The Weaver – Chapter Two

I‘m releasing this a day early because I have an interview on Tuesday with another author.

I wrote the Weaver when I was thirty-two years old. I’d just finished my Master’s degree and had a three and one-year-old at home. It is drawn from a lot of my own life experiences. Madison College in my head, is my alma mater, Gordon College in Massachusetts. I still hold a fascination with the woods behind Gordon. Laney grows up in Derry, New Hampshire where I grew up.

Today, I bring you chapter two. This is where you’ll first encounter Laney’s book, The Soldier. If you scroll down to the bottom of the released chapter, you can get your own copy of Laney’s entire short story for free.

Two

A light
mist speckled the windshield as Jason parked his vintage Duster behind Maxwell
Hall. Madison College sat on a beautifully landscaped hundred-acre plot a few
miles from the ocean on Boston’s North Shore. The ocean often created its own
weather, cooling the campus with sea breezes and rolling fog banks. He pulled
his hoodie over his hair, inspecting a piece of chipped yellow paint just below
his side mirror. Jason made a mental note to sand it down and give it a fresh
coat of primer and touch-up paint next weekend.

Nineteen
steps led up the hill to the front of the dormitory, its wood slick with rain.
Jason counted the stairs whenever he ran up and down them for his preseason lacrosse
workouts. In high school, he played football in the fall and lacrosse in the
spring. Madison didn’t have a football team, but recruited him for his lacrosse
skills. He’d play on both the fall and spring teams for a scholarship, which
helped him afford school.

The lounge
brimmed with freshman back from the Boston trip, hanging all over the tired-looking
furniture. Jason tightened the drawstrings of his hood to avoid the stares of a
group of girls playing cards. His actions backfired as a fit of giggles echoed
behind him. He took the stairs two at a time, ready to just crash.

When he
got to his room, he reached for the doorknob, but stopped. A new name was
etched into the gold nameplate just below his own—William. Jason frowned. He
was so not ready to be social. All he wanted to do was sleep off this day of
mixed emotions. Seeing Laney lying unconscious on the concrete floor stirred
something in him. He wanted more. More with Laney, more out of life. The crowd
he ran with in high school saw him as the partier who was fun to be around. They
didn’t even know he was going to college to become a doctor. Jennifer was part
of that crowd and he knew she’d expect him to make an appearance tonight with
the group of friends they’d already made at Madison. Following the same crowd,
same scene, just a different setting. Laney saw him as something more.

What
was William like? Another partier? No thanks. Jason had his share of those. As
he removed his hand from the knob, faint music drifted under the door.
Something classical.

What
the hell?Jason turned the knob.

*****

Laney
stared out the window of her hospital room at the streetlights below, wondering
if Jonas was staring back up at her. Even with the book stowed safely in her
nightstand, she was still in danger. Words had never been so dangerous as they
were to her now. She had always known that the power of the written word could
change the world: Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech, The Communist Manifesto, and the Bible.
She never thought she’d have that power. Of course, as far as she knew, Jonas
could only harm her and wasn’t a danger to anyone else.

Her
parents had left for the night, but promised to be there in the morning to
check her out of the hospital and bring her back to Madison. Laney pulled her
book from the drawer of the nightstand and propped herself up with the pillows.
She handwrote her manuscript, paying special attention to the ebb and flow of
her flowery cursive. Her soul was old. It belonged in an earlier time, not in
the fast-paced present of computers and iPhones.

She ran
her hand across the cover, inspecting it for damage. The tattered leather was
perfect. The original pages had long since fallen out, so her father had taken
it to a binder and had fresh pages enclosed. Tears came to her eyes the day she
opened the gift, and she wondered to whom it had originally belonged. She made
that her charge. In a series of journal entries, Laney created the character of
Anne Lewis, a young woman living in colonial Lexington, Massachusetts.

She ran
her finger over the dates until she reached the one she was looking for:

October 29, 1774

A gentle wind blew through the tall oak and
rustled the pages of my book. Several pages flipped, but I barely noticed. The crisp,
fall air filled my lungs with the musky aroma of the fallen leaves. In the
distance, students mingled on the steps of the schoolhouse. They seemed amused
by a young man. I did not have to be close by to know how his light brown hair
caught glimmers of the sun and his eyes were the same color as the grass after
a rainstorm. I watched him every day in the schoolyard, from my desk in the second
to last row, and in my dreams at night.

William Clarke moved from Virginia to
Lexington two months ago. He was a year and a half older than myself, and that
fact made me keep my distance. I tried not to stare, for it was unladylike and
disgraceful, but at times my thoughts consumed me.

As I watched him today, I caught him
looking back. He inclined his head in my direction, hopped down the steps, and
walked toward me. I pretended to read my book as my heart skipped more beats
than I could count. Glancing down, my ankle was bare, so I pushed my skirt hem
down. Moments later, his tall frame cast a shadow on my page.

“Good afternoon, Anne. Are you reading for
class?” At the same moment, he plopped down next to me.

“No, this book is for pleasure.” My eyes
stayed glued to the pages as I tried my best to hold my voice steady. “It is .
. . my journal.”

“Why are you reluctant to join the rest of
the students in the school yard?”

I could feel his stare on my downturned
face.

“I like to keep to myself.” I raised my
eyes. The thought of spending time with the other students terrified me.

William played with a small stone on the
ground next to him, tossing it up before catching it in his palm. “Would you
like me to walk you home today?”

My smile answered his question.

“Good.” He held the stone in his hand.

The bell rang from the schoolyard. William
jumped up, turning to hold his hand out to me. I took it and he helped me to my
feet, the warm strength of his hand emanating through me.

“I will meet you here by the oak tree.” He
turned and rushed off to class.

*****

William
looked up from his book as Jason entered the room. His new roommate’s brown
hair was tied back at the nape of his neck and Jason recognized the music playing
on the guy’s phone as something by Mozart.

“You
must be Jason.” William smiled, stood up and held out his hand. “I’m William,
but you can call me Will. I arrived a couple of hours ago. I’m sorry if I
surprised you.”

“Not a
problem.” Jason lied. He wished admissions had warned him before he hung
posters of his favorite ballplayers and a couple of supermodels all over the room.
Even though Jason was an only child, he shared a locker room with tons of guys
on the football team.

“So,
did you go to Boston on the freshman trip today?” Jason lifted his hoodie over
his head and flung it on the end of his bed.

William’s
eyes darted to the window as he opened his mouth. “No,” he shrugged. “I’m a
junior.”

Great.
He had offended his roommate on day one.

“Why
aren’t you on the harbor cruise?” William sat back down on his bed.

“Damn,”
Jason muttered more to himself than to William. He’d hear the wrath of Jennifer
for missing it. She’d even gone into Boston to buy a dress at some fancy shop.

            The older boy put his glasses back on and picked up his book,
something about understanding today’s youth. Assuming that his roommate was
just weird, Jason grabbed his toothbrush and went to the restroom to wash up.

*****

When Laney’s
parents dropped her off, her dad made certain that she knew where the medical
center was on campus and that her roommate, Missy, knew the doctor’s
instructions. Despite Laney’s objections, he bought a small first aid kit at
the local drug store. There wasn’t a single item in there that could help her
internal head injury, but she kissed him and thanked him anyway. She hugged her
parents and watched them leave as she stared through the window.

Melissa
Vines scared Laney to death when she arrived at school a week ago. Back in
July, the college had a summer open house for incoming freshman—a perfect
opportunity to meet other freshman and her roommate, but Laney settled on a
phone conversation.

“Hi, is
this Delaney Holden?” Her voice sounded very chipper, like someone trying to
get you to sign up for a new credit card or take some exhausting political
survey.

“Yes,”
Laney replied. Since turning eighteen she had received an onslaught of
telemarketing calls.

“This
is Missy Vines!” she literally squealed on the other end of the line.

Laney
pulled the phone away from her ear. “Hi.”

Missy
scared her more than a telemarketer. It’s a well-known fact that the introverts
of the world greatly fear the extroverts.

“I can’t
wait to meet you. We’re going to have so much fun. Do you like pink? My mom and
I just went out and bought my bedspread.” Missy paused to take a breath, which
surprised Laney more than the fact that her favorite color was still pink.

“I can’t
wait to meet you either.” And believe it or not, Laney meant it. College
excited her, and Missy’s enthusiasm was contagious.

It disappointed
Missy when she found out that Laney couldn’t come to the summer open house. It
also disappointed Laney, because, with Missy’s energy, she’d surely have
several new friends before Laney even walked in the door. Missy was a cheerleader
and student body president at her high school in Maine. Laney’s extracurricular
activities consisted of running and writing. They were her only two outlets.
The story she wrote in her notebook absorbed her life lately. Because she often
isolated herself to accomplish perfection in the two disciplines, she was not
what one would consider a social butterfly in high school.

Missy
wanted to make sure that she took her role seriously as Laney’s caregiver. The
whole floor got together and made her a giant card, which hung on the door when
she returned. Laney had no doubt that the whole thing was Missy’s idea. After
Laney’s parents left, Missy made her lie down and brought her a dinner
consisting of a cheeseburger, french fries, and a soda—all tasting a hundred
times better than hospital food.

With
her dinner in hand and the television on, Laney assured Missy it was all right
for her to go to the dining hall with her friend Morgan. When she finished up
her last bite of burger, Laney clicked off the TV, and took her journal from
her backpack. William and Anne’s first official date spread like a blank canvas
before her.

October 29, 1774

The fallen autumn leaves crunched beneath
my boot as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. I traced my finger
along the bark of the tree glancing up at the schoolhouse again. What was I
thinking? What was he thinking? Surely, he could walk Susan home, or even
Elizabeth. They were closer to his age and laughed at his childish jokes. But,
he did not make fun when he was around me. It must be all in my mind, but I
sense an undeniable connection when William was near.

“Anne.” William woke me from my thoughts.
In his hand he held a large red apple. “My wish was to bring you a flower.”

I reached out to take the apple from his
palm. Our fingers brushed, causing my face to flame, so I withdrew the apple
and quickly placed it in the pocket of my dress.

William leaned against the tree, his gaze
on the schoolhouse. Susan and Elizabeth jostled each other down the stairs.
Before I could protest, he reached out and took my hand leading me toward the
forested path—the long way home.

“Perhaps I am beginning to understand you.”
William still held my hand as we ducked below a low-hanging branch.

“And what makes you believe that?” I did
not want him to think that he had me all figured out. I enjoyed remaining a
mystery to him.

William released my hand and held back a
thicker group of branches blocking our path. “You find the characters in those
books you read of higher value than ordinary flesh and blood folk.”

I grinned, opening my book to a well-worn
page. “Why, of course. The world between these pages is of much more interest.”
I traced my finger along the words. “Take Romeo and Juliet. Love like that does
not exist in this world.” Juliet’s words were poetry to me and I held no fear
in sharing them with the man in front of me. “Give me my Romeo, and, when I
shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face
of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night, and pay no
worship to the garish sun.”

I sighed and closed the book. “Can you
imagine a love like that?”

A stray beam of afternoon light illuminated
the space between us. William stepped closer to me, taking my hands in his,
leading me into the light with him.

His voice lowered. “Yes. I can.”

January 15, 1775

My walk home with William progressed into
many walks home. I truly enjoyed his company. He loved English poetry and we
often read together under the oak tree. William’s friends did not understand
our friendship or connection. They often held looks of contempt. I did not let
this bother me because I knew that William wanted to spend time with me. If
this were not true, he would still be entertaining his friends.

One afternoon, William and I trudged
through the ankle-deep snow in the woods. A silence grew between us. I knew he
was withholding something from me.

When his words came, they cut through the
air like musket fire. “I have been meeting with others in Lexington.” He paused
both his words and steps to look at me. “We meet to discuss the English
occupation.”

William jumped up on a rock. His eyes
gleamed. “Anne, the burden they inflict on our colony is beyond what we should
bear. Action needs to be taken, or they will continue to control us.”

The occupation was a way of life. You did not
confront the crown. “What can we do? They have guns, it is not safe to resist.”
The thought of William standing up to the Red Coats that patrolled the streets
was unthinkable.

“Of course it is not safe, but we must do
something for our families and our people, or we will never be free.” His eyes
did not waver from mine and the veins on his forehead became more pronounced.

“The meetings are treason under British
law. You could be . . . killed.” I scanned the woods even though I knew we were
alone. “Patriots are not tolerated.” I did not understand his passion. All I
cared about was his safety.

“Yes, I know the danger. I do not want to
scare you, but I need to do what is right. How could I do anything else and
look you in the eyes each day?” The hurt in his eyes was difficult to bear.

As we rounded the corner past Turner’s
rock, we saw Jonas Webb hefting a load of firewood onto his family’s cart.
Seeing William, his countenance turned to one of brooding anger and darkness. I
stared at my feet, trying to avoid a confrontation. Jonas had always been
friendly to me at school, and this new look made me fearful. As one of the
older boys, his muscular form was evident even through his loose shirt.
Everything within me told me to turn around and walk in the opposite direction,
but William guided me on a steady course towards town.

“Good afternoon, Jonas.” William kept the
conversation light.

The glare on Jonas’ face deepened. What had
we done to garner this strong of a reaction from the older boy? I moved closer
to William feeling goosebumps creep up my arm.

“We will see you tomorrow.” He continued
his casual tone as we passed Jonas.

I did not dare look back.

When I thought he could no longer hear us,
I whispered, “What is wrong with Jonas?” I will never forget his look.

“His brother was injured last week and my
father could not to save him. That is why he has been out of school. He needs
to help out at home.” William kept our path straight, never slowing his pace.

“But why did he look at us like that? I
could feel the hatred in his eyes.” The thought brought back the goosebumps on
my arms.

William recognized this and put his arm
around me.

“He believes that my father could have done
more. This is a difficult time to be a doctor. Jonas’s family is loyal to
England. He knows about my family. There have been reports that one of the Sons
of Liberty killed his brother. The hatred divides our colony.”

Laney
put her pen down, thinking about the problems she imposed on William and Anne.
Moments later, the door opened. Missy stuck her head in to make sure that Laney
was awake.

“You
need to stop exerting brain power. Put that notebook away and watch some
mindless trash.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” Laney tucked William and Anne in her bag for the night.

https://dl.bookfunnel.com/eb8mcdchk0

Like I said above, you can read Laney’s entire short story for FREE! The Weaver includes parts of the story, but not the entire book. For subscribers of my blog, I’ve included a free download of The Soldier. Click on the link to sign up and get your free copy immediately. You can read the stories in any order, but The Soldier might hold more meaning for you after you’ve read The Weaver.

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