General Fiction posted August 28, 2023 Chapters:  ...26 27 -28- 29... 


Exceptional
This work has reached the exceptional level
Return to Foon
A chapter in the book Saving Mr. Calvin

Saving Mr. Calvin - P2/Chap 23

by Jim Wile

The author has placed a warning on this post for language.



Background
A story about the origin and the future of the game of golf
See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.
 
Recap of the past few chapters: As Kilian enters the woods to find Lieke’s ball, he passes through the portal and Kevin comes back out from under the railroad trestle back to 2032 Santa Barbara where Art Calvin is waiting for him. Kevin is baffled by what has just happened and Art explains it to him. Apparently, Kevin has been sharing the mind of Kilian in 1247-1256 Holland for the last nine years in Holland time, but when passing back through the portal has left Kilian’s mind and has returned as himself again. His body has never actually left here, and Art explains that he could see him the entire time while fetching his Titleist ball. Art convinces him that, while in Holland, he was Kilian, but Kilian was never him and had no awareness of Kevin. Kilian never left Arie and the kids when Kevin returned and remained there with his family.

Kilian decides to tell the tale of his trip to Holland to Paul and Dumbo who don’t believe him. Kevin says he is going to go through the portal again to try to find Arie and the kids because he enjoyed his life there. He tries to persuade the guys to go with him, and only Paul accedes to this but as a lark just to prove Kevin is bullshitting them about this. The two of them go under the trestle as Part 1 ends.
 
 
Part 2
 
 
Chapter 23
 
Near Edinburgh, Scotland
1458
 

“To me! To me, lads! One last charge, and we’ll send those bastard English back to their ships in defeat. Spearmen, to the front. Archers, to the rear. When I call the word, have at ‘em lads. Dinnae flag in your efforts, and this will be a glorious day!”

Putney, Alex, and I nocked arrows to our long bows when the captain called out these words, and we got ready for the charge. On horseback, the captain rode up and down the field in front of the woods where we were mustered. We could see the enemy troops lining up in the field some 250 ells away. In a few seconds, we heard the call of “Charge! Charge!”

Out of the woods, we streamed. The spearmen led the charge, while we archers fired over their heads at the enemy forces in the distance. We could see shields raised overhead in places, but this first assault of arrows struck a number of men, whom we could see fall to the ground. We then followed the spearmen into the heat of battle.

My two friends and I attempted to remain together, but the exigencies of hand-to-hand combat made that impossible to maintain for long. Our attention was drawn hither and yon, particularly to the mounted infantrymen who towered above us on horseback.

“Kirk, help me!” I heard behind me. As I whipped around, I could see Putt down on the ground with a huge axe-wielder preparing to strike him. With battle axe raised in his two hands, I fired an arrow beneath his helm and through his neck, toppling him to fall face down on my friend, the arrow protruding from the front of his throat. It just missed Putt’s face. Together, we pushed his body off, and I offered my hand to pull Putt from the ground.

“I owe you, brother,” he said, but I'm hoping not to have to collect on the debt.
 
The battle raged for another half hour or so when it became apparent to the enemy forces that they were outmanned and outmaneuvered and began a steady retreat. This was the end of a month’s defense of our city against this attack from the English, and we were all exhausted and did not feel like finishing them off, but let the few remaining ones return to their ships to flee the land in shame and defeat. Victory was ours once again in these relentless assaults by the English as they attempted to wrest control back from our country, which just wanted to be left alone in peace. It was all over for today, but there was no telling when they would be back once again, necessitating that we remain as soldiers of the king of Scotland, James II.

Alex found us, and the three of us sat down on the ground for a breather before we began the task of helping the wounded from the field and the further unpleasant task of loading the dead onto wagons to bring back to town for a proper burial. Alex then sought out the nurses to bandage his arm, which had been nicked by a swordsman, leaving a nasty gash. We waited with him to be attended to. Fortunately, the wound was not deep enough to have caused any great harm, and he was released to our care after being bandaged.

This was the apparent end of a days-long attack by the English, one of many we had experienced over the past few years. The three of us were permitted to go home until the next muster, which hopefully would not be needed again for a long time.

We were still expected to keep up our training, though, in order to keep our fighting skills sharp, and this required regular practice sessions led by local captains. We were supposed to report to the training grounds on Sunday afternoons and not leave until after dinner to take part in drills and target shooting, but supervision of these had begun to get quite lax, and participation had been steadily waning to the point where many ceased showing up at all. I had not reached that point yet, but the slowness in coming up to speed with our most recent muster for battle, which was quite noticeable, did not bode well, and we all felt the king was about to crack down on us in some way.

But for now, we didn’t worry about that and just hurried back to our villages to the comforts of hearth and home and loved ones. I couldn’t wait to see my fair Aggie again. When we got to the crossroads marked by the large directional sign pointing this way and that to nearby towns, Putt and I bade goodbye to Alex, who took the road to Castasnogwary while we took the road to Foon.

“See you at archery practice next week, Alex,” I called to him.

“Maybe, and then again, maybe not, Kierkegaard,” he called back. “At any rate, I’ll see you lads in a fortnight to discuss this year’s gowf match.” He turned then and strode slowly away to his village.

Alex’s full name is Alexander MacGillycuddy, but Putt and I just call him Alex, much to his good-natured dismay. He finally gave up trying to correct us about his name a few years ago, but in return, he began calling me by my birth name, which was Kierkegaard Patterson. But the name I go by today is Kirk Pate, and Putt’s current name is Putney Pell. The fact that Alexander MacGillycuddy comes from a town called Castasnogwary while Putt and I come from Foon is noteworthy, but I will describe the reason for that another time.
 
 

Following Alex’s departure, Putt and I headed to town and to the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern, where Aggie Lang is the innkeeper. Aggie is my betrothed. Her father had been the innkeeper until last year, when he contracted the plague, which left his lungs so weak that he can no longer work and stays confined in his room upstairs. Her mother had perished from the plague as did about a quarter of the townsfolk, so that left the care of the inn in the capable hands of the eldest daughter, Aggie. She has two younger siblings, whom she also helps raise in the absence of her mother. Aggie and I have been engaged to be married for a while now. The plague, as well as my military service, put a temporary halt to those plans, but I’m hoping we can begin planning our wedding again soon, now that I am back from battle.

Putt and I entered the Bonnie Brae Tavern. There was a decent crowd there on this mid-summer’s eve, and I spotted Aggie carrying a tray of mugs to a table. Upon hearing my name and Putt’s called out by a number of patrons welcoming us back, Aggie turned, and our eyes met across the room.

She was a sight for sore eyes. A bonnie lass with long red hair tied in a loose braid that hung midway down her back. Large green eyes and full lips with a scattering of freckles on her slightly upturned nose. She wore a long skirt with a thin blouse, very low-cut in front, which exposed her lovely neck and ample bosom. I saw her eyes begin to tear up as she put the tray down and came rushing over. She jumped into my arms, put her legs around my waist, and buried her face into my neck as she began sobbing. I reached beneath her long, red braid and gently stroked her neck and back as she continued to sob for another minute. When she had composed herself enough, she looked into my eyes, and we shared a long kiss together to the hoots and cheers and applause from the crowd in the tavern.

When the kiss was over and I put her down, she turned to Putt, gave him a hug, and said softly to him, “Putt, I’m so glad to see you again too. Do you think you could take over the bar duties for a bit? Kirk and I would like to go upstairs for a while.”

“Gladly. Take as long as you like,” he said with a wink. “This is the first bit of payback for his saving my life today. In fact, I’ll just plan on closing up tonight. See you two tomorrow.”
 
What a friend! I smiled at him as Aggie took my hand and led me up the stairs.

Write A Review


Recognized


CHARACTERS - 2032 California

Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA.

Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer.

Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius.

Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing.



CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland

Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story.

Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier.

Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier.

Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiancee. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father.


Scottish words


dinnae: don't
ell: unit of measure equal to about a yard (37 inches)
bonnie: beautiful
gowf: early term for golf in Scotland
Pays one point and 2 member cents.


Save to Bookcase Promote This Share or Bookmark
Print It Print It View Reviews

You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.


© Copyright 2024. Jim Wile All rights reserved.
Jim Wile has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.