Tug of War
See scene and character inspirations on my Pinterest board for Tug of War:
http://www.pinterest.com/barbarascottink/tug-of-war/
Buy Link: Amazon
http://www.pinterest.com/barbarascottink/tug-of-war/
Buy Link: Amazon
Golden Heart winner, TUG OF WAR, is set on the Kansas-Missouri border in 1854.
Called "high calibre" by the Cowboy Hall of Fame.
In this excerpt, Simon and his family prepare to put on a show for the abolitionist settlement in Topeka:
Simon turned his attention to the fire, whetting its appetite with twigs and dry leaves, and then feeding it ever-larger branches. He tucked the streamers of his costume into the cuffs of his trousers as the currents from the growing flames began to waft them. Finally, the logs caught, and Simon stepped back to admire his work.
"You're a wizard with fire, Simon. The devil himself could not have done better." Sweet, metallic notes, blending with the fire’s crackle, accompanied the familiar, velvety voice. Simon raised himself, square and proud, to see Vincent seated in the first row of makeshift benches, his dulcimer in his lap. The red of the fire set his mahogany skin aglow as he smiled and nodded, then bent his head once again to the tuning of his instrument.
"Do you think we'll get a big crowd tonight, Vincent?"
"All we want to come. And some we don't. It's dangerous business your daddy is doing here."
"Dangerous? How? It's just a show." With the toe of his boot, Simon kicked up a berm of dirt to mark the boundary of the fire.
"More than a show. Always more than that. It's sedition, plain and simple." Vincent tapped out a melody, the light sweetness of it contrasting with the dark menace of his words.
"Sedition?"
"A man could be hanged for less."
Simon sat down next to Vincent and fixed and smoothed the crumpled streamers of his costume. His fussing kept his mind occupied so the fears Vincent had ignited sunk no lower than the prickles dancing down his spine.
Vincent Bonne was a second-generation freedman who had worked at Elias Perry's Philadelphia apothecary since before Simon was born. Together over the years, the Perrys and Vincent had aided in the escape of almost forty slaves through the port of Philadelphia. Last year, after the Kansas-Nebraska Act promised the slavery issue in the new territories would be decided by the vote of the settlers in those territories, they had worked tirelessly to raise money to support free settlement. Vincent had been the first to want to go himself, despite the hazards of having to travel through the slave state of Missouri. It didn't take much to convince Elias and Tabitha it was time to put their cherished ideals into action and go with him.
For weeks, Simon's parents pored over maps, and plans, and lists of supplies. Tabitha had seen to the packing of the furniture and belongings they would bring with them and the disposal of the rest. Elias sold his apothecary shop and purchased of the brightly painted caravan wagon that would serve as their vehicle, business, and home until they could build a new one on the prairie.
Both served as advisors and backbone for the small band of like-minded friends and associates, who forever wavered on the brink of going and not going.
No one asked Simon his opinion of the expedition.
No one knew how he worried about the wagonload of Sharps breech-loading rifles paid for by Northern churches and sent along on the journey with them. People called them Beecher's Bibles after Henry Ward Beecher, Harriet Beecher Stowe's brother, the man who had instigated their purchase. Simon's mother, a former Quaker, and his father, a man of peace, preferred to ignore the presence of such instruments of war.
"We can't counter the evil of slavery with bloodshed," his father told him. "Violence kills the soul as surely as the body. And in the end the violent man is as dead as his victim."
"Then why let them bring the guns?"
"We can only lead by example, Simon. Some would not come without them. We will have more safety in our numbers than with the guns. They'll see." So far the guns had not been touched.
Simon brought himself back to the present and Vincent's warning of a more imminent threat. "Da wouldn't do the show if it was so dangerous. Mama is in it. And Lilibet."
"Your daddy is living in the clouds these days. Was clouds that dragged us across this country, chasing dreams. Was clouds that made him write this show."
"He didn't write it. Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote it."
"But you can bet you won't see that lady traipsin' about speakin' her lines about freedom and justice to a crowd clotted with pro-slavers and hell raisers."
"Topeka is a Free State town."
"And smack dab beside a whole slave state. You don't think the Missouri mob won't be payin' us a visit? They'll be comin' just to vote in a month or two."
Simon had heard the angry talk of it around the table of the house-raising committee. Pro-slavers had swarmed over the border to vote illegally in the last election and stayed to visit as many polling places as they could to bully the legal Kansas settlers. They voted for pro-slavery issues and candidates again and again that day. In the end their votes outnumbered the legal votes and managed to elect enough pro-slavery delegates to pass harsh laws protecting the institution of slavery.
A man could get two years in prison for speaking out against slavery. If he were convicted of encouraging or abetting a slave to run or rebel, the penalty was death.
That thought brought a dry tightness Simon's chest. He tried to cough it away as if it was caused by the smoke from the fire he'd made. "You're in the show, too, Vincent. Aren't you worried for yourself?"
"I'd be as see-through as a shadow to folks of that kind. No one would blink an eye if they killed me. It wouldn't make the point, y'see? They're sure to be lookin' for a white man as their goat."
"Did you talk to my father about this?"
Vincent nodded "I told you. He's in the clouds. Your mama, too. They can't see the danger for the mists of human kindness all around them." He stopped his music and fixed his piercing, black eyes steadily on Simon. "Your daddy in the clouds and me in the shadders." He shook his head ominously. "What's needed is a man who's tied to the ground."
He tapped a few more notes on his dulcimer, and they hung in the air like warning bells. "Best get ready. Time is coming."
Called "high calibre" by the Cowboy Hall of Fame.
In this excerpt, Simon and his family prepare to put on a show for the abolitionist settlement in Topeka:
Simon turned his attention to the fire, whetting its appetite with twigs and dry leaves, and then feeding it ever-larger branches. He tucked the streamers of his costume into the cuffs of his trousers as the currents from the growing flames began to waft them. Finally, the logs caught, and Simon stepped back to admire his work.
"You're a wizard with fire, Simon. The devil himself could not have done better." Sweet, metallic notes, blending with the fire’s crackle, accompanied the familiar, velvety voice. Simon raised himself, square and proud, to see Vincent seated in the first row of makeshift benches, his dulcimer in his lap. The red of the fire set his mahogany skin aglow as he smiled and nodded, then bent his head once again to the tuning of his instrument.
"Do you think we'll get a big crowd tonight, Vincent?"
"All we want to come. And some we don't. It's dangerous business your daddy is doing here."
"Dangerous? How? It's just a show." With the toe of his boot, Simon kicked up a berm of dirt to mark the boundary of the fire.
"More than a show. Always more than that. It's sedition, plain and simple." Vincent tapped out a melody, the light sweetness of it contrasting with the dark menace of his words.
"Sedition?"
"A man could be hanged for less."
Simon sat down next to Vincent and fixed and smoothed the crumpled streamers of his costume. His fussing kept his mind occupied so the fears Vincent had ignited sunk no lower than the prickles dancing down his spine.
Vincent Bonne was a second-generation freedman who had worked at Elias Perry's Philadelphia apothecary since before Simon was born. Together over the years, the Perrys and Vincent had aided in the escape of almost forty slaves through the port of Philadelphia. Last year, after the Kansas-Nebraska Act promised the slavery issue in the new territories would be decided by the vote of the settlers in those territories, they had worked tirelessly to raise money to support free settlement. Vincent had been the first to want to go himself, despite the hazards of having to travel through the slave state of Missouri. It didn't take much to convince Elias and Tabitha it was time to put their cherished ideals into action and go with him.
For weeks, Simon's parents pored over maps, and plans, and lists of supplies. Tabitha had seen to the packing of the furniture and belongings they would bring with them and the disposal of the rest. Elias sold his apothecary shop and purchased of the brightly painted caravan wagon that would serve as their vehicle, business, and home until they could build a new one on the prairie.
Both served as advisors and backbone for the small band of like-minded friends and associates, who forever wavered on the brink of going and not going.
No one asked Simon his opinion of the expedition.
No one knew how he worried about the wagonload of Sharps breech-loading rifles paid for by Northern churches and sent along on the journey with them. People called them Beecher's Bibles after Henry Ward Beecher, Harriet Beecher Stowe's brother, the man who had instigated their purchase. Simon's mother, a former Quaker, and his father, a man of peace, preferred to ignore the presence of such instruments of war.
"We can't counter the evil of slavery with bloodshed," his father told him. "Violence kills the soul as surely as the body. And in the end the violent man is as dead as his victim."
"Then why let them bring the guns?"
"We can only lead by example, Simon. Some would not come without them. We will have more safety in our numbers than with the guns. They'll see." So far the guns had not been touched.
Simon brought himself back to the present and Vincent's warning of a more imminent threat. "Da wouldn't do the show if it was so dangerous. Mama is in it. And Lilibet."
"Your daddy is living in the clouds these days. Was clouds that dragged us across this country, chasing dreams. Was clouds that made him write this show."
"He didn't write it. Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote it."
"But you can bet you won't see that lady traipsin' about speakin' her lines about freedom and justice to a crowd clotted with pro-slavers and hell raisers."
"Topeka is a Free State town."
"And smack dab beside a whole slave state. You don't think the Missouri mob won't be payin' us a visit? They'll be comin' just to vote in a month or two."
Simon had heard the angry talk of it around the table of the house-raising committee. Pro-slavers had swarmed over the border to vote illegally in the last election and stayed to visit as many polling places as they could to bully the legal Kansas settlers. They voted for pro-slavery issues and candidates again and again that day. In the end their votes outnumbered the legal votes and managed to elect enough pro-slavery delegates to pass harsh laws protecting the institution of slavery.
A man could get two years in prison for speaking out against slavery. If he were convicted of encouraging or abetting a slave to run or rebel, the penalty was death.
That thought brought a dry tightness Simon's chest. He tried to cough it away as if it was caused by the smoke from the fire he'd made. "You're in the show, too, Vincent. Aren't you worried for yourself?"
"I'd be as see-through as a shadow to folks of that kind. No one would blink an eye if they killed me. It wouldn't make the point, y'see? They're sure to be lookin' for a white man as their goat."
"Did you talk to my father about this?"
Vincent nodded "I told you. He's in the clouds. Your mama, too. They can't see the danger for the mists of human kindness all around them." He stopped his music and fixed his piercing, black eyes steadily on Simon. "Your daddy in the clouds and me in the shadders." He shook his head ominously. "What's needed is a man who's tied to the ground."
He tapped a few more notes on his dulcimer, and they hung in the air like warning bells. "Best get ready. Time is coming."
Praise from readers, 8th graders Ferguson Middle School:
"Thank you for giving us the joy of reading your great book," John W.
"...the best book I have ever read and I learned a lot," Kristin C.
"The ending was perfect," Richard A.
"Tug of War is the first book I ever read all the way through. You should write a sequel." Darron P.
"Thank you for giving us the joy of reading your great book," John W.
"...the best book I have ever read and I learned a lot," Kristin C.
"The ending was perfect," Richard A.
"Tug of War is the first book I ever read all the way through. You should write a sequel." Darron P.