50 Stories in 50 States: Tales Inspired by a Motorcycle Journey Across the USA Vol 2, The East Read online

50 Stories in 50 States: Tales inspired by a motorcycle journey across the USA

  Volume II - The East

  By Kevin B Parsons

  Copyright 2013 Kevin B Parsons

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to others. If you would like to share this ebook, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Massachusetts

  Connecticut

  Rhode Island

  Delaware

  Maryland

  West Virginia

  Kentucky

  Virginia

  North Carolina

  New Jersey

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Introduction

  My wife (Quilter Girl) and I embarked on a ‘50 States in 50 Weeks’ motorcycle tour of America, a once-in-a-lifetime dream. We rode across the country on a Honda Gold Wing, towing a pop top tent trailer. During the more mundane sections of the trip (like Connecticut, cold, wet, and clammy—nothing to tour but a couple of watch museums), we talked on the intercoms and came up with short story ideas. Inspired, I wrote a story for every state, which morphed into a five-book series, compiled by regions, with ten states in each volume.

  Some of the stories are based on our experiences, some on history, and some probably from indigestion. Warning: these are not necessarily motorcycle stories, nor are they travel stories (although some are), but a look at Americana, with each state as a backdrop.

  Each state got only one look, so if we encountered bad weather, we would just grind it out and ride through the state. West Virginia at Thanksgiving on a motorcycle was wet and cold. Yet excellent weather in states like North Carolina provided ample opportunity to explore.

  Enjoy this volume of ‘50 Stories.’

  ~Kevin B Parsons

  Brian Head, Utah

  Massachusetts

  The East provides so much history, especially about the Revolutionary War and the Civil War. We toured Concord, particularly beautiful with fall colors, and we visited the bridge, famous for ‘The Shot Heard ’Round the World,’ the spot where a gunfight erupted between the Americans and the English, igniting the American War of Independence. What would life be like then and there?

  THE SHOT

  Concord, 19 April, 1775

  The sun rose with a promise: winter over and spring in the air. Nathaniel woke, stoked the fire, and ate breakfast of mush and bacon. The warm food and fire took the edge off the cold morning. Father walked in, his arms laden with logs, and laid them near the fireplace. He sat at the table and Mother dished up some mush for him.

  “Hester, would you like more?” She shook her head.

  Father wiped his hands on his handkerchief and sat. “I spotted some Redcoats this morning.” He picked up his spoon and took a big bite.

  Nathaniel stopped eating. “Can’t they leave us alone?”

  “Son, they have every right to be here, at the king’s behest.”

  “So what’s wrong with Redcoats being in the area?” Hester took her plate to Mother, who wiped it out.

  “I don’t know,” Father said, “but there’s a lot of talk. At the tavern, in town, about our need for independence. Word from Boston is that there are groups, revolutionaries, that are willing to fight the British.”

  Mother stopped cleaning. “Why, that’s suicide. It’s the largest and best army in the world, in history, perhaps.”

  “I don’t know,” Father tapped his spoon on the bowl. “It seems foolish. They tax us, oppress us, regulate our very movements, prevent us from having arms. It just isn’t right, yet how could we overcome them?”

  “And why should we?” Mother asked. “We’re colonies of Britain, subjects of the king, and we should be proud.”

  Father shook his head. “I don’t know. But one can feel the tension. Something is going to happen.”

  ~

  Mother wanted green boughs to smoke some meat. Nathaniel walked through the woods, parallel with the road, cutting lower branches off trees and stacking them in piles. He worked silently, the woods quiet, save for the occasional bird calls.

  Then he heard the drums and fifes. He ran toward the road and crouched under a shrub. The sound increased, coming from the right. Soon the ground shook from the soldiers marching in time. Next they appeared—giant men—marching in rows, wearing bright red coats and white breeches with tall black boots. White leather straps crossed their chests. They wore black tri-sided caps with white trim. Each carried long muskets, pointed skyward. The troops looked formidable and frightening. How could anyone stand against an army such as this? They looked invincible. What were the revolutionaries thinking? The Redcoats would crush them like a bug.

  After an interminable time, the army passed, their metronomic music fading into the trees. Nathaniel got up and continued his harvesting of branches. He peered at his machete. Would they fight them with tools like this? How could they have a chance against those long guns?

  ~

  Nathaniel told the family about the encounter during supper.

  Hester’s eyes looked huge. “Did they see you?”

  “No.”

  “What if they did? Wouldn’t they shoot you?”

  Mother patted her hand. “They won’t harm anyone unless they’re breaking a law.”

  Father spoke around a mouthful of food. “And they keep making more laws. How would we know if we broke a new law if we didn’t know what it was?”

  “We get word. You know that.”

  “Until we get word, we could be lawbreakers.”

  The room grew quiet, everyone focused on their food. Father spoke up. “I need to go to Boston for a few days.”

  Mother stopped, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Boston? What on earth for?”

  “We need more… accessories for the hardware hidden you-know-where.”

  “Abel, if we get caught with… with all this arsenal of…” she looked at the children… “things… we could be in real trouble.”

  He nodded. “I understand. But you must understand, something is coming. It isn’t going to stop. You haven’t been to Boston. We need to be a part of it, should it happen. Everyone needs to be a part of it.”

  “Even us? Me and the children?”

  “Of course not. It’s a man’s issue.”

  ~

  Playing hide and seek with Hester, Nathaniel decided to hide inside the house, under Father and Mother’s bed. He slid underneath, looking up at the crisscrossed ropes that held the bedding. Fearing his sister might see him, he slid farther underneath and felt something metallic. Turning his head, he saw a gun. And another… and another.

  He squirmed out from under the bed and got to the front door just as Hester entered. “Found you. That was a bad hiding place.” He didn’t know what to say and couldn’t stop his hands from shaking.

  After the game, Nathaniel decided to do some hunting. Not for game; he knew the guns would be no use without lead and powder. Where could they be? The powder must be kept dry, so it must be in the barn. He tiptoed inside and rummaged around. Father would have hidden it, in case the Redcoats searched their place. Seeing the pile of hay, he grabbed a pitchfork and pro
bed. Soon he felt resistance and heard a muffled clunk. He swept the hay to each side and found the wooden barrel. It didn’t seem very deep. He pushed the barrel deeper into the pile, then pulled the scattered hay back around to cover it. Better.

  ~

  “Nathaniel,” Mother looked out the window. “The Redcoats are coming. Follow me.” She led him to the bedroom, removed the muskets from under the bed, and carried them to the window. Opening it, she instructed him to get outside, and handed him the guns. “Go straight out and hide these. Make sure no one sees you.” She stacked the guns on his arms and he turned to the woods. “Dear God. We could be executed for treason.”

  After hiding them, he circled around the house and returned to the front door. Three Redcoats stood in front of the house with six horses. Just then, three others came out and shook their heads.

  “Let’s check the barn then,” one said. Nathaniel followed.

  “What are you doing?” The man who seemed like the leader asked.

  “I just wanted to see what you’re doing.”

  “Making sure we aren’t stealing anything?” The others laughed and entered the building. They surveyed the inside and one Redcoat grabbed a pitchfork and stabbed the hay. Nathaniel watched in horror as the man continued stabbing, working his way up and down and across the pile. Satisfied, he set the pitchfork against the wall. Nathaniel almost cried out in relief.

  As soon as the army left Mother told him to return the guns under the bed.

  ~

  Nathaniel crouched and peered at the frog in the mud, a big green one, with a hint of sunshine on its back. “Easy, fella.” He moved to his right to get behind it so it wouldn’t see him when he pounced on it.

  “Nathaniel! You, Nathaniel!” His mother’s voice sounded through the woods. From home.

  “You wait here.” He backed away from the frog, keeping his eyes on it, like that would help it stay in place. A tree cut off his vision so he turned and ran toward her voice.

  He ran through the thicket along a familiar trail that opened up to the homestead. “I’m here, Mother.”

  “Come inside. Quickly.” He voice carried an edge to it. He followed her into the house. She turned, knelt in front of him, and lowered her voice.

  “Remember what your father said before he left?”

  “Um... about the hiding place?”

  “Yes. It’s by the river, isn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  “You need to take some things down there and hide them, just like your father instructed. You remember what he said?”

  “Uh huh. He made me show him my hiding place and said it would be good. And that you might give me some stuff to hide in it, and don’t stop, don’t talk to anyone, hide the stuff in there and don’t ask any questions.”

  Mother nodded at each phrase and looked around like someone might be listening or jump out and say, “Aha!” Then she took him by the hand to her bedroom. Reaching under the bed, she picked up a long gun and set it on the bed, repeating the motions until six guns lay on the bed, side by side. She stood and wiped her hands on her apron and turned to Nathaniel. “These are what you need to hide.”

  “The Regulars are coming, aren’t they? The Redcoats?”

  She nodded. “You’re not supposed to ask any questions.”

  “And Father went to Boston to get more guns and ammunition.”

  She nodded again. “No questions.”

  “And we couldn’t leave the guns in my hiding place because it’s near the river and they would get wet and rust.”

  She tousled his hair. “You are a good boy, Nathaniel.”

  “What about the powder?”

  “You’re not supposed to ask questions.”

  “It’s in the shed. We won’t be able to get it down there and besides, it needs to stay dry.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Mother, let’s tie a rope around the barrel and hang it from a tree. They would never think to look in a tree.”

  She looked far away. “No. They wouldn’t. You get the... those,” she pointed to the guns, “down to the hiding place. Your sister and I will take care of the... other thing.”

  “You’ll need a rope.”

  “I’ll find one.”

  “I don’t think you will. Dad took them. Take the rope out of your bed frame.”

  She shook her head. “That won’t work. If the Regulars come, they will search the house. With the rope out of the bed, the bedding will lie on the floor. They will know something is wrong.” She tossed the bedding off, revealing the cross-tied rope. “I know. I’ll sew the bedding on. Nathaniel, get going. I’ll get Hester and we’ll take care of the powder. Now gather them up and hurry.”

  “Yes, Mother.” He climbed out the window and Mother placed each gun on his arms, the load getting heavier with each iron. “Can you manage that?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m twelve, you know.”

  She patted his shoulder. “Make haste. Come straight back. Don’t talk to anyone and don’t let anyone see you.”

  Nathaniel managed the familiar trail well, but the guns weighed heavily on his arms. He slid sideways between trees to avoid digging the muzzles into the dirt and crouched beneath branches. Soon the river appeared through the brush and he trotted to his spot, laying the guns on the ground as carefully as he could. He picked one up and made his way to the edge of the water, turned and followed the shoreline until he found the rock ledge. He gently placed the gun in the ledge under the cleft of rock and returned for the next one.

  As he situated the fourth gun he heard a shout. Mother. He got the last two hidden and ran up the hill. She stood with Jessie Adams and two other men. “Nathaniel, take Mr. Adams and give him everything he needs.” The guns. She peered at him. “Everything.” The powder and ammo, too. “Yes, Mother.”

  He first took him into the woods and untied the rope and lowered the barrel. “Very clever, boy.”

  “Thank you.” He took him to the river for the guns and lead balls.

  “Thank you very much.”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “Don’t know.” The men dashed off through the trees toward the bridge.

  Nathaniel stood and watched downstream where the North Bridge spanned Concord Creek. All quiet. The woods grew still. To his horror, he saw the Regular Army appear on one side, in formation. The captain had made some command. Another voice sounded, from the other side of the bridge. Colonists stood, with arms, facing the Redcoats.

  Nathaniel stood still as stone.

  A strange tense quiet took over the woods.

  He saw a movement, a report, smoke, and a shot rang out. Nathaniel fell to the ground. A shot! His father assured the family they would never shoot at each other! He scrambled to his feet, crushing his mouth to keep from crying out.

  A man yelled, “Fire! For God’s sake, fire!” and a fusillade of shots erupted, the sound deafening, powder smoke filling both sides. Nathaniel cowered and crawled into the crevasse, covering his ears. The gunshots abated, but only for a few seconds as the two groups reloaded muskets, then the shots rang again. Nathaniel cried and squeezed into the slit, trying to escape the carnage.

  The shooting stopped, though Nathaniel didn’t realize because he couldn’t hear over his crying. At last he quieted, listened, and heard voices. He wiped his nose and climbed out to see the neighbors on the bridge, looking to where the army had been. Two Redcoats lay on the ground, unmoving. Nathaniel scampered to the brush and ran straight home, the branches, needles, and leaves scraping his face. As he reached the clearing he saw his mother on the porch, her hands to her face. When she saw him, she ran to him, her arms open and he ran into her, sobbing into her apron. She squeezed him tightly.

  “Are you okay, boy? You aren’t hurt, are you?” He shook his head into her chest. “I heard a lot of shots. What happened?”

  Nathaniel recounted the story, how the Regulars appeared on the bridge, the shooting, and the two de
ad Redcoats.

  His mother knelt and wiped his face with her apron. “So let me understand, son. The farmers, our friends and neighbors, both got shot at by the British Army, and shot at them. And two of theirs were killed?”

  He nodded.

  She stood and faced toward where the battle took place. “Lord save us. The revolution. It’s begun.”

  Connecticut

  Poor Connecticut (and poor us). We encountered rain and dreary skies, and couldn’t seem to find much to tour. Searching for Wi-Fi, I went to MacDonald’s, purchased a wonderful one dollar hot fudge sundae and sat down to enjoy it and blog. For the record, I love MacDonald’s.

  FREAKS

  Another day at work at the Pleasure Palace. Okay, that’s sarcasm. Because I managed to (a) show up every day, (b) pass drug tests, and (c) not drag my personal life into work, such as divorce, single parenthood, or friends getting $200 worth of meals on me, I had worked my way up to Manager of the Southington MacDonald’s.

  Yes, I received a raise in pay, more benefits, and the honor of the title, but it came with a cost. I had to run the place and deal with the others, the ones who failed to do a, b, c, any or all of the above. And most of them hated me for it, thinking that since they managed not to get fired for a longer period of time than I had, they should have been the manager. Like Tyler. Oh, yeah. He’d make a great manager. If I could get him to tuck in his shirt.

  Being honest, I like the job. At least better than working the counter, or the fryers. Less grease, less sweat. That still sounds bad. I love the smell of the ingredients, putting together a Big Mac and fries. Most people are friendly and kind, and we’ve gotten the processes down pretty good.

  When one becomes a rookie manager, he gets the worst shift. Weeknights, ’til midnight. Graveyard Will, that’s what they call me. And believe me, the freaks come out after nine. Some nights are worse than others. Thursday night was the worst. Because of the Freaks.

  See? Those three. Just came through the door. They’d order two medium drinks and nurse them for three hours in the back while they used our free Wi-Fi to download just about anything. The first guy, the tall one, was actually the Follower. He might as well have a ring in his nose. Sure the shaved head and goatee used to look intimidating, but now everyone sports the look, so he was an empty shirt. A tight, black, worn-out empty shirt.

  The middle guy was Greasy. He had the long hair and beard, jet black. I bet he dyed it with shoe polish. Always in the Wizard shirt, with a guy wielding a saber. I doubt he’d washed it in a year.