“Tin Hinan”, Chapter 4….

–

We walked out of the oasis and back into the ergs, the endless sand dunes, and within days the mountains loomed before us. We were approaching the highlands. As we came closer, the thick forests seemed to go on forever. Before we were still the foothills with their endless hammadas, stony deserts where our beasts stumbled at times. We saw scrub bushes and tough grasses and little else. Now, at entrance to the highlands, we could see cypress and wild olives along with doum palm, oleander, date palms and thyme. As we entered the forests, it was such a shock to our eyes and noses! The scents of the woodland filled our nostrils, and our beasts grazed their fill as we made camp in the evening. Owls hooted from high branches and hunted by night, the screams of their prey startling us as we huddled around a small, banked fire.

Both of us were uneasy in this alien territory. In the desert, we could see all around, and although exposed to the elements, we saw what approached. In the highland forest the thick canopy of trees obscured any ‘visitors’. We moved in dappled sunlight, gloomy after the white light and heat of the desert. But springs and small streams, fresh water in abundance, were gifts to our senses. We could bathe ourselves and replenish our water skins. Takama found an herb when crushed would produce an acrid smelling lather and we could finally wash our hair. Of course, mine was shorn short, but it was a blessing to be clean. We washed our robes and laid them upon limbs to dry while we sat in our gauzy white undergowns, munching our dwindling date supply.

My camel Niefa tucked her legs under her body and got comfortable. The forest floor was hard walking, better were her padded feet on the desert sands. The climb each day was hard on Niefa, but easier on Takama’s donkey.

“Aicha!” Takama called out from the bank of the stream.

“Throw me your knife. The donkey has picked up a stone in her hoof.”

I threw my short knife to Takama and sitting with my back against Niefa, watched as she cleaned the stone from the hoof. Niefa chewed her cud, pushing her head into my shoulder. She did this when she wanted me to scratch behind her ears. She was grumbling and making silly grunts and groans, and if she could reach, she would search my pockets for dried fruits, her favorite treat.

“Niefa!” I yelled, hitting her on the nose, “stop eating my ear!” Her big fleshly lips were nibbling on me and soon she would be tearing my clothes. She did this when she felt she was being ignored.

 

That evening we retrieved our dried clothes and dressed for the cold night. I always wore my turban for the nighttime insects could be kept from my face by the veil. Leaning on Niefa as she groaned softly and was closing her large brown eyes, I was lulled by Takama’s soft singing of a tribal song. I folded my robes around me, and was drifting off to sleep. The fire was low and we were tired, for we had climbed for hours that day and the going was steep. We settled on a plateau on a ridge, by the narrow stream, looking down through the trees to a small valley far below. Darkness was falling early. We were getting used to that for the season was changing. Fireflies were twinkling like earthbound stars as they settled amongst the foliage.

Suddenly Takama stopped singing, her eyes wide with fear. She pointed over my shoulder, too scared for speech. I turned in the direction of her hand, jumped up and grabbed my sword, Takama running behind. There was a man, with his own sword in hand, staring at us. Almost immediately, other dark robed men appeared from behind trees, calling softly to each other. We could hear the sound of laughter shared amongst them. Then a man walked from behind a tree, closer to us, and addressed us in some alien language. I had raised my sword menacingly, though we both were defenseless against so many.

“Before the Gods and Goddesses, what are two young girls doing in the mountains?”

He was a very large man, as tall as our Berber people, and we were known for our height. Perhaps he was a Berber, but perhaps also the hated Arab. With a sinking heart, I supposed we had fallen into the hands of raiders. The language difference would account for that.

“I am not a girl, I am a man and this is my wife.” I pitched my voice low, but I was shaking. All we feared was standing before us. Laughter erupted from the men who now seemed to surround us.

Then I realized I had not placed my veil over my face. Except for the faint blue coloring across my cheeks and nose, I probably looked like a girl. My men’s clothing not withstanding, I would appear female to them.

Takama started to moan in fear behind me, I trying to hush her softly.

“Aicha, Aicha”. Fear was making her voice waver. “We are lost, undone. Oh, why did you lead us out of our home to this fate? Aiiiiieee!”

Her wail annoyed me, and I wanted to beat her with my fists, but I knew I had more problems before me than the slave behind. I, too, was afraid, and my voice shook as I addressed the obvious leader before me.

“If you come near us, I will kill you. Leave us alone, we are poor travelers.”

I raised my sword before me, with both hands holding the grip. I saw the men all my life practice in camp, mock battles where sometimes blood was drawn. Being female, I was not allowed to touch weapons, for in our traditions, a woman handling weapons would make them turn in a man’s hand.

This black turbaned man squatted down on his haunches. His position was one meant to disarm our fears, but I was having none of it.

I did not relax my guard, and spread my feet wide to steady myself. Takama continued to whimper behind me and plucked at my robe in fear.

The squatting man laid his curved sword over his knees, for no Berber would lay it on the ground unless a death blow made him drop it.

“So you are called “Aicha” by your wife. Now, what a strange name for a man, if you be one.”

He pulled his veil down from his mouth and grinned. Big white teeth shone like bleached bones even in the dimming evening’s light.

“I can see for myself you were never a man, nor will you ever be one. Your woman’s figure is too full for that and besides, you have no beard on your face.”

He continued to grin and then his voice turned serious. “Now tell me, what are your names, and don’t lie to me. What are you two girls doing in these mountains?

I was silent for a moment, weighing what I would say, and how much to reveal.

“My name is Tin Hinan, and I go on this journey to meet my destiny.”

There was some hooting at my words, and I looked up at the men before us on the ridge with as fierce an expression on my face as I could muster.

“Tin Hinan, huh?” he said with a dismissive shake of his head. “Not too inventive for a woman who wears men’s clothing. “Nomadic Woman” is not very poetic, and since the Berber women are good poets, one would think you would call yourself something with more music.”

His comment made the men laugh and I again threw a fearsome glance.

“Well, “Tin Hinan” you will be, at least amongst us, but you will also join us for we soon return to our own tribe.”

“Are you Arab raiders?” I asked, my voice still wavering.

They all laughed and a few spit on the ground.

The man before us looked over both sides of his shoulders as if this was a great joke and smiled broadly, getting to his feet in one smooth motion.

“No, we aren’t Arabs, but you could say we are raiders. Now, let’s see what your beasts are carrying and if you present a danger to us.”

Of course, this was absurd, but we were in no position to resist. But my next concern was for Niefa.

With Takama still behind me, hanging close to my back, I moved towards Niefa and she grumbled and groaned and got to her feet. She was so beautiful in the dim light, like the moon fallen to the earth, so white and shining. Niefa took that moment to nudge me in the shoulder, throwing me off balance and when a camel pushes, you feel its superior strength.

“Niefa, stop it!” I scolded her in a whisper. She was not helping the situation.

The big man walked up like he had no fear of my sword or my using it, and laid his hand on Niefa’s hump. He stroked her and scratched her, and Niefa shook herself, groaning in delight. She had no loyalty at all.

I looked at Niefa and thought how much of a traitor she was in her affections, and that little moment of my distraction was my undoing. With the speed of a desert cheetah, the man leaped at me and before I could even think, knocked the sword from my hands. He was fast and I found myself sprawled on the ground, with him standing over me, scowling. I believed at that moment my life over, and raised my eyes to him.

“Take my life, but spare my slave. She is blameless. I forced her to follow from our tribe. And don’t kill my camel, her name is Niefa and she is young.”

His face softened at my words. He held out his hand and pulled me to my feet. I was shaking, still not sure of what was to happen.

“Well, Tin Hinan, you have no reason to fear us. We are raiders, not murderers of young women. You, your slave and your camel, will join us on our journey back over the mountain, but you will not wear the man’s veil or clothes with us. It is an abomination for a woman to do so. First, you don’t deserve to wear the veil and then, you defile your God-given beauty with man’s clothes. Come, we treat such brave women with respect. And don’t worry about your camel. She will have the company of her own kind in our settlement.”

We crossed the mountain and then another one, and within the time of a new risen moon, we came to a mountain ksar. Here, amongst a strange tribe, my life began anew.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2007-2018

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter Four

Mia, the new dog, with mobdcap.  She chewed off the ribbons…. 

Chapter 4

Bleary with sleep, a dull pain in my head, I opened both eyes carefully. That wine last night must be the reason my stomach hurts.   I am playing with fire if I continue to — Oh Crap! I’m here again! I sigh with disgust, my legs tangled in the sheets. This bedroom has become my new dungeon and looking out of the east window, is the dungeon master. I turn over and glare at him.

“Good Morning”.   This time he said it in English instead of Dutch, but he didn’t turn from the window.

“Garrett, how long have you been there?” I yawned, rubbed my eyes and pulled my mobcap off. His commanding me here was becoming a bit routine now. How many times? At least a dozen but time was different in his realm.

“Not long,” he said, continuing to stare out the window.   I looked at his figure illuminated by the sharp morning light. He was a pretty (“handsome” I heard him think!) man, broad in the shoulders, his back narrowing down to strong buttocks. Wearing the usual shirt of gentlemen and farmers, a heavy white linen cut full at the sleeves, his waistcoat was sleeveless, made of dark plum colored wool, and reached to his hips. The breeches were cut from heavy twill and his boots were brown leather, scuffed about the ankles. He had walked in deep mud somewhere. His boots were covered with muck

“Get up, I want to do something different today.” Ah, this was a change; he usually wanted to play around in the morning.

“Important things first.” He finally turned from the window, hands on his hips, and looked at me with dour expression.

“Van Doren down the road has a litter of pups. Daniel said they’re old enough to take from the bitch. I want the whole litter. I’ll train them as gun dogs and hunt them next fall”.

Oh God, he probably will want to stable them here where it’s warm…

“My guess is you haven’t been paying attention. This house is haunted,” he said softly, his eyes narrowing to slits.

“What do you mean, ‘haunted’?” I shivered though the bed was quite warm.

“Those dogs will be flesh and blood, as you are, but invisible. No one would feed them.”

“So, I could go downstairs to Daniel and Anna and they wouldn’t see me?”

“Hell, I could stick you on the end of my –“

“Garrett!”

“– and walk around the house, and they still wouldn’t notice.   They may wonder why John Thomas was saluting the wind, but you would be air.”

I had to laugh.   He had a way of describing things. Vulgar, but comical.

“What time is it, Garrett?” I yawned and stretched my arms over my head, not wanting to move from the warmth of the bed.

“Time you get your butt up and come with me.” He went to the wardrobe and started tossing clothes.   Out came some petticoats, woolen stockings and a heavy linen chemise. He rummaged around the hooks and drew out a green woolen dress.

“Can I use the chamber pot first, please?” I slipped to the side of the bed, my feet cold from the draughts on the floor.

“Do you need any help with that?”

“I need you to leave the room so I can get dressed.”

“Won’t happen. I happen to like seeing you struggle into your clothes. Arouses me.”

“Everything arouses you, Devil.”

He grinned, his foul lust a tease and a torment. I did not dally, knowing he would not leave me in peace for long.

The clothes were thrown on the table by the fire. “Come here, be my angel and let me dress you.” He was sitting there with his legs spread.

“Are you a crazy man? I can very well do it myself.” He had some nerve.

“Have it your way.” He snapped his fingers and my nightgown fell to the floor. I was naked, the room cold, and he still a damn devil!

“Garrett! Stop screwing around! I’m freezing.” It was one thing to be naked by candlelight, another to be standing in the sharp eastern glare of early morning. This type of light magnifies all imperfections. I heard him mumble something….

“Love casts a glamour on things.” His words surprised me, for they were tender and human.

“Put you leg up on my knee and I’ll pull your stocking up.” I balanced myself on one leg, and put an arm on his shoulder. I could smell the sharp smell of brimstone.

“Very funny. Now, the other one.” He couldn’t resist running his hand up my inner thigh. I slapped his hand and jumped back.

He held out the heavy linen shift, and pulled it over my head and opened two petticoats for me to step into.

Oh, he was quite a demon this morning, with his half-hearted attempt to pinch my nipples, but he did get me dressed. He seemed to know his way around the hooking and lacing of tapes, and all were in place. I wondered what shoes to wear.

“Oh…must not forget these.” From behind his back he drew a big pair of Dutch wooden shoes. He placed them at my feet. I stared at them and started to laugh.

“You write about Dutch farms and farmers, yet you don’t know the muck they produce. Guess women writers from your century float over the shit. We’ll probably cross over a couple of pigsties in the going.”

Lovely. Just what I wanted to do with my morning.

“You’ll enjoy the fresh air. I want those dogs, so let’s get going. It’ll give you something real to write in your book.”

He walked to the door, and I gingerly shuffled after him. He muttered a low curse, and picked me up over his shoulder like a sack of flour. A wooden shoe fell off my foot and tumbled down the stairs, sounding like thunder as it bounced to the hall floor.   He dropped me on my feet and led me to the front steps.   A black rig and a blacker horse were standing outside. Of course! A black horse, something a devil would ride.

“Would you be quiet? The horse might have feelings on the matter.”

I laughed at him. He was entertaining this morning.

He helped me into the rig, walked to the head of the horse and whispered to him. He sprung into the seat, grabbed up the reins, the horse trotted to the main road, turned left and moved out smartly on the highroad.

I held onto my bonnet, which fell back with each jounce of the rig. The horse seemed to skim over the dirt, getting faster and faster.

“You really want those dogs!” I started laughing.

My Demon grinned at me as he shook the reins, and the horse fairly flew down the road.

The air was fresh and brisk for it was early winter. The fields were dun-colored but the cloudless sky was a crisp blue.   I could see trails of smoke rising from distant houses across the far hills. At least the scenery looked normal with cows huddled under trees and along fences. I thought of a piece of Handel I had heard the night before.   Written for harpsichord, last night played on piano. The rhythm of the music mimicked the fast trotting of the black horse. Suddenly I was hearing the music! I looked over at Garrett and saw him smile. The black leather of the rig surrounding us was our stereo and the horse’s speed matched the tempo of the music. Ah! A good piece of magic!

We traveled for a mile when the horse turned to the left. Down a short lane was a large, white house. Behind it were red barns. . Garrett stopped the rig and helped me down in the cumbersome shoes. He straddled the rig right over the mud and I looked at him with a grimace. My shoes sank almost to the ankles. He grinned and led us to the back of the house near the barns.

“Van Doren!” Garrett shouted. “I’m here to see those dogs.”

A clang like a bell rang out, but it only was a piece of metal being dropped. It bounced around for a bit.   A rotund Dutch man came walking out the dark passageway his eyes blinking in the bright sunlight.

“Ah, young Cortelyou! Goedenmorgen to you!” He wiped his hands on his trousers as he came toward us. “So you here to purchase my pups? Well, there’s others hearing of this fine litter, so it’s goot you come when you do.”

The joy of exchange among countrymen was both in the bargaining,- and the coin. I was raised in the Dutch countryside of New Jersey. I had seen this before.

Van Doren looked to be in his seventies. He was a hale and hearty man, with a halo of white hair. He had a full, white beard, bright blue eyes and a red nose that said he liked his ale too much.

“This is my Aunt Sophie from upcountry, Abraham. She’s visiting Catherine for a month.” His Aunt! Do I appear that much older? Well, at least I wasn’t a ghost to van Doren.   He gave a slight nod and led us into the barn.

“There’s four pups, but one of them’s a runt. All livers, with white chests. They’ll be about 2 months out, I believe. You wanting the whole litter?”

“I would, first I see them.” It seemed men talk differently to each other.   Sharp, short sentences as if they were fearful of too many words.

“Dam’s my Lilly, and not a finer dog in the township. The sire is Rumble from over Vieght’s way.”

“How did she take to Rumble? He’s a brute of a dog, too tall in the withers for a spaniel.”

“Aye, these are big water spaniels, all except for that runt, which probably won’t live. I should bash her head in. The others will benefit.”

Van Doren fell silent.   “So, you thinking of breeding your own pack here?

“When I see them, Abraham.

Abraham walked to the back of the barn, and in a dark stall, a bitch lay in a corner, her pups in the straw.

“Hush, Lilly, some one to see you.” Lilly was a thin hound, small for a water spaniel. Three of the pups were large. The fourth lay next to her, hopefully asleep.

Abraham van Doren, a farmer and used to all sorts of death, picked up the runt by the back feet and shook it to see if it breathed. I uttered a cry and rushed toward his hands.

“Give her to me! Don’t shake her like that.” The Dutchman almost dropped the pup in surprise, but handed her over. It was now awake and I held her to my breast, warming her with my cloak. I looked defiantly at Garrett and saw him suppress a smile.

“Abraham…I’ll take all the pups, and if you throw in the runt for my Auntie here, I’ll give you a shilling more.”

They settled on a price for the dogs. Picking up an old basket, Abraham van Doren dropped the pups in.   Lilly whined and struggled to her feet.

“Quiet now girl.” His voice was kindly. “You’ll get some meat with your porridge tonight.”

We left the dim barn, and reentered the sunlight. My eyes blinked and finally adjusted. A few more minutes with Abraham van Doren, and I mounted the step to the rig.

Garrett placed the basket at my feet and taking the reins from the post, turned the black horse homeward.

“So…I hear I’m your ‘Auntie’? Does incest play into this story?” I looked at his profile, and saw him smiling.

“I told you about the glamour. Convenient part of magic, that trick. Can make people see whatever you want.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t resist asking him. “And how did I look to Abraham van Doren?”

“Oh, old enough to throw off any scent of scandal. About Catherine’s age.”

“With all the wrinkles and fallen- in gums?”

“Yep…and bald under your cap and bonnet.” He was laughing now, and turned his wicked eyes on me.

“Thanks a lot, Demon,” I said sharply. “Now you can read my thoughts and alter my appearance? Is there anything you can’t do to me?”

“I told you when I first saw you, in this story I am pulling the strings. You write the book, my good little ‘Auntie’, and I direct the play.”

He gave a short laugh and turned silent for a moment. “I can make you do anything I want… except one thing.”

“And quickly tell me what that is!” I said, laughing.

Looking ahead at the road, he said softly, “I can’t make you love me.”

My heart flipped in my chest, and my eyes misted over.

Ah, Garrett,  sweet Demon.   I am glad you aren’t looking.   My face would betray me. I would be totally lost.
–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009, 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 4

My beloved Sparky who died June 20, 2011. An English Field Spaniel who was the best dog on Earth.

This is one of my favorite chapters of this book. It reminds me of the landscape and some of the Dutch-American characters of that time. Even in the 1950s and 60s, there were Dutch ancestor farmers where I lived. If the ghosts of their kin of two centuries ago were to appear at their tables, they would not feel to be strangers. Some relatives received wooden shoes, carved in the winter from these old farmers idled by the season. Most of them landed in the fireplace. They were noisy on wooden floors.

Lady Nyo

DEVIL’S REVENGE, Chapter 4

Bleary with sleep, a dull pain in my head, I opened both eyes carefully. That wine last night, must be the reason my stomach hurts. I am playing with fire if I continue to … Oh Crap! I’m back here again! I sigh with disgust, my legs tangled in the sheets. This bedroom has become my new dungeon and looking out of the east window is the dungeon master. I turn over and glare at him.

“Good Morning”. This time he said it in English instead of Dutch, but didn’t turn from the window.

“Ah, Garrett, how long have you been there?” I yawned, rubbed my eyes and pulled my mobcap off. His commanding me here was becoming a bit routine now. How many times? At least a dozen but time was different in his realm.

“Not long,” he said, continuing to stare out the window. I looked at his figure illuminated by the sharp morning light. He was a pretty (“handsome” I heard him think!) man, broad in the shoulders, his back narrowing down to strong buttocks. Wearing the usual shirt of gentlemen and farmers, a heavy white linen cut bloused at the sleeves, his waistcoat was sleeveless, made of dark plum colored wool, and reached to his hips. The breeches were cut from heavy twill and his boots were brown leather, scuffed about the ankles. He had walked in deep mud somewhere. His boots were covered with muck.

“Get up, I want to do something different today.” Ah, this was a change; he usually wanted to play around in the morning.

“Oh, later for that. More important things first.” He finally turned from the window, hands on his hips, and looked at me with dour expression.

“Van Doren down the road has a litter of pups. Daniel said they’re old enough to take from the bitch. I want the whole litter. I’ll train them as gun dogs and hunt them next fall”.

Oh God, he probably will want to stable them here where it’s warm…

“My guess is you haven’t been paying attention. This house is haunted,” he said softly, his eyes narrowing to slits.

“What do you mean, ‘haunted’?” I shivered though the bed was quite warm.

“Those dogs will be flesh and blood, as you are, but invisible. No one would feed them.”

“So, I could go downstairs to Daniel and Anna and they wouldn’t see me?”

“Hell, I could stick you on the end of my –“

“Garrett!”

“– and walk you around the house, and they still wouldn’t notice. They may wonder why John Thomas was saluting the wind, but you would be air.”

I had to laugh. He had a way of describing things. Vulgar, but comical.

“What time is it, Garrett?” I yawned and stretched my arms over my head, not wanting to move from the warmth of the bed.

“Time you get your pink butt up and come with me.” He went to the wardrobe and started tossing clothes. Out came some petticoats, woolen stockings and a heavy linen chemise. He rummaged around the hooks and drew out a green woolen dress.

“Can I use the chamber pot first, please?” I slipped to the side of the bed, my feet cold from the draughts on the floor.

“Do you need any help with that?” he asked, half turning around to me.

“I need you to leave the room so I can get dressed.”

“Won’t happen. I happen to like seeing you struggle into your clothes. Arouses me.”

“Everything makes you horny, Devil.”

He grinned, his foul lust a tease and a torment. I did not dally, knowing he would not leave me in peace for long.

The clothes were thrown on the table by the fire. “Come here, be my angel and let me dress you.” He was sitting there with his legs spread.

“Are you a crazy man? I can very well do it myself.” He had some nerve this morning.

“Have it your way.” He snapped his fingers and my nightgown fell to the floor. I was naked, the room cold, and he still a damn devil!

“Garrett! Stop screwing around! I’m freezing.” It was one thing to be naked by candlelight, another to be standing in the sharp eastern glare of early morning. This type of light magnifies all imperfections. I heard him mumble something….

“Love casts a glamour on things.” His words surprised me, for they were tender and almost human.

“Put you leg up on my knee and I’ll pull your stocking up.” I balanced myself on one leg, and put an arm on his shoulder. I could smell the sharp smell of brimstone.

“Very funny. Now, the other one.” He couldn’t resist running his hand up my inner thigh. I slapped his hand and jumped back.

He held out the heavy linen shift, and pulled it over my head and opened two petticoats for me to step into.

He was a foul demon but did get me dressed. He seemed to know his way around the hooking and lacing of tapes, and all were in place. I wondered what shoes to wear.

“Oh…must not forget these.” From behind his back he drew a big pair of Dutch wooden shoes. He placed them at my feet. I stared at them and started to laugh.

“You write about Dutch farms and farmers, yet you don’t know the muck they produce. Guess women writers from your century float over the shit. We’ll probably cross over a couple of pigsties in the going.”

Lovely.

“You’ll enjoy the fresh air. I want those dogs, so let’s get going. It’ll give you something real to write in your book.”

He walked to the door, and I gingerly shuffled after him. He muttered a low curse, and picked me up over his shoulder like a sack of flour. A wooden shoe fell off my foot and tumbled down the stairs, sounding like thunder as it bounced to the hall floor. The other one followed. He dropped me on my feet and led me to the front steps. A black rig and a blacker horse were standing outside. Of course! A black horse, something a devil would ride.

“Would you be quiet? The horse might have feelings on the matter.”

I laughed. He was comical this morning. It might prove to be a good day.

He helped me into the rig, walked to the head of the horse and whispered to him. He sprung into the seat, grabbed up the reins. The horse trotted to the main road, turned left and moved out smartly on the highroad.

I held onto my bonnet, which fell back with each jounce of the rig. The horse seemed to skim over the dirt, getting faster and faster.

“You really want those dogs!” I said, laughing.

The Demon grinned at me as he shook the reins, and the horse fairly flew down the road.

The air was fresh and brisk for it was early winter. The fields were dun-colored but the cloudless sky was a crisp blue. I could see trails of smoke rising from distant houses across the far hills. At least the scenery looked normal with cows huddled under trees and along fences. I thought of a piece of Handel I had heard the night before. Written for harpsichord, last night played on piano. The rhythm of the music mimicked the fast trotting of the black horse. Suddenly I was hearing the music! I looked over at Garrett and saw him smile to himself. The black leather of the rig surrounding us was our stereo and the horse’s speed matched the tempo of the music. Ah! a good piece of magic!

We traveled for a mile when the horse turned to the left. Down a short land was a large, white house. Behind it were red barns. . Garrett stopped the rig and helped me down in the cumbersome shoes. He straddled the rig right over the mud and I looked at him with a grimace. My shoes sank almost to the ankles. He grinned and led us to the back of the house near the barns.

“Van Doren!” Garrett shouted. “I’m here to see those dogs.”

A clang like a bell rang out, but it only was a piece of metal being dropped. It bounced around for a bit, sounding like chimes. A rotund Dutch man came walking out the dark passageway, his eyes blinking in the bright sunlight.

“Ah, young Cortelyou! Goedenmorgen to you!” He wiped his hands on his trousers as he came toward us. “So you here to purchase my pups? Well, others hearing of this fine litter, so it’s goot you come when you do.”

The joy of exchange among countrymen was both in the bargaining,- and the coin. I was raised in the Dutch countryside of New Jersey. I had seen this before. I had heard it before.

Van Doren looked to be in his seventies. He was a hale and hearty man, with a halo of white hair. He had a full, white beard, bright blue eyes and a red nose signaling he liked his ale too much.

“This is my Aunt Sophie from upcountry, Abraham. She’s visiting Catherine for a month.” His Aunt! Do I appear that much older? Well, at least I wasn’t a ghost to van Doren. He gave a slight nod and led us into the barn.

“There are four pups, but one of them is a runt. All livers, with white chests. They’ll be about 2 months out, I believe. You wanting the whole litter?”

“I would, first I see them.” It seemed men talk differently to each other. Sharp, short sentences as if they were fearful of too many words.

“Dam’s my Lilly, and not a finer dog in the township. The sire is Rumble from over Vieght’s way.”

“How did she take to Rumble? He’s a brute of a dog, too tall in the withers for a spaniel.”

“Aye, these are big water spaniels, all except for that runt, which probably won’t live. I should bash her head in. The others will benefit.”

Van Doren fell silent. “So, you thinking of breeding your own pack here?”

“When I see them, Abraham.” Abraham walked to the back of the barn, and in a dark stall, a bitch lay in a corner, her pups in the straw.

“Hush, Lilly, some one to see you.” Lilly was a thin hound, small for a water spaniel. Three of the pups were large. The fourth lay next to her, hopefully asleep.

Abraham van Doren, a farmer and used to all sorts of death, picked up the runt by the back feet and shook it to see if it breathed.. I uttered a cry and rushed toward his hands.

“Give her to me! Don’t shake her like that.” The Dutchman almost dropped the pup in surprise, but handed her over. It was now awake and I held her to my breast, warming her with my cloak. I looked defiantly at Garrett and saw him suppress a smile.

“Abraham…I’ll take all the pups, and if you throw in the runt for my Auntie here, I’ll give you a shilling more.”

They settled on a price for the dogs. Picking up an old basket, Abraham van Doren dropped the pups in. Lilly whined and struggled to her feet.

“Quiet now girl.” His voice was kindly. “You’ll get some bacon with your porridge tonight.”

We left the dim barn, and reentered the sunlight. My eyes blinked and finally adjusted. A few more minutes with Abraham van Doren, and I mounted the step to the rig.
Garrett placed the basket at my feet and taking the reins from the post, turned the black horse homeward.

“So…I hear I’m your ‘Auntie’? Does incest play into this story?” I looked at his profile, and saw him smiling.

“I told you about the glamour. Convenient part of magic, that trick. Can make people see whatever you want.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t resist asking him. “And how did I look to Abraham van Doren?”

“Oh, old enough to throw off any scent of scandal. About Catherine’s age.”

“With all the wrinkles and fallen- in gums?”

“Yep…and bald under your cap and bonnet.” He was laughing now, and turned his wicked eyes on me.

“Thanks a lot, Demon,” I said sharply. “Now you can read my thoughts and alter my appearance? Is there anything you can’t do to me?”

“I told you when I first saw you, in this story I am pulling the strings. You write the book, my good little ‘Auntie’, and I direct the play.”

He gave a short laugh and turned silent for a moment. “I can make you do anything I want… except one thing.”

“And quickly tell me what that is!” I said, laughing.

Looking ahead at the road, he said softly, “I can’t make you love me.”

My heart flipped in my chest, and my eyes misted over.

Ah, Garrett, my sweet Demon. I am glad you aren’t looking. My face would betray me. I would be totally lost.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2009, 2010, 2013

“Tin Hinan” Book II, Chapter 4

 

(courtesy of 123rf.com)

LadyNyo wordpress.com: A mountain Ksar in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco

I am working to finish this novel by this summer.  A reader can see this chapter is far towards the end, and I hope to conclude in a matter of weeks.  Of course, there is a long period of rewrite, but I can do this. It’s just one key in front of the other.

This chapter is about Tin and Immel and company leaving their mountain ksar.  A ksar is a mountain settlement, usually built into the side of a mountain, and in some regions, a forested mountain.  Some ksars look like beehives.  The lower parts are grainerys and the upper parts are residences.

Over the course of writing this novel, I had to do a lot of research into foods. I was fortunate to know modern day Berbers in Atlanta, and tried to consult them with the issues of ancient grains, foods, etc.  I found that much of what was researched was also eaten today in families, not restaurants.  This is more particular to desert tribes, but today in Morocco much of this food would be recognized in some form.

Thank you to the readers of these chapters of “Tin Hinan” especially those in Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and the general Middle East.  All misinformation is mine in the writing of this book.

Lady Nyo

Tin Hinan, Chapter 4 of Book II

Although I knew my purpose in returning to the desert, I felt reluctance in leaving our mountain.  The lush meadows, the pastures, the fruit trees and the early-planted fields of millet were a delight to my desert eyes.  Everything was so green and blooming around me, this first spring of my life in the mountains. 

Everything so different from the desert.  The smells were different too, not of the howling winds, but of budding leaves, blossoms of mountain wild flowers, even the soil smelled of life and regeneration.  I would miss the sharp smell of the walnut trees, when I crushed a leaf in my hand and saw the stain appear.  I especially would miss the beautiful apricots, the tender blossoms and the sweet fruit that would fill my mouth like honey.  And I would miss Niefa. She would have calved by the time I returned, and I wanted to be there, to help her in her first labor, and to guide her spindly-legged calf to her nipples.  Immel laughed at me, saying  Niefa would not need my help in this, but Immel was a man. What did he know about birth and especially Niefa?  She was hand raised by me, and would miss my presence as much as I missed her.

Ah, but by Isis, it could not be helped.  I had a purpose for leaving the mountains, and to return to the desert of my birth. I could not forget this.  I must revenge my tribe, my family, the great insult done to them. I must revenge myself by blood.  Each night I prayed silent prayers to Tanit, to Tinjis, and especially to Ifri, the War Goddess. I asked all that I remember my purpose and that my liver be not steered from my destiny.

But we did leave our mountain, and with Takama behind me on a war camel, this big beast who groaned and moaned like a tiny donkey, we came out of the mountains and approached the desert of our journey, the mighty Sahara.  We would cross other mountain ranges, as this route was different and longer than the way Takama and I had taken.  The course of our small caravan was set by the elders and Immel had purpose for this: he was still a raider, and still a mountain Berber, and he would seek the safety of a big caravan to travel with.  We left with only twenty men, but they were all warriors and skilled in fighting.  Perhaps we would increase our caravan’s wealth along the way, but this had only a secondary purpose.  We had a good flock of sheep and goats herded before us and some of these could be traded for salt and other essentials.  These would also make a greater impression on my tribe, though we carried enough booty to do that.  The bales of cottons and silk, hidden amongst the pack camels were something of great wealth, especially to my desert tribe.  There were even some steel needles and knives especially valuable to my tribes.

We didn’t find a caravan after a weeks travel, and had just left a small oasis. We watered the camels and replenished the water bags, when the fierce dogs accompaning us found a den of a desert fox.  A great howl and fury was heard, even by us in the middle of the caravan, and I saw Immel and other men kick and whip their camels to the source of the dog’s turmoil.  They were too late to save the nursing mother and two of her kits, but Immel grabbed two kits from the dogs and held them high over his head, kicking and shouting at the dogs as he did so.  They were only a few weeks old, and Immel hurried back and with a grin, threw them into my lap.  I looked at these tiny, terrified babies and my heart melted.  They were the color of sand, with huge ears, and big black eyes showing their fear.  Takama pushed her paw forward for one and I gave her a kit.  We knew enough, though I hadn’t seen a desert fox in a long time, to cover their heads, as the sun would blind them.  They came out at night, to hunt the rodents, the lizards of the night desert, and slept during the day.  We tucked them in our robes and they whimpered for a while, squirmed and then fell asleep to our heartbeat.  Later one of the men would make a small cage to fit over the cool water bag on the camel and we covered this with cloth.  They were babies, and I wondered if the rich camel’s milk would nourish them, but one of the men, who took a kindness to these babies, said  if we dilute the milk with water, it would do fine.  They also could eat fruit, if we tore it up into small pieces, or chewed it ourselves to a pulp. Within a few hours, they seemed to adjust to our feeding.  Mostly they slept during the day. During the night, they played in our tent, and would dig through the sand, making small burrows as their instinct directed them.  They had a strange yip, and would get into anything  not secured.   Finally, Takama put them under a loose woven basket during the night, as they tried to burrow under the tent.  The dogs outside would have killed them on sight, and we had grown attached in only a few days.  Immel  laughed at me, as I played with them during the evening hours, and said soon I would be replacing these foxes with my own babe to play with.  Perhaps, but that was away in the future, regardless his and his mother’s desire.

We approached another oasis when we spied a small caravan.  Immel and some of the men rode forth and talked with the leaders.  They were Berbers from the East,  travelling part of the way to Morocco.  That night, we joined their larger caravan and pitched our tents apart, which was the usual custom, but we slaughtered two goats and brought dates and salt to a shared dinner.  These Berbers were nomads, who came from pastures with great herds of sheep and goats. They were driving them as trade to the west.  They were very much like my parent’s tribe, wearing some of the same woven cloth and colors I was familiar with.  Of course, I did not ask any questions, as to my tribe, but Immel did find out that there had been wars and raiding to the west.  Information was vague enough but I could only wonder if Hasim and his tribe had been involved.  There were many tribes, and many raiders, some of them the hated Arabs, but I knew little of the world.  Now, from my position in the Spirit World, I know much more of history.  Then, as I said, I knew little.

Their women were like women everywhere. The young ones were shy, the older ones suspicious, and the few elderly on the caravan were wiser than all else.  Of course we sat together, as women would want to do, and exchanged gossip and some minor gifts. We ate their dishes with great relish, as Takama and I were not the best of cooks.  Our porridge was plain and only filled our bellies, but their dishes were so much better for not being made by us. 

Though we found our food was of a common kind, their taguella, a flat bread made from millet and cooked on charcoals in the sand, was eaten with a heavy sauce of spices and dried fruit.  They had yogurt, made along the route, by pouring goat’s milk into large skins and letting it ferment in the sun.  The roll of a camel’s pace stirred it nicely, and the essence of the leather bag contributed a smoky taste to the yogurt.  Ah! Their eghajira was the best I had ever tasted! For those who have had inferior drink,  it is a thick beverage drunk with a ladle, made by pounding millet, goat cheese, dates, dried apricots, camel’s milk and honey. Of course, there was lamb on a spit over the fire and gunpowder tea, sweetened with mint and honey.  Our mouths were greasy with the food and our bellies full. 

 Just when I saw Takama’s eyes close with sleep and mine doing the same, the sound of the rehad floated towards us. Soon bendirs, drums, added their rhythm to the one-stringed fiddle. An ajonuag, the reed flute joined the music,  and a woman started to sing., a strange song half way between a moan and a melody.

Some of the women got up to dance,  holding  large  walnut shells  in their hands, like castanets, as they added their own music to the night.  Stomping their bare feet in the cooling sand, tossing their long hair in circles, they would scare or entice a Zar in the desert night with their wild beauty!

There is nothing so mystical on earth as the sound of music in the desert. It floats like a benediction over the day. The night time air seems to draw forth the beauty of the voice and the pathos of life. Though it was not a song I knew, it didn’t matter.  Our lives, our souls, were of the same material, and we went to our tents late that night feeling cradled in the knowledge  wherever we were, we Berbers were part of the great stream of humanity and never alone in the world.

 Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2012

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 4

This weekend I noticed the blog was translated into Dutch.  It’s carried in  about 8 languages  now, and this is interesting, at least to me. The usual– French, Italian, German, Russian and Japanese, and Arabic  I can identify, but there are a couple I can’t figure.  So when the whole blog appeared in Dutch, it made me think back to my childhood.

We were raised in a very old Dutch colonial region of New Jersey.  The names Van Doren, Voorhees, Wykoff, Cortelyou, Staats, Brinkerhoff were familiar names; children we played with down by the canal and in the fields and barns.  It still was a farming community back then, in the 50’s and 60’s.  Little has changed, except the names: now there are Jews, Italians, Armenians who populate the landscape.  I missed all these new folk by moving away to college and the mayhem of a first marriage.   But I remember the early traditions of the area:  I remember the old, pre-Revolutionary War houses, where there was a front parlor, and a room somewhere that usually held tackle, saddles, harness, barrels of grain and other farm stuff.  Barns were drafty places for animals and rats and mice would eat the leather of tackle.  It was easier to save these pieces by putting them somewhere in the main house.  Kept them drier too, because barns usually leaked.

The children of Dutch heritage I knew were blond, blue eyed and ruddy-cheeked kids, not afraid of the thin ice of the canal in winter, nor sledding down Olsen’s hill.  They made up a population that extended all through New Jersey into New York.  I’ve lost contact with these people, though my own mother is descended from a Wykoff branch.

I thought back to the farmers and the farm wives I knew during childhood, and they were a kind and gentle people.  At least to us children. At times we would receive an Xmas present from someone of carved wooden shoes.  Since the trick of wearing these shoes is very heavy woolen socks, they collected in the boot closet in the creamery.  My son, when he was in third grade, was given a pair of  Dutch wooden shoes…and wore them to his class.  He got all sorts of hell from his urban teacher: they were too noisy and what child would come to school in such footwear?  I got it, too.  They are now just a decoration by a fireplace, and I haven’t the heart to chuck them out.  Or in the fire.

This chapter of “Devil’s Revenge” occurred to me this morning.  Garrett Cortelyou is a Demon….half human (mother) and the part, his father….a Devil.  He reads minds, as some devils can, and was placed in a Dutch household to be raised.  I tried to draw on the landscape and people I knew in forming these characters.

Lady Nyo

DEVIL’S REVENGE, Chapter 4

Bleary with sleep, a dull pain in my head, I opened both eyes carefully.  That wine last night, must be the reason my stomach hurts.   I am playing with fire if I continue to …  Oh Crap!  I’m back here again!  I sigh with disgust, my legs tangled in the sheets.  This bedroom has become my new dungeon and looking out of the east window, is the dungeon master.  I turn over and glare at him.

“Good Morning”.   This time he said it in English instead of Dutch, but he didn’t turn from the window.

“Ah, Garrett, how long have you been there?”  I yawned, rubbed my eyes and pulled off my mob cap.  His commanding me here was becoming a bit routine now.  How many times?  At least a dozen but time was different in his realm.

“Not long,” he said, continuing to stare out the window.   I looked at his figure illuminated by the sharp morning light.  He was a pretty (“handsome” I heard him think!) man, broad in the shoulders, his back narrowing down to strong buttocks. Wearing the usual shirt of gentlemen and farmers, a heavy white linen cut full at the sleeves, his waistcoat was sleeveless, made of dark plum colored wool, and reached to his hips.  The breeches were cut from heavy twill and his boots were brown leather, scuffed about the ankles.  He had walked in deep mud somewhere. His boots were covered with muck.

“Get up, I want to do something different today.”  Ah, this was a change; he usually wanted to play around in the morning.

“Oh, later for that. More important things first.”  He finally turned from the window, hands on his hips, and looked at me with dour expression.

“Van Doren down the road has a litter of pups.  Daniel said they’re old enough to take from the bitch.  I want the whole litter.  I’ll train them as gun dogs and hunt them next fall”.

Oh God, he probably will want to stable them here where it’s warm…

“My guess is you haven’t been paying attention.  This house is haunted,” he said softly, his eyes narrowing to slits.

“What do you mean, ‘haunted’?”  I shivered though the bed was quite warm.

“Those dogs will be flesh and blood, as you are, but invisible.  No one would feed them.”

“So, I could go downstairs to Daniel and Anna and they wouldn’t see me?”

“Hell, I could stick you on the end of my –“

“Garrett!”

“– and walk you around the house, and they still wouldn’t notice.   They may wonder why John Thomas was saluting the wind, but you would be air.”

I had to laugh.   He had a way of describing things. Vulgar, but comical.

“What time is it, Garrett?”  I yawned and stretched my arms over my head, not wanting to move from the warmth of the bed.

“Time you get your pink butt up and come with me.”  He went to the wardrobe and started tossing clothes.   Out came some petticoats, woolen stockings and a heavy linen chemise.  He rummaged around the hooks and drew out a green woolen dress.

“Can I use the chamber pot first, please?”  I slipped to the side of the bed, my feet cold from the air  wafting across the room.

“Do you need any help with that?”  he asked, half turning around to me.

“I need you to leave the room so I can get dressed.”

“Won’t happen. I happen to like seeing you struggle into your clothes.  Arouses me.”

“Everything makes you horny, Devil.”

He grinned, his foul lust a tease and a torment.  I did not dally, knowing he would not leave me in peace for long.

The clothes were thrown on the table by the fire.  “Come here, be my angel and let me dress you.” He was sitting there with his legs spread.

“Are you a crazy man?  I can very well do it myself.”  He had some nerve this morning.

“Have it your way.”  He snapped his fingers and my nightgown fell to the floor.  I was naked, the room cold, and he still a damn devil!

“Garrett!  Stop screwing around!  I’m freezing.”  It was one thing to be naked by candlelight, another to be standing in the sharp eastern glare of early morning.  This type of light magnifies all imperfections.  I heard him mumble something….

“Love casts a glamour on things.” His words surprised me, for they were tender and human.

“Put you leg up on my knee and I’ll pull your stocking up.”  I balanced myself on one leg, and put an arm on his shoulder.  I could smell the sharp smell of brimstone.

“Very funny.  Now, the other one.”  He couldn’t resist running his hand up my inner thigh.  I slapped his hand and jumped back.

He held out the heavy linen shift, and pulled it over my head and opened two petticoats for me to step into.

Oh, he was a nasty demon this morning, with his half-hearted attempt to pinch my nipples,  but he did get me dressed.  He seemed to know his way around the hooking and lacing of tapes, and all were in place. I wondered what shoes to wear.

“Oh…must not forget these.”  From behind his back he drew a big pair of Dutch wooden shoes. He placed them at my feet.  I stared at them and started to laugh.

“You write about Dutch farms and farmers, yet you don’t know the muck they produce.  Guess women writers from your century float over the shit.  We’ll probably cross over a couple of pigsties in the going.”

Lovely.  Just what I wanted to do with my morning.

“You’ll enjoy the fresh air. I want those dogs, so let’s get going.  It’ll give you something real to write in your book.”

He walked to the door, and I gingerly shuffled after him.  He muttered a low curse, and picked me up over his shoulder like a sack of flour.  A wooden shoe fell off my foot and tumbled down the stairs, sounding like thunder as it bounced to the hall floor.   He dropped me on my feet and led me to the front steps.   A black rig and a blacker horse were standing outside.  Of course! A black horse, something a devil would ride.

“Would you be quiet?  The horse might have feelings on the matter.”

I laughed at him.  He was entertaining so early!

He helped me into the rig, walked to the head of the horse and whispered to him.  He sprung into the seat, grabbed up the reins, the horse trotted to the main road, turned left and moved out smartly on the highroad.

I held onto my bonnet, which fell back with each jounce of the rig. The horse seemed to skim over the dirt, getting faster and faster.

“You really want those dogs!”  I started laughing.

My Demon grinned at me as he shook the reins, and the horse fairly flew down the road.

The air was fresh and brisk for it was early winter.  The fields were dun-colored  but the cloudless sky was a crisp blue.   I could see trails of smoke rising from distant houses across the far hills.  At least the scenery looked normal with cows huddled under trees and along fences. I thought of a piece of Handel I had heard the night before.   Written for harpsichord, last night played on piano.  The rhythm of the music mimicked the fast trotting of the black horse.  Suddenly I was hearing the music! I looked over at Garrett and saw him smile. The black leather of the rig surrounding us was our stereo and the horse’s speed matched the tempo of the music. Ah! a good piece of magic!

We traveled for a mile when the horse turned to the left.  Down a short land was a large, white house.  Behind it were red barns. .  Garrett stopped the rig and helped me down in the cumbersome shoes.  He straddled the rig right over the mud and I looked at him with a grimace.  My shoes sank almost to the ankles.  He grinned and led us to the back of the house near the barns.

“Van Doren!” Garrett shouted.  “I’m here to see those dogs.”

A clang like a bell rang out, but it only was a piece of metal being dropped. It bounced around for a bit.    A rotund Dutch man came walking out the dark passageway his eyes blinking in the bright sunlight.

“Ah, young Cortelyou! Goedenmorgen to you!”  He wiped his hands on his trousers as he came toward us.  “So you here to purchase my pups?  Well, there’s others hearing of this fine litter, so it’s goot you come when you do.”

The joy of exchange among countrymen was both in the bargaining,- and the coin.  I was raised in the Dutch countryside of New Jersey.  I had seen this exchange before.

Van Doren looked to be in his seventies.  He was a hale and hearty man, with a halo of white hair.   He had a full, white beard , bright blue eyes and a red nose that signaled he liked his ale too much.

“This is my Aunt Sophie from upcountry, Abraham.  She’s visiting Catherine for a month.”  His Aunt!  Do I appear that much older?  Well, at least I wasn’t a ghost to van Doren.   He gave a slight nod and led us into the barn.

“There’s four pups, but one of them is a runt.  All livers, with white chests.  They’ll be about 2 months out, I believe.  You wanting the whole litter?”

“I would, first I see them.”  It seemed men talk differently to each other.   Sharp, short sentences as if they were fearful of too many words.

“Dam’s my Lilly, and not a finer dog in the township.  The sire is Rumble from over Vieght’s way.”

“How did she take to Rumble?  He’s a brute of a dog, too tall in the withers for a  spaniel.”

“Aye, these are big water spaniels, all except for that runt, which probably won’t live.  I should bash her head in.  The others will benefit.”

Van Doren fell silent.    “So, you thinking of breeding your own pack here?”

“When I see them, Abraham.”  Abraham walked to the back of the barn, and in a dark stall, a bitch lay in a corner, her pups in the straw.

“Hush, Lilly, some one to see you.”  Lilly was a thin hound, small for a water spaniel. Three of the pups were large.  The fourth lay next to her, hopefully asleep.

Abraham van Doren,  a farmer and used to all sorts of death, picked up the runt by the back feet and shook it to see if it breathed..  I uttered a cry and rushed toward his hands.

“Give her to me!  Don’t shake her like that.”  The Dutchman almost dropped the pup in surprise, but handed her over.  It was now awake and I held her to my breast, warming her with my cloak.  I looked defiantly at Garrett and saw him suppress a smile.

“Abraham…I’ll take all the pups, and if you throw in the runt for my Auntie here, I’ll give you a shilling more.”

They settled on a price for the dogs. Picking up an old basket, Abraham van Doren dropped the pups in.   Lilly whined and struggled to her feet.

“Quiet now girl.” His voice was kindly. “You’ll get some meat with your porridge tonight.”

We left the dim barn, and reentered the sunlight.  My eyes blinked and finally adjusted.  A few more minutes with Abraham van Doren, and I mounted the step to the rig.

Garrett placed the basket at my feet and taking the reins from the post, turned the black horse homeward.

“So…I hear I’m your ‘Auntie’?  Does incest play into this story?”  I looked at his profile, and saw him smiling.

“I told you about the glamour.  Convenient part of magic, that trick.  Can make people see whatever you want.”

“Oh.”  I couldn’t resist asking him.  “And how did I look to Abraham van Doren?”

“Oh, old enough to throw off any scent of scandal.  About Catherine’s age.”

“With all the wrinkles and fallen- in gums?”

“Yep…and bald under your cap and bonnet.”  He was laughing now, and turned his wicked eyes on me.

“Thanks a lot, Demon,”  I said sharply.  “Now you can read my thoughts and alter my appearance?  Is there anything you can’t do to me?”

“I told you when I first saw you, in this story I am pulling the strings.  You write the book, my good little ‘Auntie’, and I direct the play.”

He gave a short laugh and turned silent for a moment. “I can make you do anything I want… except one thing.”

“And quickly tell me what that is!”  I said, laughing.

Looking ahead at the road, he said softly,  “I can’t make you love me.”

My heart flipped in my chest, and my eyes misted over.

Ah, Garrett, my sweet Demon.   I am glad you aren’t looking.   My face would betray me.  I would be totally lost.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009, 2010