NaNoWriMo Win and Other News

I did it. I finished National Novel Writing Month! I was able to knock out just over 50,000 words in 26 days. Is it done? Not by a long shot. Is it any good? Fuck if I know. Will I finish it? It’s got potential, definitely. We’ll see what happens down the road.

In other news, the novel I have finished, The Other Side of Winter, has been with my editor, Jeni, since October and she’s finished with it! We’re meeting on Monday to discuss a few things and then she’ll be sending over notes and thoughts. I’m terrified, but ready to jump back into another revision on this story that means so much to me.

No new publishing updates for now, although I have submissions to six journals still pending. I’m in no rush. It’s been a productive year, which I’ll sum up in another post in late December.

For now, I’ll leave you with the prologue and first chapter of my NaNo book, Before the Snow Flies. It’s very rough and unedited, but I’m all-in-all pleased.

Prologue

Springfield Sentinel, March 18, 1848 -

       Family slain, daughter survives, farm worker missing

                The McDonald family was found gruesomely murdered yesterday in Haven. The bodies of Jebediah McDonald, his wife Marison, and three of their children, Mary, Abilene, and Marcus, were found in various locations around their farm, all with multiple bloody wounds to the heads and torsos. A blood-smeared axe lay in the front garden, as if thrown away by the perpetrator.

       The bodies were discovered when the McDonalds’ eldest daughter, Julia, returned home from visiting a friend in Concord. Neighbors report her screams could be heard for almost half a mile. Police estimate the family had been dead for a least a full day.

       Money, jewels, silver, were all left undisturbed in the house. Only Jebediah’s prize stallion, Barnaby, is missing. Mr. Stanton of Stanton’s General Store, reports seeing the McDonalds’ employee, Billy Snyder, riding through town early in the morning of the 16th of March. “I didn’t think much of it,” said Stanton. “But the boy did seem to be in an awful hurry.”

Anyone with knowledge of Billy Snyder’s whereabouts is asked to contact Wilford Briscoe at the Sentinel or Sergeant Greaves of the police.

#

Lancaster Gazette - February 13, 1848

       Tired of the crowds? Longing for adventure? Come on, men, and join on for a trip to California! Help with the livestock and travel for free! Leaving from Cincinnati in late March. Reply to George Walters at the Cincinnati post office. California is Paradise on Earth!

Chapter One

The entry room at the police station was colder than the spring air outside and Julia pulled her cloak closer around her, looking down at the floor.

“Unfortunately, Miss McDonald, we don’t have any new information for you. You should go home and wait. We’ll contact you when we know more.” Sergeant Greaves was behind his desk, not sure what to tell the young woman standing behind the bar and really wanting to get back to the cases he knew he would be able to solve.

“But you must know something. It’s been two weeks.” Her voice was shaking, scrubbed rough by so many tears and screams.

Sergeant Greaves sat back down, shaking his head. “As I told you previously, Billy Snyder was seen riding out of town to an unknown destination.”

“On my father’s horse, yes, I know. You think he did it?”

“The newspapers and evidence seem to point to him. Do you know of anyone else who would have a motive?”

“No one. Everyone loved my father and family.”

“Why do you think he chose the day he did? Did he know you were coming back? Had you been communicating with him at all?”

“I don’t recall ever speaking with him, much less discussing my plans. Maybe he overheard Mother or — “

“How well did you know Billy Snyder?” Greaves was convinced that the suspect and the pretty daughter were closer than she was willing to admit. He didn’t trust unmarried women of her age. At all.

“I didn’t know him at all. He’d only been working for my father for a couple of months. I don’t know why anyone would have done this.”

“Well, there you go. This just may be one of those things that happens sometimes. A tragedy, no doubt, but one of those things we may never get an answer for.” He reached for some papers on his desk, hoping that it would signify that the conversation was over.

“So that’s it? You’re not going to do anything?”

“What would you have us do?”

“Is someone going after him? After Billy?”

“We don’t know where he went, so it’s rather difficult to know where to go.” Greaves glanced up at her, choosing not to notice the tears dripping down her face. “Leave this to the professionals, Miss. We know what we’re doing.”

Julia finally looked up, her brown eyes locking firm with the sergeant’s. He startled a bit at the ferocity in them, not the meek, sad eyes he’d seen previously.

“Given what I’ve seen so far, I seriously doubt that, Sergeant Greaves. Thank you for your time.”

She turned on her heel and walked out of the station, head held high. Not bothering to close the door behind her, the March wind swirled in and swept the papers off the sergeant’s desk.

#

Julia hadn’t been back to her family’s house since the day her world got turned upside down. She stood outside the gate, looking around to see if anyone was there, or if anyone was paying any attention to her. If asked, she wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint her desire to remain invisible, but she’d rather that people not see her going into that house of horrors.

Moving quickly through the front door, left unlocked by the police she noted in frustration, she flinched at the muddy footprints on the formerly pristine floor. Aggie, the housemaid, would be furious, she thought, before realizing Aggie probably wouldn’t be coming back.

None of them would be coming back.

Up the stairs, not looking at the bloody handprints on the wall. Down the hall to her room, eyes straight ahead to avoid looking in the other rooms, knowing how the blood had pooled and splashed as the axe swung. She knew her room was safe to be in.

Her eyes moved over the room, the bright quit her Grandmere had made for her, still smooth and untouched on her bed. She would definitely be taking that with her. She was grateful to have a place to stay, but her friend Marnie was far shorter than she was and she couldn’t keep borrowing dresses forever. She might as well take other things while she was here. She’d really rather not ever come back into this house ever again.

This was the house she was born in, was raised in. Closing her eyes, she could still see with her mind’s eye the idyllic days of chasing chickens through the barnyard with her sisters. Hours spent at the piano, her mother poking her in the back to make her sit up straighter. Racing up and down the stairs on rainy days, playing the nonsense games children always play. So many memories, forever stained by blood.

It was the thought of blood stains that set her in motion. Leaving her belongings in her room, she’d come back to get them later, she hurried back out into the hall, down the stairs, past the portraits of her family that hung in the great hall and seemed to be begging her for help, through the kitchen and out through the pantry and washing room, into the back garden.

Snow had started to fall, light, fluffy flakes that clung to Julia’s hair and cloak, the air as sharp as the axe that killed her family. Last year’s grass, frozen and silver, crunched as she hurried to the barn. From far away, or maybe just up the street, the sounds of horses and people and laughter filtered through to her. The sound of people living while she was in service to the dead.

#

The barn was empty of livestock, as she had known it would be. The cows and remaining horses (oh, how Father had loved Barnaby), had been taken to a nearby neighbor, along with the chickens and the ornery rooster who delighted in chasing Julia if he thought she was getting too close to his harem. The smell still lingered, though, of hay and manure and the comforting scent that the cows always seemed to have about them.

It wasn’t the livestock she was there for.

Out through the back of the barn, a couple of dozen yards away, lay the bunk house. Full during the late spring and into autumn with crop workers, in the winter it was only occupied by whatever seasonal work Father managed to hire to help with the livestock.

This year, that was Billy Snyder. He had come on at the beginning of the year, replacing old Curry Mathews who broke his leg falling out of the hayloft when he had over-imbibed. (Wasn’t Mother just scandalized by that?). Julia never paid him much mind. She usually didn’t interact with the outside workers, unless Mother asked her to take their meals out to them if Aggie was busy.

Now, standing in the bunk house, door swinging shut behind her so the only light was coming in through the grimy windows, floor gritty under her boots, she tried to recall what all she knew about Billy Snyder.

It wasn’t much.

He was older than her 24 years, she thought, but probably not much older. He wasn’t local, but she couldn’t say where he’d come from, just a vague recollection of overhearing Father saying something to Mother about him. Maybe that he was from Pennsylvania? Virginia? Not Ohio, she was almost certain of that. Maybe.

She moved cautiously through the bunk house. She was never allowed inside at all, especially if the men were about. It wasn’t safe, Mother always said, but would never explain why.

All of the bunks were bare of linens and hay-tick mattresses, except for the one in the far corner. That bed was neatly made, corners folded tight and crisp. A bible stood on the bedside table.

Everything was coated in dust. (If the police had been in here, wouldn’t there be signs?) The bed disturbed, things moved around? She ran her hands over the bed, pulled the covers back. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, exactly. Just some hint of the man, who he’d been, where he’d come from. And, most importantly, where he might be headed now.

After finding nothing in the bed, she moved to the table. The black bound Bible was heavy in her hands. She opened the cover to find the name ‘William David Snyder’ written inside. Maybe she had been hoping to find a list of relatives, as some people marked their Bibles that way, but it was just his own name. She tossed the book on the bed in disgust and nearly laughed when it bounced off, thudding to the floor on the other side of the bed. Out of habit if not reverence, she went to pick it up and noticed a couple of pieces of paper had shaken themselves loose. The larger one, folded up, revealed to be a map of California, a circle marked around the area of Sutter’s Fort, as near as she could tell in the dim light of the bunk house. The other was a piece of newsprint, the ink smearing on her fingers. It was an advertisement.

Lancaster Gazette - February 13, 1848

                   Tired of the crowds? Longing for adventure? Come on, men, and join on for a trip to California! Help with the livestock and travel for free! Leaving from Cincinnati in late March. Reply to George Walters at the Cincinnati post office. California is Paradise on Earth!

#

She took both pieces with her, leaving everything else as she found it. It was obvious to her that the police had not found these items and her first instinct was to hand them over immediately. But stepping back out into the yard, the snow still falling, a plan started to form in her head. If she were to go through with it, it would the boldest, most reckless thing she had ever done. Her parents would have been horrified to know what she was contemplating. Her sisters wouldn’t have understood. Her brother, her dear beloved brother Marcus, would have laughed at her audacity, but still cheered her on.

She could nearly hear their voices in her mind.

But only she could make the decision. She was all they had left to make sense of this horror.

And so, it seemed like an easy decision.

Back into the house, back up the steps and into the attic to fetch the old carpetbag that Father had used on his frequent travels. She held it to her face, inhaling the familiar scents of tobacco and leather, before shaking herself free of the memories that threatened to overwhelm her.

Back down to her room, where she had previously thought to gather up her dresses and shoes. But she wasn’t going to need those now, is she? Moving quickly, she folded Grandmere’s quilt and laid it on the bottom of the carpet bag. Dresses, shoes, won’t be able to use them. Good riddance to the corsets, too. At this point, Julia was starting to think her idea had some definite good points to it, as foolhardy and dangerous as it might be.

Her eyes swept over her room one last time, knowing that she might very well never see it again. The window where she could look out over the fields and smell the blossoms from the apple trees, blooms that she would certainly miss this year. Her wardrobe with its neatly hanging dresses, shoes lined up neatly underneath. The delicate smell of the lavender sachet that Aggie always insisted be used. The hours spent giggling with Marnie, hours spent daydreaming at her desk, of good sleep and a sheltered life.

And she was leaving it all behind.

With a stiff spine and a head full of doubts, she walked quickly across to Marcus’s room. Here…. here there was damage. Horror. Boots tracks everywhere, some bloody, some muddy. Pools of blood staining the floor (why didn’t someone clean that up?), finally dry and not the tacky-sticky mess they were the day that everything changed.

The bed was the worst. The blue quilt that had covered the mattress was now colored a deep wine red, so soaked with blood it was. Tufts of feather ticking lay everywhere, pulled by the axe from the gashes in the mattress and pillow. The headboard, carved by Grandfather two score years ago, sat splintered and crooked, pale flesh of the wood showing through its wounds.

This had been the first room she had gone into, the first body she had found, the first scream she had screamed, and her vomit sat, congealed, just inside the doorway as testament to her distress.

She closed her eyes against the onslaught of images but couldn’t escape them. Her brother, her TWIN, closer than even her sisters, sprawled on the bed. Most of him anyway. His left arm was severed just above the elbow and had fallen to the floor. His eyes bulged with horror below the gash into his skull and her nightmares at night wondered what it was he saw in his last moments.

She could still smell the blood. It followed everywhere she went, like a demon attached to her soul.

With a deep breath, she opened her eyes and moved quickly to Marcus’s wardrobe. Not as neat as hers, she nonetheless was able to quickly find several pairs of trousers and some shirts. At least they all smelled relatively clean. His boots, his good boots for church and courting, were tossed in the corner and she stooped to retrieve them.

She had little doubt that his clothes would fit, for she was tall for a woman, nearly five feet 10 inches and he was, in his eyes, short, and they were much the same height. The boots were going to be trickier, but she’d find a way to make it work.

She had to.

#

The kitchen was overly warm, the door propped open for cooling air that did little to ease Julia’s discomfort as she perched on a stool, back tense and fluttering stomach.

“I can’t let you do this, Julie.” Marnie stood behind her, brushing out Julia’s long chestnut hair. Unbound, it hung nearly to the floor. “You’ll be killed by Indians! Or worse! Look at what happened to those Donner people!” Her voice was high, bordering on screeching and Julia did her best to keep from sighing in exasperation. As much as she loved Marnie, and she did, she could really do without the frequent dramatics.

“Marnie, please. I need to go. I need to find this man and see what he knows about my family. I can’t….” She stopped, hand pressed to her chest as she tried to control the wails of despair that were always hovering over her, just waiting to be released. “I can’t go on living without knowing what happened. How am supposed to do that?”

“How does any woman go on after a tragedy? You do what you must.” Marnie spoke with the authority of a betrothed woman, soon to be making her own home and own family.

“And what must I do?”

“Get married, as quickly as possible. Staunton Sinclair would have you in a minute, you know that. Sell the farm, marry Staunton, start a family.”

“I don’t want to marry Staunton. I want to know what happened to my family!”

“Why? What good will it do?”

Julia lurched off the stool, sending it clattering to the floor, and glared at Marnie for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, but loaded with fury. Marnie took a step back, for she had seen that look before and was always glad that she had never been on the receiving end. Until now.

“Marnie, I love you. But you have no idea what I’ve been going through. What I’ve lost. It’s more than just the house. It’s even more than just my family. It’s my own soul. It’s gone. And every night, I try to pray and God doesn’t listen. The only answer I get is the sound of my families screams in my dreams. Every night.” She stopped to catch her breath, never minding the tears on her face. “I need the screaming to stop.”

Julia grabbed a bunch of her hair, mourning the pride she had always had in it but knowing it could always grow out again. She held out a trembling hand to Marnie, who handed her the shears and turned away sobbing. The shears made a crunching noise as they bit through the hair as handful by handful, Julia’s tresses dropped to the floor.

The air from the open door felt good on her bare neck, like a promise of a brighter future where the screams have stopped.