The Calling Birds

By Jim Barrett

A touching tale of a young boy encouraging an elderly spinster to recall her father’s life as he makes his way through the growth of mid-America in the early 1900’s. Boom towns, railroads, trail drives and taming lawless times provide the backdrop for blossoming young love in an era that made our country great.

Follow the trail of love for the plight of Native American orphans as the characters’ lives intertwine and overlap in unique ways. From a bold generation of leaders emerging through rough and tumble partisan activities to college football heroes becoming modern-day political trailblazers, let the characters guide you through this romantic journey across time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Barrett
• Release date: Apr 1, 2019

Jim Barrett

I was raised in the ‘40s and ‘50s in southern rural Oklahoma. We had no electricity or running water, so our water supply came from a 50-foot-deep well, using a rope and a bucket. Most of our food we raised ourselves, such as hogs, cattle and chicken. If we didn’t raise it, we hunted it. My dad could knock a squirrel out of a tree at twenty yards with a slingshot. A half-acre vegetable garden filled the table with ripe tomatoes, onions, okra, beans and a good supply of potatoes.Birthday and Christmas presents could always be counted on to be socks, shirts or underwear. I learned very early that if there was something I wanted, it was up to me to earn the money to buy it. Thus, I bought my first car when I was just fourteen, with $350 I earned by mowing lawns, hoeing gardens, or harvesting pecans from my father’s orchard. My first real job was at fifteen, where I helped clear a warehouse that had burned down. I suppose they liked my work ethic, as they asked me to continue after the new warehouse was built. I started my first company when I was thirty years old. Along the way, my wife and I employed as many as sixty-five employees at a time. Our last company sold in 2010 with retirement soon after.This is Jim Barrett’s first novel. Over the years, clips and snippets came to him until after retirement, he finally had time to organize and arrange the parts into order. Although he spent his life as an engineer, he always enjoyed reading a wide range of topics from science fiction to non-fiction history.A few of the characters in The Calling Birds blossomed from people known in his youth with others completely fabricated. They present a broad spectrum of characters whose lives intertwine and overlap in ways that bring out their activities and loves in unique ways.Now retired in Southern California, he loves spending time with his grandchildren with frequent fishing trips, travel and getting together with old friends and classmates. He is well into his second novel, Confessions of a Teenage Bootlegger, and looks forward to its upcoming publication. Jim is available to address your literary group, book clubs or just a nice cup of coffee to recount old times and experiences. Contact him via email at [e-mail].

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Washington, D.C.

Spring 1985

The plane braked to a halt on the runway as people began to gather their assorted belongings around them. The flight attendant's voice came over the plane's intercom to welcome the arriving passengers to Washington, D.C., and advised they should not unbuckle their seat belts until they were at the ramp area. Ken picked up his briefcase and when the plane stopped, retrieved his small carry-on from the overhead bin. A few business-type passengers were digging through briefcases to find their boxy mobile phones to advise whomever that they had landed and to meet them at designated places within the airport, or to let people back home know that they had arrived.

Ken was one of the first passengers to debark into the main concourse, and he found the escalators leading to the reception area. He noticed a group of people in the reception area eager to meet passengers coming in from the plane. There were three or four young men dressed in black suits holding signs with various names on placards held chest-high. One of the signs had JUDGE ADAMS in bold print and Ken advanced to meet the holder. Another young man at the chauffeur's side stepped forward with his hand extended and welcomed Ken to Washington, D.C.

Let me take your case, we have a car waiting to take you to the White House, said the young aide. He introduced himself and the chauffeur as well and mentioned that this was the perfect time to visit D.C., dropping the Washington identification as most residents do.

The aide assisted Ken into the back seat and he took the small seat on the side. The limousine eased gently into the traffic to exit the airport area and soon Ken was seeing what the young aide meant about this being a great time to visit the capital. The cherry trees were in full bloom and the colors were spectacular. The aide and driver made small talk about the sites and presence of history as they made their way through traffic to their destination.

The limousine was cleared to enter the White House driveway and pulled slowly to a stop at the entrance. The military aide who opened the door to greet them was smiling and pleasant. Ken asked him where he was from and he replied proudly, Same place as you, the great state of Texas. This recognition of a common background made Ken smile. In addition to the young aide's likable personality, Ken knew he had training and capabilities to protect the safety of all who resided in or entered the White House. Not just the aide, but the dozens of other young men and women stationed at the residence as well.

The young aide escorted Ken to the security desk located just inside the White House entrance. He introduced Ken to the receptionist who had a stack of clearance files on her desk. She removed one, opened it and compared the eight-by-ten photograph to Ken's appearance. Satisfied that he was indeed Judge Ken Adams, she stated, We have to be careful to check out everyone who enters the White House. After all, it is the residence of the President and his family.

Ken noted the presence of two tall, athletic, young secret service agents stationed behind the receptionist and smiled at them, knowing they would be well-armed and trained in providing security for the world's most powerful man, his family and staff. Although not visible, Ken was certain there were additional agents available at a quick moment's notice. The receptionist handed Ken an identification tag with his name and picture on it, with a clip to attach to his breast pocket lapel. Please return your identity badge when you leave. We will have it available for any future visit to the White House, said the receptionist. Ken was certain he had stepped through additional screening sensors at the entrance as well.

Please follow me, sir, said the young aide as he escorted Ken to an ornate office and asked if he would care for a refreshment or coffee. Ken replied that he was fine but would welcome a chance to simply relax and spend a few moments alone. The aide said that would be fine.

The President will request your appearance shortly. I'll be outside and, if you need anything, just let me know, he said as he closed the door. Ken had not realized how much the previous twenty-four hours had stressed his mind and body until he found himself completely and totally alone on the comfortable couch. As his mind drifted to recall the amazing occurrences of the previous day, his eyes noted the objects on the desk: the normal paper clips, pens, calendar, and stacks of paper along with a large reading glass. His mind focused on the magnifying glass and drifted back to a time many years before.

CHAPTER TWO

Hendley, Texas

Fall 1952

Twelve-year-old Ken Adams stared intently into the display case of the town's only drug store. His vision was focused on the large magnifying glass centered on the top shelf of the display case. The price tag showing $1.75 was clearly visible. Without realizing the presence of the store's owner, Mr. Pelter, Ken was lost in imagining the discoveries to be revealed with such a fine magnifying glass. He figured he still had ten minutes left on his lunch break from school.

Now, just what would you do with it? asked Mr. Pelter.

Ken jumped backward, surprised to see Mr. Pelter, complete with a cigar, bifocals, a hearing aid, thinning hair, jowled cheeks and generally grumpy disposition, staring down at him. Unaccustomed to conversation with adults, especially one who was President of the School Board, Deacon in the First Baptist Church, member of the Chamber of Commerce and owner of Pelter's Drug Store, Ken was speechless. Finally, he regained sufficient composure to stutter that he thought the magnifying glass would be an interesting tool to explore the world of miniature items.

Like what? asked Mr. Pelter.

Like oak leaves and mosquitos and dog fleas and chicken feathers and pond water and all those other things, came tumbling out of Ken in an explosion of enthusiasm. As he looked up, Ken was surprised to see a distant faraway look in Mr. Pelter's eyes. It was as if the man was seeing something in his past, a memory of a boyhood long ago.

He slowly looked down and said, I think we can do business. How much do you have?

Ken slowly extended his hand to show him the half dollar he had clenched throughout the conversation. Mr. Pelter said that would do fine for a down payment and Ken could pay off the balance at the rate of 25 cents per week.

At twelve years old and with a limited means of economic endeavor, Ken entered the world of high finance, the first of many such deals yet to come.

Ken was anxious to get home from school. The school bus seemed to be moving in slow motion and each stop dragged on interminably. The driver seemed to move even more slowly than usual at each stop, where he had to disgorge himself from the driver's seat to hold up the red stop sign to make sure the smaller children did not run in front of any passing cars.

Ken fingered the magnifying glass in his pocket as he imagined using it to highlight the outline of fossils forever embedded in rocks at his father's gravel pit. Each year his father negotiated an agreement with the county road commissioner to allow the big dump trucks to haul gravel from his pit to repair damaged dirt roads throughout the county. There were lots of roads that needed lots of gravel, and even at a dollar and a half a load, the sum built up over time represented nice extra income which Ken's family enjoyed. The fact that it was expected that Ken's father would make a substantial contribution to the re-election campaign for the county road commissioner at the next election was just the way things worked – no one thought much about it including Ken, until the year his father's friend did not get re-elected. The gravel contract ended immediately and the new road commissioner promptly awarded it to one of his cronies. It was good while it lasted.

When the dirt loader had worked to load the gravel trucks, it occasionally struck a rock too large to be included with the gravel material. The operator pushed these large rocks into a pile so they could be used for filling in major road failures, which sometimes happened after heavy spring rains caused a bridge or an entire road section to be washed out. On a few occasions, Ken had spotted what appeared to be encapsulated fauna fossils in the rocks. With his new magnifying glass he could more closely examine the outlines and try to see if they really were fossils or not.

At last the bus reached Ken's stop and he bolted from the door with a quick backward wave to signal his sense of freedom. He ran through the house, dumped his books in his room, grabbed a slice of bread from the pantry and pulled the peanut butter from the refrigerator.

My but we are in a hurry today, observed Ken's mother from her stance in front of the gas cookstove. She was well into preparation of supper as Ken's father expected to have his meal on the table when he arrived home from work. Normally the entire family would gather at the supper table at 5:30 and Ken figured he had about an hour to get to the gravel pit and conduct his inspection. He poured himself a glass of milk to help wash down the sandwich and between bites relayed his exploration plans to his mother.

Have fun – and I hope you find something interesting, she yelled after him as he darted out the back door.

It was about a quarter of a mile from Ken's house to the gravel pit. He jogged the distance easily in two to three minutes. As he jogged along, he observed the trees on his father's property. A heavy frost had come early that year and the leaves were bright with numerous beautiful colors ranging from light brown to gold to red and many hues in between. The sky was blue and clear although they had recently experienced a couple of heavy thunderstorms earlier in the week. As he neared the gravel pit, he saw two ground squirrels scurry away heading to their dens concealed under a mound of rocks. All in all, a gorgeous afternoon of a beautiful fall day. He was happy that his football practice sessions were scheduled for early mornings prior to the start of the school day. The varsity football team's practice sessions were scheduled for afternoons. Ken's young body was strong and well conditioned from his practice sessions, and in addition, he ran or jogged wherever he was going on a daily basis. The gravel loader was quiet since the gravel hauling was done for the day. He located the pile of rocks at the edge of the pit and began his examination with high spirits. Two or three times he thought he had spotted a fossil imprint but each time the magnifying glass revealed the pattern to be nothing more than just color variations or strata changes in the rocks themselves. He spent twenty minutes going over the pile of rocks with no luck and was beginning to think the afternoon would prove to be a waste of time attempting to use his new tool.

As he neared the edge of the gravel pit, he spotted what appeared to be a sharp, small rock protruding from the soil. He flicked it with the toe of his shoe and as it broke free from the dirt he knew exactly what he had found. A complete, authentic flint arrowhead. He picked it up and rubbed the dirt away all the while marveling at the shape and small fine flakes someone had chipped away to give the piece of stone its shape and sharpness. Some of his friends had shown him pieces of arrowheads they had found but no one he knew had ever found one that was complete and undamaged.

As he walked slowly toward home, still rubbing the arrowhead, he heard a low rumble and felt a tremor from the ground at the same time. At first he thought it might be an approaching thunderstorm but as he turned to look over his shoulder, he got the shock of his life. A herd of buffalo was heading straight for him in a stampede frenzy. He looked to his left and spotted a small earth mound with a sharp ledge about three feet high. He landed on his stomach under the ledge just as the first buffaloes passed over and around him. The thunder of the hooves and snorting of the animals' noses were so loud, Ken threw his hands over his ears to shut out the noise. As he laid close to his protective ledge, he could see nothing but buffalo as they swarmed past him in their uncontrolled run. The dust they kicked up blotted out the sun and made it hard for him to breathe. Ken glimpsed an Indian brave mounted on a horse running alongside the herd, and just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone – swallowed up in the cloud of dust and dirt from the stampeding herd. A horse plunged over the mound, stumbled and spilled his rider directly near the ledge where Ken had taken refuge. The rider quickly scrambled on all fours for the shelter of the mound. Ken found himself staring face-to-face in the wide eyes of a young Indian boy – no more than twelve or thirteen years old. The two of them pressed their bodies as tightly against the earth ledge as they possibly could. Although the number of buffaloes stampeding by seemed to be diminishing, there were still plenty leaping over and around the earth mound. At last, the sound of the herd began to subside and the dust and dirt began to settle. A powerfully built Indian brave on a plunging horse pulled up near the mound and the young brave scampered out and stood erect before the fiercely outfitted warrior. Although he spoke an Indian dialect, Ken could understand