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    Return Me
    Return Me
    Return Me
    Ebook316 pages4 hours

    Return Me

    By Pen

    ()

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    About this ebook

    After the death of her father, 14-year-old Harlie Castleberry lives with her estranged mother in Cleveland, Georgia. She brings with her an attitude and a chip on each shoulder.

    Attitude and chips fall away when she discovers the family secret: the ability to shapeshift into mountain lions.

    With the help of cousin Tomahawk Billy, Harlie prepares to face her greatest challenge: vanquishing an ancient evil plaguing the north Georgia mountains.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPen
    Release dateJul 30, 2014
    ISBN9781310294327
    Return Me
    Author

    Pen

    Pen was bitten by the writing bug at the age of ten. She has been feverishly writing ever since. A native Georgian she lives in the Atlanta area.

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      Book preview

      Return Me - Pen

      Return Me

      Pen

      ©2014

      Smashwords Edition

      All rights reserved

      Copyright © 2011 Pen

      Cover images Copyright free from www.pixabay.com

      No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

      This novel is a work of fiction.

      Any resemblance to persons living or dead, from another dimension, alternate reality, plane or another planet is

      purely coincidental.

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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

      This book is also available in print from many online retailers.

      www.penspen.info

      Smashwords:

      http://bit.ly/WDQRAg

      This novel is cat-approved

      Table of Contents

      Return Me

      Cherokee Blessing

      June: Harlie

      July: Lola

      August: Kaiele

      September: Tomahawk Billy

      October: Reeta and Leslie

      November: Rising Dawn

      December: Trevor and Geeno

      January: Victory Bittersweet

      Annotations

      From the Author

      Potato Pancakes

      About the Author

      Other books by Pen

      Return Me

      (Cherokee: Vgalutsv Ayv*)

      Traipsing through sacred mountain woods,

      the legend of an Indian brave follows me;

      whispered, repeated in mountain laurel leaves;

      long before white man swept this land bone-dry,

      left it pleading for mercy beneath a merciless sky,

      a red-skinned warrior walked these hills,

      strode proud, mastering inherited tribal skills

      the light-skinned tribe will never know or

      understand.

      His rituals come easy, his lessons well-honed,

      he knows the cry of every bird,

      the pulse of every stone;

      his mother earth awake, alive around him,

      she holds him close and surrounds him

      with the comfort of her leaves for cover,

      beneath the watchful eye of the moon, his lover.

      He gave the wind a name, unspoken among his own,

      a name lost among his people,

      and to mine forever unknown.

      We used his words to name our towns,

      built our roads upon the pathways he traveled down

      and in our haste to become civilized,

      we murdered and buried a civilization

      at one with the earth and heavens;

      we sell his image on cigarette lighters and playing cards,

      a subject of political lamentations,

      while he subsists, relegated to a reservation

      his pale-skinned tormentors set aside just for him;

      and we called it progress in the process as we left them all

      to lay dying without pride or dignity;

      we, the civilized, have yet to realize the truth:

      we are more savage than they.

      His footfalls leave no echo, no trace of his existence

      within this place or time;

      yet I know he was once here, an occupant of this land,

      a member of these mountain woods which speak to me

      so openly of travels past and a history

      uncaptured upon pages in a book,

      locked forever, a secret among these

      willowy branches, sung by the babbling brook

      from which an Indian warrior once slaked his thirst;

      here no more, he was here first.

      And I can only follow with a life so hollow its

      purpose scatters like leaves in a nameless wind,

      besieged by memories of a history past

      I scorn the present in a litany of cries ~

      that Indian brave warrior once was I.

      Oh, Spirit Guides, return me.

      Return me to this sacred place,

      a feathered headdress around my face,

      and eyes that surmise the beauty that you so

      graciously offered me ~

      nothing taken without a giving back ~

      nothing taken without a prayer of gratitude

      for filling my hunger, quenching my thirst,

      the very cloth laid upon my back.

      Spirit Guides return me,

      from where I stand to where I’ve been,

      to witness again what I have seen:

      to hear the cry of the crow,

      and listen to the thunder of the buffalo

      stampeding across the plain

      out of sight, never to be hunted again;

      Spirit Guides, to my lips bear the water,

      to my hands bear the labor;

      upon my body paint the blood of the slaughter

      of my brethren, my tribe, my earth,

      avenge the rape of my daughters

      and I will fight,

      the proud warrior I was meant to be.

      Return me.

      © Pen 2002

      Cherokee Blessing

      May the Warm Winds of Heaven

      Blow softly upon your house.

      May the Great Spirit

      Bless all who Enter there.

      May your Moccasins

      Make happy tracks in many snows,

      and may the Rainbow

      Always touch your shoulder.

      For more information about the Cherokee visit Cherokee Nation

      (www.cherokee.org)

      or The Museum of the Cherokee Indian

      (www.cherokeemuseum.org)

      The Cherokee Nation website provides a Dikaneisdi (translation: word list; pronunciation: dee-kah-nayee-sdee) with not only phonetic spelling but also audio pronunciation.

      June: Harlie

      Harlie propped her leg out the window of the open passenger door, exposing it to the brutal sun from the sock-clad ankle to the frayed denim shorts. She could almost feel her leg turning red from the rays. Not even a promise of a breeze was anywhere in the near future. Harlie just wanted to go home and bask in the forgiving air-conditioning.

      She reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror on the 1979 faded metallic blue Camaro so she could see herself in it. Shades covered hazel eyes: when Harlie wore green, they sparkled green, when she wore blue, they sparkled blue. Today, she was wearing a pink tank top with her cut-off denim shorts.

      The shape of her face didn’t suit her. It was round and chubby, almost as though all of her baby fat were still stored within the round, puffy cheeks, the chin with its Kirk Douglas-dimple and her pouty lips. The only part of her face which wasn’t round was her flat forehead, punctuated by the widow’s peak of her light auburn hair.

      She supposed her figure was all right - at least there was no baby fat there - but she wished her body was harder, more toned instead of so soft and round.

      But what fourteen year old looks at herself in the mirror and likes what she sees?

      Harlie quickly repositioned the rearview mirror as her mother approached the car carrying plastic shopping bags.

      Lola was the exact opposite of her daughter. Tall and slender, with dark auburn hair, and a face which was as long and slender as she was tall. Looking at her mother’s face it was easy to see that Harlie had gotten her looks from her dad.

      Except for her mother’s hazel eyes.

      Well, Harlie thought unkindly, that’s what happens when two ugly people mate.

      She immediately regretted the thought as her mother’s face lit up as soon as she got into the car.

      I got the popcorn, the sodas, the M&Ms, some potato chips, some dip - French Onion for me and Jalapeno cheese for you. And a cheesecake, just in case we don’t gorge ourselves on enough junk food tonight.

      Harlie looked at her mother. She drew in a deep breath of hot air through her nose and let it out slowly. Did you get the maxi pads, Mom?

      Lola’s face fell. She closed her eyes and drew in her own deep breath. No, she said. She was chagrined with herself for not remembering the one thing Harlie actually needed. I’ll go back.

      That’s okay, Mom. I’ll go get ’em. Halie’s smug tone indicated that she knew her mother would forget the pads.

      Here, Lola said as she dug out a twenty from her wallet. Take this. Get whatever else you might want. I don’t need any change.

      Harlie didn’t argue or try to not accept the money. She wanted her mother to feel guilty. It served her right.

      Again, Harley felt a pang of remorse for even allowing the thought to enter her mind. These thoughts caught her off-guard, popping up unbidden to her conscious thought. She didn’t hate her mother. She didn’t really know her well enough to hate her.

      But she was really pissed off at her dad.

      Lola sighed as she watched the fourteen year old walk into the drugstore on the square. Fourteen years had gone by so fast. The last time she had held Harlie she was only one year old. A beautiful baby girl.

      And now she was a beautiful young girl. With chips on each shoulder and an attitude aimed directly at Lola.

      Lola couldn’t really blame her for that. The last fourteen years certainly weren’t Harlie’s choosing. For all Lola knew, Harlie would hold those fourteen years against her for the rest of her life.

      Would they ever reach equal footing with one another?

      A little bell tinkled as Harlie opened the door. A wave of arctic air washed over her, bringing goose bumps along her heated flesh. She breathed in a lungful of the cool refreshing, lightly jasmine-scented air.

      Only in the small north Georgia town of Cleveland could be found an old-fashioned drug store like Baylor’s. Intimate, but packed with just about everything. Including an old-fashioned soda fountain in the back.

      Harlie wasted no time walking down the feminine hygiene aisle. A quick glance over the packages was all she needed. She grabbed her usual and checked out at the register at the front of the store.

      As she walked to the door, Harlie could see shimmers of heat rolling in waves off the pavement. On impulse, she turned around and made her way to the soda fountain at the back of the store.

      Stepping up to the counter at the soda fountain felt like stepping back in time. The curved white formica counter was highly polished, the round red padded stools which lined up with the curve of the counter looked brand new; not a single crack in any of them as one might expect from time-worn usage. Either the fountain didn’t get many visitors or the Baylors took very good care of their store.

      Where most eatery businesses had gone the route of digital right up to their menu boards, the soda fountain still used a placard with small removable red and black plastic letters to display their varied delights.

      Harlie quickly scanned the menu board as a kid hardly much older than herself approached the other side of the counter. Taller than Harlie, the kid was extremely slender, blond and blue-eyed and loved the sun judging by his nice even tan. It was obvious the boy was suffering the typical teenage growing pains. His awkward gait to the counter was indicative of his discomfort with his height and gangliness. He pulled his cap down over his forehead in an effort to conceal the blemishes there and rubbed his chin as though by doing so those chin blemishes would disappear. Though his blond hair was barely below his ears, it stuck out in disarray from beneath his cap, giving him a disheveled appearance even though he was neat and clean.

      He wore an apron which, although also clean, bore faded stains from the tools of his trade. The apron covered what Harlie assumed to be the standard uniform for the soda fountain: black pants and a red and white pin-striped shirt. His name tag read Jeremy Baylor printed in neat block letters.

      Good to see nepotism is alive and well here in Cleveland, Georgia, Harlie thought.

      Not exactly a handsome fellow, not yet. Jeremy’s sparkling blue eyes were set a little too closely, separated by a thin nose a little too long. But his full and soft pink lips constantly hinted at a smile and he gave Harlie a winning one.

      What can I get for you? he asked. There was an eager-to-please tone in his voice and the hint of mirth in his eyes, though his composure was all business.

      Uh, one sec, Harlie said, as her eyes scanned the menu board.

      Not limited to just sodas, the fountain offered a variety of flavored syrups with which to enhance those sodas: grape, cherry, lemon, lime, raspberry, vanilla and even hazelnut were among the offerings. Ice cream was also on the menu: banana splits, sundaes, ice creams cones, parfaits and -

      One Dr. Pepper float, Harlie said. And one root beer float.

      Even if she hadn’t still been stinging from the last pang of guilt, ordering herself a float without getting one for her mother sitting in the car in this unprecedented heat would have been an act of cruelty well beyond Harlie’s capabilities.

      What flavor ice cream?

      Vanilla’s fine. And make them mediums, Harlie added as she sat on one of the stools. She placed her bag of pads on the stool next to her. She watched as Jeremy placed two scoops of ice cream into clear plastic to-go cups.

      When you get the chance, Jeremy, I’d like a Coke, please.

      Jeremy glanced at the patron standing next to Harlie at the same time Harlie did. She hadn’t even heard anyone approach. Hey, Aunt Reeta, Jeremy grinned big. I’ll get that in a sec.

      No rush.

      While Jeremy resumed making the floats, Harlie couldn’t take her eyes off the woman.

      If Harlie had to guess the woman’s age, she would have guessed somewhere in her seventies. The face and hands were maps of wrinkles and Harlie got the feeling that each of those maps had a story to tell. The woman’s hair was silver-white and cropped short; little tufts of it stuck out from beneath the black cap she wore. There was something very stoic in the way the woman stood: ramrod straight, taller than Harlie by several inches, and slender. There was an energy and a substance that contradicted the woman’s age.

      Yet it wasn’t her age that truly fascinated Harlie. It was the way the woman was dressed.

      Blue jeans tucked into short black boots, a crisp white shirt and a black blazer which hugged the woman’s slender figure. Harlie recognized the gear.

      You do realize, the woman said, still looking at Jeremy, that it is rude to stare. She looked at Harlie. Don’t you?

      Harlie was startled, not only by the intensity of the chocolate brown eyes which looked at her, but also by the fact that she had been staring at the woman.

      I’m sorry, she muttered. It’s just that - Harlie stopped.

      Just that what, dear?

      Do you ride? Harlie blurted.

      The woman glanced down at herself as though she couldn’t remember what she was wearing. She looked back at Harlie, a small smile playing about her lips. Just finished riding. Do you ride?

      Harlie hesitated a moment. I used to. When I lived in Atlanta. With my dad.

      I see, Reeta said slowly. What’s your name?

      Harlie.

      Well, Harlie, I’m Reeta Baylor. I own Baylor Stables, just down the street here. You’re more than welcome to come there and ride.

      Harlie smiled ruefully. I don’t actually have my own horse.

      Don’t need one. I have two. I give riding lessons to those interested enough.

      Aunt Reeta! a young man said as he approached the counter. Hey, bro, he said quickly to Jeremy then turned back to his Aunt. I’ve got all the parts to fix the lawnmower, Aunt Reeta. What’s taking so long?

      Oh, I was just teaching my young friend here some manners, Geeno.

      Politely, I hope.

      Of course.

      Geeno looked at Harlie. He had the same chocolate brown eyes as his Aunt though not as intense. But where Reeta’s features were soft, Geeno’s were chiseled from his chin and squared jaw line to his straight, aquiline nose. He looked to be only a few years old than Harlie, eighteen or nineteen at most. He wore a mesh shirt which prominently displayed well-developed abs. Like Jeremy, he was also well-tanned.

      Hi, he said to Harlie. I’m Geeno.

      Harlie immediately felt self-conscious and shy. Boys usually didn’t pay much attention to her. Especially boys as handsome as Geeno.

      Um, I’m Harlie.

      Geeno grinned. Like the motorcycle?

      Actually, my name is spelled with an i-e.

      That’s cool, Geeno said. But he didn’t stop looking at Harlie and he didn’t stop grinning.

      Here ya go, Jeremy said, placing the two floats onto the counter. That’ll be three twenty-four.

      As Harlie dug a five out of her jeans pocket and handed it to Jeremy, Reeta said to Geeno, I’ve invited Harlie to ride.

      Great! Geeno said with a grin.

      As Harlie accepted her change, Reeta told her, I’m at the stables every day by seven. If you’re not there by seven-thirty, I ride without you.

      Fair enough, Harlie said as she picked up the cups along with her bag. It was nice to meet you, she muttered to everyone in general and hurried toward the front of the drug store.

      Uh, how about that Coke, Jeremy? Reeta asked.

      "Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sorry, Aunt Reeta.

      Here ya go, Mom, Harlie held the root beer float outside the open window.

      Lola, who’d had her head against the headrest, jumped, startled by the sound of Harlie’s voice. Her face brightened upon seeing the float.

      Oh, wow, she reached out the window and took the drink. I haven’t had one of these in a long time. Thank you, honey. Though she had been feeling sorry for herself only moments before, Lola knew the float meant that she was forgiven for having forgotten the pads. At least, for the time being she was forgiven.

      Harlie quickly walked to the passenger side and got in. I thought it would be nice on such a hot day.

      Mmm, Lola muttered in between pulling swallows through the straw. Ahhh, it is nice.

      Lola? said a voice outside the car.

      Lola turned. Upon seeing who had called her name, she froze.

      Reeta stood just outside next to the passenger door of a white Suburban. Lola, she said. Haven’t seen you out and about lately.

      Oh, uh, no. Lola had managed to replace her shock with some modicum of civility.

      Still living at your dad’s place?

      Yeah. Still taking care of things.

      Reeta bent down to peer at Harlie in the passenger seat. I thought there was something familiar about those eyes. Should’ve known she was yours, Lola.

      Lola smiled, though it was somewhat strained. Yes. This is my Harlie.

      C’mon, Aunt Reeta! Geeno called from behind the steering wheel of the truck. There was no malice or impatience in his voice, though his fingers tapped non-stop on the steering wheel. I gotta get the lawnmower fixed so I can mow the lawn so I can go out tonight.

      Reeta rolled her eyes as she stood and got into the door of the Jeep. Hope to see you soon, Harlie! she called out as she shut the door.

      Uh, your Harlie? Harlie eyed her mother smugly.

      Sorry, Lola looked guiltily at her daughter. Didn’t mean to seem possessive. Lola placed her float into the cup holder in order to start the car. She hopes to see you soon? she asked Harlie.

      Yeah. Reeta invited me to ride with her.

      Oh, Lola said, surprised. She watched in her side view mirror as Geeno backed the Suburban out into the square. Reeta’s eyes caught Lola’s reflected in the mirror.

      Like many small towns in the north Georgia mountains, Cleveland had built its downtown centered around the courthouse. Although traffic flowed in a circular motion around the courthouse, businesses flanked the circle so that the square was just that: a squared-off area with the courthouse within a circle in the center.

      Is that okay, Mom? Harlie asked. She wasn’t accustomed to asking permission. Her father had always told her to simply tell him what she wanted. If he felt it was necessary, they would discuss it.

      Mom didn’t work that way.

      Lola cautiously backed the car into the square. Of course it’s okay.

      You and Reeta know each other?

      Oh, yeah. I used to take lessons from Reeta.

      Harlie snapped her head around to look at Lola who was too occupied looking for an opening in traffic to notice.

      I didn’t know you rode, Harlie said. It sounded more like an accusation than a statement of fact.

      For about two years, I guess.

      Why did you stop?

      Lola gunned the little Camaro into the street. She shrugged in answer to Harlie’s question. I guess I lost interest.

      Harlie couldn’t fathom losing interest in riding horses or even being around horses. The idea was completely foreign to her.

      One word of caution about Reeta, Lola said.

      What’s that?

      She doesn’t mind telling you what she thinks.

      I noticed.

      What was all that back there about, Aunt Reeta?

      What was all what about?

      Uh, Lola? Harlie? Reeta didn’t answer for several minutes. Aunt Reeta?

      Lola was one of my students. One of my best students.

      Really? Geeno looked at his aunt. And now Harlie is going to be one of your students.

      Well, provided Lola will let her.

      Lola has to let her!

      And why does Lola have to let her daughter be one of my students?

      Harlie has the signature.

      Just because her daughter has the signature doesn’t mean Lola will allow her to have riding lessons. Harlie may not want to herself.

      Are you kidding? Only a person who loves horses would look at you the way Harlie did.

      Reeta, one eyebrow raised, looked at Geeno. Is that supposed to be a compliment? And how did Harlie look at me?

      You know. Like she’d found a kindred spirit. You know how it is when two horse people meet.

      Reeta laughed. Horse people? Is that what Harlie and I are? Horse people?

      Geeno winced good-naturedly. You know what I mean. People who love horses.

      Reeta laughed. I know what you mean, Geeno. It’s just funny when you say it that way: ‘horse people’.

      Geeno joined Reeta in the laughter. Okay, Aunt Reeta. I get it.

      Keep your eyes on the road, please, Geeno.

      Geeno chuckled. You know I don’t need to watch the road to be able to drive it.

      Yes, but Sheriff Jackson doesn’t know that.

      Geeno looked ahead to see Sheriff Trevor Jackson’s patrol car parked at the side of the road watching for speeders, as well as other violators. Geeno threw up his hand in the direction of the car. Sheriff Jackson nodded in return.

      Heaven knows he keeps a close enough watch on us without giving him good reason to, Geeno.

      I know, Aunt Reeta. Now what about Harlie? Why wouldn’t she want to take lessons?

      Reeta shrugged. It depends on how much Lola’s told her, if anything, Geeno. Besides, just because Harlie has the signature doesn’t mean she’ll want to learn what I can teach her.

      Right, Geeno said with a big grin. But she is a Castleberry.

      Reeta chuckled. And we all know how stubborn they can be. Don’t forget to pick up your brother from the soda shop when you’re finished with the mowing.

      Geeno chuckled again. You know Jeremy could get home on his own.

      That may be true, young man, but I’d still like for the two of you to act as normal as possible, thank you very much.

      By the time Lola was up Sunday morning, Harlie was already up, dressed and making coffee. Since when do you drink coffee? she asked the teenager.

      "Oh, for a while

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