Louis Winslow
Louis Winslow is a retired 3M Chemist who lives with his wife, Carole, in the beautiful St. Croix valley in the oldest incorporated town in Minnesota, Stillwater. He and Carole have two sons and one daughter and eight grandchildren. His other hobbies, besides writing poetry and short stories, include hunting with his Springer Spaniel Daniel, fly-fishing, camping, canoeing, languages, cooking, bird watching, international and domestic travel, and volunteering. During his technical career he was restricted to writing technical reports, but after retiring he took up fiction writing. He continues to write both short stories and poetry, and is considering writing a novel based upon one of his tales. If you buy and read his book “Good Tales” he would love to hear what you think of it.
JUST GO FOR ITLouie, writing is a tough second career. When did you start writing?
I started writing short stories and poems ten years ago after retiring from 3M, where I worked for thirty-six years as a bench chemist.
What gave you the courage to start?
When I started college, incoming freshman had to take a battery of tests to determine their strong aptitudes. My results showed that I had aptitude for both pursuing a science or literary career. Then during the first semester, I took an English Composition class. We were required to write short essays and stories. Often the instructor chose my paper for reading in class. I always remembered that, and it made me think I might have some talent for writing.
You write both short stories and poetry. Which do you prefer?
Poetry is easier to write for me since it usually involves a single thought or theme. Many times my muse whispers in my ear, and the poem seems to write itself without any effort on my part. On the other hand, writing short stories requires identifying the theme, and crafting an entire tale in my head before writing it down. I explore a number of possibilities. Once I start writing, however, the characters in the story may take it in an entirely different direction than I had envisioned.
What kind of support network do you have?
My daughter-in-law, Lisa, is an excellent poet, and has had four poetry books published. When I first began writing, she critiqued my writing and gave me pointers on how to improve. She also encouraged me to continue. Of course my wife, Carole, also encouraged me, and my neighbor Betty did too. I think I have read almost all my poems and stories to Betty for her review.
Can you describe your stories?
The target audience for my stories is adults since they deal with adult themes. People who have read my stories often tell me that they have a strong honesty theme. They also tell me many have religious overtones. I also try to put twists in my writing with surprise endings. I have been told that my writing contains a lot of irony.
I understand you have a book out. What else have you published?
I have had seven poems published by “Julien's Journal” a Dubuque, Iowa literary magazine. I have self published a collection of twenty short stories titled “Good Tales” with Outskirts Press.
Where can we find it?
It is available from Amazon and Outskirts Press as both an ebook and a paperback. It is available from Barnes and Noble as a paperback.
Do you have any advice for aspiring writers?
If you want to become an author just go for it. There are also many writing sites on the Internet which you can join and get your writings critiqued. It is a way of rapidly improving. I still have problems with grammar and spelling, but my grammatical skills have improved dramatically since I joined a writers group. Also consider joining a local writer's club which I found beneficial.
Thanks, Louie. I really enjoy your work, and I’m sure our readers will, too.
I started writing short stories and poems ten years ago after retiring from 3M, where I worked for thirty-six years as a bench chemist.
What gave you the courage to start?
When I started college, incoming freshman had to take a battery of tests to determine their strong aptitudes. My results showed that I had aptitude for both pursuing a science or literary career. Then during the first semester, I took an English Composition class. We were required to write short essays and stories. Often the instructor chose my paper for reading in class. I always remembered that, and it made me think I might have some talent for writing.
You write both short stories and poetry. Which do you prefer?
Poetry is easier to write for me since it usually involves a single thought or theme. Many times my muse whispers in my ear, and the poem seems to write itself without any effort on my part. On the other hand, writing short stories requires identifying the theme, and crafting an entire tale in my head before writing it down. I explore a number of possibilities. Once I start writing, however, the characters in the story may take it in an entirely different direction than I had envisioned.
What kind of support network do you have?
My daughter-in-law, Lisa, is an excellent poet, and has had four poetry books published. When I first began writing, she critiqued my writing and gave me pointers on how to improve. She also encouraged me to continue. Of course my wife, Carole, also encouraged me, and my neighbor Betty did too. I think I have read almost all my poems and stories to Betty for her review.
Can you describe your stories?
The target audience for my stories is adults since they deal with adult themes. People who have read my stories often tell me that they have a strong honesty theme. They also tell me many have religious overtones. I also try to put twists in my writing with surprise endings. I have been told that my writing contains a lot of irony.
I understand you have a book out. What else have you published?
I have had seven poems published by “Julien's Journal” a Dubuque, Iowa literary magazine. I have self published a collection of twenty short stories titled “Good Tales” with Outskirts Press.
Where can we find it?
It is available from Amazon and Outskirts Press as both an ebook and a paperback. It is available from Barnes and Noble as a paperback.
Do you have any advice for aspiring writers?
If you want to become an author just go for it. There are also many writing sites on the Internet which you can join and get your writings critiqued. It is a way of rapidly improving. I still have problems with grammar and spelling, but my grammatical skills have improved dramatically since I joined a writers group. Also consider joining a local writer's club which I found beneficial.
Thanks, Louie. I really enjoy your work, and I’m sure our readers will, too.
STORIES
CONDUIT (March 15, 2013)
The cell was eight feet wide. I stared at the stained walls. Only ten feet in each direction, one with a small window six feet above the dank concrete floor. I shivered and flexed my fingers. The gray tattered uniform I wore provided little defense against the numbing cold. I didn't have a blanket to wrap up in. A concrete slab bunk jutting out from the right side wall provided the only sleeping accommodation. A reeking hole with a nearby pile of corn leaves appeared to be the toilet facility. I sat on the bunk shivering as my great-grandfather's memories saturated my mind.
I heard echoes of footsteps down the outside corridor. A sour stench assailed my nostrils before a broad face appeared, connected to a massive body. This grotesque giant peered at me through the bars. He smiled, showing crooked yellow teeth encased in a dirty brown plug of tobacco. Rusty drops dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. He spat, and a stream of steaming liquid spattered on the floor.
"Guess you only have a few hours to live, Dawson."
A bolt of fear surged through me. Dawson was my great-grandpa's name.
"Is there anything special you want for your final meal?"
"I could use some real coffee and some meat. Can I have those?"
The man laughed. "I'll see what I can do."
He turned and started away. I ran to the bars and watched his receding back disappear down the dimly lit corridor.
Memories of how my great-grandfather came to be in this prison awaiting execution materialized. He'd deserted, simply walked off from a wood gathering detail at the end of January, 1865. Images of the battles my great-grandfather had fought in paraded like a slide show through my mind. First and Second Manassas, the battle of the Wilderness, Gettysburg, the defense of Chattanooga, he'd fought in them all. At Gettysburg he'd been part of Picket's charge. When Mas’ Lee ordered them across the field, the blood, the screams, running through the wheat, sweat running down his back, the noise, the stench of blood, seeing his best friend Luke Wilson die, he'd begun to hate it all. Shot in the head, Luke fell to the ground never to get up. By February my great-grandfather knew the South would lose. Sick of the war, he'd walked back to Coldfield. When he got there his wife Roberta tearfully informed him that they'd lost Mark, Phillip and Catherine to typhoid. Only Wilhelm, their twelve-year-old, oldest son had survived.
“Where is Wilhelm now?"
"He is working at Widow Shultz's place to get us some food. Her husband died after the Battle of Second Manassas of swelling of the brain. He'll be home tomorrow."
That night while he and Roberta were in bed that son-of-a-bitch of a sheriff, Mike Duncan, broke down the door of the house, pulled him out of bed, slapped Roberta—knocking her to the floor when she attacked him. Duncan clubbed my great-grandfather in the head with the butt of his rifle. "Ya’ll don't deserve to be shot, you stinking coward. I'm going to take you in and hang your sorry ass tomorrow morning."
I had the answer to my questions, and a severe headache. I gingerly touched the matted hair covering the knot on my head. I thought about the preceding month. I had wanted to learn about my ancestors who fought in the Civil War. My wife's great-grandfather and uncles had fought for the union and she loved telling me about them. I tried conventional genealogical research, but found myself stymied. I knew my great-grandfather on my mother's side, Dawson Brunner, fought for the Confederacy. All the information I possessed was that he was born in 1830 in Tennessee.
On the radio, one day, I heard an advertisement soliciting people to participate in genealogical research at the University of Minnesota. In early February I'd driven over to the University and parked behind the History Building. I went in, and when I came to room 127, I knocked and entered. A curly headed brunette with vivid blue eyes sat at a desk typing. She smiled and asked in a sexy, husky voice, "Are you here about participating in the genealogical research project?"
"Yes."
"Here is a form to fill out. If you are accepted, I'll set up a session with Dr. Fisher."
Janice called a week later. "You've be accepted for the study. I'll set up an appointment with Dr. Fisher on the 27th at 2:30. Is that a convenient time for you?"
On the 27th I entered the History Building, walked down to room 127, and went in. Janice sat typing absorbed in her work.
I cleared my throat. "I am here to see Dr. Fisher."
She looked up and smiled. "Oh excuse me, Mr. Dawson; Professor Fisher is ready for you."
She opened a side door and we stepped into a room containing a couple of easy chairs and a couch. A man with a shock of unruly black hair, rimless glasses perched on his large nose and wearing a plaid shirt turned from the window and extended his hand. "Hi, my name is Norman Fisher."
We shook. "My name is Dawson Brunner and I am here to participate in your research"
Janice left and closed the door softly behind her.
Dr. Fisher explained the project.
"…So through hypnosis you can transport me back into the mind of my great-grandfather?"
"Yes."
"How do you bring me back?"
"We use a courier with a compatible mind to retrieve you. It can take up to eight hours to contact him or her, but once we establish the link with the contact I'll be able to bring you right back. I have to warn you, though, if your great-grandfather dies before I can establish the link you'll be in a coma for the rest of your life."
I shuddered. "How do I recognize the courier?"
A few minutes later I sat in one of the easy chairs. Professor Fisher's voice droned on. "Your legs are getting heavy." My mind began to drift.
I came awake sitting in the cell.
Mike Duncan came clumping down the corridor. He'd lost a leg during the battle of the Wilderness and been mustered out. When he got home he must have resumed sheriffing. He carried a plate with greasy, fatback and collard greens on it. A mug of steaming coffee occupied his other hand. His florid face with spider webs of broken blood vessels looked in on me. "This is the best we could do. It ain't really coffee, but a least it's hot." He slid the access door open and handed me the mug and plate.
"You must be hitting the liquor pretty heavy, Mike."
"Shutup."
"Does your cousin still have his still up in the hills?"
"You want me to come in there and club you again?"
"Do you have something to say to me?" I wondered if Mike could be the courier.
"No. Just shut your goddam face and eat the food. I've sent for the preacher. He turned, almost lost his balance, righted himself, and clumped off.
I took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. It tasted bitter, worse than the barley brew we made in camp. The fatback and collard greens were cold, but I ate them in a hurry since my grandfather hadn't eaten anything since noon yesterday. I set the empty plate down, and drank the coffee. Hearing footsteps, I looked up to see the Giant and a small, hunched man with a clerical collar, a pale face, whose black eyes darted around. In his hand he carried a worn bible.
The Giant used keys on a ring to unlock the cell and let the preacher enter.
"If you have any trouble, Preacher John, just yell out. I'll come back and take care of Dawson."
Preacher John shuffled toward me with his hand held forward. His eyes continued to dart about, and he never looked directly at me. In a quavering voice he said, "I am Preacher John and am here to pray with you and hear anything you'd like to say to make it right with Our Lord."
I took his limp hand in mine and we shook. "What happened to Preacher Jones?"
"He went off to war to be a chaplain for Mas’ Lee's army. We ain't heard anything from him since he left."
I tried to catch his eye. My heart accelerated and I asked, "Do you have anything to say to me?"
"Yes, my son. Let's kneel and pray to God. I'll stay with you until they come to get you."
We sank to our knees and Preacher John grabbed both my hands and began praying. "Dear God, forgive this man, he is repentant of his sins."
We stayed together until I could see an orange glow through the window in the east. During this time my pulse hammered in my ears and sweat trickled down my back even though the cold seeped into my bones. Every once and awhile I would ask him, "Do you have anything to say to me?" A puzzled look would come over his face and he would continue droning on with his prayers.
Footsteps approached and Mike Duncan, with the giant who carried a musket, stood outside looking in on us. Duncan said, "It is time, Dawson."
Duncan had a rope, and after they got into the cell, he told the Preacher, "Move aside, Preacher. I want to tie this bastard's hands behind his back.” Duncan stared into my eyes.
I stared back and said, "Do you have anything to say to me?"
"Yeah, turn around and put your hands behind your back."
I complied but thought, "Time is running out, I hope that Fisher is able to contact someone before they hang me."
Duncan tied my hands, and then shoved me toward the cell door. "Well let's get this thing over with."
We walked down the corridor and came to a heavy slab door with an iron brace across it. The giant opened it, and we entered an enclosure surrounded with high walls. I stared at the elevated wooden platform with the cross beam and the three dangling nooses located along the back wall. I gulped and my knees buckled.
Duncan said, "We'll take your body to Roberta and Wilhelm so they can bury you on the home place." Then he nodded at the Giant.
The Giant handed his musket to Duncan, grabbed me, and hustled me over to the steps leading up to the platform. He half dragged me up them. My stomach churned and sweat ran down my forehead into my eyes. I yelled out, "Fisher, get me out of here."
Nothing happened. He led me over to the middle station and placed the noose around my neck. I saw the preacher standing near and I shouted, "Do you have anything to say to me?"
The preacher said, "May God have mercy on your soul."
I looked at the Giant as he stepped back. Then I saw it. His pupils were dilated and as he placed his hand on the lever to release the platform he said, "Go ahead, make my day."
Fisher had established the link, the Giant was the courier. Hoping I'd be retrieved instantly I screamed, "Get me out of here now." But the platform released and I fell.
I came awake sitting on the soft cushion of the easy chair back in Fisher's laboratory. I had a rope burn on my neck, and sweat drenched my clothes. My pulse hammered in my ears, and I wanted to throw up, but Fisher had done it, he's gotten me back.
I looked at his smiling face. "Well, did you find out about your great-grandfather's Civil War experience?"
I nodded and tried to return his smile, "Yes, I did, but from now on I think I will stick to doing genealogical research on a computer.
Copyright 2012
DANGEROUS TANGO (March 1, 2013)
The room was empty. When he came in the house he had not heard a sound, and had called out for Amelia. Not getting a response, he had gone upstairs and entered her bedroom. A bolt of fear surged through him when he saw the note on Amelia's dresser. He began to perspire as he clenched his fists, and with a few quick strides he reached the note and snatched it.
I have your wife. If you want to see her alive, don't contact the police. I want you to come to the Blue Horse restaurant in Minnetonka on Monday at7:00 PM where instructions for payment of the ransom will be provided. I will have proof that I have taken your wife. Remember, if you contact the police and I find out, I will murder her. It won't be pleasant, since I will torture Amelia before killing her.
He shuddered, his hand began to shake, and he almost dropped the note. "You son-of-a-bitch, I will get you if it is the last thing I do. You'll pay for this."
Joshua Baxter had just gotten back from a three day real estate convention in Chicago. At seventy-five, he still attended conventions since he wanted to keep his finger on the pulse of the industry. A multimillionaire, he had married Amelia two years ago. She would turn thirty-three on Monday, and he had planned to take her to the Blue Horse, his favorite restaurant, to celebrate. They had eaten there quite frequently, and she enjoyed it as much as he did. The bastard must know him pretty well. Tired out from his trip, he decided the only practical thing to do was go to bed.
In his bedroom he'd undressed and gotten into bed, but he couldn't sleep. The thought of Amelia being in the clutches of a madman kept him awake. As he laid thrashing and turning, his thoughts turned to her.
They had met at the local Arthur-Murray dance studio. His wife Blanche had died three years earlier. They had been married for forty-nine years, and had produced two sons and one daughter. His middle child, Zachary, a lawyer, who at forty-six seemed a confirmed bachelor, had surprised him by recently proposing to his girlfriend, Nadine. Zachery, who, like Joshua was tall, slender, with an athletic build, possessed a less aggressive personality, but he was even more ambitious and competitive than his dad. Blanche always told him, "If you looked more like Zach I'd consider you handsome, obviously I didn't marry you for your looks."
He grinned; the odd thing is that he and Zach looked exactly alike.
Zachary had informed him, "Nadine and I are going to get married this coming fall. You have enough time to take dance lessons so you can enjoy yourself at our wedding party."
Joshua smiled as he thought about Zach's ulterior motive. Nadine's mother, Gertrude, was a widow and Zachary had set him up. Of course she was a superb dancer, and Zachery hoped they would hit it off together.
He had called the dance studio and when asked, "Do you want to take private or group lessons?' he'd said," Private." His first lesson had been scheduled for the following Thursday for 10:00 in the morning. After he arrived, they directed him to studio seven, and as he entered the room a woman glided across the floor, extended her hand, and said, "Hi. My name is Amelia Cavendish, and I will be your instructor."
Joshua took her warm hand and he noted how long and graceful her fingers were. As they shook, he studied her face. She had curly black hair, a high forehead, a long nose, and sparkling blue eyes. He decided she was striking rather than beautiful, but then she smiled. The transition that occurred mesmerized him, she became radiant. "My name is Joshua Baxter. The receptionist told me you are the best ballroom instructor here."
Amelia laughed. "Don't believe everything they tell you. What dances do you want to learn?"
"I don't know. What dances would you recommend?"
"Well, I think you should learn the waltz, foxtrot, swing, and some Latino dances like the rumba, cha-cha-cha, samba, and tango."
"Well, let's get at it."
To his surprise he found that he enjoyed it. Every Thursday morning he looked forward with anticipation to the class.
"You know that you have a lot of talent. You are one of the best students I have ever had."
They were doing the tango. Amelia molded herself to him, and as they moved across the floor he started to get aroused. She always wore a perfume that excited him, and her soft curvaceous body pressed against him. 'Easy boy, Amelia is young enough to be your granddaughter.''
As he looked into her eyes she smiled and nodded. His face became warm, and he tried to disengage, but Amelia moved into him. She reached down, and stroked the bulge in his pants. "These last weeks I have hoped you would ask me out. Well are you going to?”
He gulped but managed to say, "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"
"Sure, where are we going?"
"My favorite restaurant is the Blue Horse. Blanche and I would go there all the time."
At the restaurant, Amelia amazed him by ordering the 16 ounce prime rib and then eating it all. After finishing, she put down her fork and asked, "Do they make good desserts here too?"
He'd ordered a bottle of his favorite Chilean Carmenere, Toro Rojo; he drank only one glass. As the meal progressed, he had detected no change in her demeanor even though Amelia downed the rest of the bottle.
When he drove her to her apartment house, a high rise in downtown Minneapolis, she placed her hand on his thigh. It became difficult to concentrate on his driving, but he did. At the door to her place, she asked, "You are going to come in, aren't you?"
He made love once, but couldn't the second time. Amelia smiled and said, "That is all right, you were great the first time, and that is good enough for me."
As he looked into her eyes, he thought, God, if only I were forty years younger.
Five months passed since the night that Amelia and he had first made love. He found himself thinking about her all the time; he finally had decided. As he stared into the window of the jewelry store, he saw his reflection, it smiled back at him. He waited for a customer to come out; then he entered. A woman with blond hair wearing a huge sapphire ring stood behind the counter where the diamond rings were displayed. As he approached, she smiled. "Are you looking to buy?"
"Yes."
"What size stone are you interested in?"
He scanned the display; the one in the middle caught his eye. "I like the one in the center; can you let me see it?"
The clerk reached into the case, and took it out. "She must be a special lady, this is an exquisite gem. Its blue color is unique because we don't get that many in."
"How much is it?"
"Well, it is two carats and its blue color adds to the price. We are selling it for $15,000."
"I'll take it."
That night, when he picked Amelia up, he told her he had something to ask her. They had just gotten into the car; he reached into his coat pocket, and took out the ring box. His heart hammered against his chest, his hand shook; he fumbled with it, but finally got it open. "Will you marry me?"
Amelia gasped, and then said, "Yes."
Joshua came awake with a start. He had been thinking about Amelia before nodding off, but now he recalled his nightmare. Joshua and her kidnapper were watching Amelia struggle against her bonds. Without any warning, the brute had hit her in the nose. Blood gushed and Amelia screamed. The bastard drew back his fist to hit her again, Joshua tried to grab him, but his legs and arms wouldn't move. As the kidnapper swung, Joshua awoke drenched in sweat. His heart beating wildly, he told himself to settle down. There was nothing he could do. He remembered what he'd been thinking about before falling asleep, and he recalled his meeting with Zachary.
"Have you told Harry and Brenda?"
Joshua sighed, looked out the window of Zachary's office, and studied the Minneapolis skyline. "I called them last night."
"How did they take the news?"
"Harry told me I was foolish, but your sister wished Amelia and me well."
Zachary nodded. "I agree with Harry. May I give you some advice? "Let me draw up a prenuptial agreement. I'll frame it so Amelia gets nothing if you two divorce."
Joshua studied his son's face. After a pregnant pause he said, "You don't believe she loves me, do you?"
Zachary smiled. "That is right. If I do, I'll bet she won't sign."
"Go ahead, write it up. I know she loves me, and will."
"How about paying for mine and Nadine's honeymoon if she doesn't. If she does I will pay for yours."
"You're on."
The wedding had been a small private affair. Harry served as best man, Zachary attended with Nadine, as well as Brenda and her husband Bob. Marlene, Amelia's friend from the dance studio, served as maid of honor. A couple of Joshua's work colleagues with their wives were there. Amelia had no siblings, and her parents had died in a car crash four years ago, so her friend was the only one in attendance.
They had the reception at the Blue Horse. After Zachary gave his toast to the new bride and groom, he handed his dad an envelope. He whispered in his father's ear, "This is the reservations and tickets for your Royal Caribbeancruise."
Joshua had risen and toasted his son. "Zachary just gave us a cruise for our honeymoon. To Zachary."
On the cruise, Amelia and Joshua had danced every day. Even though she was from a different generation, they had many spirited discussions. Like him, Amelia enjoyed history, art, and music. She told him about her parents' death and her dreams as a little girl. She also told him she had received a degree in business from the University ofMinnesota and had gone on to get here Master's in financial planning. She had worked as a financial adviser for five years.
"So you were a money manager. Why did you quit?"
"The stress was too great, I burned out."
"Were you successful?"
"Very, at the end I earned a six figure salary."
"You chose to become a dance instructor?"
"Yes, I just love it."
"What do you want to do when we get back?'
"Continue to be a dance teacher."
Joshua drew her to him, and kissed her passionately. "Whatever you want to do is fine with me."
Two months after their honeymoon they were at Nadine and Zachary's wedding where Joshua returned the favor. Zachary picked Gregory, his old college roommate, to be his best man. Zachary had represented Gregory when a woman had brought a suit against him and won. Joshua didn’t approve of Gregory since he thought he was a charlatan, and suggested that Zachary pick his brother Harry. Zachary, who often ignored his father’s advice laughed and said, “Whose wedding is this?” Joshua had backed off.
Even though they had lived together for six years, Nadine and Zachary ended up getting a divorce after only fourteen months. The bitter dispute over their mutual possessions caused Joshua much anguish. He felt sorry for his middle son, who he always favored.
The time of Joshua's marriage had flown by, but recently storm clouds had gathered. The last three months before he went to the Chicago convention their love making had lacked passion. He worried about it. He thought maybe when he got back they could go to a marriage counselor.
He reflected back on what he had been thinking about. Maybe this was a scam that Amelia had hatched up to escape by blackmailing him. A smart woman, this would be a way of getting around their prenuptial agreement. Maybe she’d grown tired of living with an old man. A dull ache settled in above his stomach. He’d wait until after the Monday meeting at the Blue Horse to see what proof the kidnapper provided, but then he would hire a private investigator. If it was Amelia, he would catch her and teach her a lesson. He finally fell asleep, and this time he didn't have a nightmare.
On Monday evening he got to the Blue Horse at 6:45 and requested his favorite table. As he waited, his foot twitched and he drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. Beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead, and he mopped his brow with his handkerchief. At 7:05 a short man dressed in an ill-fitting suit approached the table. He dropped an envelope off, turned, and walked away.
"Hey." The guy continued walking and went out the door. Joshua opened the envelope, shook it, and a plastic bag containing Amelia's ring and another object fell on the table. He picked up the red stained bag and examined the object. Joshua gasped; the object was the tip of Amelia’s ring figure. With a shaking hand he took out the note, and began reading. The paper rattled, he became nauseated and fought blacking out.
You have two weeks to deposit ten million dollars in the Swiss bank account listed on the bottom of this letter. For every day you run over, I will send you one of Amelia's body parts beginning with the rest of her ring finger. If you deposit the money, come here in two weeks at seven, and I will bring Amelia.
Joshua crumpled up the note and threw it on the table. After a few minutes he picked it up, smoothed it out, and put it in his pocket.
He managed to get the money transferred in ten days. Two weeks later he sat in the Blue Horse waiting to see Amelia. Just as before, the same man came to his table, but this time Joshua grabbed him by the wrist. The man winced, but dropped the envelope on the table. "You might want to read this."
Joshua released him, lifted the envelope, tore it open, and stared at the letter head at the top. His heart fluttered, and it felt like he'd just swallowed a bowling ball. With tears obscuring his vision he began reading.
Dear Joshua and Dad,
We are sorry that we had to do this to you. We fell in love after my divorce, and we want to live the rest of our lives together. We know this will be hard on you, but be assured that we will always love you and want the best for you.
With all our love,
Zachary and Amelia
Joshua put his face down on the table and sobbed. How could they do this to me?
*****
At the same time, but seventy-five-hundred miles away, Amelia raised her glass in a toast to Zachary. "God, you are such a handsome man, and smart too. That was brilliant having Gregory take off the tip of my ring finger.”
“Yeah, I knew my old man would suspect you. Remember that Gregory promised to fix your ring finger in the future, but then I don’t think Gregory is the best surgeon to do it. We now have the money to hire the best.”
The band in the Buenos Aries club struck up a tango. Zachary smiled, extended his hand, and said, "Would you like to dance?"
Copyright 2012
The cell was eight feet wide. I stared at the stained walls. Only ten feet in each direction, one with a small window six feet above the dank concrete floor. I shivered and flexed my fingers. The gray tattered uniform I wore provided little defense against the numbing cold. I didn't have a blanket to wrap up in. A concrete slab bunk jutting out from the right side wall provided the only sleeping accommodation. A reeking hole with a nearby pile of corn leaves appeared to be the toilet facility. I sat on the bunk shivering as my great-grandfather's memories saturated my mind.
I heard echoes of footsteps down the outside corridor. A sour stench assailed my nostrils before a broad face appeared, connected to a massive body. This grotesque giant peered at me through the bars. He smiled, showing crooked yellow teeth encased in a dirty brown plug of tobacco. Rusty drops dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. He spat, and a stream of steaming liquid spattered on the floor.
"Guess you only have a few hours to live, Dawson."
A bolt of fear surged through me. Dawson was my great-grandpa's name.
"Is there anything special you want for your final meal?"
"I could use some real coffee and some meat. Can I have those?"
The man laughed. "I'll see what I can do."
He turned and started away. I ran to the bars and watched his receding back disappear down the dimly lit corridor.
Memories of how my great-grandfather came to be in this prison awaiting execution materialized. He'd deserted, simply walked off from a wood gathering detail at the end of January, 1865. Images of the battles my great-grandfather had fought in paraded like a slide show through my mind. First and Second Manassas, the battle of the Wilderness, Gettysburg, the defense of Chattanooga, he'd fought in them all. At Gettysburg he'd been part of Picket's charge. When Mas’ Lee ordered them across the field, the blood, the screams, running through the wheat, sweat running down his back, the noise, the stench of blood, seeing his best friend Luke Wilson die, he'd begun to hate it all. Shot in the head, Luke fell to the ground never to get up. By February my great-grandfather knew the South would lose. Sick of the war, he'd walked back to Coldfield. When he got there his wife Roberta tearfully informed him that they'd lost Mark, Phillip and Catherine to typhoid. Only Wilhelm, their twelve-year-old, oldest son had survived.
“Where is Wilhelm now?"
"He is working at Widow Shultz's place to get us some food. Her husband died after the Battle of Second Manassas of swelling of the brain. He'll be home tomorrow."
That night while he and Roberta were in bed that son-of-a-bitch of a sheriff, Mike Duncan, broke down the door of the house, pulled him out of bed, slapped Roberta—knocking her to the floor when she attacked him. Duncan clubbed my great-grandfather in the head with the butt of his rifle. "Ya’ll don't deserve to be shot, you stinking coward. I'm going to take you in and hang your sorry ass tomorrow morning."
I had the answer to my questions, and a severe headache. I gingerly touched the matted hair covering the knot on my head. I thought about the preceding month. I had wanted to learn about my ancestors who fought in the Civil War. My wife's great-grandfather and uncles had fought for the union and she loved telling me about them. I tried conventional genealogical research, but found myself stymied. I knew my great-grandfather on my mother's side, Dawson Brunner, fought for the Confederacy. All the information I possessed was that he was born in 1830 in Tennessee.
On the radio, one day, I heard an advertisement soliciting people to participate in genealogical research at the University of Minnesota. In early February I'd driven over to the University and parked behind the History Building. I went in, and when I came to room 127, I knocked and entered. A curly headed brunette with vivid blue eyes sat at a desk typing. She smiled and asked in a sexy, husky voice, "Are you here about participating in the genealogical research project?"
"Yes."
"Here is a form to fill out. If you are accepted, I'll set up a session with Dr. Fisher."
Janice called a week later. "You've be accepted for the study. I'll set up an appointment with Dr. Fisher on the 27th at 2:30. Is that a convenient time for you?"
On the 27th I entered the History Building, walked down to room 127, and went in. Janice sat typing absorbed in her work.
I cleared my throat. "I am here to see Dr. Fisher."
She looked up and smiled. "Oh excuse me, Mr. Dawson; Professor Fisher is ready for you."
She opened a side door and we stepped into a room containing a couple of easy chairs and a couch. A man with a shock of unruly black hair, rimless glasses perched on his large nose and wearing a plaid shirt turned from the window and extended his hand. "Hi, my name is Norman Fisher."
We shook. "My name is Dawson Brunner and I am here to participate in your research"
Janice left and closed the door softly behind her.
Dr. Fisher explained the project.
"…So through hypnosis you can transport me back into the mind of my great-grandfather?"
"Yes."
"How do you bring me back?"
"We use a courier with a compatible mind to retrieve you. It can take up to eight hours to contact him or her, but once we establish the link with the contact I'll be able to bring you right back. I have to warn you, though, if your great-grandfather dies before I can establish the link you'll be in a coma for the rest of your life."
I shuddered. "How do I recognize the courier?"
A few minutes later I sat in one of the easy chairs. Professor Fisher's voice droned on. "Your legs are getting heavy." My mind began to drift.
I came awake sitting in the cell.
Mike Duncan came clumping down the corridor. He'd lost a leg during the battle of the Wilderness and been mustered out. When he got home he must have resumed sheriffing. He carried a plate with greasy, fatback and collard greens on it. A mug of steaming coffee occupied his other hand. His florid face with spider webs of broken blood vessels looked in on me. "This is the best we could do. It ain't really coffee, but a least it's hot." He slid the access door open and handed me the mug and plate.
"You must be hitting the liquor pretty heavy, Mike."
"Shutup."
"Does your cousin still have his still up in the hills?"
"You want me to come in there and club you again?"
"Do you have something to say to me?" I wondered if Mike could be the courier.
"No. Just shut your goddam face and eat the food. I've sent for the preacher. He turned, almost lost his balance, righted himself, and clumped off.
I took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. It tasted bitter, worse than the barley brew we made in camp. The fatback and collard greens were cold, but I ate them in a hurry since my grandfather hadn't eaten anything since noon yesterday. I set the empty plate down, and drank the coffee. Hearing footsteps, I looked up to see the Giant and a small, hunched man with a clerical collar, a pale face, whose black eyes darted around. In his hand he carried a worn bible.
The Giant used keys on a ring to unlock the cell and let the preacher enter.
"If you have any trouble, Preacher John, just yell out. I'll come back and take care of Dawson."
Preacher John shuffled toward me with his hand held forward. His eyes continued to dart about, and he never looked directly at me. In a quavering voice he said, "I am Preacher John and am here to pray with you and hear anything you'd like to say to make it right with Our Lord."
I took his limp hand in mine and we shook. "What happened to Preacher Jones?"
"He went off to war to be a chaplain for Mas’ Lee's army. We ain't heard anything from him since he left."
I tried to catch his eye. My heart accelerated and I asked, "Do you have anything to say to me?"
"Yes, my son. Let's kneel and pray to God. I'll stay with you until they come to get you."
We sank to our knees and Preacher John grabbed both my hands and began praying. "Dear God, forgive this man, he is repentant of his sins."
We stayed together until I could see an orange glow through the window in the east. During this time my pulse hammered in my ears and sweat trickled down my back even though the cold seeped into my bones. Every once and awhile I would ask him, "Do you have anything to say to me?" A puzzled look would come over his face and he would continue droning on with his prayers.
Footsteps approached and Mike Duncan, with the giant who carried a musket, stood outside looking in on us. Duncan said, "It is time, Dawson."
Duncan had a rope, and after they got into the cell, he told the Preacher, "Move aside, Preacher. I want to tie this bastard's hands behind his back.” Duncan stared into my eyes.
I stared back and said, "Do you have anything to say to me?"
"Yeah, turn around and put your hands behind your back."
I complied but thought, "Time is running out, I hope that Fisher is able to contact someone before they hang me."
Duncan tied my hands, and then shoved me toward the cell door. "Well let's get this thing over with."
We walked down the corridor and came to a heavy slab door with an iron brace across it. The giant opened it, and we entered an enclosure surrounded with high walls. I stared at the elevated wooden platform with the cross beam and the three dangling nooses located along the back wall. I gulped and my knees buckled.
Duncan said, "We'll take your body to Roberta and Wilhelm so they can bury you on the home place." Then he nodded at the Giant.
The Giant handed his musket to Duncan, grabbed me, and hustled me over to the steps leading up to the platform. He half dragged me up them. My stomach churned and sweat ran down my forehead into my eyes. I yelled out, "Fisher, get me out of here."
Nothing happened. He led me over to the middle station and placed the noose around my neck. I saw the preacher standing near and I shouted, "Do you have anything to say to me?"
The preacher said, "May God have mercy on your soul."
I looked at the Giant as he stepped back. Then I saw it. His pupils were dilated and as he placed his hand on the lever to release the platform he said, "Go ahead, make my day."
Fisher had established the link, the Giant was the courier. Hoping I'd be retrieved instantly I screamed, "Get me out of here now." But the platform released and I fell.
I came awake sitting on the soft cushion of the easy chair back in Fisher's laboratory. I had a rope burn on my neck, and sweat drenched my clothes. My pulse hammered in my ears, and I wanted to throw up, but Fisher had done it, he's gotten me back.
I looked at his smiling face. "Well, did you find out about your great-grandfather's Civil War experience?"
I nodded and tried to return his smile, "Yes, I did, but from now on I think I will stick to doing genealogical research on a computer.
Copyright 2012
DANGEROUS TANGO (March 1, 2013)
The room was empty. When he came in the house he had not heard a sound, and had called out for Amelia. Not getting a response, he had gone upstairs and entered her bedroom. A bolt of fear surged through him when he saw the note on Amelia's dresser. He began to perspire as he clenched his fists, and with a few quick strides he reached the note and snatched it.
I have your wife. If you want to see her alive, don't contact the police. I want you to come to the Blue Horse restaurant in Minnetonka on Monday at7:00 PM where instructions for payment of the ransom will be provided. I will have proof that I have taken your wife. Remember, if you contact the police and I find out, I will murder her. It won't be pleasant, since I will torture Amelia before killing her.
He shuddered, his hand began to shake, and he almost dropped the note. "You son-of-a-bitch, I will get you if it is the last thing I do. You'll pay for this."
Joshua Baxter had just gotten back from a three day real estate convention in Chicago. At seventy-five, he still attended conventions since he wanted to keep his finger on the pulse of the industry. A multimillionaire, he had married Amelia two years ago. She would turn thirty-three on Monday, and he had planned to take her to the Blue Horse, his favorite restaurant, to celebrate. They had eaten there quite frequently, and she enjoyed it as much as he did. The bastard must know him pretty well. Tired out from his trip, he decided the only practical thing to do was go to bed.
In his bedroom he'd undressed and gotten into bed, but he couldn't sleep. The thought of Amelia being in the clutches of a madman kept him awake. As he laid thrashing and turning, his thoughts turned to her.
They had met at the local Arthur-Murray dance studio. His wife Blanche had died three years earlier. They had been married for forty-nine years, and had produced two sons and one daughter. His middle child, Zachary, a lawyer, who at forty-six seemed a confirmed bachelor, had surprised him by recently proposing to his girlfriend, Nadine. Zachery, who, like Joshua was tall, slender, with an athletic build, possessed a less aggressive personality, but he was even more ambitious and competitive than his dad. Blanche always told him, "If you looked more like Zach I'd consider you handsome, obviously I didn't marry you for your looks."
He grinned; the odd thing is that he and Zach looked exactly alike.
Zachary had informed him, "Nadine and I are going to get married this coming fall. You have enough time to take dance lessons so you can enjoy yourself at our wedding party."
Joshua smiled as he thought about Zach's ulterior motive. Nadine's mother, Gertrude, was a widow and Zachary had set him up. Of course she was a superb dancer, and Zachery hoped they would hit it off together.
He had called the dance studio and when asked, "Do you want to take private or group lessons?' he'd said," Private." His first lesson had been scheduled for the following Thursday for 10:00 in the morning. After he arrived, they directed him to studio seven, and as he entered the room a woman glided across the floor, extended her hand, and said, "Hi. My name is Amelia Cavendish, and I will be your instructor."
Joshua took her warm hand and he noted how long and graceful her fingers were. As they shook, he studied her face. She had curly black hair, a high forehead, a long nose, and sparkling blue eyes. He decided she was striking rather than beautiful, but then she smiled. The transition that occurred mesmerized him, she became radiant. "My name is Joshua Baxter. The receptionist told me you are the best ballroom instructor here."
Amelia laughed. "Don't believe everything they tell you. What dances do you want to learn?"
"I don't know. What dances would you recommend?"
"Well, I think you should learn the waltz, foxtrot, swing, and some Latino dances like the rumba, cha-cha-cha, samba, and tango."
"Well, let's get at it."
To his surprise he found that he enjoyed it. Every Thursday morning he looked forward with anticipation to the class.
"You know that you have a lot of talent. You are one of the best students I have ever had."
They were doing the tango. Amelia molded herself to him, and as they moved across the floor he started to get aroused. She always wore a perfume that excited him, and her soft curvaceous body pressed against him. 'Easy boy, Amelia is young enough to be your granddaughter.''
As he looked into her eyes she smiled and nodded. His face became warm, and he tried to disengage, but Amelia moved into him. She reached down, and stroked the bulge in his pants. "These last weeks I have hoped you would ask me out. Well are you going to?”
He gulped but managed to say, "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"
"Sure, where are we going?"
"My favorite restaurant is the Blue Horse. Blanche and I would go there all the time."
At the restaurant, Amelia amazed him by ordering the 16 ounce prime rib and then eating it all. After finishing, she put down her fork and asked, "Do they make good desserts here too?"
He'd ordered a bottle of his favorite Chilean Carmenere, Toro Rojo; he drank only one glass. As the meal progressed, he had detected no change in her demeanor even though Amelia downed the rest of the bottle.
When he drove her to her apartment house, a high rise in downtown Minneapolis, she placed her hand on his thigh. It became difficult to concentrate on his driving, but he did. At the door to her place, she asked, "You are going to come in, aren't you?"
He made love once, but couldn't the second time. Amelia smiled and said, "That is all right, you were great the first time, and that is good enough for me."
As he looked into her eyes, he thought, God, if only I were forty years younger.
Five months passed since the night that Amelia and he had first made love. He found himself thinking about her all the time; he finally had decided. As he stared into the window of the jewelry store, he saw his reflection, it smiled back at him. He waited for a customer to come out; then he entered. A woman with blond hair wearing a huge sapphire ring stood behind the counter where the diamond rings were displayed. As he approached, she smiled. "Are you looking to buy?"
"Yes."
"What size stone are you interested in?"
He scanned the display; the one in the middle caught his eye. "I like the one in the center; can you let me see it?"
The clerk reached into the case, and took it out. "She must be a special lady, this is an exquisite gem. Its blue color is unique because we don't get that many in."
"How much is it?"
"Well, it is two carats and its blue color adds to the price. We are selling it for $15,000."
"I'll take it."
That night, when he picked Amelia up, he told her he had something to ask her. They had just gotten into the car; he reached into his coat pocket, and took out the ring box. His heart hammered against his chest, his hand shook; he fumbled with it, but finally got it open. "Will you marry me?"
Amelia gasped, and then said, "Yes."
Joshua came awake with a start. He had been thinking about Amelia before nodding off, but now he recalled his nightmare. Joshua and her kidnapper were watching Amelia struggle against her bonds. Without any warning, the brute had hit her in the nose. Blood gushed and Amelia screamed. The bastard drew back his fist to hit her again, Joshua tried to grab him, but his legs and arms wouldn't move. As the kidnapper swung, Joshua awoke drenched in sweat. His heart beating wildly, he told himself to settle down. There was nothing he could do. He remembered what he'd been thinking about before falling asleep, and he recalled his meeting with Zachary.
"Have you told Harry and Brenda?"
Joshua sighed, looked out the window of Zachary's office, and studied the Minneapolis skyline. "I called them last night."
"How did they take the news?"
"Harry told me I was foolish, but your sister wished Amelia and me well."
Zachary nodded. "I agree with Harry. May I give you some advice? "Let me draw up a prenuptial agreement. I'll frame it so Amelia gets nothing if you two divorce."
Joshua studied his son's face. After a pregnant pause he said, "You don't believe she loves me, do you?"
Zachary smiled. "That is right. If I do, I'll bet she won't sign."
"Go ahead, write it up. I know she loves me, and will."
"How about paying for mine and Nadine's honeymoon if she doesn't. If she does I will pay for yours."
"You're on."
The wedding had been a small private affair. Harry served as best man, Zachary attended with Nadine, as well as Brenda and her husband Bob. Marlene, Amelia's friend from the dance studio, served as maid of honor. A couple of Joshua's work colleagues with their wives were there. Amelia had no siblings, and her parents had died in a car crash four years ago, so her friend was the only one in attendance.
They had the reception at the Blue Horse. After Zachary gave his toast to the new bride and groom, he handed his dad an envelope. He whispered in his father's ear, "This is the reservations and tickets for your Royal Caribbeancruise."
Joshua had risen and toasted his son. "Zachary just gave us a cruise for our honeymoon. To Zachary."
On the cruise, Amelia and Joshua had danced every day. Even though she was from a different generation, they had many spirited discussions. Like him, Amelia enjoyed history, art, and music. She told him about her parents' death and her dreams as a little girl. She also told him she had received a degree in business from the University ofMinnesota and had gone on to get here Master's in financial planning. She had worked as a financial adviser for five years.
"So you were a money manager. Why did you quit?"
"The stress was too great, I burned out."
"Were you successful?"
"Very, at the end I earned a six figure salary."
"You chose to become a dance instructor?"
"Yes, I just love it."
"What do you want to do when we get back?'
"Continue to be a dance teacher."
Joshua drew her to him, and kissed her passionately. "Whatever you want to do is fine with me."
Two months after their honeymoon they were at Nadine and Zachary's wedding where Joshua returned the favor. Zachary picked Gregory, his old college roommate, to be his best man. Zachary had represented Gregory when a woman had brought a suit against him and won. Joshua didn’t approve of Gregory since he thought he was a charlatan, and suggested that Zachary pick his brother Harry. Zachary, who often ignored his father’s advice laughed and said, “Whose wedding is this?” Joshua had backed off.
Even though they had lived together for six years, Nadine and Zachary ended up getting a divorce after only fourteen months. The bitter dispute over their mutual possessions caused Joshua much anguish. He felt sorry for his middle son, who he always favored.
The time of Joshua's marriage had flown by, but recently storm clouds had gathered. The last three months before he went to the Chicago convention their love making had lacked passion. He worried about it. He thought maybe when he got back they could go to a marriage counselor.
He reflected back on what he had been thinking about. Maybe this was a scam that Amelia had hatched up to escape by blackmailing him. A smart woman, this would be a way of getting around their prenuptial agreement. Maybe she’d grown tired of living with an old man. A dull ache settled in above his stomach. He’d wait until after the Monday meeting at the Blue Horse to see what proof the kidnapper provided, but then he would hire a private investigator. If it was Amelia, he would catch her and teach her a lesson. He finally fell asleep, and this time he didn't have a nightmare.
On Monday evening he got to the Blue Horse at 6:45 and requested his favorite table. As he waited, his foot twitched and he drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. Beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead, and he mopped his brow with his handkerchief. At 7:05 a short man dressed in an ill-fitting suit approached the table. He dropped an envelope off, turned, and walked away.
"Hey." The guy continued walking and went out the door. Joshua opened the envelope, shook it, and a plastic bag containing Amelia's ring and another object fell on the table. He picked up the red stained bag and examined the object. Joshua gasped; the object was the tip of Amelia’s ring figure. With a shaking hand he took out the note, and began reading. The paper rattled, he became nauseated and fought blacking out.
You have two weeks to deposit ten million dollars in the Swiss bank account listed on the bottom of this letter. For every day you run over, I will send you one of Amelia's body parts beginning with the rest of her ring finger. If you deposit the money, come here in two weeks at seven, and I will bring Amelia.
Joshua crumpled up the note and threw it on the table. After a few minutes he picked it up, smoothed it out, and put it in his pocket.
He managed to get the money transferred in ten days. Two weeks later he sat in the Blue Horse waiting to see Amelia. Just as before, the same man came to his table, but this time Joshua grabbed him by the wrist. The man winced, but dropped the envelope on the table. "You might want to read this."
Joshua released him, lifted the envelope, tore it open, and stared at the letter head at the top. His heart fluttered, and it felt like he'd just swallowed a bowling ball. With tears obscuring his vision he began reading.
Dear Joshua and Dad,
We are sorry that we had to do this to you. We fell in love after my divorce, and we want to live the rest of our lives together. We know this will be hard on you, but be assured that we will always love you and want the best for you.
With all our love,
Zachary and Amelia
Joshua put his face down on the table and sobbed. How could they do this to me?
*****
At the same time, but seventy-five-hundred miles away, Amelia raised her glass in a toast to Zachary. "God, you are such a handsome man, and smart too. That was brilliant having Gregory take off the tip of my ring finger.”
“Yeah, I knew my old man would suspect you. Remember that Gregory promised to fix your ring finger in the future, but then I don’t think Gregory is the best surgeon to do it. We now have the money to hire the best.”
The band in the Buenos Aries club struck up a tango. Zachary smiled, extended his hand, and said, "Would you like to dance?"
Copyright 2012
POEMS