John was keeping a sharp eye on the road while Jim was looking all around, even though there wasn’t much to see. He hit that buck at twenty-four miles an hour. It flipped over the hood of the car, the windshield shattered and its left antler gored him in the neck. His immediate reaction was to brake as both airbags deployed. Jim looked over at his brother. John tried to say something, smiled and closed his eyes…
Jim had been too keyed up to sleep after coming home from the Champlain Valley Medical Center. He was given a clean bill of health by Dr. Clarke, the night shift physician. Other than a few scratches and the burns on his wrists from the airbag, he was fine, physically. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ambulance at the scene of the accident and the policemen who asked him a million questions. Say, did you know that airbag flew out at you doing 254 miles an hour! The same phrase kept rattling around in his brain over and over. Sitting at the base of that ancient tree he let his mind wander, hoping he’d be able to drive that phrase out of his head.
His mom and dad were never too far removed from his thoughts. He remembered their last summer picnic, September 21st, the last day of summer. His mom, Clarissa, and his dad, Ben, had packed a fun lunch (fun because it was full of sweet stuff they knew was off-limits). John and Jimmy had peeked in the basket when their parents were in the living room discussing their outing, a leisurely twenty minute hike on a well-worn path still on the Honeycutt estate.
While Clarissa arranged the huge basket and its contents on a tattered red and black checkered tablecloth, Ben took the boys aside, sitting at the base of a distant pine, one of hundreds scattered willy-nilly on the property. Ben admired the young men his boys were becoming, just looking at them, waiting for either one to start a conversation. John looked at Jimmy and Jimmy stared back. Both were thinking the same thing. The twins often did that. Why is Dad looking at us, not saying a word? What is he thinking? The silence was maddening until John started in, “Dad, you know what? Let’s talk about something neither one of us has ever asked you. Can you tell us something about the Honeycutt property?”
Ben smiled, his favorite subject, local history… “Well boys, let me start at your beginning because that’s when everything changed for me and your mom. In 2000, when you both came into our world, we had been planning on moving here, to Clinton County. Your grandpappy, my dad Noah, had passed away only two months before you were born. I sure wish he could have seen what you guys have become. Anyway, he willed this whole estate to me, all 450 acres of it. We’re not anywhere near the property line. Look around you; some of these trees are older than Methuselah. Well, maybe even older. Did you guys know he lived to be over 900 years-old?”
“Uh Dad, excuse me but you’re way off topic here. I know you’re almost sixty but… Methuselah, come back to us.”
“Sorry John. Sorry Jimmy. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, Grandpa Noah… he was born in 1920. As it turns out, his mom and dad saved a lot of their money. I remember my Grandpa Ebenezer and my Grandma Clara. When I was a boy, my nickname for Grandpa was Tightwad, my brother Bernard’s was Old Skinflint, and our nickname for Granny was Santa, Santa Clara, she was the sweet one, always giving us penny candy when Tightwad wasn’t looking. But I barely remember them; they both passed away when I was only seven. I loved them but I think I loved Grandma Clara more, but not because of the candy. Your great-grandpa Ebenezer and great-grandma Clara were both born in Georgia in 1880. Their parents were very poor and they were slaves during the Civil War. The slave owners were Honeycutts. …Hence, our name. Hey, I think I hear your mom’s sweet voice.”
Jimmy was excited, “Dad, on the way back home can you tell us some more about our family history?”
“Sure Jimmy. Let’s go boys. Feedbag’s on!”
“Be right there, Clarissa. Give us a minute.”
It may be the formatting problem, but I was having difficulty linking the accident with the deer with the picnic… Held earlier? The twins are 20? A time when accidents happen, but deer are like that. They don't obey danger signs and run right into cars. Twenty-four miles an hour sounds a bit slow. Deer always came upon me when I was doing 55-60 on paved roads.
As a twin, you are peaking my interest. But if John is dead, or out of the picture in my case at 20 where my twin, Roger had to go it on his own without my permission anymore--good for him, is John coming back into the story soon? I have also had the good fortune of an airbag going off in front of me. Luckily, I was far enough back, that my chest belt held me in place in my wheelchair and the airbag just "kissed" me on the nose like a powder puff. ;-)
There seems to be in need to describe how the property was once owned by slaveholders but now is owned by the descendants of slaves. Interesting twist.
Since committing an environmental crime on the post apocolyptic planet Klairn is grounds for execution, investigating the guilty is quite dangerous for a Protector of Klairn.
The rookies joining the ranks of this elite core of environmental spies
In 2000, Todd Cheney set out to write a complete fantasy series. Now, almost five years later, his goal is accomplished. The Soulstone will bring to conclusion the story began in The Seventh Circle.
Buried for a thousand years under the sea,
Book Two of The Jade Owl Legacy Series: The quest continues as the Professor and his confidants discover the full weight of their mission and acquire supernatural powers to further heir success.
John was keeping a sharp eye on the road while Jim was looking all around, even though there wasn’t much to see. He hit that buck at twenty-four miles an hour. It flipped over the hood of the car, the windshield shattered and its left antler gored him in the neck. His immediate reaction was to brake as both airbags deployed. Jim looked over at his brother. John tried to say something, smiled and closed his eyes…
Jim had been too keyed up to sleep after coming home from the Champlain Valley Medical Center. He was given a clean bill of health by Dr. Clarke, the night shift physician. Other than a few scratches and the burns on his wrists from the airbag, he was fine, physically. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ambulance at the scene of the accident and the policemen who asked him a million questions. Say, did you know that airbag flew out at you doing 254 miles an hour! The same phrase kept rattling around in his brain over and over. Sitting at the base of that ancient tree he let his mind wander, hoping he’d be able to drive that phrase out of his head.
His mom and dad were never too far removed from his thoughts. He remembered their last summer picnic, September 21st, the last day of summer. His mom, Clarissa, and his dad, Ben, had packed a fun lunch (fun because it was full of sweet stuff they knew was off-limits). John and Jimmy had peeked in the basket when their parents were in the living room discussing their outing, a leisurely twenty minute hike on a well-worn path still on the Honeycutt estate.
While Clarissa arranged the huge basket and its contents on a tattered red and black checkered tablecloth, Ben took the boys aside, sitting at the base of a distant pine, one of hundreds scattered willy-nilly on the property. Ben admired the young men his boys were becoming, just looking at them, waiting for either one to start a conversation. John looked at Jimmy and Jimmy stared back. Both were thinking the same thing. The twins often did that. Why is Dad looking at us, not saying a word? What is he thinking? The silence was maddening until John started in, “Dad, you know what? Let’s talk about something neither one of us has ever asked you. Can you tell us something about the Honeycutt property?”
Ben smiled, his favorite subject, local history… “Well boys, let me start at your beginning because that’s when everything changed for me and your mom. In 2000, when you both came into our world, we had been planning on moving here, to Clinton County. Your grandpappy, my dad Noah, had passed away only two months before you were born. I sure wish he could have seen what you guys have become. Anyway, he willed this whole estate to me, all 450 acres of it. We’re not anywhere near the property line. Look around you; some of these trees are older than Methuselah. Well, maybe even older. Did you guys know he lived to be over 900 years-old?”
“Uh Dad, excuse me but you’re way off topic here. I know you’re almost sixty but… Methuselah, come back to us.”
“Sorry John. Sorry Jimmy. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, Grandpa Noah… he was born in 1920. As it turns out, his mom and dad saved a lot of their money. I remember my Grandpa Ebenezer and my Grandma Clara. When I was a boy, my nickname for Grandpa was Tightwad, my brother Bernard’s was Old Skinflint, and our nickname for Granny was Santa, Santa Clara, she was the sweet one, always giving us penny candy when Tightwad wasn’t looking. But I barely remember them; they both passed away when I was only seven. I loved them but I think I loved Grandma Clara more, but not because of the candy. Your great-grandpa Ebenezer and great-grandma Clara were both born in Georgia in 1880. Their parents were very poor and they were slaves during the Civil War. The slave owners were Honeycutts. …Hence, our name. Hey, I think I hear your mom’s sweet voice.”
Jimmy was excited, “Dad, on the way back home can you tell us some more about our family history?”
“Sure Jimmy. Let’s go boys. Feedbag’s on!”
“Be right there, Clarissa. Give us a minute.”
