Read Online Mississippi DEAD by Shawn Weaver - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shawn Weaver
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his eyes off of the replica that had been such a large part of his young childhood. The only clear memories he still had of his father were right here, working on this replica his grandfather had started so many years ago.
“He died here,” Allen said, more to himself than to Gina who stood in the doorway.
“Mom found him on a Sunday morning. He had a heart attack while we were at church.”
Leaning her head against the doorframe, Gina listened, letting Allen get the pain out. He never talked about his father. And she knew that moving back here would bring up some of the pain he had buried down so deep he had forgotten it was there.
“Thirty years old and he died of a heart attack,” Allen spit out, looking at Gina. She could see tears well up in his eyes as his hands clenched.
“I was six. I can still see him working on it. Always changing things around as buildings came and went. The last thing I remember was I got to glue trees over here.” Allen pointed towards a clump of evergreens at the back of the table.
Gina stepped into the room and took Allen’s hand. He responded by gripping it tightly.
“Your grandpa died here, too?” Gina asked, even though she knew the truth. She had heard stories from Allen’s mother before the big move.
Allen nodded but did not have time to respond as the kids came charging down the hallway. Stinker followed along, sniffing at every door. Stopping at the threshold, he sat down, not entering.
“Cool,” Kaylee said, looking at the small town before her. “Mom, there’s our house,” she continued in an excited voice, pointing up the hill towards the replica.
Gina bent down to Kaylee’s height. “Yes, it is. Your grandpa made it.”
“Can we play with it?” Paulie asked, eager to start.
Gina looked up at Allen, who nodded. Smiling, she replied, “I guess. But be careful.”
Stepping up to the table, Paulie spied a scaled down version of a 1950s black sedan hearse near the center of the one-road town. He started to roll it down the blacktopped street, slowing at a stop sign. Not coming to a full stop, he rolled on through. Kaylee showed up with a state trooper car and rolled it toward Paulie’s car, making a high pitched siren sound.
“Busted,” Allen said, as his son got pulled over.
“You want to keep it?” Gina asked Allen, knowing that he had nothing of his father except for a few old photos.
“I don’t know,” Allen replied, not sure what to do with the miniature of the valley.
Available US:
http://www.amazon.com/Little-Valley-ebook/dp/B006S2VB7K/ref=la_B0039B3OW8_1_5_title_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1355512064&sr=1-5
Available UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Little-Valley-ebook/dp/B006S2VB7K/ref=la_B0039B3OW8_1_4_title_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1355512599&sr=1-4
Wolves in Springfield
CHAPTER ONE
Johnathan Burrows looked up through the trees at the moon that still hung full in the daylight sky. Its large, light grey shape gave him a chilling feeling that sunk deeper into his bones than the cold water currently filling his boots. And though it had been morning for hours, the bright sun did not give off the much needed heat that the shivering band of ragged men needed as they sloshed through the sunken stream between two overgrown hills.
“Hold up,” Corporal Mathew Talls said from the front of the line. Motioning for the troop to stop, he bent an arm outward at the elbow, and closed his fist tight.
The remaining few of the Twenty Third Illinois regiment, widely known in the Union as the Irish Brigade, gladly did so. The last weeks had been hard on the men with spoiled food, mosquitoes and dysentery running rampant with them.
May fourth, after the battle of Chancellorsville, found the men confused, tired and lost. The regiment had been shattered, its men scattered along Bank’s Ford, Virginia after the onslaught of the Confederates. In their retreat, Johnathan Burrows and six other men found themselves lost behind
“He died here,” Allen said, more to himself than to Gina who stood in the doorway.
“Mom found him on a Sunday morning. He had a heart attack while we were at church.”
Leaning her head against the doorframe, Gina listened, letting Allen get the pain out. He never talked about his father. And she knew that moving back here would bring up some of the pain he had buried down so deep he had forgotten it was there.
“Thirty years old and he died of a heart attack,” Allen spit out, looking at Gina. She could see tears well up in his eyes as his hands clenched.
“I was six. I can still see him working on it. Always changing things around as buildings came and went. The last thing I remember was I got to glue trees over here.” Allen pointed towards a clump of evergreens at the back of the table.
Gina stepped into the room and took Allen’s hand. He responded by gripping it tightly.
“Your grandpa died here, too?” Gina asked, even though she knew the truth. She had heard stories from Allen’s mother before the big move.
Allen nodded but did not have time to respond as the kids came charging down the hallway. Stinker followed along, sniffing at every door. Stopping at the threshold, he sat down, not entering.
“Cool,” Kaylee said, looking at the small town before her. “Mom, there’s our house,” she continued in an excited voice, pointing up the hill towards the replica.
Gina bent down to Kaylee’s height. “Yes, it is. Your grandpa made it.”
“Can we play with it?” Paulie asked, eager to start.
Gina looked up at Allen, who nodded. Smiling, she replied, “I guess. But be careful.”
Stepping up to the table, Paulie spied a scaled down version of a 1950s black sedan hearse near the center of the one-road town. He started to roll it down the blacktopped street, slowing at a stop sign. Not coming to a full stop, he rolled on through. Kaylee showed up with a state trooper car and rolled it toward Paulie’s car, making a high pitched siren sound.
“Busted,” Allen said, as his son got pulled over.
“You want to keep it?” Gina asked Allen, knowing that he had nothing of his father except for a few old photos.
“I don’t know,” Allen replied, not sure what to do with the miniature of the valley.
Available US:
http://www.amazon.com/Little-Valley-ebook/dp/B006S2VB7K/ref=la_B0039B3OW8_1_5_title_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1355512064&sr=1-5
Available UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Little-Valley-ebook/dp/B006S2VB7K/ref=la_B0039B3OW8_1_4_title_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1355512599&sr=1-4
Wolves in Springfield
CHAPTER ONE
Johnathan Burrows looked up through the trees at the moon that still hung full in the daylight sky. Its large, light grey shape gave him a chilling feeling that sunk deeper into his bones than the cold water currently filling his boots. And though it had been morning for hours, the bright sun did not give off the much needed heat that the shivering band of ragged men needed as they sloshed through the sunken stream between two overgrown hills.
“Hold up,” Corporal Mathew Talls said from the front of the line. Motioning for the troop to stop, he bent an arm outward at the elbow, and closed his fist tight.
The remaining few of the Twenty Third Illinois regiment, widely known in the Union as the Irish Brigade, gladly did so. The last weeks had been hard on the men with spoiled food, mosquitoes and dysentery running rampant with them.
May fourth, after the battle of Chancellorsville, found the men confused, tired and lost. The regiment had been shattered, its men scattered along Bank’s Ford, Virginia after the onslaught of the Confederates. In their retreat, Johnathan Burrows and six other men found themselves lost behind
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