Duplicity Guille

By Dawn Clifford

What's in a name? Ask Duplicity Guille. Orphaned daughter of a prostitute at just six years old she's hurled into the revolving door of Foster homes and so named Duplicity by a hateful case worker. At seventeen and a half Duplicity flees for her life , she makes her way to Olympic State Park in Washington.Garrette Patterson is beside himself for three months food and items are missing from his Cabin. Setting a trap with food in no time he is met by a scrappy , skinny girl. seeing like him she is Native American and also shes a cutter he takes the waif in.Teaching her all he can of Native lore and weaponry, hunting and tracking he channels her self destructive nature, next he trains her in all the necessary fields to one day herself become a Park Ranger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546265450

Dawn Clifford

Born in Los Angeles being an adopted child. I always had an affinity for animals, Native American Culture. I grew up the typical tomboy climbing trees, playing in the mud, and wild animal rescues the neighbors brought me. The only subject that kept me in school was Art. Modeling Art and Photography and raising a very high energy malamute, plus keeping up with my husband’s dirt bike racing and river rafting it’s been a fast, fun furious life in the majestic beauty of Colorado.

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© 2018 Dawn Clifford. All rights reserved.

Interior Image Credit: Julie Jenkins

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 10/30/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6546-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6544-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6545-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018912685

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

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

Acknowledgement

The Beginning

Orphaned

Creation of Duplicity

The Last Foster

Freedom Run

Final Stop

No Direction

Caught

Washing Away the Past

A Two-Fold Blessing

Weaponry

Engaging a Totem’s Power

Sweat Lodge

Grievously Torn Away

Corvid Blaine

Orphaned Moose

Duplicity’s Deception

Trinket, the Crow

Creation of Jealousy

Trinket the Trickster

Loose Moose

Tracking Guille

Corvid’s Arrest

Garrette’s Secrets

Hunt For Revenge

Corvid’s Ruse

Garrett’s Last Wish

Duplicity’s New Direction

Journey

The Return

The Dedication

A Horse by Any Name

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Acknowledgement

T hanks to my husband of over 35 years and family for listening and their support during my journey. To my Dad from beyond the Veil for sending Trinket to me while writing the book and to Zanna Song my Mal Gal for sharing Mom with a baby Crow. Julie Jenkins for your Artistry and all your support from across the WWW. Paul Haggis and Paul Gross Due South was a great inspiration. To all the sacred Indigenous people for all your grace and wisdom, from which I have learned so much.

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The Beginning

W anting to scream, rage and break things, Duplicity sat waiting again for another meeting with a prospective foster family. She’d lived this scenario way too many times. She was always given the same speech: sit up straight, smile, make good eye contact, speak clearly and no slang or cussing; there was a severe penalty there.

At sixteen now and five foster homes under her belt, she sat wondering why they had heavy metal front doors. They should be glass revolving doors, so the possible fosters could see what they were getting and get out quick. It would speed up the whole torturous process.

Most of her fosters had enjoyed the money given to them for what should have gone to Duplicity’s benefit. One of her foster homes didn’t even have a mattress for her to sleep on. In another, she was slave labor for a cat hoarder; only her allergies saved her from that nightmarish home.

At twelve, Duplicity thought she’d finally found her home. A couple with a ranch in Roseburg Oregon; they had horses and it was heaven for Duplicity. Jacob was the man’s name and he was a true cowboy, always in his chaps and cowboy hat. Carrie Anne was his wife. She was a very somber lady; Duplicity never once saw her smile.

The upside – the house was amazingly quiet with no screaming or yelling, and Duplicity rarely even saw Carrie Anne. Jacob quickly introduced Duplicity to the horses. These were some of the best days of her life and she knew she’d cherish them always. Little did she know this would prepare her for her future.

One day out of the blue, a familiar car driven by the Child Welfare worker was in the driveway. Just returning home from school, Duplicity was met by Carrie Anne who was in a full rage. She was accusing Jacob of sexual relations with Duplicity.

The Police were dragging Jacob away. Seeing him cuffed and being shoved into the back of the squad car shattered Duplicity’s hopes and dreams. Carrie Anne, with a smug look upon her face said get that bitch out of here!

It was over a year until Duplicity was placed again; this time with overly religious folks who were very rigid and cruel. Duplicity was trapped. It was home-schooling, no television and prayer all day long. Duplicity was at her wit’s end; she stole a neighbor’s newspaper just for something new. She was accused of consorting with the devil, well just look at her hair, black and white, being tagged a devil worshiper this was a terrible blow to a girl being orphaned and disfigured, the accident scarring her how her hair betraying her growing back in stark white, all the kids calling her skunk.

Looking down at the filthy floor, the dirty walls, I’m like this building; used up and abused. It’s stupid to think anyone would want me, besides, why would people want to take on other people’s mistakes? That’s why I’m here. I was a mistake. My Mom really loved being a drunk and a prostitute. The doctors and nurses were right; maybe she didn’t buckle my seatbelt, so I’d die in the crash too.

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Orphaned

F ive days later, a six-year-old opened her eyes in the Intensive Care Unit. There was so much commotion; things beeping and squeaky carts, and the most annoying – all the whispering. Once in a while, someone would try to wake her up by knuckle-grinding her chest or pinpricking the bottom of her feet. She wanted to hit them back or scream at the, but she was just too deep in the well to be able to respond. One more whispering voice, Duplicity came out cussing with such colorful language, all on the floor within earshot stopped dead in their tracks.

The next two days were a barrage of tests, scans and the never ending what’s your name? All Duplicity would say was where’s my Momma? The expression on their faces looking at each other, no one answering her, she felt a panicky sensation welling up inside her. She cried out again I want my Momma! One of the nurses tried to lean in to comfort the frightened child. She received a punch in the face and the child let out a high-pitched scream. The next thing Duplicity knew, her arm was burning. It started at her hand and was running up her arm. Ewww! She could taste and feel a burning in her mouth. The room pitched sideways, then went black.

Next time waking up she was met by a kind smiling face and a soft voice. There she is. You’ve had a rough time little one. My name is Angeline and I’m here to take care of you. Sweetie, do you remember anything about being in a car crash? Met with the child’s blank stare, Angeline said it’s alright, there’s plenty of time for that. Maybe you can tell me your name? All Duplicity could remember was her mother telling her to be the sweetest banana in the bunch, and she blurted out banana! Angeline’s eyes went wide with surprise. She asked the little girl are you sure that’s the name you want? The little swollen face peering out from a sea of bandages said Yep. Banana."

It was hard for the little girl to see all the stitches and missing hair. She couldn’t grasp the severity of being launched through a car windshield. It was a long, hard week when Banana understood her mother was with the angels. Angeline, the doctors and nurses did all they could to keep her spirits up.

Angeline had become a faithful companion to Banana; all through therapy and testing, she was at her side. Six weeks gone by, it was time to leave the hospital. Banana wasn’t ready. This place was all she knew; everyone was kind to her here. It was also very upsetting her hair didn’t seem to be growing back. Rubbing her scalp and only feeling stubble, and it was hard to see because it was white.

Pulling up to the group home, it was bustling with kids of all ages, plus all the staff to care for them, there wasn’t one quiet corner. Mrs. Cook was at the curb to meet her and Angeline. She wasted no time leading them into her office, telling Banana where to sit. She then turned to Angeline and said I need to speak with you in the hall. Banana could hear the conversation. Mrs. Cook told Angeline she was no longer permitted on the premises. Very loudly, Mrs. Cook said she won’t integrate with you here. If you come back, I’ll get a restraining order!

Mrs. Cook entered the office, taking her seat behind the desk. She spoke. So, this says your name is Banana? That won’t do at all. Mrs. Cook was looking over the folder in her hands. With her red-rimmed eyes and her severe glasses, she was a terrifying sight. So, what happened to your hair? Feeling so crushed by the question, all Banana could do was look down at the dirty floor. Mrs. Cook’s voice – you look at me and answer me when I ask you a question! Banana had been sitting there so quietly, taking the insult and the dissecting stare. She blurted out go to Hell! It flew from her lips before she realized it. Mrs. Cook came around from the desk. She grabbed Banana’s left arm with a painful vice-like grip and dragged the child down the hall. Unlocking a filthy looking