One Particular Patriot Iii: The Final Patriot Act

By Gary B. Boyd

Aaron Clements feared subsequently contingent interpretations of The Words of The Constitution more than he feared any man. Those misguided interpretations could do more harm to the liberties of the citizens than could any misguided politician.
Aaron put his fortune and life at risk to save a nation that was struggling to find its way.
John Gaspereti, Homeland Security Director, put his career at risk to save a nation that did not even know it was in danger.
Charles Setters facilitated the actions of both men even though they were centuries apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491821879

Gary B. Boyd

Gary B. Boyd is a story teller. Whether at his cabin in the Ozark Mountains, at his desk in his home or on his deck overlooking Beaver Lake near Rogers, Arkansas, he writes his stories. His travels during his business career brought him in touch with a variety of people. Inquisitive, Gary watches and listens to the people he meets. He sees in them the characters that will fill his stories … that will tell their stories. A prolific author with more than a dozen published titles and a head full of tales yet to share, Gary submits to his characters and allows them to tell their own stories in their own way. The joy of completing a novel doesn’t lessen with time. There are more stories to tell, more novels to write. Gary expects to bring new characters to life for years to come. www.garybboyd.com

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© 2013 by Gary B. Boyd. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/27/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2188-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2187-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013918340

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

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Preface

Chapter One Ready… Set… Go

Chapter Two The Battle Is Joined

Chapter Three No Better Time Than The Present

Chapter Four A Maiden Voyage

Chapter Five A Clear And Present Danger

Chapter Six Lines Are Drawn

Chapter Seven Into The Breach

Chapter Eight Nothing More To Say

Chapter Nine Into The Valley Of Death

Chapter Ten The Truth Is A Bitter Pill

Chapter Eleven Grasping For Straws

Chapter Twelve Taking A Stand

Chapter Thirteen Digging For Answers

Chapter Fourteen Vengeance Is Mine

Chapter Fifteen Nothing But The Truth

Chapter Sixteen The Time To Act Is Now

Chapter Seventeen The Call To Action

Chapter Eighteen The Call To Battle

Chapter Nineteen Amendment Twelve

Chapter Twenty Chaos Theory

Chapter Twenty-One The Truth Revealed

Chapter Twenty-Two The Truth Will Prevail

Chapter Twenty-Three Go West

It is only fitting that I give credit to Mr. Richard Hughes, my high school agriculture science teacher who encouraged me to write, and Mr. Bill Lambert, my high school US history teacher who made learning fun. They both left indelible marks on me.

As any decent man should do, I must thank my wife, Shirley, who suffered in silence while I communicated with my characters instead of her, and my grandson, Andrew, who provided technical advice when needed.

PREFACE

Thomas Jefferson was credited with saying that eternal vigilance is the price of liberty. Whether he actually wrote or said those words is less relevant than the words themselves. The fact of the matter is that the liberties we enjoy as Americans will not be ours for long if we assume them to be imperishable. Strongly dedicated citizens must always be on guard against power seekers with their own agendas.

History as written reflects the thoughts and wishes of the people in power at the time of its writing. If you doubt the veracity of that statement, check Wikipedia periodically. To realize the truth about history, one must dig into the writings of rabble-rousers and malcontents. Only then can one begin to get at the morsels of truth that are not always so easy to swallow. The Devil has a silver tongue, albeit forked. With little regard for the truth, he can twist our hearts and our minds to do his bidding… and the Devil preys on the weak of spirit. Trading freedom and liberties for instant gratification is his stock and trade. And we fall.

The Founding Fathers did not establish a Utopian society where all citizens would be treated equally from cradle to grave without a care in the world. They established a new form of government that allowed the citizens to control their own destiny and achieve their own level of greatness. Through hard work, any American can improve his or her lot in life. But, there is only true improvement if that lot is achieved through personal effort… not on the backs of others.

The silver-tongued politicos have bastardized the equality theory wrongfully accredited to The Constitution and promised Utopia under a different name. The liberties originally afforded and guaranteed by The Constitution are slowly being eroded as citizens exchange them for an all-caring government-sponsored life.

History, as written by the New Government, will reflect the great and wondrous works and deeds of past, present and future leaders who brought about the transformation from a nation of greedy, self-centered citizens who accumulated wealth through hard work and, sometimes guile, to a nation that guarantees equal distribution of all things material. Only those who know how to find the truth in history will know the truth and understand what has been lost.

Under guise of altruism, many of our past Presidents have attempted to attack the liberties guaranteed by The Constitution with an assortment of amendments, acts of Congress and Executive Orders. The attacks come from all sides and points of the political spectrum, meaning the assault on our liberties is ongoing and will never end; ergo, Thomas Jefferson’s admonishment for eternal vigilance.

To deny any person or party of people in power the ability to usurp the meaning of the Words of The Constitution, Aaron Clements felt duty bound as an ordinary citizen to challenge and correct any current and future attempts at diminishing personal liberties. No price was too high to pay; no treasure too great to expend. A common man with uncommon courage heard the call to preserve American freedoms at all costs.

All that is required to preserve liberty is one particular patriot willing to answer the call.

CHAPTER ONE

Ready… Set… Go

Charles Setters stared at his reflection in the mirror. The image staring back at him was a seventy-something man with only a fringe of gray hair around a nearly bald pate where healthy brown locks had once thrived. The skin on his head was taut and tanned. The facial skin of the septuagenarian was not heavily wrinkled, but the muscles beneath the skin sagged, ultimately yielding to uncompromising gravity. It too sported the bronze hue of sun enhanced melanin. Smile creases and a sparkle in the soft brown eyes adorned the grandfatherly face. A gold-capped lateral incisor gleamed when he opened his mouth to brush his teeth. The old man detested the taste of a good night’s sleep that clung to his tongue and palate, so he brushed vigorously.

While Charles brushed and frothed the paste into foam, he thought. He was convinced that he did his best thinking while performing his morning ablutions. Time changes everything… and everything changes time. He paused as he pondered the gravity of the words that had formed in his mind. He was the only living person who truly understood the meaning of his thoughts; the only person, that is, other than Claudia and Carson.

The old man spat the foam from his mouth and tried to rid himself of the mint taste that he knew would conflict with his morning glass of orange juice later. He shook his head and sighed. He could honestly say that everything he had done during his life was done with the best of intentions; everything, that is, except the silver. That was greed, pure and simple; selfishly done without remorse… mostly.

He washed his face and rubbed it dry with a soft cotton towel. He rubbed around his eyes longer than he needed to, caught up in the security of the darkness provided by the terrycloth. Slowly, he returned the towel to its hanger, arranging it neatly as if no one would realize it had been used. A meaningless gesture because the bathroom was his private space. Claudia had her own bathroom. That was one of the perks of great wealth.

The silver had been wisely invested, though Charles vaguely remembered some issues with capitalizing on the proceeds. In some dark recess of his mind, something wanted to come forward and face the light of day; a suppressed memory that felt more like another of those senior moments that plague the elderly. He shook his head to clear the thought, to stop the struggle to capture the thought, from his unyielding mind. He quietly dressed in the near darkness of early morning so that he would not awaken Claudia.

Charles paused and smiled at his sleeping wife, the Cherokee woman to whom he had been married more than 50 years. Even in the early morning darkness of the curtained room, he could see that her dark hair was splayed across her pillow, tousled and tangled during her sleep. Regular visits to the salon ensured that her raven black hair remained its youthful color. He thought about the one time he had seen her hair without its artificial coloring and remembered that even then the gray was subdued, presenting itself in small streaks across the flowing dark mass. He remembered how the streaks produced an aura of mystery rather than an indication of age. He watched her sleep for a moment then turned and let himself out of the cavernous bedroom.

Charles needed coffee, the caffeine delivery system that he had avoided most of his life until the fateful week that he met Aaron Clements and the Clements family. Almost nine years had passed since that time. He poured brown liquid from the coffee maker into his favorite ceramic cup, allowing some of the still steeping brew to drip onto the hot plate of the brewer. The smell of scorched coffee caused him to smile and think of the gritty brew that Sarah Clements made, when she had beans to grind. Sugar helped mask the bitterness of the aromatic decoction. The coffee always made him think of the Clements family, especially the feisty Ruth. He smiled. He needed no sweetener to enhance the memories of the Clements family though. He thought of them as if they were his own blood.

Charles expected a visit from Aaron soon. He had no real reason to expect it, but the thought was in his head, on his mind. Something needed to happen.

Charles sipped his coffee, feeling the hot liquid against the back of his throat, nearly scalding his uvula and the membrane of his palate. He liked his coffee with sugar and savored the sweet aftertaste. The sugary taste brought to mind Senior Field Agent Armando Lopez. He liked the Texan who drank his coffee laden with enough sugar to bring on a diabetic episode in a normal human being. The dark toned face of the agent always had a ready smile, but with pensive undertones. The man was a resolute thinker, always trying to make sense of the information that flowed around him.

The data flow was constant during those early years after the Clements family arrived in Charles’ life. Charles tried to suppress as much of the information as he could but circumstances would not let all of it remain hidden. Armando worked directly for the intensely focused Field Agent Director John Gaspereti.

John Gaspereti would always be a friend as far as Charles was concerned. So would Agent Lopez, but the junior agent would probably never be as close nor was he likely to gain the complete confidence of the old Arkansas deer hunter.

Normally, Charles would have turned on the television to catch the news, but he elected to sit at the kitchen counter and ponder the swirling thoughts in his head. He sipped more coffee and then followed it with a long drink of orange juice. Lately, he had been plagued by Armando’s story. In 2011, Agent Lopez had unwittingly been Shifted to a future world-time. Charles had managed to convince the young agent that the whole episode was a weird dream brought on by a hangover and that the agent had fallen asleep at his observation post. Agent Lopez did not reveal his lapse to his superiors for fear of the consequences; dereliction of duty would be a career breaker for the young Homeland Security agent. The secrecy suited Charles’ plan.

But, Armando’s tale mentioned one thing that Charles had been dwelling on for several months. At 73 years of age and cognizant of his own mortality, Charles knew that his time was short and that apparently he had to act in accordance with Armando’s dream or irrevocable damage would occur to future world-time. He could not allow history to be contaminated because of his actions, or inactions, in 2019. He thought about Aaron in his own world-time; it should be 1803 there… or then.

Charles resolved to discuss a course of action with Claudia later in the day.

More importantly, he wished he could readdress the subject of the dream with Armando; he had intentionally pooh-poohed the dream during the initial telling so Armando would discount it quickly. As time had passed since that fateful day, Charles came to realize that the things he could have learned were probably important for him to know. Now, only history would ever know… and that thought bothered him.

Aaron Clements had hoped that President Jefferson’s last letter would appease the nagging doubt that plagued his every waking moment. It did at first. The Clements family finally controlled all the land around the North Carolina Shift Fog sites. Warning signs and barricades were in place to ward off errant travelers or hunters, citing vicious bears and feral hogs as the reason for the cautions. The greatest fear for Aaron was that someone would accidentally Shift to another world-time, either forward or backward. In actuality, a backward Shift was probably the least worrisome. Even if someone did Shift backward in time, little could be done in the pre-European wilderness of North America that would contaminate world-time. However, the hapless Shifter would likely meet a dreadful end in that world-time wilderness. Aaron often wondered about the fate of Daniel McPherson: the 13 year-old teenager had gone hunting in a nearby valley two years earlier and was never heard from again. Aaron wondered if the eldest son of a Scottish immigrant family had Shifted into another world-time, or if he had been killed by wild animals or rogue Indians.

Sarah, Aaron began while his wife hustled around the kitchen preparing a light breakfast for him and more hearty fare for Little Stanley and Sheldon. The two grandsons were big eaters and had not encountered any foodstuff they did not like. I think I need to visit Uncle Charles again.

Sarah stopped and pushed a stray lock of her blonde hair away from her eyes. The eyes that stared at Aaron were crisply blue and bright. The few intrusive gray hairs that were sprinkled amidst her youthfully colored tresses were only noticeable to that fortunate man who was allowed to be close enough to be her lover, and his eyes were losing their acuity for close vision. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned back to her task. If it needs to be done, so be it. You know there is great risk of discovery now. When Uncle Charles came to prepare for the agents’ Shift, he was fairly certain that future Shifts might be in jeopardy.

Aaron thought about what Sarah had just said. He knew she was right. He pensively stroked his face, noting that he needed to shave. A scar on his left cheek found his fingertips. The Shift, if he did it, would present itself as the highest risk for discovery since the Shifting began accidentally on that cool November morning in 1794, or 2010 in Uncle Charles’ world-time.

Ica and Sharon both entered the kitchen area while Sarah was speaking. Sharon quieted the boys who were becoming impatient for their breakfast.

Father, if you go, I will go with you. There is more I can learn. Ica stated pragmatically. She did not waste words nor become visibly excited. Her previous visits with President Thomas Jefferson and Vice-President Aaron Burr had formed her; she knew her destiny.

Do you need William to accompany you? Sharon asked. Her husband was the only person who was not a blood member of the Clements family in their world-time who knew of the Shift Fog. Until Sheldon’s life required a Shift into Aunt Claudia’s world-time, the secret had even been kept from the man who otherwise shared in the most intimate parts of Sharon’s life.

Aaron realized he had started a bigger conversation than his original thought merited. He watched as his youngest daughter, Ruth, came in from outside with a pail of warm, froth covered milk. Like the other two daughters, she was her mother’s child, only taller.

Momma, I think New Bessie may be about to go dry. Her milk is less and less each day and she is swelling around the middle. She walked into an adjoining room with her pail. When she opened the door, the flow of cool spring water could be heard as it rippled and gurgled into and through a cistern that held drinking water. From there, it overflowed into another, shallower cistern that was used to cool milk. The water was piped into the room from a mountainside spring through clay and iron pipes. It flowed at a constant 53 degrees, cool enough to extend the life of the milk and other foodstuff, such as vegetables.

She is not far from calving, Aaron replied. Is Young Bessie’s milk coming on well enough to keep these two boys filled? He poked at Sheldon’s belly, which made the boy laugh.

Sharon laughed, Father, I don’t think you can fill these two boys.

Aaron patted Sheldon’s head and returned to his original thoughts. Girls, I am fearful of the consequences of a Shift. I could be found out and detained. I don’t know that the Government men would keep me forever, but there is that chance. And to your question, Sharon, William is still in Washington with Congressman Macon. When he returns, he needs to spend his time with you and the boys. Aaron sipped his coffee and stared at Ica. He really had no idea what would become of him if discovered, but Uncle Charles’ distrust for anything governmental in his world-time was contagious. Aaron’s own paranoia kept him wondering if at some point, history would reflect that he—a mountain farmer in 19th Century North Carolina—was the catalyst for the evolvement of American Government. That fear drove him to wonder if Shifts would become historical knowledge, written for all to see in books of study, and be cause for power mongers of the future to wait in hiding for him to Shift. They would know when and where better than even he would. To cement their power base, it would be to their advantage to detain him, thereby preventing him from his efforts to prevent misuses of The Constitution such as Uncle Charles and Cousin Carson had described to him.

Ica’s sandy blonde hair and blue eyes were riveting. It was no surprise that she had dealt with so many suitors in her young life. The gold frames of her glasses reflected a crimson ray from the rising sun that shined through the kitchen window. The glasses gave her an air of authority and intelligence that even President Jefferson and Vice-President Burr could not… would not… ignore. She waited for Aaron to finish his thought, not allowing her smooth brow skin to furrow as she disguised her nervous anticipation.

You would run the risk of missing your wedding. How would Thomas feel?

That shall not happen. I am sure of it. Ica was headstrong and confident. The man before her, whom she respected and admired could force her to react, to show her concern, but she was learning to control her emotions. She knew that if she showed any sign of losing her resolve, he would refuse to take her along.

Sharon, Sarah interrupted the conversation, if you will seat the two boys, I will prepare their plates. Aaron, you might want to scoot away just a bit. Sheldon is messy. She smiled at her husband who made a funny face at the small boy who tried to climb into the chair without his mother’s help.

Sheldon stopped his struggle with the chair and grinned at his grandfather. Eat! Eat!

Sharon placed him in the chair on a small box made to boost him up to table height. She laughed at the two-year old boy who thought he could do everything his older brother could do. She fed him his first bite of scrambled eggs even though he protested not having control of the spoon. She relented and let him feed himself, watching from the side opposite Aaron as the boy used the fingers of his left hand to pile eggs on the spoon. Most of the cargo was lost before the right hand could raise the utensil to the gaped maw that waited. He grunted his displeasure and began again, allowing Sharon to feed him a bite with her spoon while he worked to reload his spoon.

Aaron’s left hand rested on the back of his grandson’s chair, cautious to the fact that the youngster’s focus was so intent on the utensil that he was teetering on his elevated box.

So, Aaron looked back and forth between Ica and Sarah, should I go alone or with Ica? He knew the answer.

After breakfast, Aaron strolled out onto the expansive covered porch that completely encircled his two story house built into the side of a North Carolina mountain ridge. A large cellar made of huge, fitted stones served as foundation for the house, storage for foodstuffs and protection from storms for the inhabitants, in effect, adding a third level not immediately noticeable to visitors.

Aaron Clements did not consider himself to be a wealthy man. He had performed a favor for Charles Setters by transporting more than seven-hundred pounds of silver bullion from Uncle Charles’ world-time and depositing it in The Bank of New York, Alexander Hamilton’s bank. That money had grown to a vast fortune for Uncle Charles, in his own world-time, using what Charles referred to as the principle of simple compounding. As a result of that favor, Charles used his new found wealth and brought a larger volume of silver bullion to Aaron’s world-time for Aaron’s use to support efforts to protect The Constitution from misinterpretation. Aaron used the money to buy the land surrounding the Shift Fog sites and build the large house in which he and his family now lived. They all knew that control of the Shift Fog secret was critical.

The house was the first plank house built in the immediate area. That was because Aaron, along with the help of his brother Byron, bought and constructed a water-powered sawmill with a high quality reciprocating saw on the tract of timberland near where the house stood. Massive stone fireplaces with magnificently constructed native stone chimneys were located at both ends of the house to provide warmth against the unpredictable mountain winters.

Two large and lazy acting hounds arrived shortly after Aaron settled into a cane bottom chair so he could look at the far-reaching range of mountain tops and think. Gnats followed the tail wagging dogs and quickly became a nuisance, requiring continuous swishing with his hands. Get! he commanded the dogs. They did not; rather they chose a spot a few feet further away to lie on the porch and watch their master.

Aaron knew that even without Uncle Charles’ silver, he was rich beyond the dreams of most men.

Senior Field Agent Armando Lopez sat on the porch of the old hunting cabin while he drank his sugar laden coffee. In a spur of the moment, seemingly capricious decision, he had stayed the night in the cabin formerly owned by a hunter named Scott. The cabin was physically located about a half mile away from the Setters families’ hunting cabin, through Ozark Mountain forest on a rough logging road that crossed the Setters’ property. Homeland Security had finally put the cabin on the grid with electricity and water. The cabin had three rooms on the ground floor and a sleeping loft accessed by a vertical ladder. With air conditioning and a modern bathroom, it was a nice place to spend the night alone to think. Armando would occasionally leave his agents at the old farmhouse across the road from Charles Setters’ property, letting them function without his immediate supervision while they monitored the gate and road activity to prevent unauthorized access. He liked the solitude the cabin afforded. Almost half a mile from the county road and even further from civilian occupied houses, the surroundings were quiet—save the all too frequent jet that streaked across the sky leaving a rumble and a con-trail in its wake… and the periodic air shaking flutter of the HS patrol helicopter that was assigned to aerial surveillance of the surrounding Ozark woodlands. There, alone on the cabin porch, he could think.

Armando’s assignment had changed. The HS mission in support of the Shift Policy had changed. His role had changed. Barely thirty-one and Field Agent in charge of the Focus Zero properties, Armando took his job seriously. He wanted no errors made by his team that might jeopardize the mission. The mission was to control access to the Shift Fog site, or basically, to deny access. Additionally, the mission was to discover and detain any possible Shifters. The entire Shift Fog site known as Focus Zero was enclosed by an 8-feet high chain link fence with razor wire on top. Approximately fifteen acres of Ozark Plateau woodland was protected by the fence. The woods had been cleared of underbrush to make surveillance easier. Visibility through the mature trees was relatively good; three water cuts that led to a waterfall presented the only potential topographical hiding places, and they were easily inspected from a cut road that meandered across the acreage. No one could access the site without being discovered. The security fence would contain Shifters long enough to allow them to be detected by motion sensors placed strategically around the perimeter. No one could Shift into Armando’s world-time without being discovered by his team.

As far as Armando or the Government knew, that Ozark Shift Fog site was the only one in existence. It was guarded jealously.

Confident that his assignment could be executed successfully, Armando stared into the surrounding woods. He heard the bird calls, especially the crows, and tried to ignore the ever present background hum of modern society. He wanted to drift into pensive reverie but his eyes were drawn to the surrounding trees in search of the squirrels he could hear skittering and scratching from limb to limb in the deciduous boughs. A doe with a fawn cautiously wandered into a small lea between the cabin and the logging road that was used to access other, rougher trails throughout the property. Armando remained still, not even daring to raise his coffee cup to his lips, and watched the doe and fawn browse on low limbs, small shrubs and the grasses that grew at the edge of the clearing. They were unphased by his SUV parked near the opposite edge of the clearing. He wondered how Charles and his nephew Carson could bring themselves to shoot and kill such pretty creatures. He also thought about how tasty venison was when prepared well. The Setters always shared their harvest with the agents on site. Armando felt disappointment when the two ruminates wandered away into the forest. Silently and almost magically they disappeared from view before they had traveled twenty yards.

The solitude did not relieve Armando’s mind of a nagging feeling that had been plaguing him for several days. That feeling of presentiment was the reason for a night of self imposed exile. Something felt undone. The feeling had grown steadily stronger during the two weeks leading up to his decision to seek the solitude of the cabin. His guts told him that something momentous was about to occur. Time was drawing closer.

The Texan had struggled during his youth, raised in an El Paso barrio. He was dissatisfied with the normal opportunities, or lack thereof, afforded Hispanic males at that point in American history. Luckily he had a high school counselor who cared enough to guide the young teen whose father had been murdered by Mexican drug dealers. He wondered if that is why he respected the Setters as much as he did; Claudia Setters had been a school counselor during her work career.

After graduating from the University of Texas—El Paso, Armando applied for a job with Homeland Security. He remembered his feelings of accomplishment and elation when he received notice that he had been accepted. He was soon given an assignment at a secret site in Arkansas, in an area called the Ozarks. Except for a year of intense training and mundane work behind a desk in Washington, he had spent his entire career, almost 10 years, on the properties once owned and utilized as deer camps by several Arkansas deer hunters.

At first, he thought his assignment in that part of the country was some kind of hazing for being a rookie. But it was not long before Armando decided that he liked the duty he had drawn. The area was much different than where he was raised. First and foremost, it was rural. There was no hustle and bustle; no need to be on edge all the time. The peace and quiet was intoxicating, even with the few episodes of excitement that had occurred during his watch. Secondly, Northwest Arkansas was green much of the year and it experienced all four seasons. The weather was temperate and generally pleasant. The summers of 2011 and 2012 and 2013 had brought drought with exceptionally high temperatures, but that was almost nationwide… including his native Texas. And of greater importance, he liked the people he worked with, not just the HS agents but also Charles Setters.

Armando was never sure how Charles would react to an unplanned situation except that he knew the old man would stand his ground and find a solution that was workable for everyone. He admired that ability and tried to emulate him as much as possible. He expected the old man to come to the Setters’ cabin for a visit soon. Charles Setters, even though he was wealthy, liked the relative seclusion of his cabin even with the vigilant HS agents underfoot.

Steven and Celia Madison trekked across the familiar mountain trail on the three and a half hour journey to the Clements’ farm. They were planning for an extended visit, at least a week if not longer. Their two children, Cheryl and Martin, were growing bigger and stronger every day so the travel was not as burdensome as it had been when the two were less self-ambulatory. The closeness of the two families meant they visited one another often. The Madison family had a designated guest room in the Clements home for their visits. They were always welcome.

Celia’s first husband, Nathan Horton, and their three small boys were killed by a tornado seven years earlier. She had made part of the same trek from her mountain farm to the Clements’ old homestead on that fateful night, except, that time it was in the dead of night during a blizzard that followed the massive cold front which had spawned the killer tornado. Sarah Clements had always been and still remained her best friend, more like a sister than a neighbor. The eldest Clements daughter, Sharon, also formed a sibling-like bond with Celia. Celia was coping with her loss and living with the Clements family when she met the charming Steven Madison at a community gathering. Love at first sight could best describe their meeting. They married soon thereafter and, with the help of neighbors, rebuilt the homestead that Nathan and Celia had so dearly loved. Steven’s son, Thomas, thought of Celia as his mother even though he was almost eleven when they met. His own mother had died in childbirth along with the sister he never knew, so he craved the tender love of a mother and Celia willingly gave it. The family prospered on their homestead and added the two children to their clan.

Because of the tornado incident, Celia was terrified of strong storms. Steven was a skilled mason and used those skills to construct a sturdy storm cellar for his wife and family. Similar cellars were soon constructed for all the homesteads within the sphere of the Madison’s and Clements’ homesteads. Those same stone working capabilities were put to use when Aaron Clements built the huge house that replaced the simple log cabin that once housed his family.

While his siblings, half-siblings by blood, gravitated to Ruth Clements, Thomas gravitated to Ica. Proximity, time and compatible temperaments had pulled them together and led to their decision to marry in June.

Even though Steven and Celia had both been born and raised in different parts of Colonial America, their destinies had carried them to The Smoky Mountains of North Carolina and to a life together. Life on the steep mountainsides and deep valleys was rough and occasionally barely subsistence living, but they embraced the freedom and elbow room such a place provided. They also loved the direct human connection with their neighbors, and their neighborhood extended several miles in all directions.

The native population, mostly Cherokee Indians, had been pushed aside to make room for the white settlers. Periodically, a settler would demand more of the Indians than had been agreed upon and a skirmish would ensue. The North Carolina militia, largely comprised of local able-bodied men, was called upon to ensure safety for the white citizens. The safety of the Native Americans was seldom considered. The Indians always lost in the end.

The remoteness of the mountain folks’ chosen habitat meant that few amenities of modern civilization were readily available. Fortunately, they missed very little because the civilized amenities available in the early 19th Century were limited even for the people in the more urban areas of the new nation. The most valued amenity was communication from the outside world. Infrequent travelers and word of mouth between settlers provided some news. Occasional and greatly anticipated letters from outside the region provided them most of the real news. Because there was no regular route mail delivery in the remote regions of the country at that time in American history, mail was accumulated at post offices normally located inside trading posts or general merchandise mercantiles. The nearest post office was in Asheville, North Carolina. The travel time on horseback for a determined rider was the better part of two days.

The various neighbors, depending on age and circumstance, took turns delivering the mail. Steven and Aaron knew it was their turn to make the trip into Asheville on a mail run, which was the Madison’s excuse to visit at that time—as if an excuse was actually warranted. Aaron would have made the trip alone if necessary because he needed to know if he had mail from President Jefferson or Representative Macon before he Shifted. Such information as they might provide could prove of value while he was in Uncle Charles’ world-time. Also, Celia’s parents in Pennsylvania wrote often as did Sharon’s husband in Washington, D.C. and her in-laws who owned a plantation near Fayetteville, North Carolina. Both women were anxious for word from back East.

With goodbye hugs and kisses from friends and family at the Clements house, Aaron and Steven mounted their horses and began the backbone jarring, tailbone aching ride to Asheville. Fortunately, the two riders found their journey to be uneventful. To ensure they reached Asheville within two days, they avoided riding in sight of the few farms and houses along the way. Only one neighbor saw them passing. That was Ollie Beallman. Both riders were hard pressed to keep their visit short, cautioning Ollie that they were on a ‘mail run’. He sadly let them go on, but only with the promise that they would stop long enough to share a drink on the return trip.

Ollie’s wife had passed away a few years earlier after a long struggle with dementia. Ollie’s sons and daughters were finally free to visit their father without fear of untoward behavior from the mother who had become a total stranger… and a sometimes dangerous woman. Ollie relished visitors of any kind. Among the two riders, only Steven Madison had experienced Mrs. Beallman’s odd outbursts.

Aaron could not help but snicker at his friend as they rode away from Ollie’s place. Steven still remained on alert when he stopped by the Elder Beallman’s farmhouse, even though the wife was gone. Steven glared at his friend; he failed to see the humor in the memory of a brain-addled old woman trying to rape a house guest.

The two men arrived at Asheville late in the evening and stayed the night in the stable near their horses. Even though Aaron held a large fortune in a Fayetteville bank, he was still a humble mountain farmer, holding no airs of importance and requiring no additional favors. In truth, no one outside the family knew of his wealth except the Fayetteville banker.

The next morning, Postmaster/mercantile owner, Mr. Pheneus Perkins, relinquished his hold on the mail for all the families with whom Aaron and Steven swapped mail carrying duties. At the post office, on that particular mail run, Mr. Perkins finally broke Aaron’s resolve to not open his mail until out of view of others. A letter from the President of The United States was too important to go unshared, at least as far as the Postmaster and the older men who used the mercantile as a gathering spot were concerned. Too many times, Aaron had escaped without reading the letters he received. Mr. Perkins, always on the look out for new news to share, persistently pressured Aaron to share this latest letter from The President. As always, Aaron resisted, for fear that something might be said that should not become common knowledge. Steven joined in and goaded him until the Patriot and Friend of The President relented. Aaron held the letter at arm’s length in the morning light near the window. He cleared his throat and self consciously began reading.

"Mr. Aaron Clements,

I pray that this letter finds you well and in good spirit.

The battle for liberty continues and presents ever new challenges for Mr. Madison and me. Vice-President Burr is fully engaged with the Justices, in particular Samuel Chase. Mr. Chase continues to behave as if John Adams was still President, finding various ways to confound our words and actions. I oftentimes feel as if I am still campaigning for this job of President. I trust that your insistence that I pursue the office was just and warranted. At present, I feel strongly that it is imperative to remove Justice Chase from his high horse and from his high office.

One particularly pleasant note is that few are challenging my authority to or the sensibility of purchasing the western territories from the French. The Government of France is facing turmoil and their need of money out measures their lust for colonies in this New World. Already, Mr. Meriwether Lewis is being instructed in several of the sciences so that he may lead an expedition of discovery into the Louisiana Territory immediately upon purchase of said lands. He has coincidentally chosen an adventurer who bears the same name as your son-in-law to be his partner, Mr. William Clark. I offer that as a bellwether of good things to come. I pray that Men of virtue and cunning with the desire to fashion civilization from wilderness shall come to our shores to assists us in achieving the greatness of which you so often speak, and, may I add, the greatness of which your Mr. William Clark so eloquently presents. No one of sound mind doubts the predication of this expansion to the glories yet to come.

Congressman Macon has a body of Legislators attending to your words of caution regarding subsequently contingent interpretation of the Constitution and the dreadful errors such actions could create, but I fear neither he nor I have the sway needed to engage a sufficient number of supporters for our endeavor. On such a notion, I urgently request that you travel to this Federal City and grant your wisdom and support. I would offer that young Ica avail herself of this opportunity to present the arguments in favor of stronger controls to Constitutional subversions. I believe the presence of that young woman will provide just the impetus needed to gather a majority to our cause. Of no offense in any way or manner, yet callous Men can be made to crumble by the turn of a smile from a woman of pulchritude, such as your Ica."

Aaron hesitated to read the last sentence, momentarily feeling a sense of outrage at its meaning. Nonetheless, he did read it for the assembled group to hear then paused to study their reaction. Steven’s face twisted to show the same feelings that Aaron felt. Steven did not like the insinuation presented concerning his son’s betrothed. The two fighters for independence glanced knowingly at one another then studied the reaction of the group.

Hear. Hear. One of the more elderly men assembled nodded his head and spoke softly so that everyone would refrain from outburst while he uttered his opinion. I believe President Jefferson is on to something. From what I hear, those northern Senators and Congressmen are prone to listening with their mouths open. The presence of a pretty young thing will at least tie their tongues long enough for the words of wiser men to be spoken.

The assembled group echoed agreement. None thought the comment to be ribald or tawdry.

Seeing that the words were taken as The President intended, Aaron continued reading as soon as the ripple of discussion stopped.

"While protocol and propriety does not allow me to be present during Legislative business, I will feel much better knowing the truth of our endeavor will be adequately presented by you and Ica since it is not uncommon for citizens to appear before that august body. If you can send word of your impending arrival, Mr. Burr and I shall prepare for your visit with Congress.

As always, it is a pleasure to serve you and I look forward to our meeting next.

Respectfully yours,

Thomas Jefferson, President of the United States of America"

Aaron carefully folded the letter and with methodical precision placed it back into its envelope. He knew he would be required to read the letter again and again. The group assembled there in Mr. Perkins mercantile stood quietly and pensively studied the mountain farmer and his friend while Aaron tended to his task. As soon as the letter was properly and safely stowed in Aaron’s pack, the air of the store was filled with frenzied questions. Most of them had often wondered if the gossipy shop keeper had been exaggerating about the mysterious letters from The President to a simple farmer.

Steven stood nervously to one side and allowed Aaron to face the questioners. Most of the men were supporters of The President and were generally Anti-Federalists politically. If any were of Federalists comportment, on that particular day they chose to remain silent on the subject. Aaron fielded all questions thoughtfully, explaining his trepidations regarding perversion of the words of The Constitution without divulging the true details concerning his reasons for having those fears.

Once the group was satisfied that Aaron had answered their questions and that each man had ample opportunity to add his opinions in support of Aaron’s efforts, they slowly migrated from the store still engaged in discussion as smaller groups and intent on spreading the word. Aaron strongly suspected that the public reading of that letter would affect Uncle Charles’ world-time as much as any other action that would be taken during the approaching months and years.

Before the two men mounted and departed Asheville, they sorted the letters in the order they would be delivering them.

The return trip would require nearly four days because of the stops and the obligatory news sharing that would ensue. Fortunately, each night would be spent under the protective roof of a friend and neighbor. No one would ever allow the ‘mail man’ to subject himself to the elements. Mountain people took care of their own without reservation.

Aaron felt the pressure of the President’s invitation. He wanted to make the Shift to visit Uncle Charles but knew that the Shift would have to wait even though, in theory, it would only require a few hours of his time and would only delay departure for the Federal City of Washington by one day. His fear of being detected and detained forced him to change his plans. He was duty bound to meet with President Jefferson.

Upon their return and before Aaron could present his news to Sarah and Ica, Steven blurted the entire matter for the family to hear as soon as the pair entered the Clements’ house. Sarah’s face showed her concern even though she suspected the letter might bear something slightly different than Steven’s telling.

Without mentioning the previous intention of Shifting, Aaron related the contents of President Jefferson’s letter and carefully read the sentence regarding Ica’s role.

Thomas scowled at the thought of old men, moneyed, lecherous Congressmen, ogling his wife to be. He did not immediately consider that the trip would serve to delay the impending nuptials.

Aaron and Ica prepared for their journey to meet with the President. Thomas groused about the delayed wedding. Steven was hurt by the apparent slight but mustered the resolve to explain to Thomas that duty to country took courageous men from their families during the Revolution and the battle for true liberty was never ending. Father and son knew it was the right thing to do. Thomas sulkily bid Ica goodbye and accepted her promise to return safely and quickly.

Aaron carried letters from Sharon to the Clark family near Fayetteville. He despised the fact that he would have to tarry at least one night of his outbound journey at the Clarks, but courtesy demanded that he do so. He knew that he would also be obligated to devote at least two nights on his return trip. He liked the Clark family but his mind was on what he needed to accomplish in the capitol city of Washington and in Uncle Charles’ world-time. The feeling that something monumental was fast approaching was pervasive in his psyche.

CHAPTER TWO

The Battle Is Joined

The opulence of the office was disturbing to the man behind the huge desk. A man of means but with an air of sensibility, he did not fully condone the expense of building the Palace on the Potomac. He felt it was imprudent to provide such a structure to impress European royalty when the nation was crafted to distance itself from such trappings and the too often accompanying tyranny. A more modest structure would have been just as serviceable, maybe even more so as far as he was concerned.

For his inauguration as President, he had chosen to ride his own horse and put the beast in its stable without fanfare before Chief Justice John Marshall administered the oath of office. He did not want to be perceived as ‘kingly’ or otherwise privileged, as had Washington and Adams before him.

Thomas Jefferson had been selected to be the third President of The United States of America after a brutal election process. The new Federal City was abuzz with the need to address a shortcoming within the Words of The Constitution. How that would be remedied was as yet undecided but whatever the solution, an amendment would be required to render it legal and official.

President Jefferson shook his head. The very thought of changing the original words of The Constitution weighed heavily on his mind and caused him to shudder. The backwoodsman, Aaron Clements, had forewarned all who would listen that misinterpretations of the Words of The Constitution would portend dramatic shifts away from the liberties and freedoms so painfully won. Dramatic changes, such as amendments, could not and should not be taken lightly. As far as he was concerned, if Thomas Jefferson had a say in the matter, they would not be taken lightly.

Congressman and Speaker of the House, Nathaniel Macon of North Carolina stood impatiently waiting outside the door of the Executive Office. He was the first to hear from Aaron Clements eight years earlier. He, an avowed opponent of anything that might give the Federal Government more power at the expense of the States or the citizens, was concerned about amendments, Court rulings or changes of any kind. Macon knew that once changes to the original Constitution began to become acceptable, more changes would follow and each would be more perverse than those preceding it. Had the Articles of Confederation been slightly adjusted and fully adopted, he would have been happier. He was convinced that the entire country would be better served by that document than by The Constitution that he had reluctantly vowed to support and defend. He had to admit to himself that the backwoodsman had heightened his resolve to support the thing which he had initially despised.

Jefferson sighed wearily and arose from the plush leather seat of the desk chair. He beckoned Representative Macon into the office and met him halfway across the huge room, hand extended. It is good to see you again, Congressman. He smiled his welcome.

Macon’s face reddened slightly. He admired Thomas Jefferson as a Patriot, as a Founding Father, as a fellow Southerner and as President. Mr. President Your Excellency, thank you for taking the time to see me on such short notice. I will be brief as I can. The shorter man bowed his head slightly.

Mr. President will be fine. I am neither Adams nor Washington. I represent you and all the other citizens, therefore in my mind you are the most excellent of all. Jefferson guided Macon to one of the several plush chairs in the room and sat near him. What brings you to my simple abode? The graying, once red-haired man rolled his eyes sarcastically and chuckled.

Macon understood the reference to the excesses afforded by the Presidential Mansion. He smiled and chuckled. It is very nice… and cozy… but, I suppose it is fitting if we are to represent ourselves as an equal power in a world that values grandeur over substance.

Indeed, I suppose, but it makes me less than comfortable. That is why I prefer to walk about the grounds rather than spend time in this office. Besides, it is cooler outside in the shade. Would you like some tea on the lawn?

Certainly. Where ever we meet to talk is less important than the meeting itself.

Both men rose and walked from the office toward a door that led to a shaded area outside. As they walked out, Jefferson hailed a servant and asked for tea and biscuits to be delivered to them. They seated themselves with a view of the Capitol Building in the distance.

Jefferson knew the nature of Macon’s visit. He nodded toward the Legislator’s meeting hall, If we could only bring them all into accords, this issue would be resolved once and for all.

Macon instinctively looked in the direction of the nod and nodded affirmation. Agreed, but unless those who seek a stronger Federal government are cast aside, such agreement will never come.

Jefferson looked pensively into the wrinkled, angry face that watched and waited for his response. I would not want to see them cast aside, rather I would that we gave stronger logic so they could more easily join our reasoning.

Macon’s angry rosiness abated somewhat. He shifted nervously in his chair. If they continue to defy the truth of the logic as presented, how can anything stronger be made available? Some men are wont to disagree under all circumstances. They would rather argue with a fence post to allow them to pass than to walk through the gate.

Jefferson smiled at the image conjured by Macon’s statement. That is not untrue, but this country was founded on certain principles, most of which rely on reasoning and understanding by all good men. If we force our reasoning upon them before they understand it, they will intentionally never understand. A rift will always exist and feed further animosity. We must bring them to accept what we offer through reason.

Can a Federalist ever accept reason if it is not of his own making? Macon’s agitation was not gone.

Jefferson intentionally delayed his response so that Macon would have to sit nervously waiting. The tactic usually had the effect of calming the man, especially if the person making him wait was someone he admired. Jefferson knew Macon respected him enough to not rant, rave and intimidate as he had seen the man do with others. I think most can. Those few who refuse to understand can be managed once we have the majority in consensus. I have always feared the subjugative power of the many over the few, but sometimes it does seem appropriate.

Macon saw that The President was not going to allow tangential discussion. What do you propose to convert more of them?

Jefferson smiled, I don’t choose to convert them away from their beliefs—though that would be an interesting approach; I want to gain their support for something that is vital to us all. If we can make the argument with strong logic, most will understand and follow. Some may even present alternatives that we have not considered.

What other alternative can there be that is better than Legislative Review of Court interpretations?

I don’t know. That is why I hope to convince more good men to join our search for solutions. Jefferson sighed and thanked the servant who arrived with tea and biscuits. We have successfully secured their support for many causes that were initially found to be distasteful. The funding for the military academy at West Point was approved after much dissention and discussion. The revocation of federal taxes and a more appropriate reliance on tariffs has been agreed upon. Even the purchase of the Louisiana Territory and funding for exploration was accepted after some resistance. We are all citizens of one country and we need to act together, with unanimity for the final decisions made.

I agree that a lot has been agreed upon, but none of those address the concerns for misinterpretation of the Words of The Constitution. Macon was becoming impatient with the progress of the discussion.

Granted as truth. Nonetheless, all of those agreements are indication that agreements and consensus can be attained with the proper logic and reasoning.

What new do you have to offer, Mr. President? I have nothing more. Macon sounded exasperated.

Jefferson smiled and replied, Ah, but you do. You have two notable citizens from the great state of North Carolina who, I pray, are coming this way to lend their support and their logic to the plea for understanding.

Macon’s brow wrinkled, I assume Aaron Clements is one. Who is the other?

His daughter, Ica. Jefferson watched the Congressman’s face twitch as he tried to grasp understanding.

The girl? The woman? Who will listen to a woman? A look of incredulity formed on the Representative’s face.

Jefferson laughed energetically. Sometimes it is not who will listen, rather it is who will keep his mouth shut. I think they will be so enamored of her presence that she can say what needs to be said. Once heard, the words will make sense; the logic will perhaps become clear.

Macon nodded his head as he thought about what Jefferson had said. A smile slowly crinkled his face. Maybe it is as simple as that. Maybe you are correct. How soon before they arrive?

Jefferson’s face fell. I am unsure. The mail is so slow going and coming to the far reaches. I have no assurance that Mr. Clements has received my urgent request for his presence. I can only hope that they are en-route at this very moment. If I know the man, he would have sent a letter in response advising of his intentions but that letter might arrive the same day he does. Nonetheless, I am sure he will come. He said the last sentence with more confidence than he felt.

I have not heard word from William regarding their arrival, but I am sure you are correct. Macon surveyed The President’s demeanor. He had a question to ask, but was unsure if the time was right. He asked anyway. Mr. President, you mentioned the purchase of the Louisiana Territory from France. Have you considered also purchasing the Florida Territory from Spain? I think getting both countries off this part of the continent would be worthwhile and to our advantage.

Jefferson stared at the balding man who was again forced to wait for a response. If I understand it correctly, that area is nothing more than swamps and savage Indians. The northern-most States are in some ways incensed over the current purchase as it is. I think we shall wait and embark upon only one venture at a time. Besides, Spain is engaged in more areas than just Florida on this continent. Now, let us move on to other business. Can you lead the impeachment of Samuel Chase?

Macon processed the response he had received and the question asked of him. He smiled broadly Gladly! If I cannot do it myself, I know others who only need my simple encouragement. What would we charge him with?

Bad rulings. Poor decisions. I’m sure Vice-President Burr can articulate reasons and causes for the man’s removal from the Court. He still acts as though Adams was President when he makes a ruling. Jefferson spat the final sentence more than he spoke it.

I will see that it is done. Macon leaned back in his chair, sipping tea and satisfied that the meeting with the President had been productive. William Clark had not attended the meeting, but the Congressman knew the young man had learned enough about the politics in Washington to prove himself useful for the battles to come. The arrival of William’s father-in-law would be a welcome diversion. The young man was homesick and had plans to leave before August for a visit with his wife and children in North Carolina. He would likely not return from that visit until late September.

Jefferson leaned back, fighting the sense of urgency that filled his waking hours and fretted his sleep. He could feel the momentum building for some monumental event.

Claudia Setters, seventy-one on her last birthday, slowly brushed her black hair. Her paternal Cherokee heritage had bestowed her with a radiant warm skin tone that had faded very little with age. The crow’s feet spanning out from the corners of her eyes could be blamed on years of smiles, same as the semi-circle wrinkles at the corners of her mouth. The loose skin on her neck and the dark spots on the backs of her hands could only be attributed to aging. Her hair, long and lustrous, framed her Native American features well, giving her an air of confidence and authority that few women her age possessed. The hair remained dark and gray-less through vigilance on her part and expertise on the part of her hairdresser. She smiled, deepening the wrinkles.

She remembered The Elder, Mother Owl, wizened from