'My Spaceship' Sample reading

Chapter 1

It was a beautiful Nebraska Saturday morning. By the sound of the cicadas' chirping in the trees around the house, it was going to be a hot day at the farm, but far from a normal one.

            James was a short but solid boy, still waiting on that growth spurt that hit kids of his age. He always wore a baseball hat backwards, except when he played in a little league game.  He was awakened this morning by the noise of his father rustling around on the back porch. He was attempting to hang some wind chimes that had fallen down. James's mom had bought them just before she died six years ago when James was just seven years old. All he remembered was that he just loved her and she was always there, then she was gone.  The string from which the chimes had hung was worn by the weather. Those long cold Nebraska winters, with the snow, ice and wind and then the summers, with the storms, all had taken its toll on that wonderful set of wind chimes. As a matter of fact, whenever they rang, James remembered his mom and his dad knew it. So at all costs, the chimes were to be a permanent fixture on that farm.

            After grabbing his hat and tossing it upon his head, still in his pajamas, James made his way to the kitchen, looked through the screen door, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “What are you doing, dad?”

            “I’m fixing your mom's wind chimes, they were on the ground when I came out this morning.”

            “How did they fall?”

            “Oh, I don't know. This old string I recon just had enough,” his dad replied in a melancholy tone as he tied another knot in the new string. He just wanted to make sure they would stay up another five years.

            “Okay, that's got it,” he said as climbed down a rickety old stepladder that was ratcheting to and fro to compensate for the large descending man. James’s dad was a big man; 6 foot 4 inches tall and weighing in at about 260 pounds. No one in town wanted to be on the wrong side of him, but he was a sweet, gentle bear. “Are you going with me to the village sale at the church this morning?”

            “Why are you going today?” James returned, as his eyes opened wide. “I've asked you a hundred times to take me dad but you were always too busy.”

             “I know, I know, but times are a little tough and there are some things I need. I can always get some nice work shirts, cheap too. Around this farm, I just ruin my good ones, and you couldn't have asked me a hundred times because it's only once a year and you are only thirteen, so at the most maybe… three times.”

            “Whateverrrrr.” James said.

            With that, James went into his minor frenzy mode running around the back porch, excited about the day he was about to have. “Yeah! We're going to the village sale; we're going to the village sale,” sang James as he jumped up and down and danced around.

            “Okay, are you ready? No…go get dressed,” his dad ordered , “we gotta get back here and get back to work, those cows ain't gonna milk themselves ya know.”

            “Yeah I know,” James shot back as he ran back into the house.

            “And don't slam that…” Bang,  “Door,” his dad said in a huff while shaking his head.

             James and his father lived just outside Brownville, Nebraska, population around one hundred forty six, known for its artisans and craftwork, a couple of museums and a slew of craft shops and art galleries, and the Missouri river boasting it's beautiful old time Paddle wheel boats. One in operation, the 'Pride of Brownville' and one on land as a museum. This was to be a huge event. People came from as far away as a couple of hundred miles and three states to sell what they could and buy just about anything. They brought anything you could think of to sell or trade, old farm equipment, cakes, pies, animals of all kinds, the rare, the unusual, even the kitchen sink. James went and got dressed and met his dad at the pick-up truck.

            It was August, and as they headed down route 136, the fields on both sides of the hi-way were endless oceans of green with an occasional barn or farmhouse strategically placed in the middle of them. They could see as they got closer to the sale, cars and trucks everywhere, parked on the road and in the fields, there were thousands. James had never seen so many cars in one place. As they pulled into a pasture to park, James noticed his science teacher unloading some things from her car.

            “Look, Dad, there's Miss Claymore!” James said, as they drove through the grass field, now a parking lot looking for a space.

            “Oh yeah, that's her,” said his dad. He stared just a little too long at her, just missing the bumper of another car coming around the corner.

            “Hey, watch where your goin!” the motorist hollered out.

            “Sorry,” James's dad called out with that face that fathers get when they do stupid things.

            Miss Claymore was James's science teacher from last year whose husband died in an accident two years before. James' dad could never forget that PTA meeting in January when they first met. She was almost as tall as James’ father; thin, with long brown hair, and wore glasses when she didn’t have her contact lenses in. And a smile that lit up the world. Well, after finally finding a spot in what seemed to be a thousand acre field full of cars and pickup trucks, James and his dad made their way to the table area where they once again saw Miss Claymore. Actually, James' dad never really lost sight of her and it was probably on purpose.

           “Hi Miss Claymore,” James said as they came upon her  unloading her car.

            “Well, James Grant.” Miss Claymore said, leaning down to James' level, shaking his hand, “how's your summer going so far?” she asked.

            “Great!” James said.

            “Hello, Mr. Grant,” she said as she was standing up, “Good to see you again, have you been keeping James busy on that farm of yours?”

            “Yes ma'am, I have.”

            “Oh, you don't have to call me Ma'am, Mr. Grant. After all, I'm not your teacher. Call me Rosemary,” she said as she smiled. “Better yet, why don't you call me for dinner; or are you spoken for Mr. Grant?”

            “Actually, no I'm not, I've been a little too busy for dating. And you can call me Larry,” he said as he reached out to shake her hand. As they shook hands, she slipped him a business card with her phone number on it.

            Miss Claymore was a painter as well as a science teacher. She had accumulated about twenty paintings over the past year, and had brought them to sell at the village sale. They were mostly sunsets over mountains and moonlit ocean scenes.

            “These are magnificent,” Larry said as he looked at them.

            “It's just a hobby of mine.”

            “A hobby, these are beautiful, I want this one,” he said as he picked up a painting of a beautiful old farmhouse with flowing wheat fields on a starry night.

            “At least let me get them to my table.”

             “How much do you want for it?” Larry asked.

            “For you, free. My gift,” she said.

             “Oh no, I'll pay you.”

            “No, I'll accept no money from you Larry. You just call me,” she said.

            James just stood there with his mouth wide open in dismay. “I've got to get set up,” Miss Claymore said.

             “Here let us help you to your table,” Larry offered. So James and his dad carried Miss Claymore's paintings to an old weathered plywood table with a piece of cardboard with the name Claymore stapled to it. Rosemary took out a red tablecloth and spread it out over the table converting it into a makeshift art galley. Taking the paintings from the boys and strategically placed them on, around, and underneath the table.

            “Well, thank you for the help guys, where are you going?”

            “James and I are shopping for some clothes to wear around the farm, something I won't feel bad ruining.”

            “Okay then, I'll see you two later, call me?” she said holding her phone fingers to her ear, “And don't forget your painting.”

            “Yes, yes, I won't,” Larry returned as he picked up his picture.

            As they walked away, James' dad kept looking back at Miss Claymore.

            “Come on dad, let's go,” as James gave his father a yank by the belt loop, “we have work to do, remember?”

            “Okay, okay, quit pulling me already.”

            James and his dad walked through the many tables full of just about everything under the sun.  “Look, there's the clothing section, let's go over there,” his dad said. So they changed direction and started toward the clothes, but as they were making their way, something caught James' eye.  On top of a mound of old tools and electrical gadgets and gizmos, was what appeared to be an old radio set.

            Now, James was sort of an antique geek, well not a geek really, but loved anything that had to do with old radios, televisions or cameras. His mission on earth was to tear them apart, then put them back together.  But this radio was nothing like he had ever seen. It looked really old, was made of wood but majestic in its design, almost magical looking. It had some big dials and a slew of buttons, knobs and gauge looking thing and a microphone. But most of the wires and tubes were hanging out of the back. In addition, there were metallic lightning bolts on the front that should have been rusted over due to their age, but were beautiful. The sun glaring off them was what caught James' eye in the first place. “Dad, stop!”

            “What?” his dad asked.

            “Look at that!”

            “What?”

            “That!” James said as he pointed to the pile of tools and things.

            “We have a can opener,” his dad said.

            “No, not that…that radio thing on top of the pile.”

            “Son, that's just an old junk radio.”

            James again grabbed his dad's belt loop and pulled him over to the pile of old electric garbage. “Hey mister!” James said, to an old man with white hair and a long beard sitting in a lawn chair watching the shoppers walk by. He turned his head around and asked,

            “What can I do ya' fer young fella?”

             “What is that?” James asked as he pointed to the old radio.

            “That, my boy,” he said as he slowly stood up from the old chair, “is a Raytex three thousand, the most powerful transceiver ever designed. Uh' in its day… cept' it don't work anymore. As a matter of fact, it ain't worked in over 40 years. I just figure I'd sell it for scrap.”

            “How much do you want for it?” James asked.

            “No, no. James, we are not wasting money on an old radio that doesn't even work,” his dad said.

            “But dad,”

            “No, I said.    

            But dad I can make it work, how much mister?”

            “James, I said no.”

            The old man looked at Larry and said, “C'mon Dad, he said he can make it work, and I believe him. Shame his dad don't. And I'll give you a real good deal too, I'll even throw in this old can opener.” he bargained,  “give me ten dollars and it's yours,” said the old man.

            “Ten dollars, Dad. I've got ten dollars in my bank at home. Please, please, I'll pay you back, I swear.”

            After a few seconds, his dad looked down at James, then at the old man, then at the radio, then at the old man, then at James, then the radio, “Oh, all right,” said James' dad,  "but keep the can opener and we have a deal," he said as he slapped a ten spot in the ol' timer's leathery hand.

*This is where the fun starts. Be one of the first to purchase 'My Spaceship'  from the Order Online page, Amazon, Target or Barnes and Noble or the Tate Publishing website, and live the adventures along with James.

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