Bandy, a powerful literary novel about two unlikely friends on an escape journey during the early Civil War era.
Thirteen-year-old Isaac’s only friend is a Passenger Pigeon named Bandy. He deludes himself in believing the bird talks to him. Bullied, he is resigned to a life of being the misunderstood bookworm by neighboring boys until a disastrous fire kills his parents and little sisters, sparing only his younger brother, Thomas. He and Thomas are taken in by their Uncle Raymond, an abolitionist, who plans to send Isaac to Virginia to buy Joy, a young slave with debilitating health, from her slave owner, Wil Jericho. Shortly after arriving in Virginia, Isaac learns the ugly truth.
Isaac, with Joy, escapes into the backwoods of Virginia. Discovering passages of the Underground Railroad, stowing away in carriages, hiding in churches, and outwitting the mercenaries hired by Jericho, the two teens fight tooth and nail to make it to Boston before they’re caught. Will Joy be taken from this life by sickness before she’s found freedom? On their journey, they learn a lot about each other. Isaac promises to bring Joy to Bandy's pond, a heavenly place where peace and serenity reign.
Chapter 1
It was a crimson dusk. Wispy ribbons of gray, white, and pink had settled in the western sky. It had a tranquilizing effect on the young boy sitting in silent contemplation on a flat rock overlooking a placid pond. His tired eyes scanned the elongated body of water. Thick autumn foliage draped the shoreline. It was quiet here. That was the way he liked it. The only sounds came from nature. A croaking frog, crickets chirping, or a whip-poor-will hiding in the bushes were normal sounds.
Occasionally, the boy would add to the din. A loud discharge would issue from his throat. It was a sort of birdcall, not unlike that of a mourning dove, but unique. It was his own savage call to nature. It was a wild, singular cry that penetrated the dusk and conjoined his being with the feral creatures of the woods.
He knew them all and they knew him. His father had brought him here to fish when he was small. He had been coming back here ever since. He was still only a stripling of thirteen, but he felt much older. In fact, since his father’s illness, he had been forced, out of necessity, to step into his shoes. He was the oldest boy and his younger siblings looked up to him for guidance and support.
He picked up a smooth oval rock and threw it. He watched it skim across the water, creating small ripples. It was autumn. The nights were getting colder. A slight breeze wafted through the trees. The boy wrapped his long thin arms around his knees and watched a crisp yellow maple leaf skip across the smooth surface of the rock, twisting and turning with the irregular movement of the wind. For a brief second it stopped in front of him, as if it might be saying hello. It was then lifted by a terrific gust and, joined by hundreds of its companions, hurried across the lake like an attacking army.
“Acer rubrum,” mumbled the boy, practicing his Latin.
“You don’t say,” came a hollow, somewhat piping voice from the trees behind him.
The boy craned his neck around and surveyed the tree line from where he thought the voice had originated. There, sitting on the loping branch of a fine specimen of Acer rubrum was a passenger pigeon. The boy cracked a smile, showing his gleaming white teeth. He waved. The branch bobbled slightly when the bird took flight and with a smooth glide, alighted on the boy’s shoulder and pecked softly at his ear.
“Why so glum, young Isaac?” the pigeon asked.
Isaac shook his head and with the snap of his forefinger, he playfully tapped the pink belly of his friend. His name was Bandy because of the distinctive feathered black band around his neck. This distinct marking was not typical of a passenger pigeon. Isaac could easily identify him by it. Not that he needed any help in that sense, since as far as he knew, Bandy was the only pigeon that could talk.
“I am not glum, Bandy. What makes you think so?”
The boy swept his long flaxen hair away from his eyes as Bandy fluttered away from his shoulder and landed on his left knee.
Bandy was an exquisite example of a passenger pigeon. The bluish head and pale-gray wings sprinkled with homely black spots only differed from the norm by the enigma of the band.
“Keehoo! Keehoo!”
Isaac rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t go keehooing me, Bandy. I am not in any mood to be keehooed today!”
Bandy flapped his wings and cocked his head to the side. “So, you are glum! I knew it. I always know when you are glum—or happy. I can sense it!”
The boy buried his head in his arms, all the while tapping his fingers on his elbows. “My father is sick. I do not think he shall last much longer, Bandy,” he replied. When he finally raised his head, Bandy could see a tear falling down his cheek.
A stiff silence followed until the bird flew back onto Isaac’s shoulder. “This news… It pains me to hear it, young Isaac. I am all too familiar with the loss of a parent. I watched in horror as a vile hunter shot my mother and father out of the sky with a single blast of one of those murderous scatter-guns!”
An uncomfortable silence followed. Isaac busied himself by twirling the stem of a leaf between his thumb and finger. Bandy was watching him with concern. He had seen his friend unhappy before, but nothing like this. He was worried. He flapped his wings and began circling around Isaac’s head trying to cheer him up.
“Don’t be sad, Isaac. I don’t like it when you are sad,” Bandy said.
The boy frowned and let his gaze wander across the pond. He could hear the distant sound of a factory steam whistle and knew that his mother would be coming home. He adjusted the collar on his wool coat. It was going to be a cold night.
Bandy finally alighted on Isaac’s shoulder again and carefully nudged his earlobe with his beak. “Stay strong, young Isaac. Your family needs you. You must remain solid and tough, and persevere,” Bandy piped.
Isaac ignored his feathered friend. He merely sat there twirling the leaf before flicking it onto the rock and watching the wind whisk it away.
He now found himself at a crossroads in his life. With his father nearing death, he would soon be forced to quit school and go to work in the mills. His dream of becoming a scholar would be squashed forever. It was now all too obvious to him. His future would be a bleak one. It would be a life of constant toil, working long days in the mills to support his mother and younger siblings. His father had done his best for him. He had labored in the mills as well as the fields. It had been brutal work that had gradually worn him down, but he had managed to scrape up enough money to buy his oldest son books. He had known Isaac was different. He was not like other boys. He was quiet and bookish. Sure, he enjoyed fishing and tramping through the woods, but he needed his time to read…and learn.
Bandy gave him a peck on the cheek.
“Keehoo! Keehoo!”
Isaac forced a smile and gently tapped Bandy on his beak. Standing up, he picked up another flat stone and skimmed it across the water.
He was about to pick up another rock when he heard a shuffling sound and leaves crunching under someone’s or something’s feet. He turned quickly and saw two boys standing next to a large poplar tree. They were partially concealed by the foliage. They had been spying on him. The taller boy was lean, with a large oval head and a mop of red hair that curled around the perimeter of his wool cap. The shorter boy was stockier and mean-looking, with a pale round face and bushy black eyebrows. His penetrating brown eyes glared at Isaac. For a few seconds the two boys merely stood there giggling. It was apparent that they were up to no good.
“Well, if it isn’t the boy who talks to birds!” the shorter boy taunted, giving his companion a playful punch on the arm. He boldly stepped forward onto the slab of rock facing Isaac, the other boy following him.
“Hello, Barker. I haven’t seen yuh at the schoolhouse in a few days. Where yuh been hiding?”
Isaac swallowed nervously. The mean-looking boy was Winfield Scott Mason, son of the president of the First National Bank. The taller boy Isaac only knew as Cooper, but whether that was his given name or surname he did not know. He only knew that where Winfield traveled, Cooper was not far behind.
“What’s the little birdie whispering in yer ear today, Barker?” Winfield asked. “Is he telling you about how yer old man is about to default on his mortgage?”
Bandy pecked at Isaac’s earlobe. “Don’t let him bait you, Isaac!”
Isaac gave his friend a perturbed look. “Quiet, Bandy! He’s not baiting me.”
The two bullies glanced at one another and burst out laughing at the same time.
“Ha! Ha! Look here, Cooper. Did yuh hear that? He thinks the bloody pigeon spoke to him!”
Isaac’s blood began to boil, and he clenched his fists.
“Keehoo! Keehoo! Don’t listen to them!” Bandy chirped.
Isaac waved Bandy off and took a step forward. Winfield stood his ground, but Cooper, who lacked the courage of his friend, stepped backward.
“You’re a cracked one, Barker,” Winfield said. “Talking to birds while yer lazy old man sleeps in his bed all day.”
This was more than Isaac was willing to take. He was about the same height as his antagonist, but Winfield was much stockier and the stronger of the two boys.
“Take that back, Winfield, or so help me I’ll—”
He never got to finish his sentence. Winfield threw a wild haymaker, but Isaac deftly dodged the blow and, grabbing his opponent’s arm, managed to take him off balance. The bigger boy stumbled forward, and Isaac took advantage of this momentary loss of coordination. With a quick push, Winfield landed with a tremendous splash in the cold water. Bandy had taken flight at the first sign of aggression and landed on a branch of a poplar tree where he watched the contest with apprehension.
Isaac turned to face Cooper, who had started forward but timidly stopped, noticing Isaac’s angry demeanor. The taller boy gave a nervous laugh, showing his buck teeth. He had picked up a stout stick and swung it in front of him, taunting Isaac to try and take it from him. Isaac felt the wind at his back and briefly looked back to see Winfield struggling to swim. The ruffian’s large head bobbed up and down in the dark water, his eyes bulging in terror. Isaac felt the blood rush to his head, and he reacted quickly. He turned to Cooper. “Quick! Give me that stick!”
Cooper looked bewildered as Isaac wrestled the stick away from him. He stretched out across the rock on his stomach and held it out for Winfield, who was thrashing about. The bully finally managed to grab hold of it and Isaac pulled him up onto the rock. Winfield sat up. Gasping, he spat out the water that he had inhaled.
“Keehoo! Keehoo!”
Bandy was flying in circles around the boys, and Cooper had a mischievous grin on his long, ugly face. He retrieved the stick that Isaac had just used to fish Winfield out of the water and began swinging it in the air, attempting to connect with the pigeon.
“What’s wrong with you? Give me that stick!” Isaac screamed. But when he went to grab hold of it, Cooper swung it down in an arc, striking Isaac on the base of his skull. He heard and felt the sickening crack before landing unconscious, face down on the stone slab.
Chapter 2