Detour on Halloween Night

By Neal Lovett

On Halloween night, 1821, Taylor’s ride through the woods is interrupted, and he is taken to another place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728333151

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© 2019 Neal Lovett. 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 01/07/2019

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6905-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-3315-1 (ebook)

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For a daughter of the prairie

Contents

I

II

III

IV

About the Author

About the Book

I

Taylor tied Betsy, his old mare, to the hitching post and entered the tavern. What brings you in so late, Mr. Taylor? the barman asked. It’s well past dark.

I finished a trial and got a late start home, Taylor said. I’ll say the woods are beautiful.

The leaves are turning. It’s a lovely time of year, the barman said. And you surely know what tonight is?

Wednesday.

And?

It’s All Hallows’ Eve, isn’t it? Taylor said.

Yes, it is. The barman set a beer down for Taylor. So you’d better fortify yourself against the chill. Now that we enter the dark season, it’s easier for them to enter our world. There will be bonfires tonight. It’s said the fire protects us, helps to keep them from entering our world.

I won’t speak of them, Taylor said.

It’s just as well, the barman said.

The Scots and Irish have surely brought this night to our country, haven’t they?

The barman nodded, then served a plate of food to one of the few customers who sat scattered in the dimly lit tavern.

You’re a MacFall, aren’t you? Taylor asked the barman.

Aye, that I am, the barman answered. And I dare say they’re not celebrating this night in New England.

I think not.

They’re surely different from us Virginians, aren’t they? mused the barman.

It’s been that way from the beginning of the colonies, Taylor said. Even back in England we were different. During the English Civil War, Virginians returned to fight for the king, but New Englanders went back to fight for Cromwell.

I did not know that, MacFall said. Where did your ancestors come from?

My first ancestor was from Lancashire, Taylor said. He was bound.

An indentured servant?

Indeed. He was a farm laborer. It wasn’t the nicest life, I’m sure. Stories have come down through the family.

I, too, have ancestors who were bound, MacFall said.

Then you know.

By the way, MacFall said, what do you think of the law passed in Washington last year, the one meant to solve the slavery question?

The Missouri Compromise?

The barman nodded. That’s it.

It will take time to know.

Mr. Taylor, my wife and I would like to have a will prepared, especially now that we own the tavern.

That’s a good idea. There comes a time when we must leave this earth and part with our loved ones.

And there comes a time when we’re forced to be generous, MacFall said, smiling, in anticipation of death.

Taylor laughed. Come now, MacFall. You’re a generous man.

And because you’re an intelligent man—

"Then why can’t I spell Cincinnati?" Taylor interrupted.

Now MacFall laughed. Well, we’d like you to write our will, anyway.

They talked a while longer before Taylor laid some coins on the bar and donned his coat and hat.

Good night, Mr. Taylor. And do guard your privy. The lads will be out tonight.

And tipping over outhouses, Taylor said. Yes, I know. I may have done it myself as a lad. Thank you, MacFall. Good night.

Taylor stepped into the chilly darkness and untied Betsy. Betsy began a modest trot, clip-clop, clip-clop, before Taylor slowed her. The sound of Betsy’s hooves meeting the dirt road rose above the buzz of insects, faint now in autumn’s chill, and the occasional rush of wind in the trees. Every critter’s scamper or rustle of leaves was a source of mystery in the darkness, for darkness changes everything. And it was still a dark world, a world lit by fire.

An owl hooted.