Spell Me a Song

By Dorla Arksey

US Army Sergeant William Tulliver came back from Vietnam in 1972 with brain trauma, post-traumatic stress disorder, and amnesia. In search of a purpose, he took his pickup truck, the Genral, and spent more than a year traveling the United States, finally settling in an abandoned hunting cabin in Beaver Creek, in the woods of northern Michigan. His only family includes two dogs named King and Queen and a loquacious parrot called Jester. The locals call him Wild Man Tully, fearful of his self-imposed isolation and his bizarre, antisocial behavior.

Teenage brothers Billy and Beau Bagwell form a covert friendship with the wild man in the woods, curious about this stranger in their midst. The boys risk great turmoil and challenge in their lives as they try to help Tully learn to read and write again.

As Tully earns their trust, he shares his strange adventures of an alligator attack, UFO, wild bears, an arm-wrestling contest with a crazy Indian named Moose, and Tullys lost love, an Indian girl named Silverbell. Through shared stories, songs and poems, the bond and respect between the recluse and the brothers grows stronger. With each encounter, the recruits in Tullys Company learn the folly of making superficial judgments about others as they discover the power of camaraderie and the dignity of kindness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Jul 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781458209160

Dorla Arksey

Spell Me a Song is Dorla Arksey’s first fiction novel. She lives in Lapeer County, Michigan, with husband, Richard, and Labrador Retriever, Michabou. In addition to writing books, songs, and topical essays, she has another passion, music, and plays the 5-string banjo—and is learning to play fiddle and ukulele.

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Copyright© 2013 Dorla Arksey.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4582-0918-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0917-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0916-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013907793

Abbott Press rev. date: 7/19/2013

Table of Contents

1.   K-E-P-X-O-T

2.   Secrets And Shenanigans

3.   State Of Stupefaction

4.   Banjo Man’s Birthday

5.   Alphabet Soup

6.   Beware Of Gators (And Maybe Girls)

7.   The Sound Of Drums

8.   Humdinger Days

9.   Hitch-Hiking Bears And Other Things Hard To Bear

10.   Letters For Tully

About the Author

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Chapter One

K-E-P-X-O-T

T he letters K - E - P - X - O - T were scratched in deep red onto the weathered wooden sign that had been staked a few yards in front of the log cabin at the former Beaver Creek Lodge hunting camp. People thought the cryptic message might be written in a foreign language, maybe Russian, for keep out or get shot. Some observers were of the mind that the message had been written in blood. This possibility added immensely to the element of danger for anyone having any thoughts about trespassing. But these speculations had not been enough to dampen the intense curiosity of two nervous boys crouching behind an old rattletrap of a pickup truck to spy on the strange recluse known as Wild Man Tully.

The mystery man sat on the open porch of the cabin on a chair strumming on a banjo. The boys had imagined him holding a shotgun on his lap instead of a banjo based on all the stories they had heard, but didn’t miss noticing that his shotgun was braced next to the cabin door within his easy reach. The rumpled figure on the porch matched the name given to him by the locals. His hair and beard were long and growing every which way. He wore patched overalls, a faded plaid shirt and a crumpled straw hat trying its darnedest to hold down a mop of reddish brown hair. The man was singing in a hoarse, lonesome sounding voice. They heard someone whistling along with the singing, but did not see another person. The boys would discuss this later as they dared not make a peep in their precarious position. Two big and burly dogs, one yellow and one black, were stretched out lazily on the patchy ground near the porch and were motionless except for tail twitches meant to chase away obnoxious flies. The boys had heard that those dogs were so quick they would charge and bite like tigers before a man had time to spit. A grey bird, as big as a half-grown turkey, with a black hooked beak and red tail-tip feathers was balancing on a sturdy twig and rope swing suspended from the porch roof.

The boys’ heads bobbed up and down as they peeked cautiously over the old truck trying to make sure they weren’t seen. One of the boys was wearing a black eye patch and both boys had bandanas covering their noses and mouths that made it look as if they had dressed for a costume party. The bandanas were the best idea they came up with for a disguise for the ‘stake out’. They had been warned repeatedly by their parents to stay clear of the Wild Man so it seemed all the more an exciting challenge to sneak up to the old hunting camp to spy on the mysterious hermit. Most boys would agree that life has to have some adventure, but the initial excitement had begun to feel like a dangerous trap for the brothers whose plan had only been trying to prove they were fearless― to themselves and each other. The knots in their stomachs pulled tighter and tighter. Their nerves were as touchy as a baited and set mousetrap and they would have liked it if the man and dogs had gotten up and gone inside the cabin so they could slip away undetected. They could hear themselves breathing and hoped the cabin residents couldn’t hear it or the sounds of their hearts thumping. The boys felt helpless to make a move so they hunkered down and waited, as still as sleeping mice.

The cabin was tucked in the woods about thirty yards off a dusty road in a tiny village called Beaver Creek in Michigan’s mid-eastern Lower Peninsula. The old truck the boys hid behind was parked about twenty yards from the cabin. The uncut weeds around the truck had grown as high as the windows.

There had been troubling reports from people that described the same scenario when they approached the cabin to be neighborly. The Wild Man would appear, holding on to his shotgun. If you didn’t leave quick enough, he’d growl Git and swing his shotgun to his shoulder like he meant business. His two dogs would be making a ruckus like a bear does when his leg is hung up in a steel trap. The noise these two dogs would make was enough to cause a person to sweat bullets. The big yellow dog had a spine-tingling hound dog bellow and the black dog made odd chuck chuck chuck sounds, more like a wild hyena than a dog. A black rooster almost the size of a goose would run up to see what the commotion was about and make some ear-piercing warnings followed by a chorus of squawking by a few chickens running helter skelter. Others reported seeing a large gray bird that made unearthly noises like a witch’s cackle. Intruders didn’t have to think twice to turn and leave when the animal alarm system was fully activated.

There was only one person who had any type of privileged contact with the hermit and that was Kitty Doyle who owned the general store in the village. Kitty had a type of diplomatic immunity to deliver food and items to his cabin once or twice a month. She said he had told her to call him Tully. It worried some folks that she went alone to Wild Man Tully’s, but Kitty assured them she gave the peculiar man his space and he gave her no problems. She told people that Tully didn’t say much but always paid his bill. He had stopped by her store once or twice, but he told her he didn’t drive anymore because of his health and asked if she could bring him things once in a while. Kitty said she would and that was all he wanted to talk about. There was speculation and mystery about why the strange man had ended up in Beaver Creek. What the boys did know was not of much consolation on that day and in that place.

The stillness that the boys had tried to maintain around their stake-out position was shattered when the blur of a dark vampire-like shape from above swooped toward the truck with a giant whooshing, flapping and screeching sound and landed on the hood of the old truck. The calamitous surprise made the boys react by ducking down as tight to the ground as they could, petrified with fright. They saw it was a big black crow. It seemed as if it had been on the lookout for intruders and was broadcasting that it had found some. The cantankerous crow kept squawking "caw, caw, caw. To the boys’ ears it sounded just like caught, caught, caught. Having done its job, the braggart bird flew away in a vigorous flapping of feathers and screeching. The boys were happy to see the menacing crow leave and breathed a little easier for a minute, but then one of the dogs let out a deep rumbling growl and an angry voice hollered Shut up, shut up." The man put his banjo down and reached for his shotgun. The dogs barked sharply and raised their heads in the direction of the truck.

Kah-BOOM! The explosive, ear-splitting sound of a shotgun blast whizzed over the top of the truck and a dozen or more pellets hit the pickup making sounds like popping corn kernels in a red-hot metal pan—ting ting, ting ting, ting ting. The boys dropped down lower and covered their heads with their arms. They had not calculated on getting seen or shot at! The boys turned fear-filled eyes toward each other. The look in their eyes said Run or we’re dead men! They ran like crazy fools, stumbling and tripping as their legs and feet tangled with the underbrush. They had expected the old man would keep shooting or send the dogs after them to tear them to bits. The man hadn’t seen them they hoped, but dogs can hear and smell what people don’t.

The wild man had not been accused of killing anybody yet, but rumors were repeated about gunshots aimed at passers-by that were said to only have missed them by inches. As one witness testified, His shotgun blast hit the ground so close it made stones and buckshot fly up and stab my legs like fifty bee stings. Still got the scars! The fella isn’t right in the head. Better not to take chances and just leave him alone if that’s what he wants.

The boys ran nonstop until their lungs felt like they would burst. They didn’t hear anyone behind them and crashed down onto the ground, exhausted and trembling from nose to toes. Lordy, lordy, lordy the older boy sputtered. That was almost the end of us."

The smaller boy barely had enough breath to squeak out the words, You ain’t kidding. I’ve never b…b…been so scared in my l…l…life, his persistent stubborn stutter tripping up his tongue. After they got their breath back, they got to their feet and headed for home and safety.

The taller boy said, That was pure luck. We could ‘a got killed. They made a secret pact they wouldn’t tell their parents about the event and then did the secret handshake. This was a tricky ritual of hand slaps and code words that they had invented to make their agreement an unbreakable oath between them:

Cross my heart wherever I roam

Cross the ocean and back home

Your secret is mine and mine is yours

Don’t say anything and we’ll be fine

As they chanted this rhyme, they tapped their hearts twice and made sweeping circles in the air with their arms two times, ending up with crossed arms over their hearts.

The boys were brothers, fifteen year-old William (Billy) and Beaumont (Beau) Bagwell, age twelve. Billy warned his younger brother, Don’t say a word about this in front of Mom or Dad. We will be in hot water if they knew we were hanging ‘round old Tully’s place. Beau agreed emphatically For sure, I w… w…won’t! Too bad, though, I like to watch the old man p…play his b…banjo and listen to how he sings and talks to the animals, don’t you? I really think that funny looking b…bird was doing the whistling along with the old man. It had to be the bird. Nobody can sing and w…whistle at the same time, I don’t think; but maybe some crazy p…people know how to do it.

The Bagwell brothers returned home feeling physically heavier than when they had left earlier that day due to the added weight that holding onto a big guilty secret can impose on a body. They spent the next few days talking in private about their close call at Tully’s cabin and how lucky they had been to not have gotten shot or taken hostage. It was frustrating because they wanted to brag to their friends about their high risk adventure. Beau asked Billy Do you think w…we should slip down to w…w…Wild Man Tully’s place again to check things out? He’s probably forgotten about us by now and w…we could be extra, extra careful. Beau was two years younger than Billy and he was always trying to act big and brave to measure up to his big brother.

I’ve been thinking the same thing, Billy said; horse-pucky, there is nothing exciting to do around here and I’d sure like to see what the hermit is up to and why he won’t let anyone near that cabin. Maybe he’s got money or a hostage hidden inside."

Beau stuttered excitedly Yeah, like we can p…pretend we are detectives or undercover m…men. Neither boy wanted to be called ‘chicken’ so they agreed to make their secret visit the next day after they got home from school.

The brothers realized that between them they made a good team. Billy had size, strength and quick thinking; and Beau, who was considerably smaller and had a habitual speaking stutter, had excellent 20-20 eye sight. He felt he needed to help Billy by being his extra eye. It was because of him that his brother might lose sight in one eye due to a free-for-all snowball fight the previous winter. A pebble or some small sharp object, maybe even a piece of ice, had been unknowingly scraped up into a snowball that Beau had heaved and that had landed like a missile on Billy’s right eye. The eye suffered nerve damage, but doctors were hopeful it would heal without the need for surgery. Billy, on doctor’s orders, had to wear a black eye patch to give his eye time to heal. He was told it may take a few months or longer. He thought it was ugly; but his mother told him she thought it made him look ‘dashing’ like some hard fighting movie character.

They went in the house that afternoon to eat supper and chores. They did their best to act normal so their dad and mom wouldn’t suspect anything. In fact, they went at their homework with serious effort and gave their mom good night hugs—just in case they got kidnapped, or worse, on their next spy mission to old Beaver Lodge Camp. The call of adventure had taken over their good sense; and they went to bed, planning and scheming in their imaginations.

The Bagwell family had moved to Michigan from Mississippi when the boys were just little shavers because there were better job prospects for their father who was a lawyer and part-time teacher. Their mother’s job was at Neverdone, not to be confused with Neverland; she would say to set the record straight. She would embellish this concept with remarks such as A mother’s work is ‘never done’, so a mother can say she lives in the land of Neverdone. She would add "No, we