Anne and her squadron mates in the Humvee vehicle trained their gazes over the nebulous woodland buffer zone along the dirt road they patrolled. The stretch of wooded land they faced marked the international border between the United States and Canada, the nearest town being the hunting expedition base of Jackman, Maine, in the northwest corner of the state. In the sultry August weather, lazy leaf cover waved in the languid humidity – uncomfortable, at least by Anne’s standards.
‘Man, this weather stinks – it’s so humid’, she complained.
‘You’re crazy, this day is fine’ said Shelby Morgan, her patrol partner. ‘It’s only 80 degrees out – what’re you all hot and bothered about?’
‘It’s so humid – I feel so sticky and gross in this uniform. And the armor has got to go.’
‘Well, take if all off if you want – that’d be fine by me’, he joked. Shelby was easy going and gentle natured, and despite the banter, was a real Southern gentleman at heart. His kind soul missed his family and home in central Mississippi.
‘Annie-belle, you all just relax and enjoy this time’, crooned Andy, the other soldier accompanying Anne on patrol. ‘In about three days, it’ll be winter here, and we won’t see the sun or a bit of green growth for nine months. I’m gonna just find myself a hammock somewhere in Frenchie land and conk out. You can wake me up when the Sargeant comes by.’
‘Thanks, Andy. I’m sorry to be so cranky about the humidity. I know what New England is like, and we get so little really good weather. But this northern area is even worse. In Coolidge, we get maybe a few nice days of spring and a nice fall season in between winter and the stifling dog days of August.’ Anne smiled at Andy and shrugged, trying to put on a cheerful face. ‘I will take off this armored vest, though. I don’t know why we’d need this here. If a terrorist wants to get into our country from this direction, they’d be foolish to use the roads. It’s such a long and open border.’
Shelby added, ‘Yeah, our role here is pretty much symbolic, I’d guess. If any bad guys are out there, the mosquitoes will get ‘em!’
Anne’s fellow soldiers from the US South found this weather comfortable, almost invigorating, and they felt at home in the verdant countryside, the woods in these parts an inviting bit of frontier. Anne Shepard was stationed today with Shelby Morgan and another soldier from the South, Andre Levesque, a proud Cajun who hailed from one of the parishes outlying New Orleans, Louisiana. Both men were fond of the country and rural pursuits, and both loved to be out on patrol with the beautiful Anne.
‘Guys, do you have malaria down South? I know it’s found in the tropics and spread by mosquitoes…’
Anne immediately regretted her question as she noted Andy’s rolling eyes and Shelby’s wry grin. ‘I don’t know – just wondering.’
‘Anne, we pretty much eradicated those swamp diseases a while ago. We are civilized, you know,’ teased Andy.
Shelby and Andre – Andy – hailed from the American South that Anne tended to lump into one big grits-shaped bunch of stereotypes involving antebellum mansions and slow, gracious manners. In fact, the two men were from widely divergent Southern cultures.
Shelby was certainly the descendant of Africans brought to this country as slaves, and he retained a mild, country attitude toward life. He was not passive, but well-mannered to the extreme, and Anne reminded him often that her name was not ‘ma’am’. Shelby was a gentle giant, slow to anger and never one to deliver quick verbal retorts in any situation. As Anne got to know him, she marveled at the depth of his soul and character and life experience. Shelby was raised in a solid AME churched home, and never had Jesus far from his thoughts and actions. He was saved by Jesus’ death and resurrection, and he knew it with all of his big heart, and his quiet demeanor on patrol served as a counterweight in many ways to the strange and frightening happenings the young soldiers experienced. Shelby was unafraid of any obstacle put forth in his path by man, an aspect of this character that Anne found marvelous. Was it his large physical size, or his happy childhood on a prosperous mixed-crop farm that had favored his family since the Reconstruction era, and left Shelby with the proud heritage of his namesake paternal ancestors? For Shelby adored his father, the patriarch of his clan, and emulated the elder Morgan whenever possible.
– E.G., The Poor Remnant – Novel Submission
Reader:
Every story has a hook. The hook for me with this story is that I am immediately interested in the locale. I didn’t know that we had military patrols on the roads up near Jackman. I have been whitewater rafting up near Jackman and actually was stopped by Maine state troopers at a check point. So, I think I know about this landscape. Next, the author got me with three appealing characters. Nicely done and not boring, which is an important feature of any manuscript that lands on my desk. So, author, nicely done. You have me hooked. After writing this note and a cup of tea, I’ll return and see what lies ahead.
