The Panther Indian Pact: One Boy's Courage to Be a Friend during the Civil War

By Ann Kronwald

Eleven-year-old Marty is downright tired of being afraid. With a panther attack haunting his memory, Confederate soldiers hiding just south of his farm in New York, and the biggest bully this side of the Appalachians eager to destroy the crops and pummel his hide, there's plenty to fear. He needs a real weapon-an Indian bow. And it wouldn't

• Language: English
• Publisher: Orchid Lane Press
• Release date: Feb 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736215210

Ann Kronwald

Ann Kronwald is a freelance writer whose articles appear in magazines and anthologies in the US and abroad. Among her awards are first place in the Writers-Editors Network International Writing Competition and second place in Today's Christian Living Writing Contest. The back-porch swing is her "happy place," especially if the person gliding next to her shares her love for yellow-bell blooms, dark chocolate, or made-up dances. Ann is native to Arizona but traces her ancestry to the very farm in New York which serves as the setting for The Deyo Hills Series.

Book preview

ThePantherIndianPactEBook.jpgThePantherIndianPactEBook3.jpg

FIRST EDITION

The Panther Indian Pact

One Boy’s Courage to Be a Friend during the Civil War

Copyright © 2021 Ann Kronwald

AnnKronwald.com

Published by Orchid Lane Press

175 South Hamilton Place, Suite 106

Gilbert, Arizona 85233

Cover & book interior designed by Yolie Hernandez

([e-mail])

480.939.9689 | ManySeasonsPress.com

Vector art by all-free-download.com

Paperback ISBN 13: 978-1-7362152-0-3

eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-7362152-1-0

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020923981

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Printed in the United States of America.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Thank you

Characters Living on or around Deyo Hill

Day One at the Schoolhouse

Confederate Threat

Charley Bill’s Corn

Put Outside

Picking Stones

Three’s a Crowd

Rolling Pumpkins

Corn Cutting and Differences

Swim Hole Visit

The Promise

Father Packs the Wagon

Milking with Uncle Billy

Planting with Uncle Billy

The Family Returns

Carvers’ School

Picking Enemies

Squirrel Hunting

The Tuscarora Tribe

Troop Sendoffs

Educating Slim

Will’s Call to Come

The Tree Swing

The Fallow Burn

Bow Field on Fire

Tip Leaves for War

The Indian at Church

A Letter from Tip

A Husking Bee

The Buckeye Mower

Turner Faces the Bow

A Broken Mower

A Severed Friendship

Death of a Panther Indian

Marty Prepares the Barn

The Final Stand

The Choice

Freedom

A Real Indian

About the Author

Dedication

To you who incessantly begged for another Marty tale at bedtime and you who love story—

Jude, Daniel, Lily, Emma, James, Jack, Kate, Isaiah, Samuel, and Elijah

I love you

Thank you

—to my critique-group for your writing input and friendship

—to Jamie and Bashe for editorial feedback and never-ending encouragement

—to David for loving me down this path

Characters Living on or around Deyo Hill

The Deyo Family

Richard (Pa)

Mama

Jack – Marty’s older brother

Martin Jude Deyo (Marty) – the main character, eleven

Sam – just younger than Marty

Emma – almost six

Dan – three

Kate – baby

The Rozelle Family

Billy-James (Uncle Billy) – a grandpa figure or second dad to Marty

Mrs. Billy – Billy’s wife

Tip (Sir Tip) – Billy’s oldest son who is married, a hero to Marty who also goes to war

Tip’s Wife

Lily – Tip’s daughter, five

Will – Billy’s second oldest who joins the war effort

Ben – A middle-child amid Billy’s twenty-one kids who follows Will to war

Isaiah (Slim) – Billy’s youngest and Marty’s newest friend who makes a pact with Marty

The Carver Family

Mr. Carver – Teaches math to the kids of Deyo Hill when the schoolhouse closes

Mrs. Carver – Also teaches when the school closes, prejudiced against Slim

Jimmie – Enlists in the war

Lena

Elijah – Hunts squirrels with Marty, a year older than Marty

Wes – Marty’s marble partner and one of his best friends, a year younger than Marty

The Deyo’s Farm Animals

Cows – Bess, Ol’ Blue, and Gussy

Horses – Old Pete and Doll

Oxen – Berty and one other

(Angry Abe Turner and his gang live closer to the town of Choconut rather than near Deyo Hill)

1

Day One at the Schoolhouse

Martin Jude Deyo studied the new teacher up front like he’d be tested later on every wart and nose hair. With the North and South in a full-on civil war, most folks figured that Broome County Schoolhouse, in the rural hills of New York state, was lucky to get a new headmaster at all.

Row two, please, the teacher said. They hadn’t even gotten past lunch hour on the first day and he was already calling each row up front to practice speaking proper in public. He called it elocution. Row one had already had the chance to elocute their name and age and favorite chore in front of the whole class. Marty looked forward to his turn like he looked forward to a rattlesnake bite. He had plenty enough elocution each morning talking to the cows at milking time. But here he sat, next to his older brother in row two, so he rose with the rest of the row and shuffled forward.

Marty stood closest to the teacher, Matthew Bartholemew Trisket, fresh out of normal school training—probably one of the spring graduates, class of 1863, with about ten seconds of experience. Marty rushed through his turn first. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and then focused on Mr. Trisket up close. The headmaster’s height worried Marty the most. Surely, a mad bull had chased him down as a child and scared the fright clean out of him making sure he never grew again. How in tarnation would he keep peace in the one-room schoolhouse if all the older boys outsized him?

The teacher turned his head as more of row two introduced themselves and Marty took in a side view of the teacher’s nose—a feature that might redeem his sorry height. It was large and bent over like it had tried to jump to the moon, but gravity had yanked it back. A true hawk’s beak if Marty had ever seen one. Maybe a nose that could scare an older boy from his cruel ways, despite a teacher’s small size.

Thank you, row two. Next students, please. Mr. Hawk-nose motioned for row three to come forward.

The largest boy in row three—in the entire school—rose to his feet and moved forward, arms wide open, chest out, eyes daring anyone in rows one or two to glance his way. Marty quickly looked out the window at the end of his row.

By the time Marty looked back, the schoolhouse threat was up front stating his name, Abe Turner. Most in the room already knew him as Angry Abe—maybe because he enjoyed being hateful. And calling him plain old Abe would surely disrespect President Lincoln. Turner had the size and anger of any troubled man. Seeing him as Angry Abe was probably the way most folks reminded themselves to stay out of his way.

Marty fingered his pockets—empty of the usual weapons that made him braver. On most days, a slingshot, several rocks, a flint stone, and an arrowhead that he had found by the old sawmill kept company in his trousers. A horseshoe or two, to heave at a moment’s notice, normally dangled from the belt loop of his britches. He should never have listened to his older brother. Jack had put down the challenge that very morning. Just try it, Mart. Empty your pockets for school. That panther is long gone.

Marty shivered as he remembered the black panther that had frightened him out of his skin when he was four years old. He had sworn after that he’d never be caught defenseless again. After all, how could he be as brave as the Indian who saved him if he had no protection in tow? And if he wanted to stuff his pants full of weapons, why should Jack care? They’d seen plenty of dangers in Chenanga Valley—bears, rattlers, even packs of coyotes. They’d clobbered plenty of varmints with his lucky horseshoe. How could he take his mind off those big fellas at the schoolhouse and learn a lick of anything if he didn’t come with pockets full of protection? But Marty knew his brother’s challenge had nothing to do with the usual animals around the farm and nothing to do with the bullies at school, but everything to do with a childhood memory scarred by one wild panther. So he’d listened.

The students up front settled back into row three and Angry Abe Turner squeezed into his desk on the aisle. Row four started forward. Slim Rozelle was easy to spot—the only black face in the room. With the closing of the African Free School, the district had made allowances for Slim right here at the Broome County schoolhouse—something that sure would never happen down south. It was bad enough that he was the lone colored boy in the school, but now he’d been called up front to parade it before the whole world.

Hawk-nose turned his head for only a moment, and a moment was long enough. Angry Abe jumped into the aisle behind Slim, took his right fist halfway back to New York City, then rushed it forward with the speed of wild mustangs, till the back of Slim’s head slowed it down.

Slim flew forward like he’d been set free from a slingshot. When he reconnected with the planet, he crumpled fast—elbows, knees, and head thumping the school’s wood plank floor something fierce.

Angry Abe ducked down into his desk. Students around the room gasped.

Hawk-nose stared at Slim like he’d just witnessed an alien drop from the sky. Surely he had seen it.

Abe Turner stretched back in his desk and raised his bulky arms in a yawn like he was just waking from a nap. Most of the students, seeing Slim laid low, sat stunned into silence. The schoolhouse was supposed to be safe. But Slim Rozelle, sprawled out on the floor and letting out a slow groan, was proof enough that it was not.

Some of the older boys, those fellas that already looked like somebody else’s pa, snickered right out loud. Marty surely wouldn’t want to be Slim right now. But if he was, he’d trade away the entire contents of his marble bag—heck, he’d trade away his left thumb—to draw the attention of those big fellas to somebody else. And why in tarnation was the new teacher just standing there?

Hawk-nose was sure enough revealing his inexperience in the ways of older boys. The whole county knew he was supposed to learn the kids in figuring, patriotism, speaking proper in public, and character. Now anyone watching could see that the character of Abe Turner needed influencing, maybe starting with his backside.

Settle down, class. The new educator finally spoke but stayed tight to his spot by the old stove like it might not burn off the September chill without his help.

Slim pushed his chest off the floor and sat. He shook his head like he needed to un-rattle his brain. Marty had no idea if colored folks bruised. But if they did, Slim would sure have something to show for this. Slim folded his lanky legs under him and stood, looking as shaky as a foal standing for the first time. Then he eyed the barn-sized kid in row three who had sent him to the floor.

Marty was no friend of Slim, but friend or not, a fella should be able to get some learning without fearing a whoopin’. ‘Course, he should also have the good sense to look out for the Abe Turner types. Didn’t they teach him anything at that African Free School?

Marty waited for Mr. Trisket to unleash a storm of chastising words at Abe Turner. The first day of a whole year trapped up close with those big fellas was as good a time as any to see someone put them on a leash. But Hawk-nose was as green as Slim in the ways of district schooling. He kept a powerful stare on Turner, cleared his throat, and said, Next.

Marty glanced toward his brother to get a measure on how troubling the situation was.

Jack shook his head slightly. The headmaster’ll never get control now. Mark my word.

Marty thought back to the preparing-for-school speech Jack had given him yesterday. Just stay outta the older boys’ way. They fancy they rule the schoolhouse ‘cause they’re oldest. That’s all. You’re eleven goin’ on twelve, still a kid in their eyes. They know you can’t do ’em no harm. Likely they’ll ignore you. And obey the teacher. He’ll make ’em be civil.

Jack should have given that speech to Hawk-nose so he’d know that making Angry Abe be civil was his duty. ’Course, Jack’s advice wouldn’t have helped the bony colored boy. Slim had been minding his own business, stepping to the head of the class. But he never should have stepped near Abe Turner.

Slim dusted himself off and continued to the front with the others in his row. He settled under the portrait of President Lincoln, like it might be the safest spot, and waited to introduce himself. As they faced their classmates, each of the students up front found something far away from Turner to look at, maybe pretending Angry Abe wasn’t really loose inside the school walls.

Marty peeked back at Turner in the row behind him. The corner of Angry Abe’s mouth turned up as he glanced sideways at his friends. Big Frank stuck up a thumb toward Angry Abe and grinned. Smitty gave him an approving nod. A few others chuckled.

Slim hadn’t made a stand.

Hawk-nose hadn’t made a stand.

The way Marty saw it, Abe Turner was officially in charge now.

With pockets empty, Marty would be wise to blend in. He wanted no part of Turner’s barn-sized body. Or fist. He scooted his chair closer to Jack and the open window—cracked wide enough that Marty could slip through like a mouse through a fence gap. Small enough that Turner would have a powerful hard time trailing him.

Angry Abe allowed one more student to introduce himself and then shoved his hand into the air. The teacher made the mistake of stepping close to Turner’s desk before calling on him. The danger zone. Nothing but foolish to step inside it.

Yes, Abe? Hawk-nose asked.

Seein’ as you’re new to this school, I feel it’s my duty to inform you that it’s time for our morning recess.

Hawk-nose studied Turner for a moment. No. I . . . I . . . I think we’ll cover a lesson first.

The entire schoolhouse seemed to suck in a breath and watch, as if staring at a thunder cloud to see if it would spin out a tornado. Turner’s reply came out as a low growl. Best not to fight tradition.

Hawk-nose brought his hands in front of him and one hand took to squeezing the other, like it was offering a hiding place for half his fingers. I’ll make the rules this year, Mr. Turner. The words themselves were confident enough. But the teacher’s rising pitch spilled the beans on a heap of insecurity stirring beneath the surface.

Turner’s chair gave out a long screech as it scraped back against the wood floor, carrying along the attached desk behind it. In what seemed like slow motion, Angry Abe rose to his feet and stretched to his full height—looking like a giant next to Hawk-nose—giving him a full view of the top side of that beak.

Hawk-nose took a step back.

Turner sauntered closer to him.

Big Frank’s chair scratched back as he stood up next to Angry Abe. Smitty and a few more of Turner’s gang rose to their feet as well.

Marty glanced over at Jack. It didn’t look like he was even breathing—frozen in his desk like a rabbit playing dead. In Marty’s mind, it was only a matter of time till Angry Abe finished with Hawk-nose and turned his attention to the other students. Something inside him itched to get outside these walls, and fast. Keeping an eye on Turner and those huge fellas eager to make their own rules, Marty inched closer to the open window.

Jack