Tag: music

In the Quiet After Slaughter

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Excerpt

There was one more obstacle to overcome: O’Donnell couldn’t
drive. Rule #5 stated membership would not be considered unless
the applicant possessed a legal driving certificate. He took advantage
of Dodge down time to familiarize himself with the machine.
Whenever the car slumbered he sat behind its wheel practising the
smooth shifting of gears, learner’s manual resting in his lap, the
glossy, air-brushed wantonness of Ed Levine’s calendar girls an
encouraging audience to his lofty aspirations.
He approached Pete Dombrowski about his chances. The longtime
club member had dropped by Ed’s garage to replace a gasket.
O’Donnell held a light.
– How long before I’m in?
– Depends, kid, Dombrowski said. Maybe never.
– What’s your guess? Gimmee a ballpark.
Dombrowski slammed the hood and wiped his hands.
– Members decide by secret ballot. That waiting list? It don’t
mean nothin’.
– I’m getting my licence soon, O’Donnell reminded him.
Dombrowski slid in behind the wheel and fired up the car. The
engine roared to life.
– Don’t go celebratin’ yet, squirt.
Soon O’Donnell had mastered the clutch. At every opportunity
he stole runs around the block. After only a few weeks he was
driving as far as the municipal line. Mr. Levine was frequently
waiting for him when he returned to the garage. The two had an
unspoken agreement. The senior Levine wouldn’t inform the
membership of my friend’s unauthorized excursions if O’Donnell
remained silent about Mr. Levine’s afternoon liaisons with a certain
housewife.
O’Donnell says that pressure to influence the outcome of the draw
was especially vigorous the first Sunday in May, as Car and Driver
magazine invited all interested associations to enter a vehicle in the
Spring Festival gala. The winner that particular Sunday had the privilege
of powering the Dodge along the flower and bunting-bedecked…

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The Unquiet Land

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Excerpt

When he and Caitlin returned to the sitting room the music was just starting again, and dancers were sorting themselves out on the floor. But a sixteen-hand reel in the sitting room was much too ambitious. The set collapsed amid shouts and laughter, but the music played on.
“Fiddlers are tireless,” someone said. “Wouldn’t it be good if they could pull a plough?”
“And play the fiddle at the same time.”
“That Dan Ryan is always on the fiddle—no matter what he’s doing.”
“Hey Molly, what about a song?”
“Give us The Sally Gardens, Molly.”
“Good girl, Molly.”
“Come on now, don’t be shy.”
“She’ll start in a minute. Just wait and see.”
“Sure she hasn’t the shapin’s o’ beginnin’ on her.”
“She has surely. Good girl, Molly.”
“The Sally Gardens, Molly.”
Molly Noonan began to sing in a clear soprano voice the first of many songs. Almost everyone in the sitting room performed a song, a recitation, a step-dance or a tune on the fiddle or the pennywhistle. There were no more set dances. As the evening wore on, the ceilidh became quieter.
In the kitchen a few women sat around the table talking over cups of tea.
“I still think she’s pregnant already,” said a thin, bony woman with a face as sharp as the prow of a skiff. “You mark my words, she’ll be a mother well before nine months are out.”
“Maire Kelly, you’ve an evil tongue in your head.” Una Slattery was loyal to Caitlin whom she had cared for as a little girl.
“No, I haven’t,” said Maire. “But I have a sharp eye. I can tell when a woman’s pregnant. And I’m always right. Wasn’t I right about the Dooley girl? And Lizzie Thompson? And I’m right about Caitlin MacLir.”
“Caitlin Carrick,” said Maggie Potter, a woman in her thirties more talked about than talkative. She had been engaged for thirteen years to Willy Dunn, a farmer who refused to leave his mother to marry.
“Caitlin Carrick. I’m sorry. I’m not used to that yet.” Maire Kelly was a stiletto-tongued spinster not known to be afraid of speaking her mind. “Barbed wire in a black dress,” was Slattery’s description of her. “Mind you,” Maire went on, “I’m not reproaching her. It’s happened manys a time before and it’ll happen manys a time again. Michael Carrick is a handsome big man, straight and steady as they come. He’ll make a good husband and father.”

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

He Rode Tall

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Excerpt

But for the most part, it was a year or so here and there with postings
to what sounds like exotic locations, such as New Guinea,
Indonesia, Sri Lanka, Cape Town, Chile, South Korea, and Lisbon.
A long time ago, Joel had figured out that he wasn’t getting the top
assignments any longer, but at this point, he was just thankful to
have a job, any job as an engineer and he knew that he was desperately
hanging onto this posting.
Early on at Empire, he figured out that Mr. Lee wasn’t a fan of
his hard-drinking nightlife and was less than excited about tolerating
it. Mr. Lee had explained to Joel on his first day at the new
office that he had asked the home office to consider sending
another engineer to help with this project. It wasn’t that Mr. Lee
didn’t know Joel’s abilities yet; it was that Mr. Lee already knew
of Joel. In the maritime engineering community, word gets
around fairly quickly, and the word on Joel was that he was a
has-been, or maybe more accurately, a never-been. Recruited to
the firm right out of university at the age of twenty-two, Joel was
marked for great things. There was no doubt that Joel had an
incredible wealth of potential, but that potential seemed to dry
up a long time ago.
So here he was, six months into a project to shore up the foundation
of an old terminal, and after a twenty-five year career with
the same firm, Joel could sense that the end was near. Already
the project was way behind and significantly over budget. And
Joel knew that although they couldn’t pin everything on him,
many of the problems were a direct result of him screwing up.
Being as he was, from consuming vast quantities of alcohol daily

Joel just couldn’t keep up anymore. At best he was
half the engineer that he used to be and even back then he was
only putting in half the effort. If his calculations were right, Joel
figured that he was probably functioning at something close to a
quarter of an engineer. This project really needed a fully functioning,
experienced senior engineer. He knew it. But he wasn’t
about to change. Or even if he wanted to, and some mornings he
certainly felt like he wanted to, but he just didn’t even know how…

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He Rode Tall

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Excerpt

…those comments, the meeting blew up. Joel could understand that
all Mr. Johansson was trying to do was help, but if there were two
things you wouldn’t want to be telling Edward Hooper, it would be
suggesting government help and calling his child underprivileged.
There was no doubt that the Hoopers could sure use some help to
finance Joel’s education, but the last thing that was going to happen
in the hills that night was for Edward to admit it to any fancy
dressed school teacher.
Later, the school year came to an end. Joel graduated from high
school, and Mr. Johansson, after once again encouraging Joel to
consider the possibility of going further with his education, left
town for wherever he went every summer. Joel spent the next few
weeks working for his father, riding the high ridges, checking the
cattle, counting cows and calves, and making sure that all was
well in the pasture.
Back then, on July 20, 1969, as seventeen-year-old Joel rode
along, he thought of the hurt that he had experienced at home,
especially during the last few weeks of high school, the brutal treatment
of his mother by his drunken father, and the hard way that his
dad treated him. Back then, the Circle H was not a healthy place for
this seventeen-year-old boy to be; and really, not a healthy place for
anyone, and certainly not a place with a future.
That hot summer day back in July of 1969, Joel found himself
a long way from home at the end of the afternoon. Feeling mighty
hungry and needing to water both himself and his horse, Joel
dropped down out of the hills to the Ladners’ place. Larry Ladner
and his wife Erica were a dirt-poor young couple trying to eek out
a living for themselves and their four children on a small patch of
rented land. Their dream was to one day be able to put a
down-payment on a place of their own, but the way things were
going it looked like it wouldn’t be long before the Ladners would
be forced off of the land. Larry had been coming in from a day of
fieldwork on the tractor when he welcomed Joel. He knew the
Hoopers were good neighbors. As Joel sat with the Ladners and
ate his evening meal, he heard some exciting news on the radio.

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He Rode Tall

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Excerpt

Sun-bleached and weather-worn grave markers of varying
dimensions dotted the plot. What the graves all shared, with the
exception of one, was that the prairie had overtaken them. The
old man’s grave, the only fresh grave, was already starting to be
blanketed by grass. The first thing Joel noticed was that there
wasn’t a marker for the old man’s plot so he made a mental note
that he would eventually get around to doing something about
that. But there was no rush. It was too late for any acts of kindness.
Much too late.
Even though Joel felt the way he did about the old man, essentially
being emotionally abandoned at such an early age, he still
found himself dropping to a knee at the side of the tiny grave on the
knoll in the middle of nowhere and saying a quiet prayer. It was at
this point, still full of bitterness and hatred for everything that the
old man had put his mother and himself through, that Joel recognized
that your dad is always your dad. No matter what.
Walking over to the horse, picking up the long thick leather
reins from the ground, and mounting the orange gelding, Joel
slowly turned the horse and headed back to the ranch yard. Drifting
along the ridges of the hills, the horse started to perk up as
they got closer to home and even broke into a bit of a trot which
Joel mastered by desperately hanging onto the saddle horn. Joel
thought that they probably would have broken into a canter if he
hadn’t reined the gelding back to a fast walk. Joel had always been
a good horseman as a boy, but that was a lot of years ago. He wasn’t
about to test his equestrian competency the first morning
back on the ranch. As they climbed the final hill and started to
drift down the coulee into the ranch yard, Joel was surprised to
smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the scent of bacon
from the forlorn-looking little ranch house below.
Looking down from the top of the knoll into the coulee below,
Joel could clearly see everything that was the homestead. The
buildings stood pretty much the way they did when he left that…

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Poodie James

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excerpt

This was bound to be about the Poodie James story. Sonny’s face
was reddening. That meant they had a problem, but Sonny ran the
newsroom. She would not jump in. She reached for the pile of budget
sheets on her desk and got back to work, envying the editor and
reporter wrestling with a story. My god, would the price of newsprint
ever stabilize? She sank into the pages of figures, enjoying the whir
and the rhythm as she cranked the handle of the adding machine.
“Got a minute?” Winifred looked up at Sonny standing in her
doorway, with Pease a step behind him. “Ned has something you
ought to know about.” She pushed the budget aside.
“Well, Ned,” she said after she had heard Pease’s story, “nice
work, I must say. Poor George Pearson, carrying that around all
these years. But we can’t go with it. Sonny is right, it’s hearsay. The
hobo, Clarkson, thinks he saw Torgerson that night. You say
Clarkson told you Torgerson denied it. This certainly could
explain the mayor’s hatred of Poodie James, but we need the other
man to confirm Pearson’s story. Even then, Torgerson may not
confess. Have you gone back to Pearson to try to get the name?”
“Yes. He’s terrified,” Pease said. He won’t tell me any more. I
think he has visions of prison. He probably doesn’t know the statute
of limitations on assault.“
“More likely he has visions of his reputation and his business
going to hell,” Sonny said. “And he has a point.”
“I don’t know any other way to find out who was with
Torgerson and Pearson that night,” Pease said.
Winifred straightened up and fixed her gaze on the middle distance.
“I think I might,” she said after a few seconds. She pulled a
scrap of paper from a desk drawer, reached for the telephone,
propped the handset on her shoulder, started dialing and shooed
the men out of her office. They watched from Sonny’s desk. After
she hung up, she waved them back in.
“Ned,” she said, “you’re about to meet your first madam.” She
gave him a look of appraisal. “I hope she’s your first.”

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

A widower, Dwayne Levine was the recipient of a disabled
worker’s pension. Those who had observed him flinging heavy
engine parts around his yard or stumbling home from the Kingsway
Pub most nights viewed with suspicion his claim of an irreparable
lower disc. Few car club members knew—as my pal O’Donnell did,
living across the alley from Ed’s garage—that Mr. Levine routinely
took the Dodge out after midnight. He also disappeared with it on
those occasions when a member was ill and the car at rest. He was
something of a philanthropist with the housewives, Mr. Levine was,
often loitering in the Shop Eazy parking lot offering free deliveries.
– Boys everywhere love two things, Dwayne Levine philosophized:
girls and cars. His sobs had been reduced to a snivel with a
second complimentary wedge of pie.
– If we had what these young fellas have today, he said, the war
never would have happened!
Back on patrol, Mahoney aired another possibility.
– I say the club’s a front for some kind of gangland activity.
Maybe one of us should go undercover. Whaddya think?
– Spit it all out, Mahoney! barked the senior policeman. The Huns
are scaling the walls!
– One of us — me, I guess — could pose as a potential buyer. I
could ask to see the vehicle up close. Maybe get inside the garage
without a search warrant.
The sergeant feared for the future knowing the likes of Mahoney
represented the next generation of law enforcement, although he
agreed the need for a search warrant was the most damaging invention
since the right to silence.
– People in this part of town, McManus reminded his young partner,
distrust strangers with crewcuts and the physique of a footballer.
Besides, he added, perhaps you hadn’t noticed? The Dodge
isn’t for sale!
McManus allowed himself a moment to despair.
– An Indian shaman said the Creator gave us two eyes, two ears
and one mouth, Mahoney. He reminds you of this so that you might
observe and listen twice as much as you talk.

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897971

He Rode Tall

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excerpt

…flashy little palomino filly, she finished in second. Tanya was
beaten by young Cody whose grey stallion left everyone in awe.
Cody and the stallion put together a run that many a horseman
would remember years later. To say that it was flawless may be
an overstatement, but it certainly was as good as they get. “Hey,
nothing wrong with second place,” Joel thought as he heard
Cody’s score being announced. Reserve World Champion
sounded good to him.
The pretty little palomino filly had done it all. She had shown
the world what she could do, and so had her rider.
Twenty horses and riders entered the ring for the presentation
ceremonies. As they were called forward to receive their awards,
Joel kept waiting to hear his name. Sitting side by side, astride
their horses, Joel and Tanya kept looking at each other every time
someone’s name was called. Finally, the announcer called the
fourth place finisher, and it wasn’t Joel. He knew that the buckskin
had a good run, but he obviously didn’t know exactly how
good it was. And then, there was only the three of them. Joel,
Tanya, and Cody. When Joel was called forward to receive his
third-place ribbon he couldn’t help but cry with excitement, but
no more so than when his young friend Tanya was called to be
awarded the title of Reserve World Champion. As they watched
Cody receive the World Championship title and start a victory
lap of the arena astride his handsome grey stallion, Joel and
Tanya directed their horses for the gate and to the holding area.
With Cody celebrating his success, Joel leaned over to Tanya and
said, “You did a great job with the little filly.”
“Thank you Joel. I appreciate that.”
Cody exited the arena and walked the grey towards Tanya.
Turning the buckskin to meet up with Cindy, Joel whispered two
words to Tanya, “She’s yours.”
Joel acknowledged plenty of congratulatory words as he
approached Cindy. Leaning forward in the saddle, he gave her a
big kiss as she wrapped her arms around him. Dismounting to
stand next to her, he looked Cindy deep in the eyes and said…

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

In Turbulent Times

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‘And Dervla?’
‘Thriving.’ Danny escorted Caitlin into the yard and closed the iron gate behind them. ‘Motherhood suits her. And every day this week she’s had her friend from the cottage visiting.’
Caitlin stopped walking. ‘Her friend from the cottage?’
‘Connie. She and Dervla go way back. They were at school together in Lisnaglass.’
‘Didn’t Connie go home to Belfast with Robert?’
‘No. Robert’s coming back on Monday, so Connie decided to stay in the cottage. Have a short holiday. I would have thought you knew.’
‘Michael must have forgotten to mention it.’ Caitlin turned to the back door of the farmhouse, a frown on her forehead. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Danny. Regards to Dervla.’
‘Thanks, Caitlin. Yes, tomorrow bright and early. Good evening to you.’
Caitlin entered the scullery, placed the eggs on a shelf, and started to make tea for her and Michael. She paused occasionally to look up the hillside, but she could not see the cottage from the scullery window.
Michael came in an hour later, greeted Caitlin with a kiss, and washed and dried his hands at the sink. ‘We’ll finish the shearing tomorrow,’ he said. ‘There’s only a few left in the catching pen.’
‘I don’t know why you don’t hire a professional shearing team,’ Caitlin remarked. ‘There are enough of them around.’
‘I’ve been shearing sheep since I was seventeen,’ said Michael. ‘I can handle it myself. And Danny’s good with the shears too. If we had a bigger operation I might build a shearing shed.’
‘You’ll be glad the shearing’s all done, though, won’t you?’ said Caitlin.
Michael filled a tin mug with water from the tap and leaned his haunches against the sink. ‘Ay, that I will.’ Then he drank thirstily.
‘Danny was tired when I met him on his way home.’
‘He’s worked hard this week.’
‘You didn’t tell me Connie was staying in the cottage on her own since Robert left on Wednesday.’
‘Didn’t I? Didn’t you see her in the loaney? She’s been going down to visit Dervla every day.’
‘I must have missed her,’ said Caitlin. ‘Anyway, let’s eat.’
If Caitlin had had any suspicions about Michael and Connie Hanlon, remembering how Connie had come on to him in the square in Corrymore on Tuesday, she did not show them. She wondered how she would react…

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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excerpt

“I mean no disrespect, whatsoever,” Ken said. “I know the symbol well.
But that is the wall.”
Albert exchanged a few words with Leon and then nodded. The painting
would go on that wall. Then Ken and Leon tackled the problem of
hanging the massive painting on a marble wall. The maintenance staff
concluded they would have to drill into the ceiling beams and suspend
the painting from thin stainless steel wires.
They hung the painting after business hours. Ken invited the media.
He had the panels delivered to the lobby where he bolted them together.
Salvador and his staff came along to help. Many members of the young
professionals group also arrived on the scene. The media asked how much
the painting had sold for. “No comment,” Ken said.
“Was it a lot of money?”
“No comment.”
“How did you contact Mr. Reichmann?”
“No comment.”
“You’re an artist,” one of them said. “How do you know how to do
all these other things? Artists don’t know how to be entrepreneurs. Who
helps you?”
“That’s a big question,” Ken said. “It’s a spiritual matter. I don’t wish
to discuss it.”
“What do you mean it’s a spiritual matter?”
“Just that. I get my knowledge, inspiration, and advice from a higher
authority and beyond that, I don’t want to discuss it. But, I will say one
thing – my advisor is Mr. Albert Reichmann.”
“Yes,” Albert said, when a reporter asked. “I am honoured to be Mr.
Kirkby’s advisor. He is doing wonderful work.”
Those few words gave Ken the credibility he’d been looking for. He had
achieved what his father had always had – the power to command respect
and attention wherever he went.
Later that night, when he was one of the last to leave, he paused to look
at the painting that he had envisioned hanging in that space so many
times. It looked exactly as he had imagined. It was in perfect proportion
to the immense lobby. It wasn’t until one walked closer to it that one felt
the full impact of its size.
His greatest debt was to Salvador, who had arranged the meeting, but
when he told him that he wanted to give him several paintings, he refused.
Ken painted several canvases regardless and delivered them to his home.
Before getting back to the task of Isumataq, Ken returned to the Arctic.
Keith Sharp, the burly Englishman, had moved to a parcel of land near
Rankin Inlet and extended an invitation. Ken included Michael as well as
Avril the photographer, and Roberto and Egidio, the filmmakers, in his
entourage; in mid-July, the somewhat motley crew – loaded down with…

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573