SILVERMOON.
The Tale of a
Young Werewolf.
A YA Novel
By
T.J. Edison.
YA 12-18
Copyright © 2011 T. J. Edison.
Published in 2011 by T. J. Edison.
Copyright © 2011 cover design by T. J. Edison and www.myecovermaker.com
The author or authors assert their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author or authors of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written consent of both the copyright holder, and the above publisher of this book, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Foreword.
Jessie.
She’s been gone a long time now, and I still miss her, her silly grin, her soulful eyes, the way she looked at me, asking for approval, the ‘Did I do that right, were you impressed?’ sort of look, while holding out her paw for confirmation, the way all sheepdogs do.
My parents told me we have almost the same birthdates, March 1942. She passed on when I was twenty. I remember her lying there on her side on her tattered old blanket that evening and I realized she had been awaiting my return. I knelt beside her, and she raised her head a little and looked at me and held out her paw in her usual manner and I took it. I sensed her pleasure at this, and then she laid her head down and closed her eyes for the last time.
We had spent many happy days together, chasing rabbits and squirrels, never catching them, never meaning to. Our first separation came a little earlier than expected, it all started that day, the day we went to the cattle market, when my life was turned upside down…
Chapter one.
England. Summer 1954.
It was market day in Lyndon, a small town in Cambridgeshire by the river Cam. Here was where Iain and Helen Longfellow brought their livestock for sale at the monthly cattle market.
It was to be the last market day for their twelve-year-old son Jason for some time, as he would leave soon for a private school in the next county.
His parents travelled on horseback, with his dad leading on Taurus and his mum riding Aries at the rear, while Jason and Jessie, their sheepdog, kept the two-dozen sheep in line.
The market place was crowded. They herded their flock - consisting of British Milk sheep and one of the Cambridge rams that had reached maturity - into one of the pens.
While his mum stood by to answer any questions from potential buyers, Jason and his dad viewed the rest of the animals on show. They saw several breeds of interest. His dad pointed to one. “That’s an Oxford Down, it’s the largest heaviest of the Down breeds, with a capacity for fast growing and early maturity, it is an ideal crossing ram too.”
Jason pointed to another, a ram with curling horns, standing alone. “I know that one,
it’s an Exmoor Horn, look at his body.”
“You’re right, look at those horns too, I wouldn’t like to be caught bending when he’s on the rampage,” answered his dad.
They visited the sideshows, one of them was a ‘dunk him and win a piglet’ set-up. A man dressed in an old-fashioned policeman’s uniform, plus helmet, sat on a small plank set across a water tank next to a large wooden bull’s-eye, some twenty yards away. An elderly woman stood by the stand - an old wooden table - shouting, “Sixpence a go, dunk my old man and win this lovely piglet, a British Saddleback, it’s a male too. It’s not been castrated so you can use him for breeding.”
Jason dug into his trouser pocket and gave the woman two three-penny bits. “We could do with new stock for the pigs,” he said to his dad, and picked up a well-worn cricket ball from the box on the stand.
The man on the plank called out, “You must be joking, you’re just a kid.”
Jason ignored him and let fly with a good follow-through as the man shouted, “You couldn’t hit the side of -aaaah!” and fell into the tank with a splash as Jason’s ball hit the target.
The woman laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks.
Iain pointed to the piglet. “Our Black Saddleback I think.”
The woman picked the animal out of its pen and handed it over. She patted her bulging purse and winked her eye. “I’ve enough money here to buy a half-dozen more.”
The sale of their sheep went well. His mother was delighted with the piglet. “What did you pay for it,” she asked, knowing Iain had very little money with him.
“Sixpence,” said Jason and told her of his achievement.
“I don’t believe it, but I must. Twenty yards you say,” she said and gave Jason a hug.
With the money from the sale they purchased a Rhode Island Red cockerel to breed with their with their White Leghorns, as the former cockerel had landed in the soup pot after mistreating the hens badly and attacking anybody who tried to enter the coop.
They shopped at the butchers and his mum selected half-a-dozen boar chops for their evening meal.
As they left the market place, with Jason seated behind his mum on Aries, a voice called out from the pavement, “Nice throw, Jason.”
He looked down, smiling, and called out, “Thank you,” even though he didn’t recognise the voice. He didn’t recognise the face either, a pale and spotty-faced young man, standing there alone, dressed in tweeds. He wasn’t one of the youths who his father employed at harvest time. So how come he knows my name?
A strange smell drifted up from him, not the usual odour one expected from a young man, as it reminded him of something false, a deodorant and something sour. His thoughts broke off as his mother said to him, “It’s about time you had a pair of decent shoes. You can’t wear your old boots when you go to college.”
She said to her husband riding beside them, “I think we have time enough, today, what do you say?”
“Of course, he’s earned it anyway.”
They rode across the bridge straddling the river and headed down the main street. Jason’s nose wrinkled at the stink of car exhaust fumes. He had an acute sense of smell, meaning he could smell things whether he wanted to or not, especially unpleasant smells. His mum and dad smelled of the farm, a fine mixture of every single animal and what surrounded them. It was other people, the ones in the town, they smelled of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol, and some of them didn’t wash their bodies often enough.
As usual, the townspeople gawped at him and his parents on their huge farm horses. His parents didn’t own a carriage, just six work horses. Four of them were large, gentle beasts, used for towing the hay wagon, or ploughing the odd field. The other two, also well-built, were much shorter.
While he and his mum entered the shoe shop, his dad remained outside with Jessie and the horses.
His mum brought him several pairs of shoes. He selected a pair and walked around, getting the feel of them.
He was so intent, observing his shoes, taking in the smell of leather that he didn’t see her standing there. She stood behind her mother, who was sat on a chair, trying on a pair of shoes.
He bumped into her and knocked her forward. She gasped as he grabbed her round the waist. Her body was soft, like a lamb’s, she smelled of heather and was as light as a down pillow and he lifted her with ease, expecting her to scold him or call him something - but she didn’t. She turned to him, and looked at him, with her eyes wide and her mouth open.
She was dressed in a pink summer dress and her hair, which hung down past her waist like a shawl, was a mixture of blonde and bronze, contrasting heavily with his black shaggy mane that hadn’t seen a comb for some time.
Her figure was long and slender, which brought her forehead level with his chin. He wondered what to say, should he wait until she spoke or should he apologise? When he looked deep into her crystal blue eyes, his knees wobbled. His cheeks burned and his heart thumped inside his ribcage.
She dropped her gaze. “You’re quite strong. I would have fell over if you hadn’t caught me.”
His heart slowed down some, his knees no longer threatened to dissolve and he managed to say, “I wouldn’t have needed to if I hadn’t bumped into you. I’m terribly sorry.”
She looked up at him. “I’m not, not in the least. What’s your name?”
“Jason. Jason Longfellow.”
Holding out her hand she said, “I’m Jennifer Townsend, pleased to meet you.”
He took her hand, she gripped his firmly and he returned the pleasure. Then a strange thing happened, he felt himself floating. His feet left the ground and the pair of them rose together. He heard nothing at first, and then the sound of the wind echoed through his mind. The scent of wild flowers filled the room. He heard insects humming and the light in her eyes sparkled. A strange sensation spread from her hand and along his arm and encompassed his whole body, he felt as if-.
A quiet voice shattered his dream, “Are the shoes to your liking, young sir?”
They two of them landed with scarcely a bump, or so Jason thought, and he turned his head briefly to the voice. It was the shop assistant; a pimple-faced youth who smelled of toilet water and some awful body smell, he stood there with his head bowed slightly, his pale hands clasped together.
“Yes, thank you, they’re a good fit, I’ll take them.” To his relief the youth walked off, taking his smells - which were vaguely familiar - with him. Jason returned his gaze to the angel in pink and said, “I’m afraid I must go now. I live at Longfellow Farm, on the other side of Crow’s Hill.”
Her eyes widened and took on a faint glow. Whispers echoed in his mind and the scent of flowers returned.
She startled him by saying, “I live by the river - the white house near Grant’s Ford.” Her eyes twinkled as she continued. “Does the river run by your place?”
“Yes, I swim there a lot. Do you swim?”
“I love swimming,” she said and lowered her voice. “Me and my girl friends swim in the all-together in the evening, when the ford is closed.”
Her smile widened as he frowned and asked her, “What is the all-together?”
She was about to answer when her mother called, “Jennifer, I’m ready, let’s be on our way, my dear.”
A tall blond-haired woman, wearing a dark blue dress, narrowed her eyes at Jason as she took hold of Jennifer’s left wrist.
Jennifer smiled apologetically. “I’ll see, you some evening, maybe.”
Jason released his hold before she was whisked away and watched the pair as they left the shop.
He joined his mum as she fumbled with her purse. Her face was slightly flushed. “The shoes are fine, Mum. Tell me, who was that woman with the young girl?”
She paid the assistant and returned her purse to her shopping bag. She glanced about her. “That was Mrs. Townsend, the banker’s wife.”
“Her daughter’s nice, I bumped into her, almost knocked her over.” He added quietly, “I like her.”
She looked at him for a second or two, her brow furrowed. “I had noticed,” then she
handed him his boots.
He sat and changed his shoes for his working boots and after leading the way outside he helped his mum mount her horse. He handed her the shoe box and swung up behind her and they headed out of town with his dad leading.
After a mile or two he asked her, as she was unusually quiet, “Mum, what does, ‘in the all-together mean’?”
“You like to swim don’t you, down by the old willow?”
“Yes of course I do, you and Dad do too, and Jessie.”
“Well, what do we wear when we swim?”
“Why, nothing.”
“That is being in the all-together.”
“Oh, is that all.”
“At your age, yes.”
On the journey home he wondered what Jennifer would look like without her clothes on. He had read through Grays Anatomy, but that wasn’t the same. He imagined she would be like his mum, who was slender and about the same height as she. Why don’t you pay her a visit? A voice said inside his head. Then he decided. Maybe I will.
Back at the Townsend house, Jennifer joined her mother in the rear garden for their daily archery practice. Her mother nocked another arrow, drew back her arm and let fly in one easy motion. She watched her mother’s arrow strike one of the targets, fifty yards away, alongside a dozen other shafts, all evenly spaced. “Nice grouping,” she said quietly.
Her mother smiled and said, “Thank you, now it’s your turn once again.” She watched as her daughter took several deep breaths. She whispered, “Empty your mind, for fear and doubt can spoil your aim as easily as a sudden gust of wind.”
Jennifer set an arrow on the bowstring, pulled back and shot, in one fluid action. Watched intently by her mother, she repeated the action a dozen times.
“Well done, you are improving,” said her mother later, as they walked to the targets.
As Jennifer retrieved her arrows her thoughts drifted back to the shoe shop. The youth, who had collided with her, was about her age. She heard his voice once more, “Jason, Jason Longfellow”.
She wanted to know more about him, but her mother had decided she didn’t want the shoes she’d been trying on and dragged her out of the shop as if the place was on fire.
As she left the shop in her mother’s wake, she couldn’t help but notice the veiled consternation on an elderly woman’s face as she paid for her wares. She had glanced their way as she and her mother went by, and then dropped her gaze as if in recognition of some fateful past - or was it present - event.
Chapter two.
A conversation in the night.
Jason couldn’t sleep that night. He tried lying on one side and then the other. He tried lying on his stomach, then on his back, he even fluffed up his pillow, but nothing worked.
As he lay there gazing at the ceiling, listening to the night sounds through the open window his mind wandered to the incident with the girl in the shop. What was it about her? He’d met other girls, he’d spoken to them, other farmer’s daughters, but they were not like Jennifer. She was different, she even smelled different, like the scent of wild flowers on the wind. Those other girls smelled of cow dung or chicken droppings or farm food. He wasn’t all that sure, but he liked to believe they were floating when she held his hand in the shoe shop. And her eyes, they were really something for they seemed to delve deep into his mind.
The more he thought of her, the more he felt she was a part of him and he wondered what she thought of him. Does she like me? We could be friends. We could go swimming together, catch fish and roast them over a fire.
He could not get her out of his thoughts, lying there on his down-filled mattress, thinking of the pair of them running through the fields with Jessie the sheepdog. In the end he decided to go down to the kitchen and drink some milk.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw the light coming from the chink beneath the parlour door. It was late. Were his parents still up, or had someone left the light on? He approached the door. He heard his mum’s voice, “…not only that he met a girl today.”
“Well, he’s approaching that age,” it was his dad’s voice.
“He’s only twelve!”
“They grow up fast, have you forgotten?”
“Yes, and so do they.”
They were silent for a short while, and then his father said in a harsh whisper, “You said - ‘they’. Do you mean…?
” His voice trailed off.
“Yes, it was the Townsend girl, Jennifer; she was there with her mother.”
He heard his dad gasp, his voice quavered slightly, “Not her, are you sure?”
“They were in the shoe shop. Didn’t you see them come out?”
“I probably missed them. I was checking Aries’ hind leg. I thought he’d gone lame, but it was only a stone wedged in his hoof.”
“The bad news is he was taken with her.”
“What?”
“He was taken by her beauty, as they say, but we know better.”
Silvermoon. A Tale of a Young Werewolf. A YA Novel. 12-18 Page 1