Month: April 2024

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt returns to his hometown of Boaz, Alabama and renews his relationship with Regina Gillan, his high school sweetheart, who he had ditched right before graduation to marry the daughter of a prominent local businessman.  Regina has recently moved back to Boaz after forty years in Chicago working at the Tribune.  She is now editor of the Sand Mountain Reporter, a local newspaper.

Walt and Regina’s relationship transforms into a once in life love at the same time they are being immersed in a growing local and national divide between Democrats and traditional Republicans, and extremist Republicans (known as Kanites) who are becoming more dogmatic about the revolution that began during President Kanes campaign.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs.  One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

Walt later learns the owner of Rains & Associates  is also one of five men who created the Constitution Foundation and is involved in a sinister plot to destroy President Kane, but is using an unorthodox method to achieve its objective.  The Foundation is doing everything it can to prevent President Kane from being reelected in 2020, and is scheming to initiate a civil war that will hopefully restore allegiance to the U.S. Constitution.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Will Walt discover a connection between the Foundation  and the deaths of three U.S. Congressmen in time to save his relationship with Regina, prevent President Kane from being reelected as the defacto head of a Christian theocracy, and the eruption of a civil war that could destroy the Nation ?

Chapter 49

Two could play this game.  The game Freddie Olinger was speaking of was hatred.  The answer to his question, “what motivates the typical Kane supporter?” had been flying around in his head for weeks.  He just couldn’t seem to catch it.  This morning, it landed, right on his Facebook Newsfeed.

A local man, one he, Vann Elkins, Walt Shepherd, and dozens of other residents went to school with posted to Facebook a photo of President Barack Obama.  The Post also included the definition of ‘buffoon.’  It was straight from Merriam Webster: 

1: a ludicrous figure: clown 

2:  a gross and usually ill-educated or stupid person acting like a ridiculous buffoon.

The moment Freddie saw this Post, he knew Kane supporters were racist.  He was mad that he hadn’t seen it earlier.  He should have.  There had been plenty of evidence to have already reached this conclusion.  There had been the riots in Charlottesville, Virginia.  Early on, almost the first day or week of Kane’s announcement that he was running for President, he had ridiculed Mexicans.  He was also mad that he had given too much credit to his theory that Kane supporters, were merely stupid, that they were idiots.  He now could put that erroneous idea to rest.  The truth is, when you combine white racists with their belief they are being marginalized, that they are the new minority, America is in deep trouble.  One thing Freddie had been right about for a while: America is headed for a Civil War that will dwarf the one that began in April 1861.

The ‘Obama is a buffoon’ Facebook Post was two weeks ago. 

Freddie had spent every available moment since then reasoning his way

to today.  It had not been an easy journey from one who was satisfied being alone and reading every hour when he wasn’t at Sand Mountain Tire & Muffler with Frankie, his Kane-crazy brother, to his current willingness to take matters into my own hands.  What had convinced him was rather simple after giving it a little thought.  Kane supporters are killers.  No, not exactly in the traditional sense.  Freddie suspected most of them didn’t pick up guns and shoot their enemies.  They didn’t take knives and ram them into the hearts of a black or brown-skinned man or woman.  But, what they did do is spew hatred every chance they got.  And, always, they harbor this putrid vile in their minds and hearts every second of the day.

What makes this more deplorable, if that is even possible, is these same folks are all, and Freddie meant 100% all, Christians, church-goers.  Somewhere along life’s way they have convinced themselves that God condones their hatred and justified them in speaking hate at every turn.  The supporters know, 100% know, they are doing God’s work when they are attempting to spread the ‘hate gospel’ and claw themselves back into power.  Freddie believed these white Christians, a strong majority of Southerners, think God himself appointed Andrew Kane as President.  It is therefore their mission to crown him as Lord and Savior of America, thereby restoring her to her former glory.

These people must be stopped.  Up until now, Freddie’s main plan to stop these folks from re-electing Kane was to study history and create posts to one of his fake Facebook accounts that hopefully shed a new light to what 99% of the folks around him were posting.  For days, weeks, months, he had continued with his plan.  But, he also grew to believe he had to do more.  Freddie convinced himself that he had a purpose, albeit small, but one important and one only he could do.  Freddie could stop one, maybe more, from continuing to spew their hatred.  He had convinced himself that if these folks, these ‘Obama is a buffoon’ folks, are willing to daily cross the line from respect, decency, and honesty, then he too could cross that line.  Some would say his line was in a totally different zone.  So be it.  It is time their hatred met real opposition.  It is time these racists felt some blow-back.

---

 Help a starving artist.

 

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt returns to his hometown of Boaz, Alabama and renews his relationship with Regina Gillan, his high school sweetheart, who he had ditched right before graduation to marry the daughter of a prominent local businessman.  Regina has recently moved back to Boaz after forty years in Chicago working at the Tribune.  She is now editor of the Sand Mountain Reporter, a local newspaper.

Walt and Regina’s relationship transforms into a once in life love at the same time they are being immersed in a growing local and national divide between Democrats and traditional Republicans, and extremist Republicans (known as Kanites) who are becoming more dogmatic about the revolution that began during President Kanes campaign.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs.  One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

Walt later learns the owner of Rains & Associates  is also one of five men who created the Constitution Foundation and is involved in a sinister plot to destroy President Kane, but is using an unorthodox method to achieve its objective.  The Foundation is doing everything it can to prevent President Kane from being reelected in 2020, and is scheming to initiate a civil war that will hopefully restore allegiance to the U.S. Constitution.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Will Walt discover a connection between the Foundation  and the deaths of three U.S. Congressmen in time to save his relationship with Regina, prevent President Kane from being reelected as the defacto head of a Christian theocracy, and the eruption of a civil war that could destroy the Nation ?

Chapter 48

I had just returned from taking Sandi for a walk when Zel called.  Vann, his wife, and their two nephews, left before my walk.  Regina was upstairs still contemplating ideas for the best furniture arrangement.

“Hello Zel.”  

“I’m honored to be one of your formal contacts.”

“What, oh, I see.  I like knowing who’s calling.  What’s up?”  I said pouring Sandi a cup full of dog food into her bowl in the kitchen.

“I just wanted to say thanks again for taking that assignment in

Tifton.  Did you and Regina enjoy a little down time?”

“Yes, we did.  Even considering the trip being one of my most expensive ones.”

“Why is that?”  Zel asked.

“Regina talked me into buying an expensive bedroom suite.  We wound up renting a U-Haul trailer to bring it back in.”

“Women do sometimes have rich tastes.”

“This was an aberration for Regina.  She’s normally low needs.”

“Listen, I just wanted to give you an update and encourage you to keep your eyes open.  The Foundation has recently learned the FBI found a Red Star at the sight the killer likely used to shoot and kill Representative Kyle Turner and his brother-in-law.  Sorry, I assume you have heard of what happened while you were in Tifton?”

“I have.  Regina and I learned about it on our way back yesterday morning.  She saw it in the Atlanta Constitution.”  I said.

“It’s definitely looking like Russia is involved.  Probably a Russian assassin.”  

“Funny you say that.  Let me update you.  First, I’m now an associate of sorts with Pastor Warren Tillman.  You know I’ve told you how connected he is to President Kane.  Tillman is the perfect representative of Kane Tribe.”

“The Foundation is aware of Tillman and Club Eden.  It is a powerful organization.  I’m sure you know its criminal background.”

“Somewhat.  My knowledge lies at the feet of the Flaming Five, my high school classmates, their fathers, and other forebears.”

“You’re partially correct.  The Foundation continues to gather information on exactly what the current five families are up to.  We suspect they are not lily white.”

“Something else I want to report.  Late this afternoon Vann and I met with Pastor Tillman.  The fourth person present was a man named Romanoff, Anton Romanoff.  He hails from Russia.”  I said.

“Wait, it can’t be.  Do you know if this man is a teacher, a professor?”  Zel asked.

“Yes, Pastor kept referring to him as the Professor.  He teaches at the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University.  I think he has a PhD in Political Science.”

“The Foundation knows the man well.  Not personally of course. 

Romanoff, the Professor, has ties to Vladimir Putin, Russia’s President. 

Get this.  They both were born in Leningrad, then part of the Soviet Union, and they both studied law at Saint Petersburg State University, graduating in 1975.”

“That seems a little odd.  I think the Professor is younger than that, more mid-forties or so.”  I said.

“Try to send me a photo, get a snapshot if you can.  I have seen him on the news and he does look young for his age.  I would bet it is the same person.”

“I’ll do what I can.  It appears I will be having some interaction with him.  He is now part of Club Eden’s team.  Since you, the Foundation, knows so much, I suppose you know that Pastor Tillman and Justin Adams, and the rest of Club Eden most likely, have one goal, and that is to see that President Kane is re-elected in 2020.”  I said.

“Unfortunately, you are correct.  That’s why we asked you to do some snooping around.  Again, you are in the best position to feed us information that we can use to hopefully make sure Kane is destroyed.” “Do you think the Professor is still connected someway to Putin?” 

“No doubt about that.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  It’s not publicly known but, in secret, he and his college mate are still fast friends.  There are some strong rumors that the Professor was instrumental in hijacking the 2016 election.  It seems he has a brother or a cousin or some other family member that is a computer genius.  The Foundation suspects he, the Professor, played a significant role in designing the plan that altered the Presidential election outcome.  In other words, without the Professor, President Kane would not have been elected.  One thing for sure that was and is publicly known is President Putin did not want Hillary Clinton to be elected President of the United States.”  Zel said. “This is getting a little too close to home.”

“Exactly.  Exactly what we want.  Therefore, the Foundation needs you more than ever to infiltrate Club Eden and learn what they’re planning and doing.  Walt, America’s future may depend on how well you do your job.”  Zel said.

“Thanks for reminding me of one job I wished I didn’t have.”

“Here’s food for thought.  Just remind yourself that you are earning big money, enough money to satisfy that beautiful and sweet girlfriend of yours.”

“Thanks.  That makes it all better.”  I said.

“By the way, I just today wired your $50,000 signing bonus to an account the Foundation set up for you in Grand Cayman.  Next time I see you I will give you the account details.”  Zel said.

“Signing bonus.  We haven’t talked about that.  All I knew about was the $1,000 per week, plus expenses.”

“No worries.  It’s just a little token of our appreciation.”

“Sounds like you are expecting quite a bit from me?”

“You are correct.  But again, if you do your job at the level we believe you are capable, there will be a nice bonus at the end.”  Zel said.

“I assume you are referring to 2020, November, after the election.”  

“Exactly.”  

“I’m glad you are so sure of things, exactly.”  I said.

“Walt, I have to run.  Please keep Ginger and me up-to-date on what’s going on.”

“Talk later.”  I said.

---

 Help a starving artist.

 

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt returns to his hometown of Boaz, Alabama and renews his relationship with Regina Gillan, his high school sweetheart, who he had ditched right before graduation to marry the daughter of a prominent local businessman.  Regina has recently moved back to Boaz after forty years in Chicago working at the Tribune.  She is now editor of the Sand Mountain Reporter, a local newspaper.

Walt and Regina’s relationship transforms into a once in life love at the same time they are being immersed in a growing local and national divide between Democrats and traditional Republicans, and extremist Republicans (known as Kanites) who are becoming more dogmatic about the revolution that began during President Kanes campaign.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs.  One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

Walt later learns the owner of Rains & Associates  is also one of five men who created the Constitution Foundation and is involved in a sinister plot to destroy President Kane, but is using an unorthodox method to achieve its objective.  The Foundation is doing everything it can to prevent President Kane from being reelected in 2020, and is scheming to initiate a civil war that will hopefully restore allegiance to the U.S. Constitution.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Will Walt discover a connection between the Foundation  and the deaths of three U.S. Congressmen in time to save his relationship with Regina, prevent President Kane from being reelected as the defacto head of a Christian theocracy, and the eruption of a civil war that could destroy the Nation ?

Chapter 47

My deposition in Albertville took less than two hours from the time I left home until I was back in my car pulling out of attorney Gullahorn’s parking lot.  During my drive home, Vann called and asked if I could meet him and Pastor Warren at the church at 5:30.  He promised the meeting wouldn’t take long and we could still have our planned gettogether.  At first, I wasn’t interested, but when he told me a Russian professor would be there, I agreed to attend.  I drove straight to First Baptist Church of Christ and arrived straight up at 5:30 p.m.

Vann was waiting next to my usual parking spot just west of the old cemetery. “Walt, listen to me.  Go along with what Pastor Warren is going to ask you.  Trust me.  It is in our best interests for writing our book.”

I started to ask a series of question but saw the look in Vann’s eyes.  He had a look of confidence that real teachers exuded.  “Come on. 

Follow my lead for once.”

We walked up three flights of stairs to Pastor Warren’s study on the third floor.  Vann announced our presence and a voice summoned us to another room behind the Pastor’s desk.  It wasn’t a large room but had an over-sized conference table.  A man I had never seen stood at the far end of the room.  Pastor Warren introduced him as Anton Romanoff from Moscow, Russia.  He was a middle-aged man, about my height and weight, although it was distributed better, a stronger frame with broad shoulders and a much slimmer waist.  I could tell because of his snug fitting blue-stripped dress shirt.  His hair was snow-white, and his face was clean-shaven.  Vann and I shook Anton’s hand and we both sat down across from the Russian as directed by Pastor Warren as he sat down at the end of the conference table.

“Mr. Romanoff, Professor, taught at the University of Leningrad for twenty years.  Since 2002, he has taught at the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University.  He specializes in political science.  Professor was and continues to be an adviser to President Kane. 

Our own Justin Adams hired him a few weeks ago.”

“Again, it is nice to meet you Professor.  But, Pastor, why am I here?”  I needed a little context for this meeting no matter what Vann had commanded.

“I was getting to that.”  Pastor said.  “The President has asked me to take on an expanded role in his re-election campaign.  Walt, Vann has told me you have agreed to assist him and me in our efforts.”

Vann jumped in before I could respond.  “Walt, as you surely know, is not a big fan of President Kane, but he is an advocate for openness and honesty.  Walt is the most principled man I know.  And, he is driven, as I am, to write a book about what is going on in American politics.”

“May I speak?”  Anton, the Professor, said.

“Of course.  Please say what’s on your mind.  We value your judgment.”  Pastor Warren said.

“Walt, I’ve read and heard quite a bit about you.  There is probably no one on earth who knows more about the true history of what went on inside the White House for the last thirty-five years.  Even though I have spent nearly that long reading American history, and the last fifteen years engaged in an intense investigation into American politics, I pale beside your knowledge.  Let me be clear, we need you on our team.  It is not imperative that you have a fondness for our President, or, the Republican Party for that matter.  What is vitally important, is that you invest yourself, the true self that caused you to stand by your principles when President Kane asked you to lie.”

“Can you do that?”  Pastor Warren asked?

“He can, and he will.”  Vann, once again, jumped in before I could respond.

“Thanks Vann for your confidence in your best friend, but we need to hear from Walt.”  Warren said.

“Before I answer, I have a question.  What exactly are you, we, if I join in, trying to accomplish?  I’m not speaking of the goal of having Kane re-elected in 2020.  I’m speaking of the multiple steps, processes, that will necessarily be involved?”  I asked.

“Fair question.”  Professor said.  “Influence, manipulation, if you want a word that unfortunately carries negative overtones.  Votes are what win elections.  Okay, let’s set aside the electoral college for the time being.  But, even there, it’s still about real people entering real voting booths and casting real votes.  That’s what this campaign, our role here, is all about.  A strategic form of manipulation.  Using facts embedded in persuasive stories to cause sufficient numbers of American voters to pull the Kane lever.”

“I’m listening but my question still stands, as it concerns me.  What role are you wanting me, me personally, to play?”  I asked once again.

“Research and reporting for one.  Second, being a confident and persuasive spokesperson when called upon.  We will be attempting to not only persuade individual citizens to vote for Kane but will also be involved with a nationwide effort to persuade state legislators to join Kane Tribe, even to the point of voting for a constitutional convention if necessary.”  Professor stated.

“Walt and Vann, the Kane Tribe, me included, believe the ‘politics as usual’ mantra is broken, that America cannot survive.”  Pastor Warren added.

“Do you realize that I believe, that Vann and I believe, that America is headed for another civil war unless conservatives and liberals, and all in between, find some common ground.  Politics has become a contact sport.  Hatred is rampant and dividing the country unlike anything seen since the real Civil War?”  I said.

“This is why we have to do what we are doing, even at the risk of making things worse for a while.”  Professor added.

“Political correctness has about killed America.  We have to kill political correctness.”  Vann added.  I looked at him and he gave me the ‘get on board’ look.

“Okay, I’ll do what I can.  But, I will not lie or do anything that I believe is illegal.  Can we agree on these terms?”  I said.

“We can, and we do.”  The Professor quickly said.  He slid a business card over to me and asked me to write my email address on the back.  I did and pushed it back to him.

“This is enough for today.  I’ll be in touch no later than Monday.  You guys are free to leave.  Vann told me you have a little party planned.”  Pastor said.

“No party, just a gathering of close friends.”  Vann said as we stood, shook the Professor’s hand again, and walked out.

We rode the elevator down to the ground floor.  As we exited the Administrative Building, I said, “I feel about as dirty as I did when I walked out of the Oval Office for the last time.”

“You’ll get over it my friend.  Politics is naturally dirty.” “That’s what I’m afraid of.”  I responded.

“See you in about twenty minutes.”  Vann said.

---

 Help a starving artist.

 

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt returns to his hometown of Boaz, Alabama and renews his relationship with Regina Gillan, his high school sweetheart, who he had ditched right before graduation to marry the daughter of a prominent local businessman.  Regina has recently moved back to Boaz after forty years in Chicago working at the Tribune.  She is now editor of the Sand Mountain Reporter, a local newspaper.

Walt and Regina’s relationship transforms into a once in life love at the same time they are being immersed in a growing local and national divide between Democrats and traditional Republicans, and extremist Republicans (known as Kanites) who are becoming more dogmatic about the revolution that began during President Kanes campaign.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs.  One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

Walt later learns the owner of Rains & Associates  is also one of five men who created the Constitution Foundation and is involved in a sinister plot to destroy President Kane, but is using an unorthodox method to achieve its objective.  The Foundation is doing everything it can to prevent President Kane from being reelected in 2020, and is scheming to initiate a civil war that will hopefully restore allegiance to the U.S. Constitution.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Will Walt discover a connection between the Foundation  and the deaths of three U.S. Congressmen in time to save his relationship with Regina, prevent President Kane from being reelected as the defacto head of a Christian theocracy, and the eruption of a civil war that could destroy the Nation ?

Chapter 46

Friday morning, we left the Hilton Garden Hotel in a rush.  We wanted to be home by noon if possible.  We had packed our bags last night.  All we had to do this morning was pull on our clothes and brush our teeth.  Regina grabbed us a cup of coffee as I checked out and paid our bill.  We tossed our bags in the back of the truck under the camper shell and were on I-75 North by 5:15 a.m.  It was not until nearly 7:00 a.m., as we took Exit 186 in Forsyth headed to a Waffle House for breakfast, that Regina pulled today’s Atlanta Constitution from her travel bag.  She nearly screamed, “Kyle Turner has been murdered.” 

On her lap, I saw the front page and the above-the-fold article.  It looked like a lakeside photo.  “I can’t believe you didn’t notice this when you picked up the newspaper as we were leaving the room.”  I said turning left onto Juliette Road.  My words lingered as Regina sat silent.  Passing under the Interstate over-path I could see the Waffle House just ahead on the right.

“There were a couple of flyers on top of the newspaper and I just picked the whole stack up and shoved them into my bag.  We were in such a hurry I didn’t even glance at the paper.”

“What does it say?  How did it happen?  Where and when did it happen?”  I said.

“Hold on, let me read a little.”  I parked in the last spot in the parking lot.  The place was packed.

Regina read for several minutes, opening the paper two times to complete the article and re-glance at the ending on another page inside.  “He and his brother-in-law went fishing at the Paradise Fishing Area.  Right in the area we had gone Tuesday and Thursday.  You remember the Carrington’s talking about the big Lake right behind them, through the woods. Seems like Kyle, the two of them, have had a standing trip to Lake Patrick, that lake is kind of to the west of Lake Bobben, that’s it, the lake closest to the Carrington’s.  Both their bodies were found a little before dark yesterday afternoon.  The article doesn’t say how they were killed.  It listed all the law enforcement agencies, obviously including the FBI, who were to start a search beginning at daylight this morning.”

We walked inside the Waffle House and waited as a waitress was cleaning off the only available table.  “This is getting very troubling.  Three murders now of U.S. Congressmen.  All I can think about is the backlash Mr. Turner endured as he tried to wrap up his speech at Fulwood Park Wednesday afternoon.”  I said sitting down at the booth and glancing at the Menu.

“I don’t buy it.  This sure doesn’t seem like a spontaneous killing.  Somebody from the Fourth of July rally and celebration just happened upon Kyle and his brother-in-law the next day, yesterday, at Lake Patrick?  No, this was a carefully planned assassination.  I just feel it.”  Regina said, again turning and folding the newspaper to an inside page.

“Now that I’ve thought about it, I see what you’re saying.  Somewhere, someone, some group of folks are planning and executing a sinister plot.  A plot to empower President Kane to truly have control of the U.S. government.  You do see that every one of the three murdered Congressmen were enemies of Kane?”

“I do.” Regina said as we gave our orders to a frazzled waitress who was simultaneously jotting down our orders, pouring coffee for the man sitting directly behind Regina at the end of the bar, and saying goodbye to two heavily tattooed men walking away from the booth across the aisle.  

As the waitress walked away I said, “what do you keep looking at. 

That’s three times you’ve read the second page of the article.”

“It’s just so sad.  The reporter said that Kyle and his wife were high school sweethearts and would have celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary next week.  I guess I just was a little jealous.”  Regina said wiping tears from her eyes.

“Heartbreaking.  How quickly life can change.  By the way,” I said reaching for Regina’s hand, “I wish with all my heart that you and I were celebrating forty-five years of marriage.  Unfortunately, because of my stupidity, we’re not.  But, we are here now.  All I can do, my once in life love, is give you all my love now.  I’m so very thankful that you are in my life.”  I almost felt like an over-the-top romantic.  Until I saw Regina’s reaction.

“Having you, now, in my life, I am the happiest woman in the world.  Walt Shepherd, thanks for bringing me with you to Tifton.”

We spent the next thirty minutes eating waffles and bacon, not saying a single word, just exchanging glances and smiles.  In fact, we didn’t talk much during the entire drive home.

At 12:30 p.m., we drove into Shepherd’s Cove, pulled around to the back porch, and unloaded our luggage from under the camper shell.  After Regina went inside to pee she hugged my neck, thanked me again for inviting her, said she loved me, and drove off to the Sand Mountain Reporter.  I walked around to the back of the trailer and lowered the walk-on gate to allow the furniture a little breathing room.  My cell phone vibrated in my pocket just I was walking up the back-porch stairs.

“Hello.”

“Where are you?”  Vann said.  I could hear someone in the background, above a multitude of noises, say, ‘that’ll be eight dollars and forty-four cents.’”

“I’m at home.  We just got back.”

“Can I run by?  I have something to tell you.”  Vann said.

“Can it wait.  I’m tired and I have a depo job at 3:00.  It might be 3:30.”

“What about afterwards? I could bring a pizza.”

“That sounds good.  Also, how about bringing your grandson or someone to help unload some furniture?”  I said sitting down in my lounge chair.

 “Furniture?  I thought you and Regina had been to Tifton for a little vacation.”

“We have.  It’s a long story.  We rented a trailer and brought back a new bedroom suite.  Antique.  Expensive.”

“Oh boy.  Walt, my friend, you are now officially a slave.  You do know that when you agree with a woman to buy a bed, it’s all over.” “Shut up.  Come around six-thirty.  Bring Deb if you want. 

Regina will probably be back by 7:00 or so.  I’ve got to go.” 

“Will do.  See you before 7:00, and I’ll bring some help.”  Vann said.

---

 Help a starving artist.

 

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt returns to his hometown of Boaz, Alabama and renews his relationship with Regina Gillan, his high school sweetheart, who he had ditched right before graduation to marry the daughter of a prominent local businessman.  Regina has recently moved back to Boaz after forty years in Chicago working at the Tribune.  She is now editor of the Sand Mountain Reporter, a local newspaper.

Walt and Regina’s relationship transforms into a once in life love at the same time they are being immersed in a growing local and national divide between Democrats and traditional Republicans, and extremist Republicans (known as Kanites) who are becoming more dogmatic about the revolution that began during President Kanes campaign.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs.  One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

Walt later learns the owner of Rains & Associates  is also one of five men who created the Constitution Foundation and is involved in a sinister plot to destroy President Kane, but is using an unorthodox method to achieve its objective.  The Foundation is doing everything it can to prevent President Kane from being reelected in 2020, and is scheming to initiate a civil war that will hopefully restore allegiance to the U.S. Constitution.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Will Walt discover a connection between the Foundation  and the deaths of three U.S. Congressmen in time to save his relationship with Regina, prevent President Kane from being reelected as the defacto head of a Christian theocracy, and the eruption of a civil war that could destroy the Nation ?

Chapter 45

At midnight, and as Walt and Regina were leaving The Pub, Semyon Ivankov was driving I-75 South through Macon.  He was Eric Chandler, or at least, that’s what his Driver’s License and Passport claimed.  His plane from Dallas, Texas had landed at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport at 8:45 p.m.  He had picked up his luggage and the waiting rental car and driven to Tortas Ahogadas Jalisco in Forest Park for his favorite Mexican food, pozole.  He was tired, for he had been traveling nonstop for nearly a week.  And, he was a day behind schedule.  Semyon didn’t like surprises.  The initial plan had been for him to enter the country stowed away in Gustav Neilson’s King Air from Toronto.  But, that plan had been ditched by Thaddeus Colburn early last week.

Last Friday, June 29th, Semyon had driven a car, along with his brother Sergei, from Toronto, Ontario, Canada to New York City.  There, at Reagan International Airport, Semyon had boarded a flight to Salt Lake City, Utah.  From there he took a twelve-hour ride on a Greyhound bus to Denver, Colorado.  Early Monday morning he had flown from Denver International Airport to Seattle, Washington.  Then, by air to Los Angeles.  Two short flights separated by an overnight stay in Phoenix landed him in Dallas at noon yesterday the Fourth.  His last flight departed Dallas at 7:00 p.m.  At each ticket counter, car rental agency, and departure, whether by car, bus, or plane, Semyon changed identities and disguises, and paid with a different prepaid debit card.  

After two bowls of pozole, Semyon realized he had allowed his hunger instead of his reason to direct his steps.  He had driven south ten minutes out of the way to Old Dixie Highway and the Mexican restaurant. Now, he had to backtrack.   Oh well, only half an hour wasted.  Seymon drove to Cubesmart Storage Lockers at 4560 Frontage Road and retrieved the long package that Marc Anderson and George Perrot had deposited last Monday.  Semyon then drove to the Shell Station on Falcon Drive and changed clothes.  Finally, he was back to himself.  A sleeveless tee shirt, cut-off bluejeans, and a pair of new Nike Men’s Air Monarchs Mr. Perrot had promised to enclose in the long package.  No more wig, mustache, glasses, and peel-on scars.  He could relax and drive.

At ten minutes past two, Semyon took Exit 62 in Tifton and drove West on US-82/GA-520.  Driving below the speed limit, he arrived at Paradise Fishing Area at 2:30 a.m.  He turned right, across from Paradise Drive, along the edge of a large field of soybeans and into a grove of trees.  He retrieved the long bag and his duffle from the trunk and abandoned the rental car.  Semyon walked over a mile eastward along Paradise Drive, across the southern dam of Lake Patrick, and onto a dirt path northward to a hidden spot along the lake’s edge five hundred yards from a small island out in the middle of the lake.  He would sleep fitfully until dawn. 

Thursday morning, July 5th, Walt and Regina awoke at 9:30, showered separately, took the elevator downstairs, and ate wholeheartedly from the continental breakfast.  They then drove to Guffey’s, an old-fashioned service station to rent a 14-foot U-Haul trailer.  They returned to the Hilton Garden Inn and stayed beside the pool until 3:00 p.m.  Their drive to Wilma and Carl Carrington’s took twenty minutes.  It took Walt three attempts to position the trailer for the easiest loading of the four pieces of heavy furniture.  Carl and the two boys with him, both short and beefy boys probably still in high school, laughed and snickered as they watched.

By 4:00 p.m., the four men had loaded the chest of drawers, the combo desk & bookcase, and the four-poster bedstead.  Also, the armoire Regina had spotted on Tuesday, and a curio cabinet that Wilma suggested would “work nicely, even in a den.”  These last two pieces cost only an additional thousand dollars.  He was thankful Wilma accepted his personal check.  Walt was elated.  After fifteen minutes of additional wrapping and strapping, the furniture was secure for the trip.  The four men left the trailer open and went inside to wash up and for refreshments before Walt and Regina left.

At 4:25 p.m., Semyon Ivankov exited the Carrington’s barn, entered the open door of the U-Haul trailer, and burrowed himself in between the desk/bookshelf combo, and the large armoire.  He was exhausted but relieved.  More than anything, he was proud of his performance.  His two shots had been perfect.

At 5:00 a.m. this morning, just like the previous six years, Kyle Turner and his brother-in-law Sean, arrived at the main pier at Lake Patrick and launched Kyle’s Sea Born NX23 fishing boat.  As was their custom, Sean would drive them to the sole island in the middle of the lake.  Six years ago, they had discovered this spot, landing fifteen large-mouth bass before 8:30 a.m.  Each year since, they had returned with similar results.  This morning, they tied off the boat, retrieved their fishing gear, exited the boat, and walked to the east side of the island.  Ten minutes after sunrise, around 6:35, Semyon’s first shot centered Kyle Turner’s forehead.  Three seconds later, the second shot passed through Sean’s head entering from his left temple.  Because of the weather, overcast with a light fog and misting rain, and how the brush and the boat concealed the bodies, they would not be discovered until nearly dusk. There had been no cause for alarm by the men’s families.  As was their tradition, they would spend the entire day on Lake Patrick.

By 7:15 a.m., Semyon had hiked the three-quarters of a mile around the southern edge of Lake Bobben and through the woods to the western edge of Wilma and Carl’s property on Richard’s Drive.  The barn had been scouted three weeks ago by a man posing to be a game warden with the Georgia Department of Natural Resources, under the ruse of inspecting for an American Peregrine Falcon that had gone missing from the Tallulah Gorge State Park and whose tracking device had led to this area.  Semyon hid in the barn’s loft, nestled in the soft fescue hay, all day awaiting the arrival of Walt Shepherd and Regina Gillan. 

At 4:45 p.m., Walt and Regina exited the Carrington house, closed and latched the trailer door, and drove to the Hilton Garden Inn for one more night before heading home to Boaz in the morning.

---

 Help a starving artist.

 

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt returns to his hometown of Boaz, Alabama and renews his relationship with Regina Gillan, his high school sweetheart, who he had ditched right before graduation to marry the daughter of a prominent local businessman.  Regina has recently moved back to Boaz after forty years in Chicago working at the Tribune.  She is now editor of the Sand Mountain Reporter, a local newspaper.

Walt and Regina’s relationship transforms into a once in life love at the same time they are being immersed in a growing local and national divide between Democrats and traditional Republicans, and extremist Republicans (known as Kanites) who are becoming more dogmatic about the revolution that began during President Kanes campaign.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs.  One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

Walt later learns the owner of Rains & Associates  is also one of five men who created the Constitution Foundation and is involved in a sinister plot to destroy President Kane, but is using an unorthodox method to achieve its objective.  The Foundation is doing everything it can to prevent President Kane from being reelected in 2020, and is scheming to initiate a civil war that will hopefully restore allegiance to the U.S. Constitution.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Will Walt discover a connection between the Foundation  and the deaths of three U.S. Congressmen in time to save his relationship with Regina, prevent President Kane from being reelected as the defacto head of a Christian theocracy, and the eruption of a civil war that could destroy the Nation ?

Chapter 44

Wednesday, the Fourth of July.  An important day for all Americans.  Other than a quick run to the Ferguson National Bank to purchase an $8,000 cashier’s check, Regina and I either sat around the pool or in our room entranced in our novels.

At 3:30 p.m., we drove to Fulwood Park. This morning there had been a flyer left outside our front door, along with today’s edition of the Atlanta Constitution.  The flyer was an invitation to attend the annual Independence Day Celebration at the Park.  When we turned left on Love Avenue we saw two long rows of folks standing and walking along the sidewalks along both sides of the streets.  The traffic wasn’t heavy, but we crawled along anyway.  After we had a few minutes to observe, we concluded that there were two groups of protestors.  The group on the left sidewalk was clearly the Ku Klux Klan or a look-a-like group.  Many of them were wearing the typical garb, also known at the glory suit.  It consisted of a floor-length, solid-white robe, and a white, sharply pointed hat that included a full-faced cloth mask with eyeholds.  I could tell several of the men’s (women’s?) suits were decorated with a round badge bearing an insignia with a cross.  About half were carrying signs.  The one that caught my attention said, “God is white.”  The other side of the street were the counter-protesters no doubt.  This would have been my team if I had had to choose.  They looked like normal folks, dressed casually.  They too toted signs.  I saw, “God is colorblind,” and “Choose Love, not Hate.”  

As we drove on we saw law enforcement personnel interspersed among the crowds on both sides of the street.  When we turned east on 8th Street we were met with a police roadblock that checked our IDs.

When we were released, we were directed to a parking spot across the street from the Park.  We grabbed our lawn chairs and ten minutes later were enjoying some blue-grass, some gospel, and some country music, sitting less than a hundred feet from the huge stage that had been assembled at the back side of the Park.

After nearly two hours of listening and watching singers of all ages and varying degrees of talent, Tifton’s mayor took the stage, welcomed everyone, and introduced Kyle Turner, the current U.S. Representative for Tifton and the surrounding District.  The Mayor also said Turner’s challenger in the upcoming election, a Mark Wilford, would address the crowd after Turner’s speech.

Representative Kyle Turner gave the crowd a brief biography of his time in the U.S. Congress.  He had been elected as a Republican to the House of Representatives in 2002.  For his first six terms (12 years) he said he never crossed the aisle, always voted straight Republican.  He stated that he now realized that strategy was and is short-sighted.  He described how, in 2015, he voted with his fellow Democrats for increased spending to fund President Obama’s decision to increase troop deployment to Afghanistan.  And, in 2017, he had voted against President Kane’s legislation to repeal Obama Care. 

By now, I was feeling sorry for Turner.  The crowd was turning against him.  They virtually threw tomatoes at him when he said, “I know many of you are diehard fans of President Kane, but many Republican representatives and senators are deeply concerned this nation is in deep trouble unless we return to the core principals of the Republican party.  Kane is leading us off the cliff.  It is bad enough to watch his selfish, egotistical, often crude and nasty conduct. 

But, what is worse, is how he is dividing our Nation.  In my nearly eight terms in Congress I have never seen such hatred spawning between conservatives and liberals.  My dear fellow citizens.  If we don’t return to honesty, kindness, respect, and rationality, America is going to fall just like the Roman Empire did two thousand years ago.”  I was glad to see Mr. Turner escorted off the stage by two burly security guards.  Alone, the crowd would have devoured him.  I could barely hear the last few sentences of his speech, the crowd was in such an outcry.

According to an older couple who were sitting next to us, a couple, by the way, who had not engaged in the shouting against Representative Turner, gave us the run down on Wilford, as the Mayor reappeared and quieted the crowd.  Mark Wilford was from outside Macon, a little town called Rock Hills.  He had never run for public office but owned and operated a successful construction company, a paving company that worked both state and federal highway projects.  Wilford had become known in and around Macon because of his support for Kane, having run ads in the Macon Times Newspaper ever since Kane announced his candidacy.  Wilford, at least once a month, had run a half-page ad with accompanying diatribe of sorts castigating the existing Republican Party.  Our neighbors said Wilford knew as much about government as Kane did.  They predicted he would likely lose the upcoming election but might have a chance in 2020 if he hung around.

I give it to Mark Wilford.  He knew how to play a crowd.  He was a spitting image of Kane.  Not so much in looks but how brass he was.  If I had kept my eyes closed I would have thought I was listening to President Kane at one of his rallies.  Wilford said that Kyle Turner was the perfect example of what was wrong with the Republican Party.  It was men like him who had kowtowed to the Democrats for all eight years of the Obama administration.  Wilford also compared Turner to the same old politics of George Bush, detailed how all politicians for the past forty to fifty years were career politicians who had sold this country down the river.  Wilford asked the crowd, “do you think if we keep going in debt like we’ve been doing the last fifty years that we will have an America in ten years from now?”  The crowd screamed, “No, No, No.” 

Wilford cited example after example of how America was a kick-ass Christian nation that had been appointed by God to provide hope and freedom to a Communist and Fascist world.  Three or four minutes following this rabbit had me thoroughly confused, but the crowd was far more adept at discerning Mark Wilford’s reasoning than me.  He ended his speech by asking the crowd to vote for him on November 6th for U.S. Republican Representative for the Sixth District of Georgia. 

After the political speeches, the youth from two local churches presented skits illustrating the signing of the Declaration of Independence.  At 7:30 p.m., we enjoyed a spectacular firework show that left us both patriotic and hungry.  After asking our friendly neighbors for a referral to a place in Tifton to eat a great steak we drove to The Pub on 18th Street right off Highway 41.  It was a converted warehouse that touted wood-smoked rib-eyes and Suds, a local brewed beer.  We avoided the beer but enjoyed as good a steak as either of us had ever eaten.  At 9:30 p.m., we were enjoying a very good local band when Regina left for the restroom.  When she returned she introduced me to Tricia Mooney from Valdosta.  It seems her and Regina were college friends and, out-of-the-blue, or as fate would have it, placed them both in the same bathroom over forty years since they had last seen each other.  Tricia joined us, and for the next two hours the two of them talked non-stop as I sat and listened to what the band described as bluegrass country.

---

 Help a starving artist.

 

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt returns to his hometown of Boaz, Alabama and renews his relationship with Regina Gillan, his high school sweetheart, who he had ditched right before graduation to marry the daughter of a prominent local businessman.  Regina has recently moved back to Boaz after forty years in Chicago working at the Tribune.  She is now editor of the Sand Mountain Reporter, a local newspaper.

Walt and Regina’s relationship transforms into a once in life love at the same time they are being immersed in a growing local and national divide between Democrats and traditional Republicans, and extremist Republicans (known as Kanites) who are becoming more dogmatic about the revolution that began during President Kanes campaign.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs.  One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

Walt later learns the owner of Rains & Associates  is also one of five men who created the Constitution Foundation and is involved in a sinister plot to destroy President Kane, but is using an unorthodox method to achieve its objective.  The Foundation is doing everything it can to prevent President Kane from being reelected in 2020, and is scheming to initiate a civil war that will hopefully restore allegiance to the U.S. Constitution.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Will Walt discover a connection between the Foundation  and the deaths of three U.S. Congressmen in time to save his relationship with Regina, prevent President Kane from being reelected as the defacto head of a Christian theocracy, and the eruption of a civil war that could destroy the Nation ?

Chapter 43

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the pool.  Other than the time Regina and I went on our midnight skinny-dipping venture in the waters of my grandfather’s spring, we had never been in the water together.  Assuming, you didn’t count the seven times over the past few weeks that we had slipped into the shower together.  By 6:30 p.m., we were both exhausted from diving for quarters in the deep end of the pool.  We went up to our room, shared an eighth shower, dressed, and found a romantic little bistro on Canal Street that served the best scallops in the world.  At least, that’s what the menu said.  Neither Regina or I had ever eaten them.

It was now Tuesday morning.  We both spent the last two hours stretched out in two lounging chairs, each with a novel, and a tall cup of coffee.  Today, according to Regina, is dedicated to finding an antique bedroom suite.  She has refused to listen to all my arguments against buying furniture so far from home, and for either looking at the many antique stores in and around Boaz or simply forsaking the idea and continuing to use the still-strong suit my ex-father-in-law gave Jennifer and me when we were living in Charlottesville, Virginia.  Regina countered my argument with, “this bed is too tempting for you to think of all the wild and crazy times you and the tall sexy Jennifer had.”  I have reminded her that Jennifer wasn’t that tall.

Before we left the hotel, we found a few prospective stores on Google.  First, we drove to Southern Pickers on South Main Street.  This older man and much younger woman team were nice enough but all they had was one 19th century bedroom suite.  It was mahogany.  For a reason unknown to me, Regina had her mind set on walnut, and hopefully, early 19th century, preferably late 18th century.  What the couple lacked in furniture, they made up in local knowledge.  As we were leaving, the woman, Claire, said, “You might check with Kim Carey over at Carey Antiques & Furniture.  She is Wilma Carrington’s niece.  Wilma and Carl, her husband, have an old plantation home out on Horseshoe Loop in the Paradise Public Fishing Area.  It is completely furnished with the type of furniture you are looking for.”  We thanked Claire for the lead, wrote down the address for Carey’s place and decided to walk.  Before we had left the hotel, we had indulged ourselves with the grand continental breakfast.  Of course, Regina had pancakes, two stacks, and I ate three biscuits smothered in sausage-gravy.  It was only a couple of blocks.

Kim Carey and Lenna Tucker were sisters-in-law.  They had introduced themselves the moment we walked in.  We told them what we were looking for and that Claire from Southern Pickers had referred us.  At first, Kim seemed reluctant to even talk about her aunt and uncle, saying their health wasn’t good and they rarely entertained, as she put it.  Regina pulled Lenna away to show her an Armoire over in front of the far windows alongside a row of roll-top desks.  I told Kim I would pay her $200.00 if she would introduce us to her relatives.  I shared how dead-set Regina was and how I didn’t want to spend the next three days wandering around looking for old furniture.  She countered with $300.00 and I reluctantly parted with most of the money I had earned yesterday. Thirty minutes later we were back in my truck headed east to Carrington Place, a real 19th century plantation that, according to Lenna, Carl’s great-grandfather had purchased in the early 1840’s and developed into one of the largest cotton-producing operations in South Georgia, all with the help of nearly 200 slaves.  Kim had drawn us a map.  It took nearly 45 minutes, including the time it took to drive halfway around Lake Patrick after I missed the right-hand turn onto Horseshoe Loop.

Wilma and Carl were not anything like I had imagined.  They both looked healthy as a horse and much younger than Kim had described.  I had to admit that when I was much younger, say in my 20’s and 30’s, fifty-five and sixty-year-old folks looked ancient.  For the next hour we toured the two-story home that exactly mirrored my idea of what a Southern Plantation home would be.  It had six huge white columns across the two-story front.  The only difference was this giant of a home was brick, white-washed brick.  I had assumed that it would have been clapper-board-sided.  During our tour, we inspected four large bedrooms upstairs, all exquisitely furnished.  All were built of either cherry, maple, or oak wood.  When Regina re-emphasized, she was looking for walnut, Wilma said, “I heard you the first time dear.  I was saving that for last.  Mine and Carl’s bedroom suite on the first floor will, no doubt, be what you want.”

“I know you wouldn’t sell that.”  Regina responded.

“I would.  For the right price.  Anyway, Carl and I are moving to Destin, Florida this Fall, and my son and his wife are taking over the plantation.”

After we listened to Carl and Wilma explain their reasoning for the big life change they had planned, she lead us downstairs.  The first moment Regina walked through the door and saw walnut wood everywhere, I knew my pocketbook was in deep trouble.  Wilma immediately spouted out, in detail, the inventory that was before us: “we have a Chippendale Walnut Pennsylvania Chest (circa 1780), an early 19th century Chippendale Walnut chest of drawers, an early 19th century Federal inlaid walnut desk & bookcase. My favorite is the desk, it has two inlaid doors opening to a fitted interior with walnut dividers, with long drawers with original brasses flanked by inlaid quarter columns and straight bracket feet.  The bed is an American four-poster with spare, understated lines that characterize 19th-century early American furnishings.  It was crafted of walnut and featured gracefully turned corner posts, an upholstered camelback headboard and ball feet.”

An hour and a half later, Regina and I were driving back to the Hilton Garden Inn.  The two women had negotiated the transaction.  I would pay $8,000 to Wilma, certified funds only, or cash.  Carl would secure the help needed to load the furniture on to a 14-foot U-Haul trailer that we would bring with us Thursday at 3:30 p.m.  Wilma insisted that I write her a $5,000 check as a deposit, promising to exchange it for my larger cashier’s check on Thursday.  “Young man, this gives you the motivation to rent that trailer.”  Wilma said as we walked down the brick steps off the grand and glorious front porch.

When we returned to our room I lay across the king-sized bed and asked Regina, “do you think we could move mine and Jennifer’s bed downstairs in the guest room.  I hate to part with it.  I feel it will be a valuable antique someday.”  She just looked at me and said, “I don’t mind at all.  You know your new bed is much smaller.  It will only be comfortable for one person.  You can sleep with Jennifer downstairs and I’ll sleep upstairs on the four-poster.  No, I don’t mind at all.” It took me an hour to lure Regina away from her novel. 

“Seriously dear, I do love your talent for spotting beautiful furniture.  I’m glad I brought you along.”

“Walt, I love the furniture too, but what I love most was what we did today is all about us, me and you, our lives as one.  This thrills my heart.”

“I love you Regina.” I said pulling her on top of me, clothes and all.  This activity, and a host of others, all without our clothes, consumed the remaining hours of a perfect July day in South Georgia.

---

 Help a starving artist.