As promised, here is a first chapter sample from my upcoming novel, Children of the Weirwood which has a direct tie-in with my Jordan Dare Trilogy. Let me know what you think and if you do, I'll send you a few more chapters if you agree to read and review them while giving me feedback and sharing your interest.

Children of the Weirwood
by Cameron De Cessna

Copyright 2019, All Rights Reserved

Chapter 1

October 30, 1950
Darkwood Hollow, West Virginia
Katrina Borglin lumbered along a winding road on the eastern slopes of Mount Storm above Darkwood Hollow, West Virginia, in her rusty, 1941 Ford. Thirteen-year-old Vance Hawthorn rode beside her, his rickety bicycle rattling in the back seat where he'd managed to stow it before they left her home outside the village of Darkwood. He'd clattered recklessly down the mountainside at breakneck speed and pounded on her door a little before eleven o'clock that night to tell her his mother was in labor. As the town midwife, Katrina was familiar with unusual hours and calls. She told him to stuff his bike in the back seat of the car while she grabbed her bag of necessities.
As they got underway, she asked, "When did you say your mother started her labor?"
"About ten o'clock, Ma'am. Daddy sent me off straight away to get you. She was feelin' poorly at suppertime but started feelin' terrible pains about nine. It was about ten when Daddy said her water might break at any time, and to go get you."
"Well, Vance, hopefully, she's managed to hold off long enough for us to get there. I'm hopin' too that she has the baby quick, 'cause I have another lady on the other side of the hollow that's expectin' too. She had false pains last night and I sat with her for nearly five hours before she stopped having contractions. It'll be my bad luck, and hers too, if she decides to have her baby tonight."
"Who else is having a baby, Miss Borglin?" asked the skinny youth.
"Weena Hansen, Rathmon Hansen's wife. She's not in the best of health either, as she caught the scarlet fever two years ago and it left her weak as a kitten. She should never have risked having another baby. I warned her just after she got over the fever and told her husband to ease off awhile and not get her pregnant, but you know how some men are."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"How old are you now, Vance?"
"I'm thirteen. I'll be havin' a birthday in a couple of weeks and turn fourteen."
"Won't be long before you're courtin' the girls too, I suppose. See if you can keep from getting one pregnant, at least 'till you're old enough to get hitched. I suppose you know the particulars of how that comes about."
"I sorta do Ma'am. I have friends who've told me some things," The boy snickered and grinned, although it was too dark for the midwife to see his face in the dark. Off in the distance, they heard thunder and nearly at the same moment the car shook from a gust of wind.
"Merciful heavens, that's just what I need tonight on top of two birthins. A damned storm!" grumbled the troubled midwife. "These roads are dangerous enough in good weather let alone in a damned thunderstorm." Almost in answer to her complaint, heavy rain began to pelt the windshield and another gust of wind shook the old car. "Damn it! I was afraid of that. I see why they say it don't rain but it pours. What a night!"
They were less than a half mile from the boy's house when hail joined the driving rain and one burst of lightning after another clashed over and around the car. The road was slick and twice the wind caused the old Ford to slip a bit on the gravel and tar surface. Katrina cursed under her breath about late night babies and thunderstorms as she leaned closer to the steering wheel in an effort to better see the road ahead as the windshield wipers beat a monotonous tune, in their futile battle to clear the glass.
"Our road's just ahead, ma'am. There --- you can see the mailbox."
Vance's warning came just in time for Katrina to turn right, off the mountain road. In the storm, it would have been so easy to miss it. She followed a short, rutted, dirt road through the woods and up to the Hawthorn house where it perched in a rare level spot surrounded by old growth hardwoods. The small but well-kept home was located on the side of Mount Storm not far from the Littleton Mine where Kaplin Hawthorn labored. It was one of the numerous deep-shaft coal mines in Darkwood Hollow. Just as they pulled up at the house there was a blinding flash of lightning and a terrible crash of thunder as a blue-white finger of sky-fire struck the power pole just to the right of the one-story house. The electric lights inside winked out leaving the place in total darkness.
"What next?" grumbled Katrina. "Bad enough to have to drag myself out to help birth a baby in a storm, now I gotta work in the dark." Inside there was a flicker of light as someone lit a lantern or candle. As they tried to cover themselves and exit the car, several other lights were lit inside. Katrina and Vance ran through mud and gravel toward the front porch and finally reached its shelter. It did little good, for the wind was driving the rain almost horizontally beneath the porch roof. Only after they struggled through the front door was it possible to escape the cold rain and stinging hail.
Eight-year-old Daniel Hawthorn met them wide-eyed and pointed toward a hallway. "Mama's in there," he was sobbing, "I think she's dying. She's been hollerin' somethin' awful! Please help her! Daddy's with her. Please, Midlady, don't let her die!"
"Quiet child. You're mama's not dying. She's having a baby and it hurts like the dickens. Now you stay out here. Can you get some water boiling on the stove for me? Think you can manage that? If not, you'll have to do it, Vance. I need boiling water to clean my instruments."
The eight-year-old said, "I been keeping water boiling on the gas stove. Daddy said you'd need it when you got here."
"Well, I'll be. Finally, someone had enough sense to do that much. Vance, you get the pot of water and bring it to your mama's room and Danny, you get me a stack of clean towels if you have 'em."
"Yes, Ma'am." said both boys as they scurried off to do her bidding.
The midwife entered the bedroom where Kaplin Hawthorn sat holding his wife's hand. She was sweating and looked nearly worn out, but managed a smile. "Thanks for coming so quick, Kat, I think it'll be coming soon. My water broke about twenty minutes ago. What time is it now, Kaplin?"
He took a watch from his pocket and held it near the lantern to the left of the bed and said, "It's half past eleven. You've been at it nearly three hours, sweetheart. Probably seems like a day or two. You're doing fine, honey. Miss Borglin, thanks for coming. Sorry, it's such a hellish night." To his wife, he said, "Miss Borglin will take over now, honey and you'll be fine."
Katrina ushered Vance and Danny from the room as soon as they brought in the hot water pot and clean linens. "Don't go far, Vance, in case I need something else. Put another kettle on to boil, Danny. That's a good boy. I hope you have a coal or gas stove and not one of those new 'lectric ranges, Kaplin," she told the anxious husband who remained by his wife's side.
"It's gas, I got rid of the damned coal stove. I see enough of that filthy crap in the mines every day."

On the opposite side of the valley, a similar scene was unfolding, however; Weena Hansen was in severe distress. She too was in full labor and nearly delirious with pain and fatigue. Her husband Rathmon was walking the floor and cursing the midwife. He'd driven two miles to a neighbor's house to use their phone to call Miss Borglin but got no answer even though he lingered for nearly a half hour and kept trying. Finally, he asked the neighbors to please keep trying to reach Katrina and tell her of his wife's need before returning to his home.
His children, Lorena and Quinn, were nearly frantic as they listened to their poor mother crying out in pain while waiting for their father's return. It was 1950 and Darkwood Hollow, West Virginia was simply too small and too remote to have the services of a doctor. The nearest hospital was forty-odd miles to the northeast in Keyser, West Virginia. Her labor had begun quickly with little warning and if he'd only known in time, Rathmon would have driven her to Keyser, but now a storm was roaring through the valley and she was too far along to risk moving her. He would have to do the best he could on his own.
After returning, he recalled what the midwife did at the time of his daughter Lorena's birth six years before and boiled some tools he might need for the birth. He had scissors and twine for the cord, towels, extra sheets, and a clean, sharp knife as well as sewing needles and thread in the event of severe tearing or, God forbid, some worse complication. It was almost twelve o'clock and the storm was viciously pounding the house like hammers and still, his wife's contractions went on and on. When would the damned child come? he thought.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the valley, midwife Katrina was proceeding well. Marnie Hawthorn dilated as the baby entered the birth canal. It was nearly midnight before the child's head crested. "Two or three more contractions should do the trick," Katrina told Marnie. "Bear down, sweety! It's almost over. Just a little more pushing and you'll have your baby. Come on honey, deep breath in --- hold it --- now deep breath out. Next time you feel a contraction, push like hell and we'll get on with this."
Kaplin checked his watch as the old clock in the living room began to strike midnight. His wife felt the next contraction begin and pushed as hard as she could. Just as the final stroke of midnight sounded, the baby slipped into the world with a gush of blood and mucus. Simultaneously, lightning struck the house and luminous fingers of static electricity danced all over the darkened room. Blue white tendrils of energy passed over and around the iron head of the bed. Kaplin, his wife, Marnie and Katrina all felt their hair rise up with the static charge. A single tiny spark of electricity jumped from the iron, footrail of the bed and struck the still silent child in the midwife's arms. The child cried out and took his first breath in his new world.
The child was a boy; a stream of urine burst from his tiny penis and spattered to the floor. The midwife chuckled and said to the family, "It's a boy and he's just had the piss shocked out of him. Good thing he's all right. One of those sparks struck his leg. Let me get this cord tied off and cut so you can hold your baby boy, Marnie."
She went about her work and soon the squalling boy was wiped partially dry with a soft cloth and handed to his mama. She took him to her breast and he started to suck greedily. Soon he was quiet and Marnie looked up with a radiant glow about her face. Her husband leaned down and gave her a kiss and stroked the soft blond hair of their newborn with two fingers. The midwife checked and was happy to see that Marnie's afterbirth passed and there was no sign of continued bleeding. She cleaned up as best she could and covered the woman before calling in the other two children to see their new brother.
After he'd suckled for a few minutes while Katrina cleaned up, Marnie raised him from her breast and looked him over counting fingers and toes; he seemed perfect. Kaplin raised the lantern high above the child so his siblings, who'd entered and drawn close could get a good look at their new brother. As the lantern light fell on his face, the child opened his eyes for the first time. His left eye was a brilliant emerald green while his right was deep azure blue. Just two inches below his genitals on the inner side of his left thigh was a strange purple mark in the shape of a seven-pointed star.
Eight-year-old Danny said, "He's got a star on his leg, Mommy."
The midwife gasped and said, "I'll be. That's exactly where the lightning hit him. Is it a burn?" She looked closer and found it to be not a burn, but a one-inch diameter, port wine birthmark. It was a perfect, seven-pointed star, as accurate as one drawn by an artist. The whole family looked perplexed as they stared at the little boy's unusual mark and exotic, bright eyes. His tiny face broke into a smile and he burped.
Marnie spoke to her newborn, "Well, we said if you were a boy we would call you Timothy Lee Hawthorn, so my little man, that's your new name. Welcome to the world, Timmy."

Across the valley, also on the last stroke of midnight, Weena Hansen screamed in pain as her new child slipped from her body and entered the world. A bolt of lightning struck the house. As it was happening in the Hawthorn house across the valley, fingers of static electricity swept through the Hansen's bedroom striking the furniture and bed where the mother lay. Rathmon was holding his child as a small finger of lightning struck the infant's right inner thigh, just below his privates. The child cried and took his first breath. His small penis spewed urine toward his father. The newborn was covered with clots of bright fresh blood and mucus and was pale blue in color from his ordeal, but seemed to be turning pink as oxygen filled his tiny lungs.
The power was still on at the Rathmon house and as the child opened his eyes, his father saw their unusual color. The baby's right eye was vivid green while his left was electric blue. Rathmon Hansen felt a sense of disgust at the unusual colors and thrust the dark-haired boy toward Quinn, his eight-year-old son, to hold while he tended to the umbilical cord. His wife was exhausted and gasping from the strain of the birth. From below, a rivulet of bright, fresh blood was flowing from her vagina and soaking the sheets. Her complexion was pale and her breathing labored. Rathmon felt a stab of fear as he saw the blood and his wife's pallor. This could not be good. He hurried to tie and cut the cord. It was nearly ten minutes before the afterbirth passed. He hoped she would stop bleeding after that, but still a trickle of fresh blood persisted.
The child's eight-year-old brother was doing his best to wipe the tiny boy clean and was the first to notice the unusual mark on the boy's right inner thigh. "Daddy, look. He's got a star on his leg."
"What? Where?" Rathmon looked where his son was pointing and remembered the small lightning bolt had struck the child there.
"Huh. Lightning musta burnt him. Strange mark; it's a perfect seven-pointed star. That's mighty queer. It's downright unnatural."
"What are we gonna call him, Daddy?" asked the boy.
Weena, his mother, managed to speak. "Bring him to me, so I can hold him. He's probably hungry. Here, let me see him. Oh, God, Rath, he's beautiful. That's it, little one, you know what to do. Yes indeed, he's happy now. Mama's got lots of milk for her little sweetheart." She smiled as the child sucked at her left breast. "Quinn, we agreed if it was a boy to call him Markus Lee Hansen, after his granddaddy. You hear that, baby Markus? We'll call you Mark for short, sweetums." Just then her face twisted in agony as she gasped, "Ohhhh, Rath, something's wrong! I hurt inside so much! I might have to see a doctor. I think you need to get me to a doctor. I'm feelin' so weak."
Rathmon bundled up his wife and newborn and drove the fifty-six miles to the hospital in Keyser that night where she was admitted and tended to by the doctors and staff. Much internal damage had been done, however, and the doctors told Rathmon that his wife was in serious danger. They told him the child was frail but fine. One doctor assured Rathmon the unusual star was a port wine birthmark and not a burn.
Three days later, poor Weena lost her battle and passed away. Rathmon was driven nearly mad by his loss and looked upon little Mark as the cause of his wife's death. It was all he could do for some time to even touch the child or tend to it. Most of the child's care was given by his six-year-old sister, his eight-year-old brother and his wife's unmarried sister, Betty, who moved in a few days later to help the family.