This is a page which provides links to samples of longer writings he considers complete (If such a thing ever truly exists) but are unpublished. He has other, shorter works for which he may post brief samples or overviews here – such as picture book texts, short stories, flash fiction.
He has been sending queries, trying to sell these novels/stories, but no luck. Not sure of the reason(s). He thinks they are all great, beautiful stories.
Any honest, appropriate, meaningful, helpful comments are appreciated.
If you are an agent or publisher and find something of interest, let him know.
Prince of a Horse
How would you feel and what would you do if you were a 12-year-old boy who gets transplanted from a nice, comfortable, modern city home and environment to an old family farm with no fast internet, hard chores, no friends, having to deal with a horse you think is stupid, and an annoying young neighbor girl?
Life-Critical Events
When a black high school football player makes an impossible play to save a big win for his team, he doesn’t know how he did it. A white female student who studies the supernatural understands and explains what he did. The two develop a close relationship. When a government agency learns of the boy’s unique skill, they recruit him. The girl runs away to be with him. Both face life and death situations.
Conquest and Conflict
After orbital debris damages his space vehicle, a commander has two options for him and his crew – neither of which is reportedly survivable. Then he faces another dilemma: What is moral versus what is right.
Love Beyond
Like in William Shakespeare’s tragedy Romeo and Juliet, it’s about two contemporary young star-crossed lovers. But there is more to this story.
Raising Macey
A young man who works nights and goes to school days to get his degree suddenly gets a phone call from a girl he’d had sex with in high school. She no longer wants custody of their now 4-year-old daughter. The man must take her or the girl will put the daughter up for adoption. If he takes his daughter, it will mean giving up college.
Raising Macey
Chapter 1
The News
While working my evening shift Wednesday June 22nd at a petrochemical plant near Houston, Texas, I heard my personal phone ring. I didn’t get that many calls, and I wouldn’t normally answer it at work because of the critical activities going on. A petrochemical plant can be a dangerous place to work.
That night, though, I was only observing the temperature and pressure drop in a processing tank, preparing to clean it—nothing particularly dangerous. I pulled the phone from my pocket and looked at the caller ID. I saw the name Cheryl Porter and her phone number.
I hadn’t heard from her in years. I had no idea what she wanted. I debated about answering, but decided it might be important because of what had happened between us.
I had no more than said “Hello” before she began yelling.
“John, you’ve gotta come get this brat. I’m tired of taking care of her.”
My first thought and response was, “Why?”
“She’s your daughter, too.”
I stood in a stunned silence for a moment.
I didn’t know how I could do that. My plans right now didn’t include a kid.
She quickly followed up with, “Are you still there?”
“Yeah.”
“Well?”
“So why the change?”
“I told you, I’m sick and tired of putting up with her.”
“But you always wanted her before.”
“Well, things change.”
“But I can’t deal with a kid right now. I’m going to school and working.”
“Well, if you don’t take her, I’m gonna put her up for adoption.”
That bothered me. The girl was my daughter. I hadn’t even seen her for over a year, and that was just a chance passing at Baybrook Mall. Cheryl and I didn’t speak, and the girl clearly didn’t show any signs of recognizing me. I’d hate to see her go with some stranger, though. I felt a responsibility.
My silence again must have irritated Cheryl more.
“Are you still there?” she shouted.
“Yeah. I’m thinking.”
“Well you better think fast. I’m gonna get rid of her one way or another.”
I didn’t know what to say. I finally came up with, “Give me some time to see what I can do.”
“Well, you better hurry.”
She ended the call.
I guessed I was in shock or something. I had trouble concentrating on work the rest of the night, which wasn’t good. Fortunately, nothing bad happened.
My name is John Hansen. I’m 22 years old. I have an A.A. degree in chemistry, and I’ve finished most of my junior year studies working on a B.S. degree.
I was fascinated by chemistry in high school. I started studying it in a community college. I had completed one year when my Dad retired. He and Mom decided to move to Colorado after my second year. They were tired of the Houston heat and humidity, always complained about the $400 electric bills for air conditioning in their mid-sized house during much of the year, and didn’t want to be around when another hurricane came in. They asked me to come with them, but the small town of Salida they were moving to didn’t have decent jobs or a four-year college nearby. So I had to do something else.
The classes I needed for my degree were only offered during the day. I was fortunate to get this evening shift job at the plant so I could continue working on my degree. And the job even let me work in the field where I wanted a profession. Things had worked out well. With my job, I wouldn’t have to worry about a student loan.
I had a little over another year to go for my degree—well, maybe actually two years in real time because I was working a regular job.
I didn’t have to get up immediately the next morning. School had ended a few weeks ago for the summer.
As I lay in bed, I tried to think things through. I didn’t know how I could care for our daughter under the circumstances. She would be about four years old now.
It was kind of strange how she came to be.
Cheryl and I were seniors in high school. We’d had a couple of classes together so we knew each other, but we had never talked much or dated or anything.
We were so different. She was a cheerleader—a tall, beautiful, very popular, and outgoing girl. Her family was better off than mine—not that we were poor or anything like that. I’d heard she had slept around some.
Now I was—and still am—kind of a quiet, studious guy. I wasn’t really into sports or anything physical like she was.
It was a Saturday night in February. We were both at a party at another student’s house. We hadn’t gone there together. We were just there. Both of us had downed a little beer. Even though we were all under age, somebody had brought in a couple of cases.
We got to talking and joking around. All of a sudden she asked me if I wanted to do it. I guess the beer made her a little horny or something. Or maybe she just wanted another conquest? I didn’t know. She never told me. Maybe the beer loosened me up a little, too. Anyway, I agreed.
We went out to the back yard. We took some cushions from the patio chairs and laid them out on the grass. She got undressed so quick. I was still trying to get my pants off when she laid on the cushions and spread her legs. It looked like a great invitation.
There was enough light coming through the back windows of the house so I could see her. I’d never seen a naked woman before. She was a true blond, not a bleached or colored blond. But I noticed that her pubic hair was brown. Funny, I expected that would be the same as her head hair. But never mind that, I thought.
I was hard. I’d never been that hard before. It was my first time. I hurried, but it seemed to take forever to get my pants and shorts off and enter her. When I finally did, I felt so good being in there.
What seemed like just a few seconds later, she let out such a loud kind of combination moan and scream. It seemed like you could have heard her a block away. I thought maybe I’d hurt her or something. But I hadn’t.
She tightened up when she screamed, and I came right after that. God, that felt good. It was so strong.
I didn’t know what to do afterward. I lay on her for a little while, enjoying the feeling. I even thought about kissing her, but she pushed me off and got up. We got dressed and went back inside. We didn’t even say anything to each other the rest of the night.
The next time we saw each other in school, it was like she didn’t know me. I was a nobody to her again.
Then one day in school a couple of months later, she came up to me away from other students.
“I’m pregnant. It’s your baby.”
I shook my head. Of course I didn’t believe her.
“I need some of your saliva for a DNA test,” she continued.
She handed me a swab to put inside my mouth. I gave her the sample, thinking that would show the baby wasn’t mine.
But sure enough, the test came back saying I was the father.
It seemed crazy. I never understood how I got caught when she’d had sex with other boys.
“Why don’t you get an abortion?” I asked her.
“I tried. God knows I don’t want your kid. But my parents don’t believe in it. They won’t let me.”
I had to tell my parents about the situation. I told them the truth of how it happened. I thought my Dad would beat the crap out of me for getting Cheryl pregnant, but he didn’t. He just said I’d have to take responsibility and deal with it.
So several months later, Cheryl delivered a baby girl. She named her Macey. I always thought Macey was a pretty name.
Anyway, Cheryl didn’t want anything to do with me, even after the baby was born. She wouldn’t even let me see the girl.
I didn’t know much about Cheryl’s life other than that. She lived with her parents for a while and didn’t go to college. I guessed they supported her and the baby. Then sometime later she got a job and an apartment. She never came after me for child support or anything.
I’d have married Cheryl after I got a job, but she still didn’t want anything to do with me. It’s probably best we didn’t get married. We were so different. It wouldn’t have lasted.
I had written Macey off, figuring I would never be a part of her life. I just went on to live my own.
I continued thinking about it all day.
What could I do if I took Macey? There was no way I could continue going to school and work toward my degree. I didn’t like that. I could be stuck as a technician the rest of my life. I wanted my chemical engineering degree. I could make more money and maybe go up the company management chain. But I felt responsible for her and didn’t want her to go to some strange foster home. Even if it wasn’t planned, Macey was my child. As her father, I should take care of her.
My company had a Child Care center open during the day. Unfortunately, not in the evening. That’s a really nice benefit of working there if you had a young kid. I’d have to transfer to the day shift, if they’d let me.
When I went to work that night, I asked my boss about changing to days and explained why. He said he’d have to check and let me know. I didn’t hear anything the rest of my shift.
It wasn’t until the following Monday that I got an answer. One of the day-shift techs was willing to change to evenings for the shift differential pay. I really appreciated both bosses allowing me to do that. They must have thought I was a good enough worker to want to keep me on. They told me it would take a couple of weeks to process everything and get started on the day shift.
I didn’t know what I’d have done if they hadn’t. Maybe tried to find another job? I wouldn’t have earned as much money, though.
I called Cheryl back Tuesday.
“Okay,” I told her, “I’ll take Macey, but you have to give me some time to work things out.”
“How much time?”
“A couple of weeks.”
“You can’t do it any sooner than that?”
“No. I have to wait to change my job shift at work. I’m supposed to start working days on July 11th. Give me a couple more days to make sure everything’s okay, then I’ll pick her up on the 13th.”
“Damn. All right, if I don’t kill the little bitch in the meantime.”
That statement really upset me. Was Macey in danger? Was Cheryl beating her? Should I get Macey sooner? But I couldn’t keep her with my current schedule. I’d have to leave her alone in my apartment while I was at work. I couldn’t do that.
On the other hand, what kind of a problem was Macey? Was she a terrible kid? What was I getting into? Would I be able to handle her?
Those kinds of thoughts ran through my mind all day. Even at work that night my mind wandered off thinking about her. It took a major effort to concentrate on my job. I couldn’t make a mistake. It could be fatal.
When I woke up the next morning, I was still obsessed by those thoughts.
I didn’t know if Cheryl was beating her. I didn’t have any evidence to report her. All I could do was hope Macey would be all right until I got her.
I finally figured that if Macey was a terrible kid and I couldn’t deal with her, I could always give up her up for adoption. But I had to try and keep her with family first.
I looked at the calendar on my phone. Monday was July 4th, a holiday. What if I could try to spend a day with her ahead of time? To sort of get to know her and what to expect beforehand.
I called Cheryl and proposed that.
“No,” she said. “We’ve already got plans for that day.”
She didn’t volunteer what the plans were, and although I wanted to ask, I didn’t. So I had to wait until the 13th to find out.
Life-Critical Events
Chapter 1
The Setup
Randy Johnson, a fifteen-year-old high school sophomore, stood at the end of the stadium in his Northview Raiders’ blue and white football gear with the other players. A strong gust of cold wind blew past the group. He shivered as they waited to run through the banner and play their November Friday night game in Marion, North Carolina.
Randy doubted he would get to play in tonight’s important game. He had only played in two games so far during the season, in both only after his team led by three touchdowns. And each time the coach called him off the field after a few plays.
Kelli Jones, a sixteen-year-old junior, climbed up the steps near the top in the center of the home stands. She wore blue jeans, gloves, stylish booties, a long gray coat, a red knitted beanie cap, and a scarf around her neck. Only her face showed.
She sat in the middle of an empty row. With a disgusted look, she shook her head. Football was definitely not her thing. She wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for the strong feeling that something would happen she’d want to see.
A moment later, the announcer’s voice came over the loudspeakers.
“Welcome to the last regular Northview conference game of the season. The winner of tonight’s game takes the conference championship and goes on to the first round of the state playoffs. The loser … well, they’re through for the year. Let’s have a big cheer to help our Raiders move on.”
The band played, and the home crowd cheered as the Raiders ran through the banner onto the field. Wearing number 19, Randy was among the last players through.
As the game proceeded, Randy stood on the sideline with the rest of the players not in the game. He shivered occasionally. The temperature made it nice for playing football, if you were actually playing. Standing on the sideline, he was cold.
Kelli frequently shifted position on the hard metal seating. Besides being cold, she wished she had brought a pad to sit on.
She looked around the field and at people in the stands. She watched a few families having problems with young children. Their clearly-spoiled uncontrolled screaming irritated her.
With several minutes left in the game, and not having seen anything worth her time, she stood and walked toward the aisle, intending to leave. As soon as she reached it, though, she stopped, paused a moment, then turned around and walked back to where she had been sitting.
Standing on the sideline, Randy looked at the clock. It showed 3:18 left in the game. His Raiders team led 23 to 20.
The opposing Cowboys had the ball first down and ten on their own 21-yard line after a Raider punt. Randy knew the outcome of this drive would determine the game winner. If his team could stop the Cowboys from scoring, they’d win. If not, well ….
It looked like his zero-chance-of-playing in this game was right on. Coach Williams wouldn’t take out his first-team Right Cornerback Tom Masters on such a critical drive just to let a lousy second-teamer in for a few plays. This game was too important.
With that depressing thought, Randy lowered his head and stared at the torn-up grass in front of him.
His mind wandered to something more pleasant—Annie Deardon. She was in his geometry class. He dreamed about being with her. She had ash blond hair, dressed nicely, and was a very attractive girl. She was from a well-off family, which he was not. He had looked into the stands earlier, but hadn’t seen her.
He turned around and looked into the stands again. With everyone bundled up, he still couldn’t find her. He didn’t even know if she would be there. Maybe she didn’t like football. He had never actually talked to her.
He didn’t know the next play had started until he heard fans screaming. Turning back to the field, he saw the ball in the air heading toward the Raider’s sideline.
Tom and a Cowboy Receiver leaped high into the air near the sideline. The ball bounced off Tom’s and the Receiver’s hands and fell out of bounds.
He heard someone cry out in pain as the two of them hit the ground in a heap.
The Receiver got up, apparently okay.
Tom lay on his back, moaning and holding his lower left leg with both hands. The trainer and Coach Williams ran onto the field.
The trainer waved for a stretcher, and his two assistants brought it to where Tom lay. They eased Tom onto it.
Randy smiled. That was his position. There wasn’t another Right Cornerback on the team. He was actually going to get a chance to play.
He began stretching to loosen up,. He did quick jogging in place, twisted his hips and torso a few times in each direction, and bent down to touch his toes.
As they carried Tom off the field on the stretcher, Randy saw Coach Williams coming down the sideline.
“Bishop,” the coach yelled.
Clarence Bishop was the second-team Left Cornerback.
“Get in there and cover the right side.”
Randy’s mouth and eyes opened wide. He couldn’t believe Coach was putting in the Left Cornerback and not him. He tore off his helmet and threw it to the ground. He scowled at the coach.
The clock showed 3:02 left as Clarence ran into the defensive huddle.
When the huddle broke, Clarence went to his usual position on the left side.
The Raider first team Left Cornerback shouted at him, but in the meantime, the Cowboy Quarterback saw an opening and passed to his Split End for a 17-yard gain before the Safety got there to make the tackle.
Coach Williams called for a time out.
“Dammit, Bishop,” he yelled. “Get your ass over here. Don’t you know your left from your right?”
“Johnson,” Coach yelled as he motioned for Randy to come.
Still wearing the scowl, Randy picked up his helmet and walked to him.
“Son,” Coach said, putting his arm around Randy’s shoulders, “you know how much this game means to us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here’s a great opportunity for you. You need to get out there and play the game of your life. Make a big difference in this game and our season. Give ’em hell. Play like Tom would, dammit. Understand?”
Randy didn’t know what to say other than a shaky “Yes sir.”
Randy felt his heart racing again as he ran onto the field. His mind raced even faster.
His legs started to quiver. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves or the cold. But he had been cold on the sideline, and his legs hadn’t quivered there.
He stole a glance up into the stands to where his mother Carol and twelve-year-old sister Linda sat. They always sat in the same area about halfway up near the end.
They stood, waving and yelling. He started to raise his arm and wave back, but thought better of it. He had done that once before and got kidded for it by the other players. He discreetly nodded, faced the field again, and went into the huddle.
Randy had trouble believing he could do what Coach said. He wasn’t Tom. Tom was really good. He was faster, heavier, stronger, and a couple inches taller. He would certainly make All-Conference. He might even make All-State.
Randy knew he could never fill those shoes.
“Okay, Randy,” he heard George, the defensive team captain, say, “they’re obviously gonna do some passing. Watch out for their Split End. He’s big, and he’s good. You ready?”
“Uh huh,” Randy somehow managed to say, even though his heart, stomach, brain, legs, and the rest of his body told him he wasn’t.
As Randy headed to his position, he looked up at the scoreboard. The clock showed 2:39 left in the game. First down and ten for the Cowboys. Still 23 – 20 Raiders.
Randy knew they would come his direction. Teams always did that in a must-win situation. They went after the weakest point. And he was clearly the weakest point—a backup cornerback without a lot of ability and playing time.
His stomach felt like it was going to come up and out of his mouth, and his first play hadn’t even begun.
He couldn’t let his team down. They had to win this game.
When the ball was snapped, Randy saw 84, the big Cowboy Split End, charging down the field toward him.
Okay, Randy wondered, what was the End gonna do? Was it just a straight down? Was he gonna cut one way or the other? Was he gonna stop short and turn around?
Randy started back-pedaling. So much ran through his mind. He wished he was better and had more real playing time.
He had to turn around and run to keep up with the End. Fortunately, he had a little more speed than 84.
Randy saw the End stop and turn around as he ran past him. And in his attempt to figure out what the End was going to do, he hadn’t been watching the Quarterback and the ball.
There was so much to pay attention to.
Randy turned and saw the ball in the air coming toward the End.
Muttering to himself, he stopped quickly, turned around, and headed back to the End. Only a few yards separated them, but by the time he got back, the End had caught the ball and turned to run downfield.
Like he had been taught, Randy threw his shoulder into the End and wrapped his arms around his legs, trying to hold on and make the tackle.
The End didn’t go down. He was bigger, heavier, and stronger. Randy felt his grip slipping from around both the End’s legs, but he managed to hold on to one leg until the Safety arrived to take him down.
As he got up, Randy looked over toward Coach.
The coach looked down at the turf and shook his head.
Randy knew that if Tom had been in and he hadn’t intercepted or knocked the ball away, he would at least have taken the End down himself. With him, the Cowboys got a couple extra yards while he struggled.
Randy saw the field judges move the down markers. The ball was past midfield on his team’s side now, about the 48 yard line. That was a pick-up of about fourteen yards and another first down.
He looked at the clock. It showed 2:10 left.
Randy calculated that at about twenty or thirty seconds per play and now only forty-eight yards to go, there was plenty of time for the Cowboys to score a touchdown. That was a certain loss for his team.
George swatted Randy on the butt as they huddled.
“Hang in there, Randy,” he said.
Randy looked to the sideline again. He saw Tom lying on a stretcher with the doctor checking his exposed leg. He wouldn’t be back in the game. It was up to him now, unless the Coach pulled him in favor of somebody else. But there was nobody else.
After two more plays, demonstrating his incompetence each time, Randy headed to the huddle. He looked at the scoreboard. Now there was 1:28 left. It was first down Cowboys on the Raider 21 yard line.
“Come on, Randy,” George demanded as he stepped into the huddle. “Get it done.”
Randy didn’t know what else to say but, “I’m doing the best I can.”
George shook his head and didn’t say any more.
As Randy moved to his position, he felt the frustration and anger of all the other players focused on him. It would be his fault if they lost this game. And it wasn’t only the game. It was the Conference Championship.
He couldn’t let them down. He just couldn’t.
Randy knew he would never be able to face anyone in the school again if they lost because of him. He would never have a chance with Annie. He wondered if he could change schools. But he lived where he lived, and this was his designated school.
The Cowboys came out in the same offensive formation as their last play—the Split End and 29, their fast Wide Receiver.
Randy wished the clock would go real fast and run out of time before the play started, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Randy didn’t know what else to do. He prayed for some way to stop them.
The Center snapped the ball. The End and Wide Receiver started downfield again.
Randy back-pedaled. He saw the End slow and cut toward the middle. The Raider Linebacker went with him. The Cowboy Wide Receiver kept coming.
Then Randy noticed the Running Back coming around in the backfield with the football. Randy hesitated.
No Raider was between Randy and the Running Back, and Randy was inside the 5 yard line. The Running Back had a clear field all the way to him.
He stopped back-pedaling and started to run forward to try and tackle the Running Back.
But at that moment, the Running Back stopped, raised his arm, and threw the ball toward the Wide Receiver, now alone in the end zone.
When Randy tried to stop and go back, he slipped on the wet turf and fell to the ground.
As he fell, Randy saw the ball fly over his head like it was in slow motion.
“Noooo!” he yelled.
For an instant, time and everything seemed to stop.
Somehow, Randy found himself high in the end zone, in front of the Wide Receiver. He saw the ball coming toward him. He had the presence of mind to grab the ball out of the air and bring it to his body. He held on as tightly as he could.
Randy fell to the turf, hitting hard on his side. It hurt, but all he could think about was holding on to that football. He curled his body around it. Nobody was going to get that ball. Nobody.
In the stands, Kelli alerted to what just happened on the field. Most people in the stadium saw an interception, but she observed that there was so much more to the play.
In seconds, Randy’s teammates surrounded him. Some piled on top of him. They screamed and cheered.
Some finally helped him up and ran with him toward the sideline. Randy still carried the football.
He saw the other players running onto the field toward him, swarming around him. They were leaping and giving him high fives. Coach Williams remained at the sideline, but smiled.
As they reached the bench, he heard the fans cheering for the first time.
The referee came over and said, “Son, I need the football.”
“Oh, sorry,” Randy apologized with a sheepish grin.
Randy thought about his mother and sister. He looked where they were. With everyone standing and cheering, it was hard to see them. He finally did. They were cheering as well. Linda must have been jumping up and down on her seat. He saw her hands and arms over her head.
As things settled down, he noticed how hard he was breathing.
Wow.
He just then fully realized he had done what he needed to do. He really had intercepted the pass.
He hadn’t let his team down.
His interception gave the Raiders the ball on their 20 yard line, first down and ten. He stole a glance at the scoreboard. The clock showed 1:02 left. His team could run out the time now to win the game. They would be conference champs.
Randy’s chest swelled as he screamed inside with pride. He flashed a huge smile.
He watched the clock run down. As time ran out, the Raider bench and players erupted into yells. The cheerleaders led another cheer, and the band played the school song again.
The players from both teams congregated on the field to shake hands with players from the other team. Randy noticed 29 coming over to him.
“I don’t know how you made that catch,” he said. “I thought we had an easy touchdown. It was a great play on your part.”
The player shook Randy’s hand.
It felt so good to hear that coming from an opposing team member. After everything he’d been through, he almost broke into tears.
“Thank you.” It was all he could say, holding the tears back as best he could.
More of his own players came up and hugged him in congratulations.
Randy’s face radiated euphoria inside his helmet as he walked off the field. He hadn’t lost the game for his team.
His mother and sister leaned over the railing above the field exit leading to the gym and locker room. He looked up when he heard his name called and saw them. He had never seen his mother so happy.
Randy saw her lips move like saying, “I love you,” but couldn’t hear the words, so she may have only been mouthing them. His sister Linda blew him a kiss. She jumped up and down, smiling and waving to him.
He smiled, waved back, and gave them a thumbs up as he passed beneath them.
Kelli also leaned over the railing, trying to get a good look at 19. She could only see portions of his face inside his helmet, but observed his interaction with a white woman having red hair and a light-skinned black girl who appeared about ten or twelve years old.
In the locker room, Coach Williams even came over.
“I thought you’d blown the coverage again,” he said, “but somehow you recovered and made the play. That was a great job.”
That really felt good, coming from the coach who had never had anything good to say about him. Randy struggled to hold back the tears again.
He didn’t see Tom in the locker room. Somebody said he was taken to the hospital for x-rays.
While the customary yelling and cheering still went on around him, Randy took time to think while he was in the shower.
He had made a great play, but the more he thought about it, he couldn’t figure out how he had done it. There was no way he could have gotten from the ground around the five or ten yard line into the end zone ahead of a ball already in the air. That bothered him. Had he blacked out or something?
Oh well. There was nothing he could do about it. And he wouldn’t change it if he could. He could bask in the glory for now.
Kelli stood in the shadows watching as the player of interest walked from the gym toward the parking lot.
He was an average-looking, slender, light-to-medium-skin-toned black boy, about six feet tall with short reddish-brown hair. His pants legs only reached his ankles, as if a little small for him.
Randy smiled as he walked. Maybe he would get another chance to play next week in the first playoff game.
As he approached their car, Linda and his mother saw him coming. Linda shouted his name as they got out and ran to meet him. She got there first. She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. She kissed him on the cheek.
“You were the game hero,” she said.
Randy had never quite thought about it like that, but in a sense, he guessed she was right. If there was a single play which defined the game, his was probably it.
His mother came up, put her arms around him in a big hug, and kissed him.
“I love you, Randy,” she said. “I’m so proud of you tonight. I always knew you would be a star.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She released her hug, took his hand, and led him back to the car. Linda grabbed the other hand as they walked.
Prince of a Horse
Chapter 1
A New Life
Late afternoon, the day after Memorial Day, Lana Wilson, in her late fifties, prepared dinner in her Kentucky farmhouse kitchen when she suddenly heard noises behind the house. She went to a back window and looked out.
Her young horse Dusty was raising a commotion in the corral. The colt reared, neighed, jumped, and galloped around inside. His calm mother stood quietly in the center, apparently unfazed by her colts activity. Lana had never seen the colt so active. He was normally like his mother, quiet and inactive.
She watched for a minute and didn’t see anything that would make him act so strange. She shook her head and went back to preparing dinner.
Eagerly anticipating her son David’s family arrival, she kept an ear tuned for cars coming up the farm driveway. She hadn’t seen them since January.
That was not a pleasant visit. This time they were coming here to live. She hoped things would be better and was counting on her son to be a big help in operating the farm. She also needed to spend time working with her grandson Bobby.
Two cars turned from a two-lane country highway into a U-shaped driveway leading to a farmhouse set off about thirty yards from the road.
Lana heard her young horse blow several times in quick succession. She returned to the back window and looked out. The horse persisted in jumping and galloping inside the corral while his mother remained quiet. He reared and blew again. Lana scanned the area again and saw nothing making him behave that way.
The cars drove past what used to be attractive landscaping between the road and house. The older, large, faded deep red two-story house needed repainting.
The cars stopped beside the house where part of the farm was visible. Behind the house were a barn, the corral, a large chicken coop, and fields on each side of a dirt road. Some fields had green crops, others yellow-brown crops. Some were bare ground.
Twelve-year-old Bobby Wilson slowly opened and grudgingly got out of the passenger seat door of the lead car with a contorted, angry face. He slammed the door shut.
David Wilson, Bobby’s father, stepped from the lead car driver’s seat. He did not appear happy.
Susan Wilson, Bobby’s mother, exited from the driver’s side of the second car wearing a sad, resigned expression.
Lana ran smiling from the house to greet them.
“It’s so good to see you all here,” she said as she went over to hug and kiss David. He responded in kind, but did not smile.
“Hello, Bobby,” she said.
But when she reached out to hug and kiss him, the boy scowled and backed away. Lana’s face showed disappointment, but the experience clearly reminded her of the work she needed to do.
She went over to welcome Susan with a hug.
“Can I help you carry anything in?”
“Thanks, Mom, but we can manage,” David said, knowing it would require several trips to get their belongings inside.
In the background, the colt still neighed, reared up, and galloped around inside the corral. Susan noticed the continuing activity and pointed. “Dusty is really acting up.”
“I don’t know what’s going on with him,” Lana offered. “I’ve never seen him behave like this.”
David, Susan, and Bobby gathered some of their things and walked toward the house.
Inside, Lana said, “You know where your rooms are. If you need anything, let me know. Dinner’ll be ready soon.”
David and Susan headed up the stairs, each pulling a medium-sized suitcase and clothing bag. Bobby trudged behind with his backpack and a small suitcase.
Bobby’s bedroom here was about half the size he had in the city and didn’t have an included bathroom. That was down the hall. The room had a twin bed, a road-facing window, a wooden table only big enough to hold an open book or a laptop with a sheet of paper beside it, a wooden straight-back chair, and a small closet.
An hour later, Lana, David, and Susan sat down at the dinner table in the dining room. Bobby was missing. Susan got up and went over to the stairs.
“Bobby,” she called. “Dinner.”
She returned to the dining room where the three of them waited for Bobby.
A moment later, Bobby sauntered in.
“I can’t get anything done with this crappy phone signal and slow internet,” he complained as he sat down
“I’m sorry, dear,” Lana said, trying to console him. “But that’s all we needed for the farm. I guess I could see if we can get something better.”
Susan dished some mashed potatoes, gravy, peas, and chicken onto Bobby’s plate. He looked at it for a moment, then began picking at it.
“You need to eat something,” David told him.
“What for?”
“We have a lot of work to do around here.”
“Like what?”
“Like taking care of the animals, working the land, maintaining things.”
“I didn’t sign up for that.”
“Well, that’s part of living on a farm.”
“But I don’t wanna live on a farm. I wanna move back to the city.”
“Now, Bobby,” Susan added, “you know we can’t do that.”
Bobby shoved his chair back from the table and ran upstairs to his room.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” David said. “Bobby has a real problem with living here.”
“I know. That’s a shame. This is a beautiful place.”
“And we’re fortunate to have this to come to. Many other people don’t have a place to go.”
Lana looked at David with a loving, but somewhat disapproving stare.
“But I remember another young man who decided he didn’t want to be a farmer and stayed in the city after college.”
David grinned sheepishly.
In the living room that evening, David sat in his father’s recliner reading a newspaper. Lana watched TV from the sofa.
Lana turned off the TV, then looked mournfully at a framed picture of herself and her now-deceased husband Charles on the end table. She pulled a tissue from a box there and wiped tears from her eyes.
She turned and fixed her gaze on David, who was still reading the paper.
When David turned the page, he noticed her watching him. He lowered the paper and looked over at her.
“We aren’t having a good crop year,” Lana said. “We won’t be able to sell much.”
“Why not?”
“Ernie and I weren’t able to plant and care for them all by ourselves. I couldn’t afford to hire anybody else.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m going to have to take out a loan to pay the taxes, pay Ernie, and pay bills.”
“Damn, Mom. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Well, that’s how it is,” Lana sighed.
“What can we do?”
“I wish you’d stayed here after your father died last winter.”
A submissive David looked down and said nothing for a moment.
“Is there some way to recover the crops?”
“No. They’re too far gone.”
“What about planting new crops?”
“Maybe some more corn, but it’s too late in the year now for most. Some fall crops later.”
David said nothing.
With an empty stare at the floor, his mother said, “What I’m really worried about is getting into a situation where I can’t pay back the loan and the bank forecloses on the farm.”
Her voice broke as she continued, “I wouldn’t have any place to go. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have the farm.”
She used her tissue to wipe more tears from her eyes.
David immediately sat up straight and his eyes opened wide as he realized he wouldn’t have any place to go either.
Early Wednesday morning, David entered Bobby’s bedroom. Bobby lay in his bed, apparently asleep.
“Come on, Bobby. Get up. We have lots to do.”
Bobby just turned over and pulled the covers over his head.
His father grabbed the covers and yanked them off him.
“I said get up. We don’t have time for you to mope around. Grandma’s got breakfast ready.”
Bobby reluctantly got up. He picked up his clothes and walked down the hall toward the bathroom.
After breakfast, David led the boy toward the barn. Bobby noticed Dusty eyeing them from the corral.
The farm manager, Ernie Perez, in his late 40’s, walked out of the barn.
“Morning, David,” Ernie said. “I’m sure glad to see you here.”
Ernie extended his arm. He and David shook hands. David turned to Bobby.
“Bobby, you remember Ernie. He helped Granddad with the farm.”
Ernie reached out to shake hands.
“Nice to see you here, too, Bobby.”
Bobby just grunted and didn’t offer his hand in return. Ernie shrugged his shoulders and looked at David.
“I’m sorry, Ernie. He doesn’t want to be here.”
“O-kaaay.”
Ernie got on the tractor and left.
David walked into the barn and came out with a gas-powered weed trimmer. He showed Bobby how to use it, then shut it off and told Bobby to try it. Bobby had trouble getting it started, then struggled to lift and control it.
“It’s too heavy and hard to handle.”
He shut off the trimmer and dropped it to the ground.
“Okay. There’s another task.”
David motioned for Bobby to follow him and led the boy into the barn.
“It stinks in here.”
David went to a wall filled with hanging tools and pulled off a pitchfork. He handed it to Bobby, then led him to another stall.
“You know what horses do here. Somebody has to clean it up.”
“You want me to clean up horse crap?”
“That’s right.”
“I think I’ll try the weed trimmer again.”
“Well, those are your two chores for this morning. The order you do ’em in doesn’t make any difference.”
Bobby looked down for a second, then dropped the pitchfork and ran back into the house.
Bobby lay on his bed, texting on his phone.
David stormed into the room.
“Look, Bobby. To keep things running around here, we all have to pitch in. If you don’t, you’ll lose some privileges.”
David reached down and grabbed the phone. Bobby jumped up.
“No!”
Bobby watched in resignation as his father disconnected the laptop, picked it up, and headed out the door.
“It’s your choice.”
“All right. … All right.”
“Then get to it. You’ll get these back when you’ve finished your chores for the day.”
Bobby reluctantly followed his father from the room.
A few minutes later, back at the side of the barn, Bobby struggled with the weed trimmer and the grass grown thick and tall.
With a look of disgust on his sweaty face, Bobby paused to rest after a few minutes.
Dusty whinnied.
Bobby turned around and saw the colt looking at him. Dusty whinnied again.
“Stupid horse.”
Bobby shook his head and returned to his struggle.
When Bobby finished trimming around the barn almost an hour later, he walked to the corral and began trimming under the fence from the outside.
Each time he stopped to rest, the colt looked at him and whinnied.
About a quarter of the way around, a frustrated Bobby stopped and glared at the horse.
“Quit looking at me. Don’t you have anything else to do?”
Dusty just whinnied again.
“Stupid animal.”
Bobby shook his head and resumed trimming.
Later, inside the barn, Bobby tried to avoid any contact with the urine-wetted straw and feces by very carefully picking up some of it with the pitchfork.
As he turned to put a full pitchfork into the wheelbarrow, though, some of the straw flew off and brushed his hand.
“Yuck!”
He shook his hand violently trying to get any traces of straw or other material off.
He looked around for a sink to wash his hand and didn’t see one. He shook his head and wiped his hand on his lower pants leg.
“They need to potty train these horses.”
He continued loading the wheelbarrow, even more carefully.
When Bobby exited the barn pushing a full wheelbarrow, he saw Dusty looking him.
The colt whinnied. Bobby shook his head.
“Stupid animal.”
Bobby pushed the wheelbarrow to a small trailer and dumped it.
Dusty whinnied again as Bobby pushed the wheelbarrow back toward the barn.
When the family sat down for lunch in the dining room, Bobby devoured his food.
“How did your morning go, Bobby?” Lana asked. “Looks like you worked up an appetite.”
“Yeah, I did a lot of crappy work.”
Bobby put a fork loaded with mashed potatoes in his mouth and swallowed them, almost without chewing.
“And that stupid horse out there is always looking at me. I hate that almost as much as doing the work.”
“Which one?” Lana asked.
“The young one. Every time I turned around or showed up, it was watching me. It’s like Dad told it to spy on me to make sure I kept working.”
Lana and Susan turned to look at David.
David shrugged and shook his head.
“I had nothing to do with that.”
“Dusty seems to be very curious about things,” Lana said. “Why don’t we go out and re-introduce you to him after lunch?”
After Lana led Bobby to the corral where the two horses were, she went into the barn and filled a bucket with oats.
“You haven’t wanted anything to do with the horses before,” Lana said on returning. “They’re just like pets, a member of the family.”
She grabbed a handful of oats and offered it to the mare named Harriet. She held the bucket out for Bobby.
“Take some out and offer them to Dusty.”
Bobby did so, but when Dusty rapidly moved his big head toward Bobby’s hand, the boy flinched and jerked his hand back. The oats fell to the ground.
“Don’t worry. Try it again. He won’t hurt you.”
Bobby reached into the bucket and grabbed another handful.
When Dusty’s lips and tongue touched his hand, he flinched again and dropped the oats. Dusty stared at him briefly, then lowered his head and ate the oats on the ground.
When Dusty raised his head again, Lana gently stroked his neck.”
“He likes having his neck stroked like this. Why don’t you do it?
Bobby cautiously did likewise. Dusty turned his head toward him. Their eyes met. Dusty whinnied softly.
“He likes you.”
“He does?”
“Sure. Do it again.”
Bobby did.
“Offer him another handful of oats. Don’t be afraid.”
Bobby reached into the bucket and presented the oats. Dusty looked at the boy for a moment, then proceeded to eat them.
Bobby stroked the colt’s neck again. Dusty whinnied softly.
The next morning, June 2nd, Bobby watched a few minutes as Ernie began training David on some farm equipment. Not that interested, he left to do his chores.
Later, with his chores finished, Bobby walked by the corral as Ernie groomed Dusty. The horse saw Bobby, whinnied, and walked toward him, leaving Ernie standing alone.
“Dusty must like you. He’s never done that with anybody before.”
“Really?”
Ernie walked over to them.
“Would you like to groom him?”
“I don’t know how.”
“I’ll show you. This brush is called a curry. You use it in a circular motion like this.”
Ernie demonstrated.
“You only use it on the fleshy areas of his body. You can hurt him if you use it hard on bony areas.”
Ernie handed Bobby the curry and guided his hand. Bobby tried it himself, very gently. Dusty turned his head to look at Bobby and whinnied softly.
Bobby stood there for a moment, looking at Dusty.
“What’s he saying when he does that?”
“I don’t know. I never learned to speak horse.”
Chapter 2
A Search
At his bedroom table with his laptop that evening, Bobby brought up a search engine and entered the words “talk to a horse.”
He waited. And waited.
“Come on. Come on. Crappy internet.”
A number of items eventually showed up with words “horse whisperer”. He clicked on one of them and waited impatiently for the site to load. The little circle just kept spinning way too long.
When the desired screen finally appeared, he highlighted a sentence which said “you must observe the horses for some time to learn how to communicate with them.”
“Not what I need.”
He went back and examined some of the other links. He found one where a woman claimed to talk to animals and clicked on it. Angelina Perdew’s website eventually appeared.
It displayed “I TALK TO ANIMALS” in a large font at the top. It had a small, indistinct photo of her and photos of a variety of animals. He saved the link and went to Angelina’s contact page. He quickly filled in the contact form and composed a short message:
“My grandmother has a horse who seems to be talking to me. I want to know what he’s saying. Can you help?”
He clicked on SUBMIT.
Scanning through a few more result pages for similar links, he found nothing of interest.
He sat back in his chair.
After finishing his chores Friday, Bobby entered the corral and began gently grooming Dusty. Dusty turned his head to look at the boy and whinnied softly. Bobby stroked the horse’s neck.
“I wish I knew what you were saying.”
That evening, Bobby sat at his bedroom table checking email on his laptop. Suddenly he broke into a huge smile.
“Angelina,” he shouted.
He clicked to open the email and read aloud portions of her response, “I could help you … five hundred dollars per day plus expenses.”
“Crap. No way.”
Bobby leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.
Saturday morning, as the family ate breakfast, Bobby picked at his food again.
“Dad, you know, I’d like to be able to talk to Dusty.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“Well, I found this link to a woman who says she can talk to animals.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. She says she could come here and do that.”
Susan asked, “What makes you think she can really do it?
“She says she can.”
“Does she want money for this?” David asked.
Bobby hesitated, then nodded.
“How much?”
Bobby gave a meek reply. “Five hundred dollars.”
“No way. We can’t afford that. She’s a fraud anyhow.”
Bobby lowered his head, then got up and went upstairs to his bedroom.
Monday morning, June 6th, Angelina Perdew, a middle-aged woman dressed in a casual but conservative outfit, entered her home office. She looked around, to be certain things were ready to receive a client.
The furniture consisted of a desk with its chair, two inexpensively upholstered chairs with a matching sofa, and a coffee table.
She opened the exterior door to see a female client holding a male cat.
“You must be Denise,” Angelina said.
“Yes.”
Angelina invited her in and pointed her to one of the chairs. As Denise sat down, she placed the cat in her lap.
Angelina sat in the facing chair.
“What’s your cat’s name?” Angelina asked.
“Thomas.”
“What’s the problem with Thomas?”
“He’s stopped using his litter box.”
“Okay. Give me a minute to talk with him.”
Angelina sat back, closed her eyes, and went quiet trying to communicate telepathically with Thomas.
“Do you live in an area where they have dust storms?” she asked a moment later.
“No. Why?”
“I’m getting this image of a huge dust cloud coming toward me.”
The client shook her head.
“Do you also have a horse?”
“No.”
Angelina shook her head as if she didn’t understand, then closed her eyes and sat back again to communicate with Thomas.
Dusty, sensing that he had made some level of telepathic contact with Angelina, sent her a message, “Angelina, I’m Dusty. A horse. I need your help.”
Angelina suddenly sat up, looking surprised.
“Who is Dusty?” Angelina asked her client.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have a horse named Dusty?”
“No.”
“Angelina, I’m Dusty. A horse. I need your help bad.”
“That’s strange. I’m getting a very strong communication from a horse named Dusty. He’s insisting I help him.”
“I don’t even know anybody who has a horse.”
Angelina went quiet again for a moment, trying to communicate with Thomas.
Finally, she gave up.
“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to get through to Thomas. Dusty is coming in so strong he blocks everything else.”
“Do you know anyone else I could try?”
“No one I’d recommend. I’m sorry. I’ve got to figure out why Dusty needs help. Could we try again tomorrow, same time?”
With a frustrated expression, Denise said, “I guess.”
The woman picked up Thomas and left.
Looking concerned, Angelina went to sit behind her desk.
That night, Bobby sat at his table playing a game on his laptop when a chime indicated a new email. In checking, he saw it was from Angelina. Bobby immediately clicked on it. It opened after the typical long delay.
“Bobby,
“I’ve been receiving communications from a horse named Dusty. I finally got a name Bobby associated with him. I got an email from you recently. Is he your horse?
“Love, Angelina”
Bobby put on a broad smile and immediately typed a reply, giving her his phone number.
Later, back at playing the video game, Bobby’s phone rang. It was Angelina.
“Bobby, thank you for a quick reply. Dusty is interfering with my work. I have trouble reading other animals because he keeps coming in. He keeps telling me he needs help. Is there something wrong with him?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, he’s in some kind of distress.”
“I don’t know. My parents can’t afford your charge to find out.”
“I’ve got to get this resolved. I can’t do my work properly the way things are. Tell you what. I’ll be in your area next week, so I’ll stop by to see what’s wrong.”
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
Ecstatic, Bobby picked up his laptop and ran downstairs.
David, Susan, and Lana were watching TV in the living room.
“Mom, Dad, that woman who talks to animals. She’s gonna come here for free.”
“Wait a minute,” David said. “Why is she willing to do that now?
“Dusty’s been talking to her.”
“Why would she say that?” Susan inquired. “What did you tell her about Dusty?”
“Just that he’s a horse.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. You can see my emails to her.”
Bobby showed them the email.
“It’s interesting,” Lana said, “that she brings up Dusty’s name when Bobby didn’t give it to her, and she associates it with him.”
Susan suggested, “Let’s check her website.”
Bobby clicked on the link to her site. They examined it when it finally appeared.
“She seems to have good reviews and testimonials,” Susan said.
“Charles always felt that animals could communicate with us, if only we could reciprocate.”
“Could we at least let her try?” Bobby said. “It won’t cost anything.”
David thought for a moment, then looked at Lana and Susan. Both nodded.
“All right. Get a firm date and time. And I want to be there.”
Chapter 3
The Big Meeting
Monday morning, June 13th, the family sat in the living room waiting for Angelina. They heard a car pull up in the driveway.
“I can just see her now.” David said. “Walking in with a chain of charms and crystals around her neck, carrying a bottle of woo-woo, and who knows what else.”
“But there are things we don’t know,” Lana countered. “I’m going to wait and see.”
Bobby just sat there looking disgusted at the conversation, not saying anything.
The doorbell rang.
Lana got up and opened the door to see someone who looked like a normal, middle-aged woman. Angelina Perdew stood on the porch, dressed in a casual but conservative outfit and wearing a plain silver necklace with a small crystal at the bottom.
Lana invited her in and did the introductions.
David and Susan appeared shocked. She didn’t look at all like the weirdo they expected.
Angelina looked at the boy.
“So you are Bobby?”
Bobby nodded.
“Dusty has told me a lot about you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. He was so happy that day your family came in here to live. He knew he could communicate with you.”
“Is that why he was so active?” Susan asked.
“Yes. He says he was celebrating. And he appreciates the care you show in grooming him.”
Pointing Angelina to a chair, Lana suggested, “Should we all sit down?”
“So how do you do this work, Angelina?” David asked.
“I get thoughts and images from the animals, and my mind forms them into words so I can communicate.”
“But how do you get the thoughts and images?”
“It’s just basic telepathy. Telepathy is a universal language that allows for communication between all living things.”
David shook his head in disbelief.
“How did you get connected with Dusty?” Lana asked.
“I just started receiving telepathic messages from him. He’s unusual. A very strong transmitter. I’ve never dealt with an animal as strong as he is. He’s so strong he could even influence people who aren’t psychic.”
“But how can that happen?” David asked.
“Dusty can sense Bobby’s thoughts. It can work like internet links. Maybe because Bobby established the link with me, Dusty linked to me from that.”
David shook his head again.
An impatient Bobby asked, “Can we go out and talk to Dusty?”
Angelina looked around. Everyone nodded.
As they exited the house, Dusty reared, whinnied, and ran around in the corral, much like he did the day Bobby arrived. As the group headed toward the corral, he came to the gate and stood there, bobbing his head up and down, waiting for Angelina.
Bobby opened the corral gate, and the group entered. Angelina gently stroked Dusty’s neck.
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Dusty.”
Dusty bobbed his head.
“Bobby,” Angelina said, “he feels a sense of comradeship.”
Angelina paused for a moment.
“There are some things he wants to tell you,” she continued. “First, he doesn’t like the name Dusty. He wants the name Prince.”
Bobby looked at Lana.
“We can do that. We just gave him that name because he rolled in the dirt a lot when he was younger. He was always covered with dust.”
A three-dimensional ghost-like image of Charles Wilson, invisible to the humans, appeared standing next to Bobby. Dusty turned to look at him, his eyes opening wider.
Angelina was silent for a moment as she received another message from Dusty.
“He understands. But he was doing that to rid himself of flies and other pests.”
“We didn’t know that.”
“Dusty is very emphatic that he wants the new name.”
“So his name is Prince,” Lana said.
“There are some other things, too. He sees an older man beside you, Bobby. This man used to be his owner. Do you know who that is?”
Bobby turned to look at Lana.
“Granddad?”
“Oh my gosh,” Lana said.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Dusty, well, now Prince, loved that man very much,” Angelina said. “The man genuinely cared for him. Prince was very grateful.”
“Charles loved that horse,” Lana added.
“Would Prince let me ride him?” Bobby asked.
Angelina paused again.
“Of course. He’d love to run with you.”
Bobby smiled.
“Awesome.”
“There’s still something else.”
Another moment of silence from Angelina.
“He wants to race again.”
“Wow!” Bobby shouted.
“Oh, come on,” David said.
“That’s the image I got. He wants to race again.”
“I’d like to be a millionaire. That’s not going to happen.”
“Prince says you shouldn’t doubt him. That’s his goal.”
“Why not, Dad?”
“When I was younger, I wanted to be the CEO of my own business, too.”
“But that’s what he wants,” Angelina said. “You need to give him a chance.”
“But he’s never been off the farm except to the Vet,” Lana said. “How would he even know about racing?”
Susan followed up, “What’s the ‘again’ for?”
Angelina paused to communicate.
“He was a race horse in a previous life. He still has pleasant memories of that life and wants to live them again.”
David shook his head. “Come on. That’s all B.S.”
“No it’s not. There’s so much evidence for human reincarnation it’s essentially a fact. There’s evidence for animals, too.
“Then why isn’t he in a thoroughbred body?” David asked.
Another pause while Angelina communicated.
“In his prior life, he was a small thoroughbred. It took everything he had to win, and he couldn’t do it every time. He wanted to come back stronger, but an apparent mixup got him into this body.”
“What’s reincarnation?” Bobby asked.
“Bobby, we have a soul which lives forever. That soul is periodically born or reincarnated into a material body.”
Bobby looked puzzled for a moment, then shook it off.
Charles disappeared.
Bobby went back to the thought of riding Prince, “Can we put the saddle on him?”
“I don’t know,” Lana said. “He’s not broken in.”
Angelina told her, “It won’t be a problem. He remembers being ridden from his previous life.”
“Okay. … I can’t lift the saddle any more,” Lana said, looking at David.
David and Bobby went to the barn and retrieved the bridle, saddle, and saddle pad. Lana put on the bridle. She tossed the saddle pad onto Prince and straightened it.
Prince flinched but did not buck as David threw on the saddle.
Lana tightened the cinches and checked them. She nodded.
Prince shook his body several times.
Angelina explained, “Prince says he’s getting used to the saddle. He’s never had one this heavy before.”
“But he’s never been saddled before,” Lana insisted.
Prince shook his body a few more times, then stood still.
“Okay, Bobby, he’s ready for you to ride him. Mr. Wilson, would you help Bobby into the saddle?”
Bobby looked a little frightened as he sat atop Prince. Lana adjusted the stirrups.
“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” Angelina asked.
“No.”
“Prince senses your fear. He says he’ll be gentle with you.”
David handed Bobby the reins. Prince began walking slowly around inside the corral. Bobby soon showed a smile.
“Prince wants to go outside,” Angelina said.
Prince walked slowly through the open gate. He picked up the pace a little to a fast walk outside the corral.
Bobby’s smile changed back to fear as he grabbed the horn and held on more tightly.
“Don’t worry, Bobby. He says you won’t fall off or get hurt.”
After two trips around outside the corral, Bobby appeared to relax some.
“Bobby,” David called, “I think it’s time to come in.”
“Prince would like to stay out longer,” Angelina said. “He feels more free out there.”
“Let’s give him a while longer,” Lana said.
Conquest and Conflict
Chapter 1
Not Again!
July 9th was Flight Day 4 of their scheduled 10-day mission to the International Space Station (ISS).
Tom “Pizza” Pietro, Commander of the Space Flyer named Conquest, glided from the middeck forward to the cockpit.
Mission Specialist Ann “Robo” Wendell remained in the middeck doing a routine examination of Conquest’s surfaces with the robotic arm camera.
Other members of his seven-person crew were either aft in the airlock preparing for tomorrow’s ExtraVehicular Activity (EVA) or over working on Space Station.
Tom floated his solid five-foot-ten-inch frame into his seat to check their daily plan. After seeing that his crew was running half an hour ahead of the timeline, he smiled and leaned back.
He sat there for a moment looking out the cockpit windows. Conquest was in the earth’s shadow. The different-colored stars shining as points of light and the Milky Way galaxy were so much more beautiful up here than he could ever see them from the ground.
Floating in microgravity, seeing these views, and doing something he believed in kept him smiling on this, his second trip to Space Station.
He was so glad NASA had decided to extend the life of ISS after finding they couldn’t make some critical products on earth that they could make in space. He wouldn’t be here enjoying this if they hadn’t.
As Space Station and Conquest approached orbital sunrise, he marvelled again at the various beautiful shades of orange and blue colors of the earth’s atmosphere.
Then a foreboding “Uh oh!” from Robo destroyed his smile.
“Pizza!” she shouted.
Responding to the urgency in her voice, Tom pushed out of his seat and floated back to the middeck. She briefly looked at him and pointed to the video display.
Even without gravity, his mouth dropped open.
No! It couldn’t be. Not on his mission.
But there it was. Centered on the screen was a hole in a wing leading edge panel.
Tom broke out in a cold sweat as Robo turned to him again, her face so pale it appeared totally drained of blood.
Although neither of them had been astronauts at the time, they knew the fate of Columbia and its seven astronauts. A large piece of foam from Columbia’s External Tank had damaged the wing leading edge during launch. During re-entry, the hot plasma entered the damaged wing, eventually breaking up the vehicle and killing everyone aboard.
Was that their fate if they tried to return in Conquest?
This hole was in the same type of material but smaller and farther out along the wing.
On the previous Flyer mission, a small piece of debris had hit the vehicle in the payload bay, but caused no critical damage. Shuttle flights had taken debris hits on different parts of the vehicle, but never anything critical.
The first critical debris incident would have to happen on his flight.
That reminded him of a time when he was driving along the Gulf Freeway in Houston a few years ago. A bolt had bounced up from the roadway and cracked his car windshield.
“Why did you hit that?” his wife Joni had yelled—as if he could have avoided it.
The only way he could have avoided it was to not be there. He imagined her now dispensing something similar for flying into that piece of orbital debris when he had no control over the situation.
“What panel is that?” Tom asked Robo.
“Three.”
Neither said anything more for a moment. They just floated there in silence, staring at the monitor.
“Turn off the monitor,” he told Robo.
Tom called for the rest of his crew to assemble in the middeck.
“It seems we have a problem,” Tom said with everyone present.
Turning to her, he said, “Robo.”
She turned the monitor on.
His crew turned to look at the screen. There was some mumbling and quiet cursing.
“Orbital debris,” Tom said. “I don’t have anything else to say right now. Is there anything you all want to discuss amongst ourselves before I call Mission Control?”
He looked at each crew member in turn. Their mouths opened as if they really did, but each shook his head.
Not wanting to announce the problem to the world via the public NASA downlink, Tom called Capcom with his secure satellite phone.
When Capcom answered, he said, “Request secure comm.”
He waited while Mission Control reconfigured the links.
“We are secure,” the reply came a moment later.
He picked up the Conquest mike and said, using the historical Apollo 13 call, “Houston, we have a problem.”
Robo downlinked an image of the wing.
Capcom said, “Give us a minute.”
Capcom came back a few minutes later. “On tomorrow’s EVA instead of replacing external Station components, we want you to attempt a wing repair.”
“Roger.”
Tom directed the rest of his crew to remain on Conquest while he went over to Station to inform the American crew member Alex Wyatt.
As Tom floated into Station, he saw Alex working on a payload in the US Lab. He didn’t see Nils Eckhardt from Germany, the other US-launched crewmember.
“We’ve got a problem. Debris punched a hole in Conquest’s left wing.”
“Damn, Pizza.”
“Given the relationships between the countries, don’t pass this along to your Russian crew mates yet. Or Nils either.”
Alex nodded.
“Vince and Billy are going out tomorrow to patch it. I wanted to let you know we’ll be changing the EVA timeline. They won’t be doing the battery maintenance unless they have time. We’ll use Conquest’s arm, communications, and resources, so nothing should be required from Station.”
“Understand. If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”
The next morning, Tom watched from Conquest’s aft window to the side of the airlock as Mission Specialists Vincent Hanson and Billy James, the two EVA crew on his flight, exited the vehicle.
Robo positioned Conquest’s robotic arm so Vince could get on the foot restraint, then moved him out along the wing to the hole.
Tom saw the Station robotic arm moving over above Vince, yet staying well clear. Alex apparently wanted to watch using that arm’s camera. Tom went forward to the middeck where he and the rest of his crew could view events on the monitors.
Vince took a toggle bolt out of his tool bag and carefully placed the shaft into the hole. He adjusted the orientation. Although he couldn’t get a perfect surface match, he began tightening the bolt. Before he finished, though, the bolt suddenly sprang loose.
“Son of a bitch!” Vince yelled as he reflexively pulled back when the bolt came flying out toward him. He reached for it as it went by, but missed it.
“God, I’m sorry about that, Pizza,” he said. “I don’t know what happened. The thing just sprang back out at me. It never did that in practice. It looks like I made the situation worse. We’ve got a bigger hole now.”
Tom could only sigh.
“I’m really sorry, Pizza. I thought I had it in a good position, and things were going well. I don’t know what happened.”
Swearing quietly to himself at the bolt not working, Tom didn’t know what to say. Vince had trained on this process so many times without a problem.
“That’s okay, Vince,” Pizza said. “Go ahead and apply the backup patch.”
Tom watched as Vince spread a heavy coat of sealant around the hole and pressed the carbon patch into place. The patch curvature didn’t match the wing surface precisely either, but it was the best Vince could do with what they had.
Finally, Tom said, “Since you and Billy have plenty of time, go ahead and get the batteries transferred.”
Capcom called up later.
“Pizza, our engineers have looked at the repair video and done some preliminary testing. It’s their unanimous opinion that the patch won’t hold during re-entry.”
Tom knew the consequences now. He and his crew would remain on Station for a rescue launch, and Conquest would be de-orbited into the Pacific ocean.
“So we proceed with the contingency plan?” he asked.
“Affirmative.”
“Do you have a report of consumables on Station?” Tom asked.
“I’ll get it,” Capcom said.
Capcom called back a few minutes later.
“Pizza, I have the numbers. Do you want me to uplink the file or just read ’em?”
“Both.”
“Oxygen is thirty-eight days. Carbon dioxide removal depends on how long the USsystems functions—in theory, indefinitely. Water is eighty-one days, assuming recovery systems function. Food for your crew forty-six days, with reduced rations. Looks like oxygen is your limiting factor.”
“Roger. Understand.”
Tom thought about their situation.
The oxygen limit of 38 days meant that Skysurfer, the next Flyer in the launch sequence, had to launch successfully in no more than 37 days and rendezvous as scheduled.
Never before had a Flyer been prepared in 37 days or less. With the current Flyer workforce, it was probably impossible.
When he had launched on this mission, Skysurfer was being prepared in its Processing Facility for a flight three months from now. Final processing there would take at least a couple of weeks. Once it cleared that, it had to be moved into the Vehicle Assembly Building for stacking to its booster rockets and checkout. That took two or three weeks. Then it took a day of good weather to roll it to the launch pad. It took another couple of weeks to get it checked out there and ready for launch.
That totaled six to eight weeks—42 to 56 days, if his brain calculated it right.
Then the mission had to allow for any last minute launch delays due to equipment problems, weather, or a variety of other possibilities.
The Kennedy Space Center managers had always claimed they could get a Flyer ready if they had to, but he saw no way.
And getting to Station after launch required another day.
He and his crew wouldn’t survive long enough on Station for the rescue flight to arrive.
Tom went over to Station to tell Alex the situation and showed him the Station resources printout.
“So it looks like you’re gonna have company longer than originally planned.”
“Yeah. That could get real ugly.”
“I don’t know how the Russians are gonna react,” Tom said. “They never signed up to support this. It could get complicated if they don’t go along.”
“I didn’t know that, but Dimitri and Sergei are great guys who know the risks of flying in space. Despite the political situation, they’d help any way they could.”
“That’s good to know, but I’m worried about what Russian Mission Control and management will have to say.”
“Understand.”
“Give us time to complete our personal calls before you tell ’em.”
Alex nodded. Tom went back to Conquest.
Not wanting his crew’s spouses or significant others to find out from the media, Tom requested that Mission Control set up personal family calls for each of his crew. Their families shouldn’t be surprised when the media announced their loved ones would be staying on Station—and speculate that they would die if Skysurfer didn’t arrive in time.
“As they’re able to reach our people,” he directed his crew, “we’ll allow that person to be alone in the cockpit. The rest of us will remain here by the airlock for the duration.”
Four of his crew nodded. Billy and Robo did not.
Billy looked as though he wished for something. He was divorced. His ex-wife couldn’t deal with the separations and time commitments as a result of his astronaut duties. He had been going with a lady friend Glenna Montgomery since his training began for this flight. That relationship seemed very stable. Tom hoped that NASA would include him, even though they weren’t married.
Robo had married one of the engineers at the Space Center, but it hadn’t worked out. She had filed for divorce to get rid of him and never married or had a relationship again.
Tom’s wife Joni was the third to make contact. He took his turn in the cockpit and put on the communication headset.
Joni had worked as a technician at the Johnson Space Center for several years, since shortly after they had moved to Houston when he became an astronaut. She knew Flyer and Station reasonably well. She would know of the limited time they had before running out of something.
“What’s wrong, Tom?” she asked. “They wouldn’t tell me anything, except I needed to contact ’em from a private land line as soon as possible and treat the conversation as confidential.”
“We’ve got a problem with Conquest’s thermal protection system. It looks like we won’t be bringing it home.”
He paused as he heard her gasp over the voice link.
“We’ll be stuck here until they can get a rescue Flyer up. I just wanted you to know.”
He paused. There was also silence on the other end.
“Don’t worry. It gives us a chance to stay longer in space. I always wanted to spend more time in orbit.”
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too. Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you and the kids in about 40 days.”
He thought he heard her mumble something to herself, but wasn’t sure.
“I need to let the others have a chance to talk now,” he said. “I’ll talk to you again soon.”
“I love you,” she said again quickly as he terminated the connection.
He took off the headset and watched it float away. As it drifted off, he wondered if that might be symbolic of the situation between him and his family.
It was over an hour later before all their personal calls were completed. Tom was glad NASA had included Billy’s friend Glenna.
He asked his crew to remain aboard Conquest while he went back to the cockpit.
He asked Capcom, “Have all the necessary parties on the ground been notified?”
“Affirmative for the US. The Administrator, other Headquarters personnel, the President, Vice President, key members of Congress, and the Center Directors have all been notified. We’ve also contacted the Flight Director at Space Station Mission Control. Headquarters is preparing a statement for release to the media.
“We’re still trying to reach key personnel of the International Partners. Some of them are probably out or at home asleep due to time zone differences.”
Tom went over to Station and told Alex to pass the information to Nils and the Russian cosmonauts.
“Why don’t you wait here,” Alex suggested. “I think it’s better if I tell them alone.”
Tom looked around the Lab while Alex was gone. He hadn’t really taken a close look at it when they had their docking celebration. It was full of racks—racks for research, stowage, or equipment to keep Station running. He knew fairly well what everything was and did from his first flight. It seemed more cluttered this time, though.
After he had looked at everything twice, he just placed his feet under a restraint to keep himself in place and waited.
Waiting gave him time to think.
Station was showing its age again. There weren’t other solutions on board.
The oxygen stored in tanks on the US Airlock, a Russian tank, and a Russian supply vehicle gave them the 38 days.
The Russians had their electrolysis unit which decomposed water to produce oxygen, but it was having problems. The new unit the Russians had launched a couple of weeks ago seemed to be working when Conquest launched, but quit two days ago. They had tried to fix it, would get it working for a while, then it would shut down again. As of yesterday, it wouldn’t work at all. The Russians now suspected the problem was a blocked vent to space, and they didn’t have the tools and equipment on board to reopen it.
A similar American oxygen generation system was unfortunately having its problems, too. Conquest had brought up a new circuit board on his flight which was supposed to repair the unit, but Alex hadn’t been able to get it working.
The Russians had tubes they called oxygen canisters for emergencies. They generated oxygen by decomposing a chemical with a high oxygen content. But they were hazardous and Safety wouldn’t allow their use any more.
His thoughts returned to that hole in the wing. He remembered seeing video of Columbia breaking up over Texas.
He wondered about the impact of Conquest’s loss on the US space program. The decision to dump a Flyer into the Pacific Ocean was an extremely serious one. There were only two other Flyers.
Tom looked at his watch. Alex had been gone 15 minutes. Why was it taking so long to tell the Russian crew members the situation? Had Alex misjudged them? The Russians operated by somewhat different rules than the Americans, even though they were on the same Space Station.
Tom’s thoughts wandered back to the 38 days. That wasn’t much time. Would the Station oxygen supply really last long enough for a Flyer to rescue them? They had to find some way to get the American oxygen generation system working. If they couldn’t, well….
What about his future, if they were rescued in time? What would he do? He loved the experience of floating free in microgravity and looking out at the earth and space. This was his second flight. It would likely be his last. NASA had more pilot astronauts coming into the program. With only two Flyers, flights would be harder to get.
Flying gave him a sense of freedom and exhilaration. His parents had taken him on a commercial flight for a family vacation to New York when he was eight years old. He remembered having his face glued to the window the entire time. He loved being in and above the clouds. He had taken pilot lessons and soloed in high school.
He had flown F-15s in the Air Force, then some experimental aircraft before being selected as an astronaut.
He looked at his watch again. Alex had been gone over 20 minutes. Impatient, Tom wanted to see what was happening, but Alex had wanted to deal with them himself. Tom tried to pass the time by floating from handgrip to handgrip along the racks.
Alex finally came back several minutes later.
“It’s kind of complicated, Pizza,” he said. “First, as you said, the Russians claim they had never signed up to support this type of situation. Dimitri and Sergei were under strict orders to contact Russian Mission Control if this situation occurred. They had to wait until they got a reply. Their Mission Control hadn’t been informed of this yet and were pretty upset about that.
“Second, the Russians say they can’t support this condition with the problems they’re having with their unit. Their quick calculation was 35 days of oxygen with 11 people on board. And they won’t have another supply rocket ready for two months.
“Third, they’re concerned that they’ll have to bring Dimitri and Sergei home to save their lives. That represents a significant cost to them, and would leave the Russian part of the Station in untrained hands—or actually untended, for the obvious reason.”
“So where are we with the Russians then?” Tom asked.
“When I left, their Mission Control was gonna check with their management.”
“Then what about you and Nils?”
“We’ve got a ride home in our capsule. That doesn’t do much for your crew, though. We’ve only got two seats. The rest of the space is designed for cargo, not people.”
“Okay,” Tom shrugged. “For now, then, I guess all we can do is proceed with our mission and see what happens.”
“I guess so,” Alex said.
Surprised that the Russian Mission Control hadn’t been told about the situation, Tom glided back to Conquest’s cockpit,. He thought the two Control Centers were constantly in touch. It seemed impossible that they could have been missed.
Tom passed along the situation with the Russian cosmonauts to Flyer Mission Control as Alex had explained it.
“I don’t know what happened,” Capcom replied. “They were supposed to have been in contact with everyone. I don’t know how they were missed. We’ll look into it.”
Tom sat in his seat and crossed his arms in disgust. Maybe it was due to the secure comm loop?
“While we were waiting,” Capcom continued a moment later, “we checked into launching a US cargo rocket with oxygen and supplies. There isn’t anything in the pipeline, and it’d be at least 60 days before they could get something launched.”
That sounded like a death sentence for him and his crew. They would eventually come home in body bags.
Conquest’s various surviving pieces would visit the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. That was a shame, too. She had been a good ship.
Tom’s stomach began telling him it was past time to eat. On his way back from Station, he smelled and saw the food being prepared by the rest of his crew. He enjoyed his dinner of roast beef, rehydrated mashed potatoes, and carrots. He had a cold lemonade to drink.
Tom’s thoughts wandered to what their meals would be like staying there 38 days, or 35 days, or whatever. He had seen some of the contingency menus. They weren’t nearly as tasty.
After eating, Tom went aft to the airlock to help there. His crew was not in their usual happy, joking mood as they went about cleaning up and checking out the space suits, airlock, and other equipment. They had been a fun crew to train with. Now there was a somber, more serious air. The only conversations were directly related to the ongoing activities, and they were low key.
Going back to the cockpit later, he wondered about the Columbia crew. If they had known they were going to die, would they have completed their orbital work so successfully? Would they have worked as hard as they did to get balky hardware to function? They were supposedly a very dedicated crew, just like his. He was certain they would have.
He wondered how dedicated he would be himself if he had been on Columbia and knew what everyone knew now. He would still push it to the limit. It was just being professional. That was his style.
Love Beyond
Chapter 1
Fourteen-year-old Jules walked home on Saturday afternoon April 6th from a friend’s house. His usual path took him through a small community park. He heard a girl yell from the playground area, “Dad!”
As he got closer, he saw her standing at the top of the slide, not moving.
He heard another loud “Dad!”
There must be somebody she was calling to, he thought. He looked around and saw a man sitting in a car in the parking lot. He appeared to be looking down at something and not paying attention to the girl.
Jules wondered, if that was her father, why didn’t he come help her?
Although it was out of his way, he walked over to the slide.
She was a pretty girl with long reddish-brown hair who appeared to be a few years younger than he was.
He asked, “What’s the problem?”
“I’m caught on this piece of metal up here.”
Jules climbed to the top step of the slide and saw the problem. A rod was under her pullover shirt from her waist to almost her right shoulder.
He didn’t know how she got that way but decided to help her.
He told her, “Put your left arm around my waist so you don’t fall.”
The girl did so.
“Now raise your other arm.”
He lifted her shirt up and off the rod, then pulled the shirt back down.
“Thank you,” the girl said.
“Let me get down, then you follow me,” he told her.
“Okay.”
When they reached the ground, she reached out and gave him a quick hug.
“Thank you,” she said.
As the girl stepped back, Jules said, “You’re welcome.”
The girl suddenly looked at him with a strange expression.
“How did you say that?” she asked.
“I just said it,” Jules replied.
“No you didn’t. Your mouth didn’t move. Your lips didn’t move, but I heard you say that.”
“Oh. I have this speech problem. I can’t talk with my mouth.”
“But I still hear you. How do you do that?”
“Well, since I can’t talk to people with my mouth, I learned how to do it with my mind.”
The girl opened her mouth as if in shock to say “What?” but didn’t actually say anything.
She finally said, “What’s your name?”
“Jules.”
“Mine’s Erin. … Where do you live?”
Pointing, Jules said, “A couple streets over that way.”
Erin rubbed her side where the rod had been.
“That metal scratched my side. It hurts a little.”
“Can I see it?”
Erin raised her shirt. She had a long scratch up her side. It was surface bleeding in places.
Jules put his left hand on her side below her shoulder and moved it down along the wound. The scratch and blood disappeared.
Erin looked down at her side, amazed.
“I doesn’t hurt any more. How did you do that?” she demanded.
“I don’t know how I do it. I can help people sometimes.”
Jules suddenly heard someone running up. He turned to his left to see a large man coming toward them very fast.
“What’re you doing?” the man yelled. “Get your skinny ass away from her.”
Jules stepped back in shock.
“Hi, Dad,” Erin said. “This is Jules. I was stuck and he helped me get down from the slide.”
“I don’t care who he is. He shouldn’t be touching you like that.”
“But it’s okay, Dad. He was helping me.”
“Anybody who’s running his hands up under your shirt is not okay.”
The man turned to Jules and stared at his head. Jules got the impression the man didn’t like his matted curly dark brown hair.
“Get your ass out of here as fast as you can before I kick it into the next block.”
Jules took his cue and ran off toward his house.
“It’s okay, Dad. He helped me down from the slide and healed my scratch.”
“No. It’s not okay. You need to be more careful. Somebody like that could hurt you bad.”
“But Dad—”
“Get in the car and let’s go home.”
Erin said nothing more as she started walking that way but looked back at Jules running.
Jules went directly to his bedroom when he got home and sat in his recliner. He breathed deeply for a few minutes to calm himself.
He didn’t understand why the man was so upset. He hadn’t done anything to hurt his daughter. He wouldn’t.
Maybe it was another instance because he was different. People didn’t understand him.
He picked up his remote and turned on his stereo. He set it to play Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty ballet. It was one of his favorites.
After getting a drink of water in the kitchen, Erin walked into her bedroom. She sat on the side of her twin bed for a moment thinking about what just happened.
Jules seemed like a nice boy. She was sorry her father ran him off. It was interesting how he talked to her without using his mouth and how he healed her scratch. She raised her shirt and looked at her side again. The scratch was gone, and it didn’t hurt.
A moment later, Erin heard music. She didn’t normally listen to music. She was more into reading and occasionally watching TV. Where was it coming from?
It wasn’t the rap her older sister played. She didn’t care for that. It wasn’t the rock and roll her parents played some times. She had heard this type of music in school before. She thought the name was classical. She didn’t know the tune or anything about it but knew it was played by an orchestra.
She tried to figure out where it was coming from. She got up and walked to her door. It wasn’t from inside the house. She went to a window. It wasn’t coming from outside. She put her hands over her ears. She still heard it — very clear.
It was coming from inside her head. What was causing that?
She sat on her bed again.
She shook her head. It was still there.
Thoughts about what could be causing it ran through her mind as she tried to figure it out. Even though the music was nice to listen to, it was hard to concentrate while it played.
She remembered her parents talking about a crazy aunt who heard voices. Was she going crazy? Only she was hearing music instead of voices? Was that the same type of thing, just a different kind of sound?
Jules’ mother called him to dinner.
“Okay,” he sent back.
He turned off the stereo, brought the recliner forward, and left for the kitchen.
Erin no longer heard the music.
Her mother called the family to dinner.
Still puzzled by the music, she ate slowly, thinking about it as she chewed each bite.