Beware The Corn Woman

Michael O'Mara Neil

Description

A young Native American believes an ancestor killed nearly three hundred years ago haunts him. He also has the conviction that he and his family are tormented at every twist and turn of their lives by the injustices exacted on their people both in the past and modern day. Spurred on by this ancient warrior spirit, his life is punctuated by hisquest to vindicate the wrongs of the past and present. However this is not the only force at work in his life. Unpredictable change is at hand by a woman who appears to stand for everything he doesn't care for, the established order.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 11 septembre 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783332113
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page
BEWARE THE
CORN WOMAN
by
Neil Michael O’Mara



Publisher Information
Published in 2013 by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The right of Neil Michael O’Mara to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998
Copyright © 2013 Neil Michael O’Mara
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.



Prologue
Chinkwe a young man of fifteen or sixteen years from the Lenape tribe leaves his family’s wigwam and makes for the forest. It is Pennsylvania when the British Colony was attracting many settlers, British and many other Europeans like the Swedes and the Germans. A time when settlers claimed the land belonged to them and the Indian tribes said they belonged to the land. The soil was fertile, the streams and rivers were bountiful of fish and the forest rich in game. Chinkwe was wearing his breechcloths and leggings with deerskin moccasins on his feet. Although summer, it was early morning and a little fresh with cool air, mist filled the hollows and drifted across his path. Chinkwe is wearing his father’s deerskin mantle. He is hunting for deer but the prize is not the meat itself. He wants the recognition that he can hunt by himself and the promise of his father’s earring. Armed with his bow and quiver, he carries a pouch of corn.
He began to run with excitement and remembered what his father had told him the night before, ‘that when the Creator sends the dawn of a new day, he sends it for everyone’. He thought to himself that this was his time, his day. He ran like the wind, brushing trees, running through streams cutting a path through the undergrowth. As he ran sunbeams illuminated his face as the sun grew stronger. Eventually, he found a forest glade where the light poured and he warmed his face. Untying his leather pouch from the side of his breechcloth, he shook out the corn to the ground, walking backwards in a circular motion. This was his chosen place this was the ground he had baited. Ripping a handful of grass he threw it skyward. He watched the straws fall with the gentle breeze and made sure he hid downwind.
He waits, hiding he waits. In anticipation of attracting a deer with his baited ground, he waits. Much time has now passed. The sun is high in the sky and the shadows are short. Laid out in front of him in readiness, are his bow and several arrows. Momentarily his concentration drifted, he was thinking of a game of lacrosse he had with his friends, his head dropped and jolted. Knowing he was falling asleep, he remembered what his father had told him. He took his pouch again and pinched a corn seed from what was left of his bait. Chinkwe sucked on the seed and once more he was focussed with his challenge. Pulling his pouch strings he heard a sound! Dropping his pouch, he looked up. In the glade where he baited his ground, amidst brilliant sunlight stood a Whitetail buck. The young deer was feeding on Chinkwe’s corn. Chinkwe knew he didn’t have long before the corn would be eaten and the animal would move on. He picked up his bow and strung an arrow, kneeling on one knee he drew back on his bow, which he had practiced so many times with father. He took aim and held his breath. Sensing his presence the young deer lifted his head and lifted his triangular tail to reveal the reason for his name, his white tail. Chinkwe knew he must not exhale before he had released his arrow. Fly true, fly swift he thought. He opened his fingers and watched his feathered flights disappear as he began to empty his lungs in relief.
Chinkwe’s arrow found its target. The Whitetail buck took the hit in the shoulder. Chinkwe stood to watch. The young animal cried with pain and immediately darted for the cover in the dense forest. Grabbing his bow and arrows Chinkwe raced towards his quarry. As soon as he reached the tree cover, he was momentarily blind, going from the bright light of the glade to the dark of the shadows. His father had taught him well and had told him this may happen. He stood and listened for a fleeting moment and then bolted in the direction he hoped he would find the deer. He knew he was on the right track the buck had cut a swathe through the ferns. He scrambled up a hill using his fingertips to steady his balance. As he reached the ridge, he could see the white of the animal’s tail in the distant green of the reverse slope. Taking two large intakes of much needed air Chinkwe continued the chase.
The animal was beginning to tire and Chinkwe found himself gaining ground. Eventually the young animal was exhausted and simply stopped in its tracks. Turning in front of him the buck dropped his head in a natural defensive stance. By this time Chinkwe was so close he could see his brown muzzle and cheeks patterned with white rings around his nose and eyes. Chinkwe stood in front of him and strung another arrow. The buck wounded and frightened presented its antlers, beams extending out points upwards. Chinkwe sidestepped several paces to find a soft target the animal froze with fear. The bowstring was slowly drawn. Just as he was about to release his arrow, boom there was a terrific noise, which echoed around the forest. Startled, Chinkwe didn’t know where his erratic shot had gone. The deer’s legs had folded and the animal had crashed to the ground. It had been shot by a white man’s musket. Chinkwe ran to the deer. He looked around and some eighty or a hundred paces away he saw three settlers.
Chinkwe was enraged that these white men had stolen his kill, he shouted to them. Awen hech ki? Who are you ? Keku hach katatamuhemo? What do you people want?
The settlers were just as surprised to see the young American Indian. As far as they were concerned this was their kill for they could not see Chinkwe’s arrow or see the animals heart bursting with the heat of the chase. There was a flash of light from a second flintlock followed by a booming sound and a lead ball whistled above Chinkwe’s head until it embedded itself in some lumber behind him. The settlers clearly wanted to scare Chinkwe away. Indignant Chinkwe held his bow above his head and shouted, ahpu hach ila keski luwihelit shwilait ! Is there a warrior here who can call me a coward! Chinkwe knew in his heart that he was hopelessly outnumbered and that his coveted prize was lost. All was not lost however if he could prove to his father what had happened. He took his knife from its sheath and began to take the animal’s tongue. The settlers believe he is stealing their kill and dispensed a third shot of lead, boom. The lead ball hit Chinkwe in the back, splintering his backbone and piercing his lungs. Paralysed he fell over the animal his lungs very quickly began to fill with blood until he expired. His day was at an end.



Chapter One
It is the afternoon of the fourth Thursday in November 1736. John the eldest son of the late William Penn has invited his two younger brothers over for Thanksgiving. Their late father was founder of this Province and gave his name to the British Colony, Pennsylvania. The authority and responsibility of Proprietor has now passed to John along with his brothers Thomas and Richard. Outside it is bitterly cold but John has one of the finest houses in the growing township of Philadelphia and John’s log fires make quite a welcome. His cook has a plump turkey in the oven, something that is rare in the old country.
“Sir, Mr Thomas and Mr Richard are in the library and Mr Richard’s family are in the drawing room”.
“Thank you Nathan, I’ll be downstairs directly”.
John Penn joined his brothers in the library. “Welcome brothers, how are you? I have a treat for you both”. Reaching for his wine decanter on the consort table, he poured three glasses. He gave the wine to his brothers who were standing in what made a triangular pattern, “Now gentlemen”, raising his glass, “I give you the King”.
“The King”, said his siblings.
“What do we think of that one?” said John.
“Its very good”, said Thomas, “What is it”?
“Its wine from the island of Madeira, I ordered it from the new Portuguese Agent Senor De Sousa. It’s so good I’m sending six cases with compliments to His Majesty King George”.
“Very nice if you can afford it brother”, said Richard.
“May I remind you Richard that His Majesty is Sovereign of the American Colonies as well as Great Britain and Ireland.
The land was given to the brothers’ father William Penn by King Charles the second. This was in repayment of a debt to his father. William Penn and his family made their fortune selling off farming lots to settlers, now more and more people are landing from Europe and the brothers need more land to sell. There is an uneasy relationship between the settlers and the native Indians. On many occasions word is sent around the farmsteads to make for the nearest fort because a raiding party has been reported in the area.
“We need more land brothers, we need to buy land from the Indians and sell at a profit to the settlers”, said Thomas.
“I know”, said John, “but as you know the tribes won’t sell and I’ve being trying to keep the peace between the local Chiefs and the settlers which are pouring into the countryside”.
“These immigrants are desperate”, said Richard,