Arrows

excerpt

knew it wasn’t right. I was lying to myself, to God, to her. I was
being deceitful, but I told myself nobody from Losada’s world, or
Bartolomé’s world, knew I was still alive anyway.
And so I had lost my zeal for the conquest. I began to see the
whole thing as the most hideous crime since Christ’s crucifixion. Up
to that point, I had refused to acknowledge the enormous truth, but
there it was before me, looming huge as a cathedral. The Church had
denounced the atrocities committed against the natives, convincing
the king to pass laws against the brutality, laws that were all but
ignored. But why had the Church failed to take firmer action?
The Church was my life, my mother. But I resented the Pope for
not being more determined to defend these souls who could not,
would not, learn to love God through the destruction of their world.
The conquest had nothing to do with bringing the Gospel to the
savages. In fact, the savages wore armour and rode horses. What
kind of God would allow this destruction? My faith, as I understood
it then, was about to sink like a ship in a storm, battered by the fury
of the sea and wind. I felt as though my life had been a lie, and only
now was I beginning to glimpse the truth of the world God
intended.
Only the Cross of the Crucified saved me from going mad. I saw
myself clinging to its base on Calvary while sweet Jesus died above
me. He could have saved himself but didn’t. He chose to sacrifice for
us. Could I sacrifice myself for him? Or would I give in to my
desperation and seek her out, seek my perdition? I was the only
Gospel many of these Indians were likely to know. If I faltered and
fell prey to temptation, not only would I likely find death at the
hands of Baruta, but the Gospel would never be told or, more
importantly, be shown.
What was I to do with the mission God and Friar Bernardo had
entrusted to me? Each time I raised my arms to heaven, pleading for
help, I would reprimand myself for my weakness. Far behind was
the chivalric image of the missionary I once thought I could be. The
truth that I didn’t deserve to be called one descended upon me like
freezing drizzle, dampening my cloth, chilling me to the bone.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562848

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Poodie James

excerpt

woman for the first time since he and Millie said goodbye. Dear
Millie. Dear Marcie. Poodie considered lighting the kerosene
lamp and reaching for his History of Egypt. He was asleep before
the thought ended.
Chief Darwin Spanger eased his cruiser into the parking place he
had ordered reserved alongside the Columbia Hotel. The parade
was two blocks down the avenue, headed north toward the center
of town. The population today was ten times normal. More than
100,000 folks were packed along the parade route, some of them
there since sunup. The image of a red delicious surrounded by
apple blossoms topped every lamp post and telephone pole. Bunting
trailed above the street in white and green swoops. Six deep on
the sidewalks, people fanned themselves with festival programs.
Summer weather was a month early. The urgencies of a Sousa
march wafted up the hot asphalt and melded with the babble of the
crowd craning their necks as they watched a skywriter finish his
message. It stretched above the valley from the Columbia to the
rocky outcroppings on the foothills west of town, “Welcome To
The Apple Capital Of The World.” Chief Spanger saw two of his
men on opposite sides of the avenue moving barely fast enough to
keep their motorcycles upright, herding impatient youngsters back
to the curb. The parade’s outriders followed. Tassles on their red
fezes flew as the Shriners cut figure eights and do-si-doed up the
street, grinning and waving on miniature motor scooters and tiny
cars powered by one-lung engines. The tin signs on their handlebars
read “Al Azhar Temple, Calgary, Alberta,” and “Zelzah
Shrine Temple, Las Vegas,” “Al Bedoo Temple, Billings,Montana,”
Ben Ali Temple, Sacramento, California,” “Calam, Lewiston,
Idaho.” “Masada, Yakima, Wash.,” “Bagdad, Butte, Montana,”
“Afifi, Tacoma,” “Moses Lake,” “Seattle,” “Portland,” “Spokane,”
hundreds of old men zooming and cavorting, waves of cartoon characters
driving cartoon vehicles. The crowd was laughing.
“From them signs, it looks like an A-rab invasion,” Spanger
heard a parade watcher tell his wife, “but them guys damn sure…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

In Turbulent Times

excerpt

of a decision to yield to the spite of neighbours and refuse the post. She accepted. She faced the barbs and bolts. She won.
‘She’s Finn MacLir’s granddaughter,’ Clifford Hamilton averred as if that were justification enough.
At last only the ignorant rabble still pilloried the beautiful Nora Carrick. But only in private, whispering to one another on draughty street corners or in dimly lit parlours cleansed of Satan’s influence and man’s humanity. The hard, bogwood faces; the grey granite jaws; the sour, crab-apple eyes; the sharp, blackthorn tongues: these people sickened Liam to his stomach. The country had a warp of unyielding cruelty that showed in unsightly streaks through the soft, colourful filling of the weft. If only God would patch up all those streaks and dye the warp of nature with everlasting, indestructible compassion. God’s failure to do so was enough to call His very existence into question.
Nora came each morning to the school, appearing with a cheerful smile like the sun at dawn. She lit up Liam’s daily life. When she left after each short morning’s teaching she plunged him into the grey gloom of winter afternoons. Sometimes she stayed late: to prepare for special lessons; to make something for use in class; to talk over ideas with Liam; to discuss her pupils’ progress; to ask Liam’s help; to make plans for the future of the school. On those occasions she would cook a lunch for both of them. They would talk as they ate, sitting by the window table in the small kitchen of Liam’s quarters, looking across the fields to where the church stood on its stony ridge, the sea out of sight behind it. A tarmacadam drive now led to the church from the main Lisnaglass-Carraghlin road. On either side of the drive the old thorn trees, the banks of whin and the fuchsia hedges that Nora remembered as a little girl had all been cleared away. On the east side of the drive a larger school had been built, incorporating more spacious accommodation for the teacher. The old school across the drive had been demolished, and plans were being drawn up for a parish hall to be built on the site —‘after the war,’ as was the common addendum to the mention of any such plans. Beside the demolished school the rectory for the parish priests of Corrymore and Aughnashannagh stood behind a dry-stone wall.
Electricity had come to the school and the rectory, and many more cars or even Fordson and Ferguson tractors filled the newly surfaced lane to the church on Sundays.
‘You knew and admired the former parish priest here, Liam, didn’t you?’ Nora had said on that day that Liam would never forget. ‘Father Padraig. My mother’s adopted brother.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

The Circle

excerpt

Hakim smiles and thinks George sounds like any salesperson trying to flog
something out of the gate.
“Make the arrangements, George. We’ll get there with Jennifer no later than
six, six-thirty. Call me, I’ll be here all day.”
“Okay, I’ll call the other agent and make it for six. I’ll confirm with you later.”
Hakim explains to Peter that his real-estate agent has found something
spectacular; they are all spectacular to the agents every time. He tells Peter he has
decided to start looking for a new apartment and that Jennifer is moving in with
him in the new place.
“However, we were talking about the company,” Hakim says.
Peter interrupts him, “You and I are going together. We are going to this
party together and for as long as it takes.”
“Careful now. For as long as it takes; those are your words, right?”
“Yes, partner,” Peter extends his hand and they shake in agreement.
“Let’s keep this to ourselves until we call that extra meeting. See who out of
the key people we can have fully with us, okay?”
As he leaves Peter turns back to Hakim “I’ll have a list of our guys soon.”
This is the first move, Hakim thinks. The first decision leading to the gain of
power, as is expected by Ibrahim. His uncle has high aspirations for him, he
knows, and he knows he cannot fail him.

---

Bevan Longhorn is in his office Tuesday afternoon having his second cup of coffee.
He’s been slowly eating a chicken sandwich his secretary ordered from the
second floor restaurant. Before him, still open, is the Roberts file, with his report
on top as if to hide everything that exists under it. He had given firm instructions
to the two subordinates who conducted the agency’s investigation into the circumstances
surrounding Matthew Robert’s death after he spoke firmly to them,
they all agreed it was a tragic, accidental death.
The final report sits before him him and he doesn’t like the idea of putting it
away.He suspects something is still missing, yet he cannot think what it could be.
He takes a copy of yesterday’s memo issued to the staff under his command.
It’s simple, explanatory, and precise in its wording, like all other department
memos, and serves the needs of the agency and the manner in which it conducts
its business. At the same time it closes the unfortunate incident without further
consequences, or follow-ups. Bevan Longhorn hates follow-ups; he knows they
take you nowhere, prove nothing, and only confuse people. Follow-ups make
enemies of people who have been friends for years.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

The Unquiet Land

excerpt

When she became pregnant out of wedlock she lost her job as a teacher, and her father threw her out of the house. Bought her a train ticket, gave her some money and sent her away to live with her brother, her only other relative across the country in Dingwall. He was a grocer with a wife and three children, all older than Padraig. He was a rigid Christian, but showed little Christian charity where Padraig and his mother were concerned. He and his wife, who thoroughly resented Padraig’s mother being in the house, used and abused her as no more than a servant. Even as her pregnancy advanced. The children wanted to know how Padraig’s mother was having a baby when she didn’t have a husband. As Padraig grew, the children at home and at school made his life a misery. Then Padraig started having his fits. That was the last straw. His uncle accused Padraig’s mother of having slept with the Devil and produced a son of Satan. He ordered her out of the house, with a small bag of personal belongings and no money. ‘The Devil looks after his own,’ Padraig remembers him saying.”
“So what did she do?” Michael asked. “Alone and penniless with a nine-year old boy who suffered seizures.”
“She took to the roads on foot,” Caitlin replied. “Looking back on it later, Padraig thinks she was trying to make it back to Plockton, only this time she had no train ticket. Together they simply headed west, sleeping rough in fields or barns or haysheds, begging for food like gypsies. She didn’t make it. She was not healthy. Padraig remembers her coughing up blood.”
“Consumption?”
“Yes. And it killed her. Padraig doesn’t know where she died. He was so young and afraid and he ran away. What he was afraid of, I never did find out, and Padraig didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to press him to tell me in case it brought on a seizure.”
“So Padraig made it on his own to …. what did you call it?”
“Plockton,” Caitlin said. “I think he must have got lost or missed the way because, according to my father, he turned up in this other Kyle place, where the doctor took him in.”
“What a story,” Michael said. “It’s hard to believe. Are you sure Padraig isn’t making it up?”
“That’s not the end of it,” Caitlin declared. “Because of his fits, the people in Kyle-whatever were afraid of Padraig. They said, as many did, that he was a child of Satan who had come straight from Hell.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203