Turtle in the Hot Plum Moon

By Pat Ramsey Beckman

Michael Gentle Deer is a shy but stubborn fourteen year old, raised by the great Shawnee Tecumseh after the untimely death of Michael's parents.
Michael is afraid to be left alone. He has heard that a death spirit, leads dead bodies into heaven from the Island called Turtle, however although frightened he believes he will find Tecumseh there. He strikes out for the island to find his friend.
As Michael searches for the Indian burial ground to find his lost Shawnee family, a mean-spirited British sergeant captures him and conscripts him into the Army. Not cut out for army life, he would rather draw pictures than fight. Ridiculed and made to serve menial tasks, Michael finally wins the respect of the soldiers by his care of a sick child in the barracks.
After fighting in the last battle of the War of 1812 on Mackinac Turtle Island, with the help of an Indian girl and a hunch-back Sioux, Michael finds his family and his home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491899588

Pat Ramsey Beckman

I have been a journalist and a writer since I was a child. From the time I visited the Press Room of the Philadelphia Inquirer I was hooked. Growing up on the East Coast I am now a mid-westerner and loving all the research I have been able to glean for my juvenile historic novels. My husband, Jim, is supportive of my craft, as are my four children, nine grandchildren, and now my baby great grand children. I have held writing workshops in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio, Michigan and served as guest faculty for Chautauqua Highlights, and for the Intergenerational Institute in Glens Falls, New York for four years. I also taught writing workshops in Hilton Head, South Carolina schools. My books: From the Ashes Colors of War Animal Academy Short Stories for Magazines

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© 2014 Pat Ramsey Beckman. 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 04/02/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9957-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9958-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014905670

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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

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

DEDICATION

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CREDITS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

My deep appreciation for my son Robert S. Beckman, Illustrator.

DEDICATION

My beloved husband, James R. Beckman

My children, grand children, and great grand children

Dr. Robert David Ramsey

Pat Broderick, Mentor

Tony and Twill Cotter

CHAPTER I

KESOTHWA

FREEZING MOON

Where will I go? What if I can’t find Tecumseh? Michael squatted by Star Watcher’s empty hut and stirred the dead campfire. Short and stocky for fourteen, a mop of rusty hair pulled tight with a circle of bone, his voice trembled, Where have all the Shawnee gone?

Only days ago Tecumseh had sent Michael to scout the enemy. But when Michael returned to the island in the Detroit River, it was deserted. This empty little island had been Michael’s home since he left Davey.

Why did I leave my big brother! Michael thought, stamping his foot on the ashes. I had to leave him, even if it was hard coming up here. I knew if Davey wouldn’t help Tecumseh, I had to.

Michael tilted his chin in the air. He could see British ships across the river in Canada, their masts broken, sails ripped and floating in the water. The Americans must have attacked while I was gone, he thought. Maybe Tecumseh will come back for me. Tears welled in his eyes.

He pulled his jacket tight; the one Star Watcher had lined with rabbit skin. Ma used to make things for me like this, he thought, but Star Watcher ain’t Ma, she’s too tall and bony, not round and soft like Ma. She seems to understand me though; about my pictures, and wanting to help her brother.

Jerking himself from the spot, Michael slid down the riverbank to his waiting canoe. Looking for Tecumseh would be hard.

Paddling close to the opposite edge of the river he observed the dying leaves. The sad leaves seemed to want him to paint a picture of them before they turned brown. Michael loved to paint with the powder he made from flowers and kept in a small leather bag under his tunic. But he couldn’t paint now; he had to find the missing Shawnee.

Just ahead a line of buildings leaned against the sky, the big port city of Detroit. As Michael beached his boat in the rocks where the Americans couldn’t find him, he remembered Pau-guk, the Death Spirit who lived far up north and led dead bodies into heaven. Maybe that’s where Michael would find Tecumseh, maybe he’d taken his wounded Indians up there.

Just then a rumble sounded along the pier; fishermen were docking their canoes. French fishermen often came here to swap their catch for salt. Drawing in a long breath Michael smelled the fish and wet wood, felt the salt-spray sting on his cheek, and heard gulls squawking and nabbing fish before the fishermen packed them into barrels. "Comment ca va?" he yelled. They laughed. Michael blushed and leaped onto the landing.

"Sacre Coeur! The grimy fisherman spit the words at Michael, What do you want?"

A ride north to the island of the Death Spirit, he said.

Mon Dieu, vous est un garcon! Mais non!

Michael watched the scar along the fisherman’s long nose move when he spoke. I’ll clean your fish, I’ll paddle, and I’m strong, he moved closer. "Monsieur, I just want to go to the island up north to find my friends."

"Non, it is too late. The snow will come, the water will freeze." The fisherman swaggered down the plank, shaking his broken net. Sacre Coeur!

Ha, all your fish fell out! Michael crossed his eyes, wiggled his hips, turned and never looked back.

Brother Sun made his way down the other side of the dock now. Sister Moon passed through a cloud casting a giant shadow over the bulkhead. Michael thought somebody was chasing him. Come on you shaky legs; get me out of here, he thought, bounding toward his canoe. Oops, the rocks are slippery. Michael’s foot stuck, he couldn’t pull it loose.

Just then a gigantic boot knocked the rock loose. Up, up in the air Michael dangled from a massive fist. Sweat stung his eyes. A bloomin’ giant’s got me, he thought.

The big man’s voice resounded from deep inside his belly. Red hair puffed around his face like a halo of fire as he dropped Michael like a sack of potatoes.

Michael squirmed. I’m Michael Gentle Deer, son of Warrior Chief Tecumseh. What you going to do to me?

Put ye into that kettle of fish, and eat ye for supper." The man’s breath smelled like old tobacco leaves.

Michael gulped, Could we have some now…without me in it?

But the big man didn’t laugh. His fingers closed around Michael’s neck as he pushed him along the waterfront, and shoved him next to his longboat. When they settled next to a small fire, a fish, smelling like burnt butter, hissed and sizzled in a pan. The man stuffed his mouth with crusty fish right from his pan, and chased it down with ale.

Michael’s heart pounded like a drum in his ears. Do you know Tecumseh? He’ll be wearing a breechcloth pulled between his legs, red-beaded moccasins and a long scarlet cape over a tan tunic. Maybe a big medal of King George III around his neck, and a necklace of bear claws, and a two-feathered headband, pair of bracelets…

Whoah, slow down, laddie. Ye think I’m daft? The man muffled his reply with a hairy fist, wiping grease from his chin. Everyone knows Tecumseh.

He’s my father, Michael said.

Your da? Ay do not think so. He grinned for the first time, showing a row of straight white teeth. You’re not Indian.

Yes, I am, he’s my pa now, Michael stammered. Him and my brother, Davey, fought the Americans in the Indian wars, and Tecumseh helped me understand why Ma and Pa died in the fire. Now I’m helping him get his land back. Tears filled the lower lids of his eyes.

Ay do not know where he is, the man added. "The Americans just last week beat your