The Chronicles of Dawn: Forwarded by Tom Proctor

By Dutch Jackson and Tom Proctor

In 1883, Dawn Lightfeather and her sister Ailis faced a devastating home invasion that changed their lives forever. Unbeknownst to Dawn, this tragedy triggered a divine transformation, making her the 'Weapon of God.' With mysterious powers and ancient relics, Dawn embarked on a journey through time, becoming a symbol of hope in the battle against darkness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350931464

Book preview

Chapter 1.

Dusty Destination

Present Day

Dust swirled and billowed a trail behind the old Harley as it thundered down the dirt road; sunlight beat down on a weary biker, leftover from a scorching afternoon. In a few hours, it would be dark, and then it would be even harder to see. The rider pushed on, keeping the 48’ Panhead from slipping on the loose substrate; her grip tightened now and then, making certain that the front tire did not lose traction.

Out of the corner of her left eye, she detected movement and laid on the brakes just enough to keep the bike from lying down, but not from sliding about fifteen feet. A small Jack Rabbit darted across the road, stopping just long enough to look at its savior.

You’re welcome, she said through a blue paisley kerchief that covered her nose and mouth; she took this as an opportunity to wipe the dust from her goggles and checked her map again.

Once she was certain of her location, the map was stuffed back into a saddlebag; the shifter was tapped down to first gear, and she lurched forward once more. In the distance, she saw her destination; a desolate bar tucked away in the outskirts of the Yakima desert. Not rundown, but on the other side of the coin, it had probably been quite some time since it was a hot spot. The sign, barely legible, still read Bill Z’s Pub. Next to the name, a cleverly costumed cartoon devil in a bartender’s garb held a pitchfork and smiled.

She coasted to a smooth stop in front of the pub, and in one fluid motion flipped out the kickstand with her left boot while the spur on the back still made a little metal jingle, as this was done. Thinking back, she grinned as the memories of the other spur, the one that was missing, trickled forward from her past; she shook her head quickly, as if to get her thoughts back in order.

Keep your head straight, girl! she hissed to herself.

After a quick dismount, she slapped her coat and chaps, trying to knock off three days of desert dust. When she removed her helmet, wavy raven-colored hair fell between her shoulder blades. Soon after hanging the helmet off the handlebars, she removed the goggles to reveal one beautiful brown left eye and a leather patch covering the right. With one simple tug down on the blue paisley kerchief, her full red lips surrounded by olive-colored skin were uncovered.

Reaching into a saddlebag, she pulled out a Stetson that had seen better days and placed it on her head, checking to make certain that it was straight. Going over her mental checklist, she turned and faced the pub; the sign over the door read, Abandon all Gripes and Complaints, ye who enter here.

A leather-clad hand pulled the door open with a creak, and she stepped in. A swirl of dust pirouetted through the air from the tail of her duster as she entered the room. The shift from light to dark was brief but somewhat disorienting as her vision adjusted; she breathed in the stale, smoke-filled room deeply. The pungent aroma was not what caused her to choke a bit.

Damn, it’s the entire room. She muttered to herself.

To the people of Bill Z’s Pub, the female stranger that just breezed in did not appear to be too much of a threat. She stood roughly five foot two and was dressed as if she had just walked out of one of Clint Eastwood’s spaghetti westerns. She stepped with one rusty spur jingling on her left foot, and her right eye was covered with an eye patch, making them silently guess if she was called Lucky.

Her eye now fully adjusted, slowly scanned the room from left to right. She heard the jukebox playing ‘Dead Horses’ softly in the background. From her position, directly at her nine o’clock, sat two men in construction attire playing cards. They appeared fully prepared for work, with the exception that their clothes were spotless. This would be normal if it was not the end of the workday, and they looked to be on their fourth or fifth shot of Jack.

The card dealer was tall and skinny, wearing orange coveralls with a yellow hard hat. His card-playing companion was a much larger fellow with a thick beard and an orange safety vest. At least the bigger of the two was smart enough to take the hard hat off indoors.

To her right, a seemingly young bartender poured a beer and slid it to the large red-headed patron sitting across from him. The man took the beer, drank deeply, and began spilling some on his shirt.

Dammit, Fucking shit! The big red-headed man exclaimed. With beer completely soaking his flannel work shirt, he dismounted the bar stool and headed to the men’s room to clean himself up, cursing loudly to himself the entire way.

Every fucking time, like I got a Goddamn hole in my lip or something!

The bartender laughed to himself while wiping the bar down and cleaning up Big Red’s mess. He stopped drying up the spilled beer for a second while she sat down next to Big Red’s seat.

At the very back of the pub sat a male figure cloaked in darkness. She could not make out his face, but he seemed to be fixed on her with cold, uncaring eyes that felt like they were staring into her soul. Shrugging off his glare, she planted herself at the bar.

Good evening. What’s your poison, dear? The bartender said with a greasy smile, the nametag on his shirt read Bill.

Whiskey. Neat, she said coldly.

Yes, ma’am. the bartender replied, a little less confident. He poured a tumbler glass with Jameson and set it softly in front of the stern female stranger. Her one eye closed as she took a nice slow sip and placed the glass back down on the bar.

They don’t make whiskey like they used to, she said. The bartender looked confused towards the stranger, knowing that he hadn’t carded her; she still seemed to be in her early twenties. How could she know what ‘they used to’ make it like?

Well, nothing is like it used to be. Things change all the time, he said, just to cover the awkward silence. His feet shifted slightly, and he moved more centered in front of the stranger; summoning up the courage, he asked, So dear, what brings you to our dusty neck of the woods?

Looking for... an old acquaintance, she replied, taking another pull from the whiskey to help the lie go down better. When she put the glass down, she noticed the bartender staring at her eye patch. He quickly changed his gaze downward to the glass that should have disappeared by then, with all the polishing he had been doing to it.

Her finger traced the side of the tumbler’s glass from top to bottom, landing in a spilled drop of whiskey on the bar. She tapped at it, then began drawing something on the bar with the droplet of whiskey. Looking up from her wet artwork, she gazed calmly at the bartender.

Wondering what happened to my eye... Bill? Her tone was calm and set the bartender at ease. He looked at her with some shame, as if he had been caught stealing.

Yes ma’am, I was, he admitted. She tapped her glass, and he topped it off.

Well, that’s a long story. You sure you got the time? This place is busy, you know. Her sarcasm made the bartender smile.

I know, it gets crazy around Happy Hour! He laughed loudly.

Tell you what, you keep the whiskey pouring, and I’ll tell you a story you’ll never believe. She slid the tumbler glass towards him. He whispered to her while pouring.

Little lady, you gotta deal!

Chapter 2.

The Ring

May 4th, 1883

Yakima valley, Washington State

On the outskirts of town, hidden from prying eyes, stands the modest homestead of the Lightfeather family. Approximately twelve acres of semi-desert land where a cozy home is located directly in the center. The house, a one story with two bedrooms, a living area and kitchen with an outside hand-crank water pump, was very modern for most. Having a whitewashed finish with green trim, but because of the dry climate, not a lot of grass could be found growing around it.

The home was surrounded by other buildings, a classic red barn with a pig pin close to it. A horse corral with set feeding stalls and a chicken coup with a fenced in feeding area... because of hawks and eagles. A lonely water well stood near the barn to keep the livestock hydrated.

Walking back from the direction of the barn, at a rapid pace, the oldest daughter of the Lightfeathers was toting a large bucket of water and she could be seen in deep thought. Her mind was a million miles away and most definitely not in her current situation. A dreamy smile painted on her face.

A few moments earlier that day.

His scent, intoxicating, still lingered on her clothes after their brief visit behind the barn. Her heart was still pounding deep inside her chest, as if it was going to leap out on its own and run away. She touched her lips, remembering just moments ago when his were passionately pressed against them, long and firm, yet gentle. Thinking of his powerful arms drawing her to him as if nothing could pry the two of them apart, she sighed at the memory of their recent steamy conversation.

O..O.. Ol... Oliver, you are starting something you cannot finish, she said through gasps and heavy breathing as his lips traced the nape.

He pulled back and looked at her longingly with his deep blue eyes; he drew in a slow breath.

Now Dawn, if you want me to stop, you have but to tell me so, he said. His smile was sweet and enticing; his words made her legs shake and her already erect nipples hard.

She felt a warm sensation building in her most sacred of spots. Reality set in when she noticed the ever-growing bulge in his trousers.

Now what kind of lady would I be if I let you take my innocence before we are married? I think we should calm down... a little. Her words were being ignored as she felt his hand caress her right breast; she almost fainted at his boldness, and he smiled wickedly at her reaction.

Gently pushing his hand away, she told him, Not today, sir, my apologies.

He groaned and adjusted his manhood so as not to draw attention to his obvious excitement. His large hands brushed back a mane of thick auburn hair, revealing a crescent moon-shaped birthmark on his neck. Breathing in deeply as he stretched his tall, muscular frame, his face slightly freckled and pale, he exhaled a cleansing, calming sigh, followed by a sly yet amorous grin.

This only enticed her further. While staring at his large brutish form, he was her gentle giant of a man. On more than one occasion, she had borne witness to what could only be described as astonishing strength; she could recall not two weeks prior, him helping a stagecoach owner change a bad wheel by holding up the stagecoach axle entirely on his own.

Dawn gathered her composure and straightened her attire so as not to raise suspicion from her mother. Oliver bent down to her and kissed her gently on the lips. He placed his hand in hers; then removed it, leaving a small heavy metal band with a strange familiar look on it. Looking more closely, it was revealed to be a nail... he formed a ring from a nail. Dawn looked at him with disbelief, then amazement—he was proposing!

After two years, she knew it was bound to happen, but now?

He kneeled while his eyes never left Dawn’s. She felt her face get warm, as if she was blushing; her eyes were already watering, making it hard to see him.

I love you, Dawn Lightfeather, and nothing will ever change that, he said as he continued to gaze up at her.

I love you as well, Mr. O’Malley, now and forever, she whispered through light sobs of joy, then kissed him, long and sweet.

So, is that a yes? He grinned almost devilishly.

YES! she said, then hugged and held him for what felt like an eternity; but nothing is forever.

She needed to head back to the house or endure the wrath of her mother!

Without a second thought, she hoisted the front of her dress up enough not to trip over it as she ran to the well. Grabbing the already full bucket of water, she tried to hurry back as quickly as possible.

When Dawn was closer to the house, she slowed her pace, forcing herself to control her breathing, bringing it back down to normal. She slowly opened the door and looked around; the coast seemed clear, so she cautiously set the bucket of water down and started toward the hallway.

So how is Oliver? her mother’s voice, combined with her knowledge of Dawn’s whereabouts, caused the young woman to jump and shriek a little; she looked at her mother’s face, and the expression was a cross between I know what you are up to, and you’re a sneaky little devil.

I.... At a loss for words, her mother stopped her with her blunt Irish brogue.

Do na even be thinking of telling me some sorted lie! Ye can be honest, or ye can be in a world of hurt, she said, with her arms folded across her chest.

Her mother stood only a few inches taller than her oldest daughter. A respectable 5’-5" with flowing red hair that fell down the middle of her back and alabaster skin speckled with freckles. Her green eyes had an innate ability to pull the truth from whomever she wished.

She continued to give her daughter the look, waiting for her to give in. With nothing else really to say, Dawn hung her head and told her the truth.

Ye knew yer father would not have approved of that disrespectful behavior; ye are only 18 years old and that is a sin to be doing such things before ye married! The last sentence seemed to make Dawn cringe a bit.

She felt as if her mother was always throwing God into their arguments. No matter what the situation, or how trivial, God was brought up. Dawn did the only thing she knew how to do when confronted with this parental intimidation: she batted her eyes like a big, brown-eyed puppy, poked out her bottom lip, and whimpered.

I’m sorry mommy. She said to her mother as she continued to work for sympathy.

Marta looked at her daughter with deep green eyes and pulled her in for a hug, burying her daughter’s face in her dark red locks.

That only works on yer father, dear, Dawn gulped when her mother whispered this in her ear. Marta released her, stepped back, and took a seat in a kitchen chair.

We need to have a talk, Dawn, and you need to listen carefully, her face tensed as she said this to her oldest child.

Dawn tried to prepare herself for the worst. Her mother’s emerald eyes were sympathetic as she looked at her. A small lock of Marta’s red hair drooped in front of her face. Marta brushed it back while breathing in deeply, preparing herself for the conversation that would follow.

Yer father got me pregnant before we were wed! She blurted this out and then covered her mouth as if trying to stop any more secrets from escaping.

There was an awkward silence for what seemed like an eternity; until they both erupted in laughter from this to the point of tears. Dawn suddenly stopped laughing and got a serious look on her face.

Wait, Mom...am I a bastard? she asked softly.

No deary! Yer father and I married shortly after we found out the good news! For heaven’s sake, don’t ever think of yerself as anything other than our lovely little girl! She hugged her daughter again with more emotion.

Will you tell Daddy? Dawn said with obvious fear in her eyes.

Well, me dear, yer father will be home in a few days; if ye feel the need to give the love of me life a heart attack, so be it! She said with that same grin Dawn’s father had fallen for so many years ago.

But, I would hope ye would do so only when I’m done having me wicked way with him! She snorted while laughing. Dawn’s face went pale, and she appeared to have a touch of nausea.

Mother, is there nothing sacred?!

The shuffling of tiny feet could be heard by the two of them. They turned to see Dawn’s sweet little sister Ailis standing in the hallway, her eyes big and green, just like her mother’s, although her hair was the color of spun gold.

Mommy, is everything ok? Ailis said while clutching her doll tightly.

Everything is fine, my littlest of angels! She picked up Dawn’s little sister and began kissing her with tiny, quick tickle kisses on the neck, making the little towhead squeal with glee.

Mommy! Stop! That tickles! The tiny girl squealed more while trying to fend off her mother with her greatest weapon, a dolly.

Dawn joined in and began tickling Ailis’s ribs and bare feet. The three of them were all laughing uncontrollably by then, loving every minute. Ailis’s dolly could be seen now and then, coming up for air, and then plunging back into the fray.

Momma, I have some good news. Her mother stopped tickling Ailis, but they both were still giggling as she looked at Dawn.

What is it, lass? She said, still smiling.

Dawn showed her mother and sister the modest ring given to her earlier by Oliver. Marta’s mouth dropped open, and she began to tear up as she looked at it, and then back at Dawn. Marta tried to enunciate, but her grasp on the English language escaped her momentarily as she was overcome with joy.

Is that what I think it is? she said, already knowing the answer. Dawn only looked at her and smiled widely.

Yes, Momma, Dawn replied.

She threw her arms around Dawn, and they both started bouncing around while she screamed in Gaelic right into her ear.

Mol an Tiarna Íosa go bhfuil muid ag a bhfuil bainise!

Which translated roughly into, Praise the Lord Jesus, we are having a wedding! Ailis joined in on the jumping, hugging, and screaming, even though she had no clue about what was going on. Marta stopped jumping and looked wide-eyed at Dawn.

Dear Lord, we need to be planning a wedding! We have lots to do! I must get me wedding dress out of the trunk! Oh, my! she smiled and started laughing happily.

Dawn thought to herself that this was such a joyful time for her family, but deep down, she knew exactly what her mother was thinking... when can I get some grandkids? Dawn laughed aloud at this.

The next morning, while diligently working in the spacious barn, Dawn’s ears perked up at the distinct sound of thundering hooves rapidly approaching the rustic farmhouse. Curiosity filled her senses, urging her to investigate the source of the commotion. With a quick stride towards the barn’s entrance, she swung open the creaking door, revealing a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside.

Her eyes widened with surprise and recognition as they landed on the enigmatic figure astride a magnificent black Morgan horse. The man sitting atop the steed possessed an aura of quiet authority that effortlessly commanded attention. His formidable presence seemed to be a perfect juxtaposition of strength and gentleness, leaving Dawn both intrigued and captivated.

It was impossible not to notice the distinctive features that defined him. His impressive stature spoke of physical power, emphasizing his broad shoulders and commanding presence. The sunlight played upon his light olive skin, imbuing it with a subtle sheen that added an ethereal quality to his appearance. A shock of raven-black hair cascaded down, framing his face in a striking contrast against his complexion. Traces of red hues could be discerned amidst the dark locks, hinting at the rich tapestry of his mixed heritage.

Upon closer observation, Dawn noticed the man’s high cheekbones, a telling sign of his Native American ancestry. His piercing brown eyes, reflective of wisdom and experience, seemed to hold stories of a lifetime within their depths. Adorned around his neck was a rosary, from which dangled a crucifix that glinted in the sunlight. The badge on his chest indicated he was a member of the prestigious United States Secret Service.

A rugged brown duster draped across his broad frame billowed slightly in the breeze, lent an air of mystery and intrigue to his already commanding presence. It was a garment that seemed to have weathered many journeys and adventures, bearing the marks of his experiences. Around his waist, a meticulously crafted leather belt held his tools of protection, securing a 73 Colt Peacemaker, renowned as the most powerful handgun of the time, in its holster. The weight of the weapon seemed to extend his commitment to safeguarding those under his care.

As the horse elegantly trotted closer to the homestead, the man’s gaze roamed the surroundings with practiced vigilance. His piercing brown eyes scanned the area, absorbed every detail, and evaluated potential threats with swift and calculated precision. The creases on his forehead spoke of a life accustomed to making split-second decisions, the responsibility of keeping the peace resting firmly upon his shoulders.

Girls... Hello!? Any of my angels around?! Marta, Dawn... Ailis?! He shouted toward the house and barn. His voice was powerful and confident, not a waver or fluctuation.

DADDY! DADDY! DADDY! Dawn tripped almost a dozen times, trying to get to him before her sister and mother.

He looked at her and pulled on the reins of his trusted steed.

Whoa Sampson, Whoa. A wide smile appeared on his face as he dismounted from his horse quickly.

Little Spitfire, I’ve missed you so much! Look at you! You’re a woman now all grown up! He looked lovingly at Dawn before he kissed her forehead and hugged her tightly.

Where are your mother and little sister? He said, looking in all directions.

Before she could answer, squeals could be heard coming out of the house along with shrieks, and what some would say were shouts. Her mother and little sister came running at them full speed, and almost knocked both of them over when they collided.

Marta my love! Ailis, my golden-haired angel! How I’ve missed all of you so much! They all hugged each other tightly, afraid to let go. Tears of happiness flowed freely in the little family.

It was hard for the family most times to deal with the separation of a loved one, especially a husband and father. For him to be gone so much, but his job required him to be in Washington, DC, for months at a time. Fortunately for Dawn, her mother was a durable woman with two overly supportive daughters.

They did their best to take care of the various chores around their house and property. Marta and Dawn took on the more strenuous tasks while little Ailis took to feeding the small animals. Nicholas sent them money every month to take care of the more detrimental expenses. They could grow the simpler things in a garden.

They didn’t have a vast farm to tend to, just a few pigs, horses, chickens, and a small garden. Dawn asked her father once why they lived clear across the country; he said, To keep my girls safe, Little Spitfire. In his line of work, most of the men were not dedicated to a wife and children for a reason, so their families could never be used as leverage by bad people. By keeping them tucked away like this, he knew they would be safe.

Dawn’s father often tried explaining to her what exactly it was that he did; all that she understood was that he worked for the President of the United States in some sort of organization called The Secret Service.

He started working as an agent during President Andrew Johnson’s term when he got out of the Army in ‘66. President Johnson held her father in high regard for his brave service to the country; he was never even concerned that the man was half Cherokee and half Irish. To him, he was the bravest man he had ever met. Since that day, he served for five Presidents with pride and conviction, never once reconsidering his decision to be a part of the Secret Service. The men he worked with were the same. They didn’t care about his heritage, only that he was one of the most honorable Americans they had the privilege to serve with.

They all fought for his attention; the poor man never stood a chance. Afterwards, they enjoyed a huge celebration dinner. The girls did their chores in record time so they could hover around their daddy some more. Although when they returned from completing them, they stumbled across something so awful they could only describe it as this...

EEEEEEWWWWWWWW! Their virgin eyes borne witness to their parents’ arms tangled in one another, passionately kissing.

Dawn took her little sister by the hand and led her to the end of the hall where their room was; the only room that was the furthest from their parents’ bedroom and were least likely to hear any.... noises.

I want to spend more time with daddy. She said, looking at her older sister with big sad eyes.

We will tomorrow, Ailis, right now he and mommy have some... catching up to do. Dawn gagged as she tasted a little bile in her throat from saying that. No normal person ever wants to envision their parents having sex; it is just wrong! Marta was most likely going to ruin him tonight; it had been 9 months after all!

Yup....here comes the bile again. She said to herself.

The next morning, the girls got up to the smell of fresh-cooked bacon circling through their senses. They ran down the hall toward the wonderful aroma, only to find their parents kissing again. The hunger Dawn felt for breakfast was now replaced with nausea.

The two love birds quit the public display when they heard the giggling slide to a stop in the kitchen. Nicholas smiled widely while turning away from his lovely wife and walked toward his girls.

How did my little one’s sleep? He said while gently placing a hand simultaneously on the back of each of their heads.

Good daddy, how about you? Dawn said with a grin.

Oh.... I slept fine... He laughed loudly, then grinned devilishly at Marta.

So how about after breakfast we go do some target practice with daddy’s side arm? He said to them. We can put up some pinecones as targets, then blast them away!

Yah! the girls both shouted out loud.

Marta gave him a stern look while pointing in his direction with a wooden spoon.

Nicholas Lightfeather yer turning those young ladies into boys! He looked in her direction and smiled.

Marta... He said while batting his big brown eyes. She instantly calmed down.

Fine, but I don’t want to be hearing any complaints when the boys around here are too scared to say anything to them. She turned back to her cooking with a grin and muttered to herself.

Aye, now I see where Dawn be getting her bad habits... tart! She laughed softly to herself.

After breakfast, the trio headed out to the pasture behind the barn, where it was safer for shooting. The back pasture was never used for livestock and was the most level area on the property. It was simply just an open space with a few old trees. With full bellies, they weren’t exactly running to get where they wanted.

Daddy, can I go first? Ailis said with eagerness.

Nicholas looked at Dawn for any hints of disapproval. Dawn nodded with a sweet smile. You sure can, Angel! She squealed with joy.

Ailis looked tiny with her father, holding her as she fired his sidearm. His Colt had a hell of a kick, so he made certain to hold her arms as she fired off two rounds. Her eyes closed each time she was about to squeeze the trigger. She missed the pinecones entirely, but the fence now had some new holes.

You did a great job, Angel! That fence now knows the true face of justice in these parts! Nicholas said to his youngest.

Daddy! I was supposed to hit the pinecones! Not the fence, Ailis said, as she pushed out her bottom lip in a pout.

Oh, my littlest Angel. It takes years of practice to be a skilled marksman, he patted her on the head and kissed her cheek. You just need to practice.

Nicholas turned and handed his oldest daughter the revolver; its weight felt good in her hand, like it belonged there. She raised the Colt Peacemaker to fire and squeezed the trigger two times. Two pinecones turned to dust twenty-five yards from her. Nicholas’ expression was priceless; his