My Compass and Anchor to Windward: A Story of Love, Imagination and Adventure

By Eleanor Byrd

It was 1896 when Rear Admiral Richard E. Byrd and Marie Ames met. They were 8-years-old; she from Boston, MA, and he from Winchester, VA. Even at 8-years-old, the future Admiral was a dreamer and risk-taker, with a rascally nature and adventuresome spirit reminiscent of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Being brought up to be a Boston Brahmin, Marie found her life dull so naturally gravitated to Dick, and his need for a calm like-minded friend was drawn to Marie. Henceforth, they were best friends.

Richard was the first to fly over the North and South Poles. He organized and ran the 1st and 2nd Antarctic scientific expeditions in 1928 and 1933, he and his men wintering over in temperatures as low as −128.6 °F. He then went on to do secret missions during WWII for the navy and much more.

Marie and Richard remained firmly united as they courted, married, raised children, and lived through umpteen scares and adventures. Marie exhibited more courage than one could imagine due to his many risk-taking exploits. Still, no matter, the love letters between them are extraordinarily romantic and link them to historical events known to the public and international events not known. Marie lived with the pressures of raising four children essentially alone, in the public eye, during the Depression and succeeded in protecting her children from kidnapping threats. The couple's love and respect for each other endured; acceptance for each other's strengths and weaknesses as well as delightful senses of humor and antics between them, they survived to old age and passed quietly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667827643

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Summer

Winchester, VA 1896

Dick and Marie entered the world at a time when trains were the fastest means of travel, telephones were a novelty, electricity was still the plaything of inventors, horses were the normal daily means of transportation, and most Americans regarded human flight as impossible. The United States, like other countries, was industrializing rapidly, but it was not yet recognized as a great power among the industrial nations of the world. And much of that world was still unknown, with vast areas around its poles appearing on maps as empty white spaces.

Marie was born to Joseph Blanchard Ames and Helen Andrews Ames. Helen’s ancestry dated back to four Mayflower passengers and England. Joseph’s family originated in England and, most prominently, with Captain John Ames, a blacksmith, who in 1771 began America’s first metal shovel company when America was breaking with England. In rebellion, colonists struck out with a ban on British-made goods in refusing metal tools. To wit, the Ames Company was still a very successful company.

Marie, her sister Katherine, and their parents lived in Brookline, Massachusetts in a brownstone house near Cleveland Circle. Born into what was known as the Boston Brahmin Elite, whose forefathers formed the fundamental historic core of the East Coast, these members included surnames such as Cabot, Adams, Endicott, Lowell, Lodge, Emerson, and more. As such, Marie was expected to behave in the manner of enlightened aristocracy. When grown she would be expected to cultivate the arts, support charities such as hospitals and colleges, and assume the role of community leader. As a city girl with only a tiny fenced in backyard, she was confined unless she and her sister Katherine were escorted to the park, to school, or shopping. Her mother fox hunted on weekends with the Myopia Hunt on the North Shore. Marie went on hunts when young riders were allowed to participate for the day. She loved to ride to the hounds but mostly, at eight years old, she loved her pony and being in the country for the day. There, she was somewhat free from the rigid structure of Brahmin society. In the summer, she visited her Ames grandparents in Swampscott, a beautiful and tranquil seaside community located 15 miles northeast of Boston or visited her Andrews’s grandmother in Winchester, Virginia staying at the Chanticleer Inn on West Boscawen Street.

* * *

Winchester, with its wide, dusty dirt roads, lush meadows and miles of apple orchards, never failed to entice young boys to use their imaginations. For Dick Byrd and his brothers, Harry and Tom, life also included their family forefathers — dating back to William Byrd I on their father’s side and Pocahontas on their mother’s side. The boys lived in a large mansard roofed Victorian house on Amherst Street, near enough to the town train tracks to wave to the engineer when a train rumbled through. The home had a garden and a large barn in the back that housed horses and ponies, which they rode with vigor — especially when reenacting Civil War cavalry raids, patrols or an occasional reconnaissance for whoever was picked as General Lee or Stonewall Jackson for that day.

One summer day in 1896, the three Byrd boys were wrestling in the living room. Judy, the family’s fox terrier, was barking and jumping on the pile of bodies. This was a common occurrence among them, especially at their ages. Harry, the oldest and most studious, was ten, followed by Dick, who was eight and venturesome, and then Tom at age six, the most introspective.

Bolling, the boys’ mother, was in the kitchen preparing food and drink to entertain new visitors when she heard the commotion. Wrestling and fighting were important kills to be earned and she allowed it in the house. But today, as visitors were coming, she needed order. Wiping her hands on her apron, she headed into the living room.

Boys! Boys! Bolling yelled and clapped her hands through the din. I need you to run down to the store and pick up a box of groceries from Mr. Frederick.

Gosh, do we have to? Tom said from the bottom of the pile.

Yes, we have new guests coming. Mrs. Ames and her two lovely young girls from Boston will be here. I need you to do this for me and please, stay clean!

Aw gee, Ma, Dickie grunted, his right arm holding Tom in a headlock.

Not another word. Now, you all get on down to the store before it gets too late. As she shooed the three bare footed boys out the door along with the dog, she thought about Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn published just 12 years before. Watching the three, she mumbled to herself, Three Huckleberry’s…I should receive the Medal of Honor for raising these boys!

Do we really have to meet those girls? Dickie asked Harry as they walked along the dirt road, avoiding piles of manure left by horses pulling buggies and carriages.

Mother would kill us if we didn’t do this and get home on time.

Ugh, girls, Tom said with a sour face. Even if he did like some girls, which he did, it would be against the code of boyhood to admit it. At six years old, he knew this for a fact.

It’s only for a couple of hours, Harry said.

As they walked, Tom and Dick discussed various options for avoidance, while Harry maintained his straight line to the store and reiterated their duty to be there. Dickie became bored and slowly started to veer, distracted by different sights, sounds and thoughts; Judy followed. Spotting a tree that looked suitable for climbing, Dickie was up in it before Tom could stop him.

Get down, Dickie! We have to go!

Dickie ignored his younger brother and created a challenge for himself by balancing on the branches. I’m a tightrope artist! he yelled back and walked farther and farther out on a large limb — arms outstretched, bare feet gripping. His thin, narrow frame followed the branch, which became smaller and springier. He stopped, balanced and slowly bounced. The branch went up and down and then a larger downward swing caused the branch to sway left on its way back up. He teetered to the right, flung one leg out to balance, then caught himself and remained still until the branch slowed. Ta-da!

Tarnation, Dickie! Stop before you fall! Pop will kill you if you do!

He couldn’t cause I’d already be dead! Dickie laughed. Leaping to a neighboring branch, he swung his legs high, then dropped to the ground, landing on his feet.

Tom was still yelling at Dickie about the tree stunt, when suddenly Dickie stopped.

Look! He pointed in the direction of Harry who was in an all-out fight with a redheaded boy. The two were off like a shot towards the row with Judy leading the way. Dickie jumped the boy from behind, wrapped his legs and arms around the boy’s waist and neck. He held tight, careful to keep his head away from the punches Harry was delivering. Tom took shots at all the remaining areas on the redhead’s body available to him. Falling to the ground, the bully seemed to quickly realize he was overmatched. I give! I give! he yelled. Judy continued to bark and jump over the four of them until Dickie told her to hush.

The three brothers eased up, cautiously moving to their feet and standing over the redhead. You done? Harry asked.

The boy touched fingers to his bloodied lip and sighed. Yep…who are you guys anyway?

The Byrd boys and don’t forget it! Tom said.

I won’t.

Who are you? asked Harry.

Jeb. We just moved here from Atlanta. Jeb slowly stood and wiped his bloody nose.

Harry said, Well, we’ll see you around then. Come on guys, we have to get going.

What was the fight about? Dickie asked.

He called me ‘sister’ and wouldn’t move out of my way when I tried to go around him.

The bedraggled Byrd trio headed into the store, picked up the groceries, and started for home. They knew they were late and dirty but the feeling of victory blinded their worries of mother but still ran the last few yards to the house and bounded into the kitchen. Harry quietly placed the box of groceries on the farm table. Their mother’s voice from the living room told them that the guests from Boston had already arrived.

Remember troops, we only have to do this for a little while and then we’ll be free, Harry whispered. They all took a deep breath and looked at each other as if they were about to walk into battle. Leading the way, Harry pushed the kitchen door open with Tom right behind him, and then Dick, who straggled behind.

Bolling took one look at her sons’ bloodied and dirtied bodies and said, Excuse me, Mrs. Ames, Marie and Helen.

Bolling marched over to the boys and looked sternly at the three. I asked you all for one thing! she said angrily. Do any of you remember what that was?

Um…to bring you the groceries? Tom said. Harry kicked him, wondering how he could be so stupid.

Yes…and what else? There was no answer. Good heavens, you boys can’t listen for one second, can you? Bolling turned to the three visitors and said, I am very sorry for their disgraceful appearance, ladies. Please excuse it.

Harry piped up and said, You asked us to stay clean and be on time, we didn’t obey either of those, and we are sorry.

Are you? How do you suppose our guests feel about your appearance? I would not blame these lovely ladies if they left due to your rudeness.

This was one occasion when Dickie loved that he was small so he could hang behind his larger brothers and that, for now, he could stay dirty. Maybe it would disgust the little girls and he wouldn’t have to engage them at all. He quickly washed the smile away so his mother wouldn’t notice and then he looked at Harry for a distraction.

The boys were introduced to Mrs. Ames first. When it was Dickie’s turn, he smiled at her and she nodded. He could tell that Mrs. Ames thought it was funny that he and his brothers looked a mess, but being a polite lady she just said, How do you do?

As he’d been taught, Dickie bowed and replied, Very well, thank you, ma’am.

Boys, now meet Katherine and Marie. Their grandmother lives in Winchester, so they will be spending some time here each year, Bolling explained.

Dickie gazed further down the patterned sofa to see the two little girls sitting like porcelain dolls. Perfectly still, the girls legs were crossed at the ankles, their white-gloved hands placed one over the other with palms up on their laps, as if they were posing for a family portrait. Dick gazed over the first girl, thinking nothing about her was special, and then moved to the next.

Normally, at eight years of age, the last thing on a young boy’s mind is the affection of a young lady, but for Dickie, with one look into Marie’s eyes, all the noise in the room became a dull hum. Her deep brown eyes seemed to look right through him. He didn’t quite know what was happening, but the sudden urge to run away — no, to fly away from the situation — came over him like a tidal wave! To his right was a large window with large curtains. He stealthily removed himself and hid behind one of the draperies.

Marie smiled, careful not to be noticed, then leaned slightly to see the boy’s dirty toes sticking out from below the curtain. Her eyes flickered back and forth from the adults’ conversations to the curtain. She was sure to keep her polite bearing while her curiosity heightened. She did not know much about boys at all. The fact that the three boys had come into the room in a total shambles and the small one was now hiding behind the curtain had her fascinated. It looked to her like they’d had fun. She thought of her quiet upbringing in Boston — no brothers, always polite, clean and contained. She yearned for a little excitement, or at least something out of the ordinary.

Marie watched as Bolling, realizing that one boy was missing, scanned the room. When her eyes landed on Dickie’s dirty toes, she looked up to the ceiling and sighed as though speaking to God, which made Marie stifle a giggle. Mrs. Ames chuckled. Little Katherine bent forward to look at the toes beneath the curtain. Harry and Tom snickered. Mrs. Byrd stood, walked over to the cloaked young boy and said, Dickie.

Ever so slowly, Dickie peeked out. He shuffled toward Katherine and stopped, did a slight bow and said, Hello, Miss Katherine, it is nice to meet you.

It is very nice to meet you too, Dickie, Katherine replied with a giggle.

Mrs. Byrd gave Dickie a push towards Marie. He bowed and said, Hello, Miss Mayrie, pronouncing her name in the drawl of a southerner. But he did not look into Marie’s eyes and because of this, his mother gave him a pinch on the back of his arm, which made him jump, wince and then rub the area as he looked at his mother’s face of disapproval. Marie bit her lips to stifle a giggle. Slowly, Dickie looked at Marie. With her head slightly tilted, she met his gaze head on and smiled.

Marie spoke in a soft, lilting voice, Hello, Dickie, did you have fun this morning? His blue eyes locked fully into hers. A slight keen smile lit his face.

Boys, why don’t you show the girls the swing and the ponies?

Yes, ma’am, said Harry. He led the girls down the front hall to the backdoor and, like a true southern gentleman, held it open for them. Tom and Dickie followed. Suddenly, Judy came running and jumped up on the girls in greeting.

Judy, quit! Dickie said quickly.

I don’t mind, Marie said, as she kneeled down and stroked Judy’s face and head. What a beautiful dog…what a love she is.

I mind, said Katherine haughtily. I don’t want her dirty paws on me.

I wish we had a dog, Marie said. But we live in the city and can’t have one.

Walking to the large oak tree in the yard, Harry said, Would either of you like to swing?

Oh, yes please, said Katherine. Harry helped her on the swing and began to push her. Tom looked at Harry and gave him a wrinkled revolted face. Harry sent him a look that told Tom to be polite.

Miss May-rie, would you like to see our ponies? Dickie asked.

Marie cringed at the southern pronunciation of her name but kept quiet. Yes, I would, very much.

Dickie led the way to the barn and upon entering, went to his bay pony. This is my pony. His name is Traveler; I named him after Robert E. Lee’s horse. He’s great in battle fighting.

Battles? You have battles here?

Yup, we go up to the old fort and meet other boys from town and play Indian and Civil War Battles. It’s great fun! Do you ride?

Marie patted the pony lovingly, stroking his neck so quietly and intently that the pony reached around and nuzzled her. Yes, I love to ride and I love my pony, Gus. She sighed and said softly, Horses are angels without wings. Dickie didn’t understand the dreaminess of her comment, but Traveler was giving his undivided attention to Marie and not him. He wasn’t sure he liked that, so he went to the grain room and returned with a carrot in hopes of winning back the pony’s affection.

Do you think ponies think much? Dickie asked, as he fed the pony a carrot.

Oh, yes! I know they do. They are very sweet, but they can also be naughty if they are mad.

I think so too and so does my mother, but other boys in town think I am crazy to think that. The boys know that their ponies are naughty sometimes, but they don’t think about why the pony is being naughty right then. I always think there is a reason they do that.

Yes, maybe something is hurting them or maybe their rider wasn’t nice to them, Marie said as she looked directly into Dickie’s eyes. He held her gaze. The right side of his mouth curled up into a half smile, as he felt a kindred spirit lived in this girl.

Do you think horses are smart, too? Dickie asked.

"Oh, yes! Imagine having someone on your back and that person is kicking and pulling at the bit in his mouth and he wouldn’t know why. He has to figure out what the person wants.

Traveler used to run me under a tree branch to get rid of me, and when I learned to duck, he picked a lower branch. I think that’s smart.

Marie giggled. Yes, it is! What did you do then?

I learned how to jump off and roll just before the branch, and then when I got stronger, I could turn him away from it.

Well, that’s very smart of you, Marie said.

Miss May-rie, would you like to ride out with me one day?

Marie smiled brightly at him. I would love to ride all through the hills and orchards, can we do that?

Dickie smiled and told her that they could ride wherever and whenever they wanted, which was new to Marie, as her riding was typically organized well in advance in Boston.

* * *

For the rest of the month that Marie and her family were visiting her grandmother, Dickie and Marie spent a lot of time together fishing, riding, walking, talking, and flying kites. She was fascinated with Dickie’s ability to walk on his hands, do acrobatic stunts, climb trees, leap from limb to limb, and climb drain gutters to the top of houses. He carried a little black book in his back pocket that his mother had given him, as his mind was always bursting with ideas and thoughts. He wrote them in his book to discuss later with his mother since no one else wanted to hear about them. Marie loved hearing what he’d written, which Dickie fully appreciated. He liked that she had good ideas, too, and lots of questions. She was also a good sport and a good rider and could keep up with him. She read a lot, just like he did, and they shared books. Like him, she was shy and very reserved, except among her close friends.

When it was time for Marie to go north, the two vowed to write to each other. Each year thereafter, when Marie was due in on the train to Winchester, Dickie would wait patiently in his backyard for the whistle of the engine, and then run alongside the train as it came into the station. Marie would perch out the window waving as he ran, their joy at seeing each other palpable.

CHAPTER 2

Summer 1899

Winchester, VA

Dickie sat at the top of the tall old oak. Wind rustled the leaves of the trees and fluffed his black hair. He surveyed the world before him, quietly taking in every detail. Below was the family’s house, barn, the train tracks, and his mother hanging laundry. A horse and wagon went by on the street and his dog Judy sat patiently at the base of the tree. 11-year-old Dickie looked up to the sky and watched puffy white clouds as they became visible through gaps between the branches and leaves of the tree. He wondered what it would be like to fly up and feel them. The eleven-year-old knew that the clouds were collected water, so maybe they felt like fog on the ground or like steam from a boiling pot? Not hot, but very dense. Would his clothes become saturated with water if he were to fly through them? He reached to his back pocket and drew out his little black book and a pencil. Licking the end of the pencil, he opened the book and began to write his thoughts down.

Somehow, this book saved him. His father and most other people thought him strange because he was so full of ideas and sometimes, he would get lost in them, not hearing when people spoke to him. After his mother gave him the book, he somehow could be more attuned, as he felt that his ideas were safe and would not be lost in the distraction of others wanting his attention. His father did not understand him and this saddened him; he couldn’t help the way he was. He tried hard but somehow, everything he did made his father unhappy, so he did not tell his father about his ideas — or really, much of anything.

Just then, the kitchen door opened. Pop emerged holding two rifles, one a BB gun and the other a Winchester. Boys! Dickie watched his father, but said nothing as his father looked around and yelled once more, Boys!

Yes, Pop, I’m coming, yelled Harry, now thirteen, who ran to him from the barn. Tom, now nine, meandered around the corner of the house.

Where’s Dickie? Richard asked and then in unison, the three looked up to the top of the tree, walking slowly around it as they peered through the branches. Dickie! Come down! I know you heard me!

When Dickie landed, Richard crossed his arms and looked hard at him. Target practice, boys. Go get the target and cans from the barn, Harry, and set it up.

Dickie knew his father spent so much time teaching him and his brothers to shoot, box, wrestle, swim, be a gentleman, and, most importantly, to think because he loved them. He knew he was to use his wits while fighting. Pop pushed hard in these matters, often times pitting him against a brother to the point of bloody noses, which he hated. He knew he was expected to be loyal to his brothers, which he was, and protect them against any and all, which he did. He and his brothers were good at all of this, and, as much as he hated it, he was glad he was able to hold his own in scuffles and that his brothers were there for him.

* * *

Not 20 minutes into target practice, Richard yelled for his wife. Bolling! Bolling!

Bolling was wiping her hands on her apron as she came running from the kitchen and into the yard. What is it, what’s happened now?

He’s done it again! What am I going to do with that boy? The boys were gone. Richard’s frustration was palpable. Rage oozed through his strong, stocky body as he paced. His round face was bright crimson and a rich variety of expletives exploded out of his mouth like an erupting volcano. He’s an impossible child! He jumps out of trees, walks on his hands most of the time, climbs into culverts, jumps off roofs and just generally flies around and takes off on his own…to where? Who knows what he’s doing…how will we ever keep him alive?

Used to her husband’s outbursts about Dickie, Bolling waited.

He’s constantly daydreaming about…about… Richard’s mouth screwed in frustration. Who knows what! He threw his hands in the air. Have you read his little book of ideas he has that he carries in his back pocket? He has some really crazy thoughts, that one does! Richard slowed his pacing and took a deep breath as he unclenched his fists. His expression was one of defeat. Dickie is so much in his own world; I can’t get his attention even when I am two feet from him. The other day, he was reading and I said his name over and over again, and finally yelled and clapped my hands until he looked up at me — and he wondered why I was yelling! I can’t get through to him. What are we going to do?

Bolling sighed. He’s fine. He’s just different. You have to admit that he absorbs everything he reads and sees. He’s very smart and energetic and he’s very polite. He does listen and he takes everything very seriously. He’s just…busy. Richard looked at her and rolled his eyes. Bolling sighed and said, Well, what has he done this time?

The boys and I were having target practice. I’m taking Harry hunting this weekend for his first time, Richard said. Dickie and Tom were practicing with the BB gun. When it was Dickie’s turn, he shot at the target — he’s an excellent shot, Richard said proudly and then scowled. Then, he turned and shot Mrs. Sloanaker in her backside as she bent over her laundry basket to gather more wash to hang!

Bolling gasped. He did what?

And you know what his explanation was? Richard looked at her with eyebrows raised. He said, ‘Well gee Pop, she was presenting a fair target.’

Bolling covered her mouth with her hand, but still managed a great guffaw. You have to hand it to him, Richard, he certainly has personality! Did he apologize to Mrs. Sloanaker?

I’m most proud to say that I managed to grab him by the scruff of the neck before he got away.

Good for you!

Richard nodded and said, I gave him a sound spanking and then I marched him over by the collar to Mrs. Sloanaker. When I presented him to her, he, in a most gentlemanly and mature way, begged forgiveness. She was furious to begin with, but then became totally charmed by him. She patted him on the head and told him to ‘please not do it again.’ With a look of resignation, Richard sat down on a porch step, sighed and shook his head. "I hope he has a good life when he grows up. You know, he can’t be cute all his life. As he gets bigger, that’s not going to work."

Oh, I know he will have a good life, and he’s only eleven. Richard, give him time, Bolling replied confidently. She sat down and took Richard’s hand in hers. Don’t forget that this family has a long line of politicians in its history, including you. Given this charm that he has, I think he would make a good one.

Yes, he can be quite diplomatic, but I don’t think he will be able to sit still long enough to accomplish anything and he will probably anger more than a few. Look at what he does to me!

We just have to guide him and allow him to be himself, Bolling replied.

Isn’t that statement contradictory? Richard said strongly. "We can hardly guide him and what he does, because just by being himself…he is loaded with reckless deviltry!"

Bolling laughed. Yes, but it is what is special about him. Richard, between the two of us I am sure he will turn out fine. All of them will land well on their feet. We can see where Harry and Tom will likely head in their lives. It’s just that Dickie likes anything and everything; settling on just one or two things isn’t enough for him.

The boy not only looks for adventure and trouble but attracts it by a…sort of psychological law of gravity! Richard said gloomily. I don’t know how he does it…I fear he won’t be able to hold a job or a family together. He drives me crazy — how will he hold on to a wife?

He just has to find the woman who understands him and allows him to be himself.

With a sigh and defeated tone, Richard replied, That will be quite a task.

Maybe, maybe not. You know that baby possum he bought off those two boys who had it slung on a tree branch between them?

Appalled, Richard said, Yes, and why he bought the thing, I’ll never know! Richard couldn’t understand why his kid would buy a baby possum. He thought of them as just vermin.

Richard, that boy has a big heart. He asked the two boys he bought it from where they had captured it so he could take it back to its mama, and he did just that.

Sheesh, that’s a ridiculous thing to do.

In your eyes, yes, but Richard, he felt deeply about the cruel treatment that the little thing was getting. Can’t you imagine what it must have felt like to the creature?

Richard thought for a moment, albeit grudgingly. If he did allow himself to feel for an animal, especially a possum, how in the world would he be able to hunt? He had a fleeting stab of pain in his chest which quickly vanished as he, the man of the house, had to protect his family from animal vermin and also be able to kill for food. In the future, the boy will have to be able to provide food for his family. If he goes around rescuing animals, how’s he going to eat?

Oh, Richard, Bolling sighed. He will, but can’t you just appreciate his nature? The other two boys and Dickie save dogs and cats, why not a possum?

Well…

So, back to our original question of his finding a wife. I think he will find a woman and will, with all the passion he carries around in that little body of his, love that one woman with all his heart, forever.

Richard thought for a moment and said, Yes, but I am not sure I see a woman putting up with him for a lifetime. Can you?

It will take someone special who really understands him and yes, there is someone out there for him.

Richard said skeptically, Well, let me know when you find her.

CHAPTER 3

Released after his apology to Mrs. Sloanaker, Dickie made his way to Chanticleer Inn. It was only a couple of blocks away but it took him longer to get there than would be normal as he had to stop several times to peer at bugs, look through a culvert, talk to dogs and people he met and climb a tree for an apple. Sitting down to eat the apple on one of the tree’s limbs, he pulled out his notebook and pencil. He had witnessed the sheriff kill a rabid dog the day before and wanted to write about it. Of course, he had seen other rabid animals killed in his short life, possums and raccoons and such, and had been educated by his parents on why those animals must be killed and disposed of. But he had also seen some humans that had seemed quite crazy. No one ever explained about some of the crazy humans he’d seen and no one killed them. He wrote, if an animal is mad, it dies on its own or gets shot. If a person is mad, others protect him, feed him clothe him. I wonder why we don’t kill mad people but I wouldn’t want to kill someone. Finished with his writing, he climbed down and went directly to the Inn. He entered and looked into the living room where he saw Mrs. Ames reading.

Why hello, Dickie, said Mrs. Ames.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Ames. Would it be okay if Mayrie comes out to play?

I think so. Let me go see. Mrs. Ames left Dickie while she went up the stairs. Marie was reading in her room, which was at the back of the house and looked over the Inn’s barn. When her mother told her of Dickie’s invitation, she leapt to her feet to run down the stairs. Slowly Marie, slowly…

Yes, Mother, Marie said, slowing her pace. Her mother told her many times that she was prone to moments of ‘excessive exuberance’. Whenever she said it, Marie rolled her eyes when her mother wasn’t looking.

Dickie, meanwhile, had decided to wait outside on the porch. He was walking on his hands and was about to try it on the porch railing when Marie opened the door.

Hi! Want to come out? Dickie asked.

Yes, I’d love to! Can I, Mother?

Mrs. Ames nodded. Be back before dinner. Dickie, you make sure she is, she said.

Yes Ma’am, I’ll be sure to.

Marie went hurriedly, but in a ladylike manner, down the front steps. The two children made quite a contrast. Marie was neatly clothed in a dress with a high collar and skirt that ended just below the knee. There was a sash at hip level that tied in the back in a large bow. She had on thick stockings and shoes. The final dressing was a big bow on the back and near the top of her head that was tied in her long brown hair. Dickie, of course, was always slightly dirty. He wore knickers; a long sleeve shirt with rolled up sleeves, a vest, and was, as usual, barefoot.

Mayrie? Dickie said in his thick southern accent, drawing out the a with a twang that made it sound like may.

Marie stopped short and said angrily, Dickie, I’ve told you, my name is not ‘Mayrie’, it’s ‘Marie’, like the French would say. The ‘a’ is like you use in the word ‘apple’.

Dickie said, Meerie.

No! Dickie, why in the world can’t you say my name properly? I’ve asked you several times to learn it and it’s not very nice of you to say it wrong!

Dickie looked down at his feet, feeling thoroughly scolded. Well, it’s hard. I have to screw up my mouth to say it right.

If you are my friend then you should care enough to get it right! Marie started walking, her nose up in the air, leaving Dickie to stand where he was.

As he watched her go, he took a deep breath, screwed up his mouth, thought hard and called out correctly, Marie, want to go to the orchards?

Marie smiled and as he had pronounced her name correctly, she turned to him and said, Yes, let’s do! I want to go on up to the hill top to see if any kids are flying kites.

Dickie caught up to her and said, I don’t have my kites with me but I guess we could watch and see which one flies the best.

Marie thought about their time together flying kites and how he always intensely studied his own kite, as well as others’. She asked, "Why do you try different kinds of kites all the time? … They don’t always fly. The last one you had, it had no tail and the one before was shaped like a bird…well, a bird shape sounds like it could work but it didn’t fly. Why don’t you just fly a kite that works?’

I like to experiment. Just think of Icarus! Someday people will fly and maybe I can invent a kite that a person can fly on. We already have hot air balloons but they don’t do much, unless they’re let go and then you don’t know where they might end up, but to have wings? That would really be something because you could fly anywhere you wanted, just like a bird. It would be amazing! Dickie said excitedly, then he paused and said, You know Doc Marshall? Marie nodded. Well, I love to watch him take apart things and put them back together. He comes up with some great ideas doing that.

Yes, and so do you, like taking apart your father’s watch last year…boy did you get in trouble! Marie laughed. You must have worked hard to earn the money to have that fixed!

Dickie shook his head and said, Yeah, well…you know what Doc did this year? He took apart an alarm clock and attached the workings to a little wooden boat and it ran! I watched him run it in his bathtub. It was great! Just think what I could do if I thought up some cool stuff!

Marie’s eyes twinkled at the thought. "I can’t even imagine what you might do… it could be dangerous! Dickie rolled his eyes and looked a bit piqued so Marie changed the subject. Have you been writing any more thoughts down?"

Dick told her about the questions he’d written just before he got to her about mad animals versus mad people.

Well, we can’t just kill people, we’re higher than animals, Marie replied.

Why? We aren’t really any different. We live, we have babies and we die and I think we get into more trouble than animals do.

What trouble did you get into today, Dickie?

Looking astonished, Dickie said, Why do you know that? You always know when I am in trouble! How do you do that?

Oh… Marie smiled and said in a singsong voice, I know because… silly…you are always getting in trouble!

Yeah…but… He sighed and told her about shooting Mrs. Sloanaker.

She stopped walking, turned to look him straight in the eyes and said, You tell those animals that are mad die by themselves or get killed, right? Dickie nodded again. Well, are your parents going to kill you because you do crazy things?

Stunned at the thought that he could be put in the same category as mad by not following the rules he said, No…well…gee…I hope not!

Well then, that’s settled and you mustn’t shoot anyone again! Really Dickie, I won’t be able to play with you if you continue to behave that way! Despite the stern tone, Marie giggled and added, I wish I had seen it…but don’t do it again! She took off toward the hilltop at a run.

Staring at the ground thoroughly shamed, he looked up suddenly at Marie’s last exclamation and took off after her toward the hilltop. Reaching it, they found several children flying their kites. There were mostly diamond kites with tails flying that day and a few box kites. Dickie scrambled up a tree and settled himself on a high branch to observe the paper fliers. Marie sat below on the ground leaning back against the tree.

Oh, look at Teddy’s box kite! It’s higher than everyone else’s! Marie exclaimed.

Yeah, that’s because box kites have greater lift than the regular ones, Dickie said with an air of expertise in his voice.

Marie bent her head, way, way back to look up the tree at Dickie and said, Why? It doesn’t look sleek enough, you know, like a bird. The diamond shaped one’s looks smooth, like they would float on the wind but the box ones look clunky.

Dickie peered down through the branches at Marie and said, Some English guy invented it about five years ago. It works because each of the squares can catch the wind. See, it has eight squares, not just one like the diamond kite. I read all about it in the newspaper.

Marie studied the structure and counted. Why yes, it does have eight…I never thought about it that way, I just thought it was really strange that those kites would work.

Yup, the guy who invented it wants to make one that can lift a man.

So that’s why you come up here with strange kite designs? You’re trying to do that too?

Yup, but don’t tell anyone that’s why I do it…well, Mother knows and thinks it’s a fun idea but everyone else always thinks I’m crazy when I come up with ideas like that, so I don’t tell anyone.

Then that’s another reason you carry your black book around… for ideas?

Yeah, I have lots of ideas about how to build things.

The two were quiet for a moment and then she said, Promise you will always tell me what you are thinking and what you want to build? It’s fun!

Dickie looked off at the kites and smiled, relieved that Marie not only said that she would listen but also that she understood and guessed at his motivations in trying new things. He could say what he thought to her and she actually liked hearing what he had to say, no matter how crazy it might sound. Looking down at Marie, he said suddenly, Come on up!

I am not allowed to climb trees. A young lady isn’t supposed to; at least that’s what my mother tells me. Also, I don’t know how.

Come on, they won’t know.

Okay… Marie said hesitantly, but you’ll have to help me.

Dickie scurried down the tree and boosted Marie up to the first branch where she sat, but she teetered a bit. He showed her how to hold the branch above her and then stand. My shoes are slippery…I don’t know about this.

Then we’ll take your shoes off. Dickie maneuvered to a sitting position in front of her. He pulled one shoe and then the other off for her. Okay, now reach to this branch, he said pointing to a limb above. She did so and stood.

Oh…that’s better, Marie said happily.

Bare feet work much better for everything.

Together they climbed until they reached a high group of branches good for sitting; a lower branch that emerged to the side of an upper branch made a natural seat with a backrest. This location also offered them an expansive view as some of the smaller branches jutting off the limb had broken off over the winter. Marie looked out at the landscape below and to the mountains beyond. For the first time in her life she felt like a bird and what it was like to look down at the world and see so many things all at once: streams, rolling hills, houses, carts and buggies moving on the dirt road nearby, cows and horses in separate fields, dogs frolicking and more. Speechless, she just gazed.

Dickie looked at her, saw the awe in her face, and smiled. You can see why I want to fly.

Oh yes…yes I do! I can also see why you are always up in a tree or on top of a house. The two sat happily together and talked about everything they saw, back to and including which kites flew the best.

Dickie said, Watch Joey, the boy with the red shirt on…see how he easily tugs on and gives to the line on his kite? He’s very good at flying it. He has just the right touch. Marie nodded and then he said, See Jeremiah there…? Marie nodded. See how much trouble he is having? He’s just trying to wrestle the kite. You can’t do that. Feeling the breeze on the kite and then doing little movements is best.

Marie looked from one boy to the other. Jeremiah looks angry… Joey looks…peaceful.

Yes, exactly. It’s a wonderful thing when you get it right. Dickie looked at Marie and cocked his head. Now you see.

Yes… Marie said in an awed soft voice as she absorbed the scene.

They stayed a while longer and then, as the day waned, thought it best to get home. They climbed down, Dickie protectively showing her how. When they reached the ground, Marie picked up her shoes and as she went to put them on, discovered that there was a big hole in the bottom of her stocking. Oh no! Mother will be so upset with me!

Really? Why?

Mother will tell me, ‘Discipline is what turns girls into ladies and you must practice self-restraint.’ Marie looked terribly glum. I’ve had so much fun and now I will be scolded.

I will go with you and tell her it was all my fault, Dickie offered.

That’s okay, it won’t do any good anyway. She paused and then said, But I’m going to climb again and next time I will just take off my stockings and then she won’t know that I was climbing trees!

CHAPTER 4

January, Winchester 1901

12 years old

HE WHAT! Richard Sr. snatched the letter out of Bolling’s hand. His face was once again a bright red, as would happen each time Dickie announced a new adventure or some ‘hair-brained’ idea. But this time, the letter and hair-brained idea was addressed to twelve-year-old Dickie from Richard’s good friend Judge Adam Carson, who lived in the Philippines. Judge Carson, or Kit as his friends called him, was Dickie’s godfather and he had invited the twelve-year-old to travel to see him in the Philippines. The Spanish-American War had ended just a few years before when the United States had acquired the Philippines from Spain. Then war broke out between the United States and the First Philippine Republic in the latter’s effort to secure independence. The war had quickly escalated in 1899 and was still going on. Kit was in Manila representing the United States as Chief Judge of the Eighth Judicial District.

How could Kit do this? He knows the boy. Dickie’s only 12, just how does he think he is going to keep an eye on him?

Richard, fighting is still going on! Bolling said in despair, and then her eyes suddenly widened. You know Dickie will just take off on his own if we don’t allow him to go, Bolling said. She looked down at her hands. What are we going to do?

Forcefully, Richard said, Kit will be hearing from me immediately! He has to take it back and tell the boy he can’t go! For heaven’s sake, he’s only 12 years old!

Bolling backed to the wing back chair and sat on the edge of the seat. Anxiously working her handkerchief in her hands, she said, But Richard, once Dickie has an idea in his head, he doesn’t let it go.

Hell, there’s no way we could afford to send him and neither of us could go with him anyway. He certainly can’t go alone. Richard swiveled in his desk chair, his right elbow propped on the armrest, and his hand rubbed his chin. Here I am, a lawyer, the County Prosecutor, and you know what? Bolling looked at him, eyebrows raised. I can deal with robbers, murderers, politicians’ and more, but this boy baffles me. I can’t control him and I try hard to understand the way he thinks but just can’t seem to.

Thoughtfully, Bolling asked, We may not act on our imaginations but he does. Don’t you ever wish you could just take off?

Chin down, Richard looked up at his wife. He lowered his eyes as he admitted to himself that he did take off occasionally. He would head to his cabin named Byrd’s Nest in the Shenandoah Mountains and go on a bender, for which he didn’t think very well of himself but he would always come home and resume his responsibilities. Bolling always stayed home and maintained the family but she wandered in her thoughts while doing mundane chores. She had to admit that she really did travel a lot in her mind but to actually go? That would be amazing. Neither parent revealed what they were thinking to each other. Richard would certainly never admit verbally what he did to escape.

They both knew that part of the problem was the ancestral heritage the boys had. Bolling and Richard had of course told all three of their boys of their heritage but didn’t allow them to think highly of themselves for their lineage. They had to make their own way without trading on their family names. They each had to prove themselves in the way that suited them. The Civil War, of course, which ended only 23 years before Harry was born, was a source of resentment in the town because of the losses inflicted in defeat. Broke in health and wealth, Winchester lay at the crossroads of a major north/south route which had changed hands between Union and Confederate several times before the war was over. Its citizens were still struggling to regain their losses. The boys knew they were charged, as others were too, to build back those losses over their lifetimes as their father Richard was doing now in his roles as lawyer and statesman. As a matter of fact, Richard had just gone up in the backwoods that past week, alone, in his role as County Prosecutor to see a clan of mountain folk to bring back one of them for murder. Bolling had begged him not to go but he went anyway, succeeding not only in bringing the man back for trial but also by not getting shot by the clan.

After pondering all this, Richard looked up and said to his wife, Well, I guess we have to admit that the boy came by his personality naturally but…

Well, in any case, I believe all three boys will succeed in their own way.

Call the boy in here, Richard said seriously.

* * *

Presently the study door opened and the very small and thin 12-year-old Dickie walked into the room. He held himself as tall as he could in an attempt to show he was not afraid, which of course, he was. His father could and would ‘go off’ sometimes and hurl objects across the room and at others. This was not just at home but also in the courtroom where he had been known for throwing objects at opponents on occasion.

On this day, Richard Sr. looked at the challenge in the boy’s face. He knew he would have to use a combination of bluff, factual fear, and moral authority as the boy tended to get angrier when physically punished instead of backing off like most kids would do. This was always a conundrum to Richard. Dealing with this kid was tricky business.

So boy, you want to go to the Philippines?

Yes sir.

You can’t go. It’s ridiculous.

Expected always to act like a gentleman and articulate well, Dickie said, Well sir, I would like your permission but if you choose to not give it, I will go on my own. His tone was strong and defiant, albeit polite.

Richard wanted to stand up, grab the boy, and hit him with a switch till he couldn’t walk. The boy was 12 now so he squelched the urge, which was hard for him, and instead said, So, just how do you think you will get there?

I will take a train to California, get on a ship, and sail there.

I see… So, how do you expect to pay for the train, food, and the ship?

Standing as still as a statue and looking straight into his father’s eyes he said, I will work and save enough to get there.

I see…do you know how long that will take?

No sir, but I will stick to it until I have enough.

Knowing that Dickie had an inordinate amount of single-minded determination and would do just what he said, Richard rose from his chair, walked around the front of his desk, and stood in front of the boy. He leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms, towering over the youth. You’re skinny and short. Who’s going to protect you? Being skinny and short was a source of angst for the boy and his father never let him forget it.

Dickie, insulted, said in indignation but still politely, I will protect myself. I am fast, smart, and strong.

Are you? Suddenly Richard grabbed Dick by his shirt collar, threw and pinned him down on the floor. He held Dickie there as the boy squirmed, kicked, and tried to punch his father. Richard stared calmly at him and waited till the boy tired. Dickie’s eyes slightly watered, but not wanting to show this, he screwed his face up in defiance and gave his father a stare that could move mountains; at least that’s what he hoped.

So, I repeat, how will you protect yourself? Richard came up from the ground, straightened his shirt and vest and then walked back behind his desk and sat. He swiveled back and forth in his chair with the look of superiority and victory on his face. Dickie stood up, straightened his clothes and once again stood as tall as he could.

You know how many men you will encounter on your trip that are even stronger than me, boy?

A lot, I imagine, sir.

So, how are you going to protect yourself?

I don’t know, sir.

Just what do you think this is going to do to your mother? She’d worry to death about you. Do you think that is a very fair or nice thing to do to her?

No sir.

Get out of here and forget this nonsense!

Dickie wanted to run but instead looked his father in the eye and then turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Richard watched him go, rubbed his temples and wondered once again how he would ever keep the boy alive. He sighed and said under his breath, Hell, I just know he’s going to think of something.

* * *

From that day on, Dickie went around town offering to do chores for payment. He hadn’t gotten permission to go to the Philippines but he was determined to be ready to go whether they gave the okay or not.

Without Dickie knowing, Bolling and Richard got to work on a plan to help him get there as it would be far safer than having him run off on his own.

CHAPTER 5

July 1901

It was midnight when twelve-year-old Marie awoke to the sound of a tink. She dismissed the noise at first but then there was another. Rubbing her eyes, she slipped out of bed and went to the window. Looking out she saw Dickie bending over, obviously looking for another pebble to throw at her window.

What are you doing here? Marie loudly whispered