TODAY, OUR FABULOUS TEAM MEMBER, AUTHOR DAVID W THOMPSON, IS SHARING AN EXCERPT FROM HIS NOVEL, 'HIS FATHER'S BLOOD' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat
- 6 days ago
- 7 min read
They met a flatboat in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and floated the Ohio River down to Maysville. The women and children were left behind at the fortified Goodwin’s station while the men traveled overland to place their claims on the lands at Pottinger’s Creek.
Now eight years later, most of the settlers flourished in the new land. Nelson County became part of the new state of Kentucky, but for Earnest, nothing was left of the optimistic man he once was. The hopes and dreams he shared with his wife of building a new and better life died at the birth of their only child, Ada.
The day of her birth, savages attacked as Amelia hung the day’s wash outside to dry. Three young braves on horseback—out to prove their bravery—chased his pregnant wife in their own yard. Earnest ran to get his gun and, shaky handed and weak kneed, confronted them.
One of the Indians, with a heavily painted face, turned and shook his bow over his head in a menacing fashion. He screamed gibberish that Earnest was convinced was the language of perdition.
The painted warrior rode at Earnest who stood quaking in his boots and holding his gun in a white knuckled grip. “Stop!” he cried. “You stop right there!”
On he came, and at the last second swerved his horse, struck Earnest across the face with his bow, and raced back to the others amid their cheers.
Earnest promptly shat his pants, his gun cradled in his arms, unfired.
As the three savages rode away, Amelia went into labor. Earnest knew a woman’s death at childbirth wasn’t unusual, yet he blamed his faith for Amelia’s death—his faith, and the godless heathens of course. But God surely turned his face away from them on that day, and so Earnest also turned away from God.
Hartman’s life spiraled into darkness over the following years. The loss of his wife and his religious fervor left a void in his spirit that he filled with mindless work during the day, and devil’s brew at night. His fellow pioneers did not understand. They cast Earnest as a pariah for his agnosticism. Their Jesuit priest counseled a return to the faith, as only God could heal his wounds.
Bitterness, depression, and alcohol were his poor—albeit powerful—companions. It was Ada’s good fortune that Monica Hagan, their neighbor, took an interest in his child’s welfare.
Earnest’s lowest low found him mired in the roadside mud, covered in his own vomit, and unable to stand on his uncooperative legs. It was the coldest night of the year, and Earnest scratched away the frozen drool from his chin and made peace with the universe—if not his God.
As conscious thought deserted him, he thought of his daughter. “I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me, Ada. I failed you.”
* * * *
Light streaming through the wavy window glass woke Earnest. He was in a strange bed, washed, naked, and wrapped in warm blankets. His clothes were folded at the foot of the bed and appeared freshly laundered.
His vision swirled as he sat up and took stock of his situation. The room was spare in its furnishings. A lone stand cobbled from rough-hewn pine stood by his bed. A thick and well-worn leather-bound Bible adorned the center of the table beside which a nubbin of candle rested in a brass holder. No other decor provided any hint about his benefactor.
A sharp knock sounded at the door, and Earnest dropped his head back to the pillow and pulled the blankets up to his chin.
“Come in.”
“Ah, greetings, brother. I’m pleased to see that you survived the night. When you are ready, please come join us. My wife has breakfast prepared.”
“Who are you? Why did you bring me here?”
“I’m Reverend George Brewster, a humble missionary in the service of our Lord, and it appears I was sent here to bring you back to the Lord.”
* * * *
Over the next months, George Brewster and Earnest Hartman became fast friends. Brewster saw the hand of God in every tree, every mountain, every human smile or act of kindness. One day as the two men strolled the wildlands together, Ada on Earnest’s shoulders, he realized that somewhere along the way he’d recovered the faith he hungered for, though now served up on a different platter.
That spring found Earnest as a newly ordained minister, and he considered the future of his family. As a man of God, new opportunities opened before him. Should he remain in his adopted state, raise his child in this harsh unforgiving environment, or seek their fortunes and happiness elsewhere?
Many other pioneers shared his feeling of disenchantment. Drought, rocky soils, native attacks, and disease took a toll on a man, and worse still on a family man. The past Saturday, he observed John Spalding and Rodolphus Norris in Bardstown as they shook hands. John turned his back and bent over—whereupon Rodolphus delivered a half-dozen kicks to his backside. They reversed positions and the kicker then received his six exuberant blows.
“Men, what is the meaning of this?” Earnest asked.
“Why, to inflict punishment for the horrible sin of impertinence. We abandoned God’s gift to us and left the tranquil shores of Maryland for these wild forests and savage Indians.” They offered to provide the same treatment for Earnest, but he respectfully declined.
Some of the members of the original group had fared better than others. Their leader, Basil Hayden, brought with him his recipe for distilling his own brand of devil’s water. His corn-based elixir—mixed with rye—had become very popular with the new settlers, and too popular as a means for Earnest to drown his sorrows.
Earnest was never much of a farmer, but perhaps a congregation somewhere needed the guidance of a young preacher. Earnest recognized and accepted his shortcomings and realized that the frontier was no place for a man of his skittish temperament.
He set down his emptied tea cup, spitting out the dregs of tea leaves, and pushed himself up from the battered oak table, the legs of the chair screeching across the wood plank floors. Walking down a short hallway, he cracked open the door at the end and looked in on his sleeping daughter. Whatever happens, I won’t fail you again, Ada.
He flinched as a pounding knock sounded at his front door, and crossing the bedroom, peered out of the lone window. Jeremiah Wathen, one of the first settlers, stood nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other at the Hartmans’ threshold.
Earnest rushed down the hall and flung open the door.
“Jeremiah, what brings you—?”
“There’s been another attack, Earnest. At Rolling Fork this time.”
“Indians? Are any of our people hurt?”
“Three settlers were killed, but they took four of the savages with them. Haven’t heard the names yet but thought you should know. Keep your rifle loaded and ready.”
“What a God-forsaken place this is!”
“But it’s as beautiful a land as a mortal man’s eyes ever beheld, Earnest. I suspect if it was all milk and honey, a man would have no need of salvation.”
“But will it ever end, Jeremiah?”
“It’s the frontier, Earnest. It’s root hog or die. Be careful now. I’m going to spread the news.” Jeremiah nodded and turned away.
Earnest closed the door behind him, and as he threw back the bolt, he made his decision. He began loading their meager possessions on his buckboard.
It was time to go back home, or Amelia’s ancestral home at least. God, he missed her! He’d feel closer to her in the land of her birth, and safer too. If not a congregation, surely
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Amazon link: His Father's Blood (Legends of the Family Dyer): Thompson, David W.: 9781625267832: Amazon.com: Books
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BIO
David W. Thompson is a multiple award-winning author, an Army veteran, and a graduate of UMUC (now UMGC). He claims his first writing efforts were “Dick and Jane” fan fiction as a child, no doubt with a unique twist. As a multi-genre writer, he’s been awarded membership in the HWA--Horror Writers’ Association, the MWA--Mystery Writers of America, and the SFWA -- Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association. He lives in picturesque southern Maryland, blessed with nearby family and dear old friends. When he isn’t writing, Dave enjoys time with his family, kayaking (flat water, please), fishing, hiking, archery, gardening, winemaking, and pursuing his other “creative passion”- woodcarving. David also writes under the name D. W. Thompson for his mystery series.
BLURB: The demonic force that’s cursed the Dyer family for generations has returned even stronger! Defeated by Moll Dyer a century earlier, the demon Laris lays claim to another Dyer child. Homesteading on Devil’s Peak, skin-walking shaman John Dyer must fight to save his bloodline. Can the Dyers stand against the horrific desires of a centuries-old demon? Can their faith in each other overcome the evil pitted against them? This historically accurate epic follows John, scion of the Dyer family, and the great-great-grandson of the venerable Moll Dyer, in his quest for a new life and a place to settle down and call home. The fates conspire against the Dyers, and only their sorely tested faith in each other can overcome the evil set in place against them.
Awarded the International Book Award, the Literary Titan Award, the Readers' Favorite Award, and PredPoll Readers' First Place in Magical Realism
Social Media:
Davis W. Thompson, Author. Member HWA, SFWA & MWA
NOVELS:
Legends of the Family Dyer Trilogy:
I) Sister Witch: The Life of Moll Dyer- 1st place Magical Realism Critters Readers Poll 2017, Golden Quill Award Best Book of 2018, Readers' Favorite Finalist Historical Person Category 2018, eBook Selection New Apple Awards 2018
II) His Father's Blood- Readers' Favorite Silver Medal Urban Fantasy 2019, Literary Titan Award (2018), Readers' Favorite Silver Medal Paranormal Fantasy 2021, International Book Awards Finalist Horror 2021
III) Sons and Brothers- 1st Place Magical Realism Critters Readers' Poll
Julianna's Choice (as Davina Guy (Paranormal Romance))
The Mystery at Love's Manor (An Emma Love Mystery)
Love Floats (An Emma Love Mystery 1st Place Mystery Readers Poll)
NOVELLAS
Call of the Falconer (Dystopian Novella)
Haunted Southern Maryland (Paranormal History)
Haunted Potomac River Valley (Paranormal History)
SHORT STORIES
'Possum Stew (Short Story Collection)- American Writing Awards 1st Place Anthologies, Finalist Chanticleer Awards Paranormal Fiction, Firebird Book Award for Best Anthology
What If #2 (Anthology GBB Authors)
What If #3 (Anthology GBB Authors)
What If #4 (Anthology GBB Authors)
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COMING SOON: On Wednesday, 22nd July, we welcome our guest author Cameron Huxley, who is sharing an excerpt from his novel. 'Broc-Fer'.
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