finally recovered from the amusement of his own brand of slightly-perverted humor he helped himself to another piece of chicken, giggling like a silly school-girl. Eventually, he forced himself to get serious. This must be the Hudson. Taking the compass from his pocket, he held it level and watched the needle bob and bounce in its casing. Ultimately, it settled on north. He assured himself that if he followed the Hudson north he would come to a town with a train station. With that comforting thought and a full stomach he slept well that night, curled up in his thread-bare blanket.

He woke with the rising of a bright sun and singing birds and resumed his trek, munching on left-over chicken as he trudged along. Before the sun set on the next day, the deeply-rutted road he was following eventually led to a small town with a rail-station. With rising elation he marched straight up to the ticket window.I’d like a ticket to Montreal, he stated with confidence to a withered, little man behind the cage.

Can’t get there from here, was the scratchy reply.

What do you mean?David asked, his elation popped like a child’s balloon. Suddenly he felt anxious.

I mean, you can buy a ticket from here to Harrisburg but you’ll have to make connections there for Montreal. This line don’t go that far.

Harrisburg, David repeated, feeling confused. What’s the name of the river that runs through town? he sheepishly asked, hoping he wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

That there is the Susquehanna, the gnome told him with a quizzical look.

To curious to stop now, David asked straight out, I’m a little confused. Can you tell me how far I am from the Hudson River?

The old guy squinted up at him and spoke as if addressing a demented child. Well, young fellow, ‘bout two hundred miles. You’re ‘bout ten miles south of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The Hudson River is in New York. Anything else I can help you with, son?

Nope, David quietly answered. Just give me a ticket to Harrisburg. He handed the clerk two Union dollars and the clerk counted back his change.

When he reached Harrisburg, he went to buy a ticket to Montreal but when asked for identification for travel into Canada he decided Watertown would work just fine. He remembered visiting Watertown on a business trip with Monsieur Taureau just before being enrolled at West Point. At that time they had taken a paddle-wheeler on the St. Lawrence from Montreal to Rochester, making a brief stop at Watertown. He could get a boat from there to home. Then, even if they wanted identification, he’d be nearly in Canada and far away from Virginia.

His worries proved to be needless. He industriously managed to land a job on a boat carrying goods to ports along the St. Lawrence, loading and unloading cargo until they reached port in Montreal. There, he simply walked off the ship. Stepping off that vessel onto Canadian soil was both a thrill and a relief. He could not hold back emotional tears as he set out toward his home and Julie and little Sarah.

A whispering breeze carried a slight chill, something David had not felt for over a year and though he wore no jacket, he smiled and took a deep breath of the clean, cool air, realizing how much he disliked the hot, humid, sticky nights in the south. It was so good to be home and so close to holding his darling Julie in his arms. Her image was clear in David’s mind, her full lips, her big brown, flirting-eyes, ebony hair hanging in a tangled-mass of curls that shimmered in the light. He remembered clearly the day he fell in love with her.

It was during the break between his third and fourth year at the academy when he went home for a brief visit and found Julie had grown into a mature, very desirable, young woman. The day was hot with a cool breeze drifting off the St. Lawrence River.

Julie invited David to join her outside and he followed her to a swing dangling from the stout branch of an old, maple tree. She sat on the board-seat, peered over her shoulder and smiled mischievously. He obligingly gave her a little push and listened to her laughter tinkle like crystal wind-chimes. She extended her legs then bent them back under the swing and back out again, gaining altitude with each motion. He moved from behind her to stand in front and watch as she swung forward. Her full skirt and crinolines billowed upward, revealing shapely ankles below white, silk pantaloons secured with lavender ribbons. Her face was radiant and her dark eyes sparkled with un-suppressed glee. She was so beautiful, and he immediately fell in love.

Before returning to the academy, he had declared his love for Julie to her father, unaware that Monsieur Taureau was already, very ill. David was both relieved and gratified when Francois assured him that he was delighted to know his precious daughter would be married to such a fine, young man whom he already looked upon as a son. For Francois, the marriage would also solve a weighty concern he harboured regarding finding a respectable husband for his half-breed daughter. The wedding was to be held as soon as David graduated.

David began to think about other things, too, private things; Julie’s smooth, white skin, long shapely-legs and full, firm breasts with nipples the size of strawberries that were rock-hard when she was aroused. Those thoughts quickened his pace. He longed to hold her in his arms. It would make all he had done worth-while and right.

The sun was setting and the broad leaves on rows of deciduous trees cast dancing-shadows across the dusty lane leading to the house. He was filled with gratitude that his adoptive-father had left such a bountiful estate to him and Julie; even more thankful that they had been able to save the beautiful home and a small parcel of land after settling all the accounts. Of course, the military helped a lot but that was now a two-edged sword. Without that money David would have had to sell even more of the land but because of the army he was now a deserter, a criminal. But he was too happy to be home to think about that now however he wondered if the British command in Montreal had received any news about him or the war in the South.

He stopped, mesmerized at the sight…much like he was the first time he saw it as a young boy. There it is! he exclaimed. It was no wonder Julie had resisted leaving it and moving to the states. David had wanted her to live closer to where he was stationed so he could see her more frequently but after making several, long trips to see him during their engagement she declared after their marriage that it was simply too tiring now that she was with child.

He had not been back for nearly two years and often wondered if he would ever see it again. Now, there it was. The grandiose, brick house was surrounded by an expansive well-kept yard, defined by a white picket-fence. Two ancient, elm trees framed the front porch. Dim lights flickering in the windows beckoned him home. His stomach felt strangely empty, he could barely swallow. His hands were cold and clammy. He could feel his heart beating wildly as if trying to break out of his chest. He had gone through hell for this moment. Taking another deep breath, he pushed open the gate and headed for the house. This is it. Boy, will Julie be surprised!

He mounted the porch steps two at a time, halted at the door, considered knocking, decided against it. He slowly turned the handle and as the door opened he could feel warmth radiating from a cheerful blaze in the oak-mantled fireplace. Crossing the foyer into the great-room he saw a crib off to one side of the hearth. A rocking chair lounged nearby. He walked on tip-toe to the crib where the baby Sarah captivated him. She was so beautiful and angelic, sleeping peacefully, one chubby little fist curled near her cheek, the other twined among her remarkably-long, dark-brown hair. Her rosebud lips seemed to be puckered for a kiss. He wanted to call out to Julie but didn’t want to risk waking this sleeping angel.

Hearing the sound of Julie’s voice coming from above, he climbed the staircase to their bedroom then walking down the short hall he saw the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open, anticipating her shock and joy at the sight of him being home. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

Julie lay on the four-poster bed, her lovely hair spread out across the pillow, her head thrown back, mouth open, eyes closed. Her legs were spread wide, wrapped around the waist of the hairy-backed man between them. He could see one firm breast, its nipple protruding like a ripe cherry, the other lost in the hairy man’s mouth. Her legs were gripping then opening in rhythm with the man’s thrusting pelvis. Soft moans escaped her lips as his hardness moved in and out of her wetness.

David was devastated! His heart and soul died in that brief moment. He didn’t know how long he stood transfixed, eyes riveted to the salacious scene before him. The intruder’s mouth left Julie’s breast, his tongue tracing a wet circle around the swollen nipple. Julie’s hand went to the back of his head, forcing her breast back into his mouth. She moaned, arched her butt off the bed and pulled him deep inside her. Releasing her breast from his mouth, he rose up on his knees, placed his hands on the back of her legs and lifted them until her knees touched her breasts.

David’s eyes focused on the man’s large member as he pulled slowly out of Julie’s begging core then drove home with such force that Julie squealed in wanton pleasure.

An avalanche of emotions engulfed him; the overwhelming heartache and the feeling of loss, the realization of all he had given up for this woman, and the anger! Like a raging-fire it exploded through his being to his very soul. A gut-wrenching scream of a mad-man escaped his throat, shattering the night. Simultaneously he jerked his Colt .44 from