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    Valley of the Moon
    Valley of the Moon
    Valley of the Moon
    Ebook104 pages1 hour

    Valley of the Moon

    By Paula O'Neil

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    About this ebook

    Mourning their mother’s death, Spence, 15, and Cody, 8, are sent to their grandparent’s Colorado ranch for the summer while their dad seeks another job. Spence struggles to discover where he belongs, to find his roots. He uncovers a shocking family secret that involves his dad, and he is ultimately thrust into a dangerous confrontation with an evil force that threatens to wipe out Fawn Valley.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPaula O'Neil
    Release dateJan 1, 2011
    ISBN9781466074361
    Valley of the Moon
    Author

    Paula O'Neil

    Following in her mother’s footsteps, ninety-year-old Paula O’Neil is a retired music teacher. Published in many magazines, Paula’s writing successes include Clavier, American Music Teacher, House Beautiful, Columbus Dispatch Sunday Supplement, Country Style, Adventure, Highlights for Children, as well as winning an award in the Writer’s Digest Fiction Competition early in her career.Paula lives with her husband in Colorado.Valley of the Moon is the author’s first novel.

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      Book preview

      Valley of the Moon - Paula O'Neil

      Valley of the Moon

      Paula O’Neil

      Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2011 by Paula O’Neil

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

      Foreword

      For my husband Richard, son Dennis, daughter Laurie and all young people who believe that belonging is everything.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Missoula, Montana

      I knew when Dad sat down at the breakfast table sipping his hot coffee, he’d say, We need to talk. We’ve had a lot of these We need to talk lately.

      I could tell the talk would be real serious. Whatever it was about, I sure hoped he wasn’t going to hop all over Cody about his rumpled clothes and sloppy manners. Cody was having a hard time coping since Mom died. You can hardly expect a kid of eight to just buck up and be brave over a thing like that. What does he know about death anyway?

      It’s different for me, because a guy of fifteen is expected to get a grip on things. You’re suddenly expected to become a Man, whether you want to or not. It’s like Dad always says, Guys are expected to ‘shoulder’ things. It’s the Law of the Universe or something. I don’t know what that meant exactly, but all I know is that I’ll never be able to "shoulder’ the memory of how our mom died. How could I?

      Her death was unbelievably stupid…and unfair. Not to argue with God or anything, but it makes you wonder what He had in mind. Even though the whole thing happened six months ago, the memory of it seems like only yesterday.

      In Missoula, we get a pretty good dumping of snow every year and it had snowed for three straight days after Christmas. Diamond Mountain ski area, where we usually ski, piled on a foot of new snow. Skiers were going crazy! Dad had given Mom a new pair of skis and with all that fresh powder, she couldn’t wait to hit the slopes.

      I remember how she had laughed that morning and said, Watch me fly! She was so excited. She had kissed Dad on the forehead and left. And the terrible thing is that that kiss would be the last kiss she’d ever give him.

      Your mother is headed for the Olympics! he had joked, laughing.

      I’ll always remember that moment because I thought it was something special to remember the rest of my life. It made me feel good, because I felt like we all belonged. Like a package deal. Belonging is total. It’s everything. They don’t have anything to belong to.

      The thing about Mom was, she was a real good skier, even though she was forty, which is pretty darn old to ski and not even safe at that age. And it wasn’t her fault that she died. It was the guy who got off the lift and just stood there messing with his ski poles instead of clearing a space for the next skier. Mom slammed into him, sending him crashing head over heels flat on his back, cussing and screaming, his skis twisted and dangling sideways. His left ski hit Mom in the head and knocked her unconscious.

      The Ski Patrol got the idiot down to the Lodge, while the Rescue Unit got Mom off the slopes and Medics rushed her to emergency at St. Pat’s hospital, a few blocks from where we live.

      When we met with the trauma surgeon he spared no words. Her injuries are serious, he said, his voice soft and sympathetic. There’s only a slight chance she will make it. I’m terribly sorry.

      The next few days were a nightmare of worry. We sat by her bedside and prayed a lot. She lay in the bed, all bandaged up, white as a ghost for two days, not knowing any of us. The third day she died.

      And nobody was there.

      That’s the part I will never in my whole life be able to shoulder. I should have been there every minute. I should have held her hand. I should have been with her until the very end, but I didn’t really think she was going to die. It’s the worst feeling I’ll ever have.

      I know it’s been tough for Dad and he’s doing his best to cope. He’s the kind of dad who thinks it’s important to keep looking clean-shaven, neat and trim, like he does this morning, dressed in his khakis, new summer plaid shirt, his dark hair combed exactly right. It makes him feel better about himself. It’s also important to him to always get things squared away, make plans, and be ready for everything. He has to figure out answers to problems. He has to organize things. I guess he’s that way because he’s a math teacher at Fairview High. I think people in math and science must be precise about everything. But, the big thing about Dad is that he never wants us to forget Mom. He keeps telling us the same story over and over.

      It was the luckiest day of my life when I met your mother, he’d tell us. And he’d tell us stories of how they met and got married. We’ve heard it a hundred times—how he was born and raised in Pine Crest, Colorado and lived at Fawn Valley ranch not far from Denver, and how Mom, her name then was Julie Benson, was born and raised right here in Missoula. He was majoring in math and she was a talented art student. They got married as soon as they graduated from the University. Dad got his job at Fairview High and Mom got a great job at Blue Sage Graphics and Design. And that’s how it all began for them—for us. I suppose it’s only natural that Dad wants Cody and me to go to the same University. That’s okay.

      It’s easy to see how proud he was of her and how much he loved her, and how heartbroken he was when she died. I figure that’s what real love does to a person. They just never get over it.

      So now, when Dad started his talk, the first thing he said was. Cody, please take off your baseball cap.

      Cody looked surprised. But, I’m not eating breakfast, Dad, he said, frowning. I already ate my Cheerios. And two pieces of toast.

      Take it off anyway, Dad told him, his voice crisp. Remember what your mother told you about baseball caps at the table. And, put on a clean shirt.

      I watched Cody yank his cap off his head and plunk it on his lap. Pouting, he asked, Is this talk going to be real bad? I could see the tension balling up inside him as he struggled against a sudden rush of tears. I wished Dad hadn’t done that!

      But Dad reached across the table and patted Cody’s hand. No, he said softly, not bad. But it might take a period of adjustment.

      Adjustment! There it goes again! I didn’t have a clue what that meant, but I sure didn’t like the sound of it. It seemed like all we did since Mom died, was go through periods of adjustments. It was nerve wracking.

      Are we going on some kind of vacation? I asked, trying to sound casual.

      Ordinarily, this would be a great way to start the summer, but right now it would be the worst time to be going anywhere. Coach had lined up the guys for the swim team and scheduled tryouts for today, plus practice three times a week all summer. If you guys work real hard, he’d told us, we stand a good chance of making a name for ourselves at the trials in September. And, not only that, but I hoped I could make the cut to be one of the stand-in guitar players for

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