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  JOURNEY WITH THE COMET—BEAUTIFUL DREAMER

  Copyright © 2018 by Dana Wayne Haley

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or any portion thereof, with the obvious exception of that already in the public domain, may not be used in any manner whatsoever without express written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Many of the characters in this novel are based upon relatives and acquaintances of Leona Haley and others were added to enhance the telling of her story. The perceived traits and actions of actual people, living or deceased either by the author or his relatives, were meant to be accurate and in no way meant to falsely disparage anyone.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner, and any resemblance of fictional characters to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dana Wayne Haley, Publisher

  First Publication, 2018

  ISBN (Print Edition): 978-1-54393-113-6

  ISBN (eBook Edition): 978-1-54393-114-3

  Cover Design by BookBaby

  In memory of my mother Leona Haley

  Who—like most moms—put her children’s dream, aspirations and welfare ahead of her own

  Acknowledgements

  Journey With the Comet: Beautiful Dreamer, the first of a two-set novel, is based on the life of Leona Haley—my amazing mother—of Bangor and Glenburn, Maine, and she obviously gets the credit for its creation. I already knew many facts about her life, but I learned many more from family members while writing this novel. In addition, while watching a Mark Twain documentary I learned of a remarkable coincidence that prompted the fantasy part of my mother’s story, and while researching her maternal ancestors—the Carvers of New England—I learned of another fascinating fact that significantly enhanced her story.

  Many of the stories in this novel were a result of things I observed firsthand, or heard my mother mention, and others came from my elder siblings—Marcia, Pat, Bud, Marilyn and Marie—who related interesting real-life stories which were incorporated into this novel. I am particularly grateful to Bud and Marilyn for stories concerning their amusing relationship. All of these sibling stories appear in the second novel: Journey With the Comet: The Journey Continues, with—as Mark Twain would say—a few “stretches” here and there. In addition, I made use of a collection of letters that my mother received during WWII from her brother Wally, who was sent to England as a U.S. Army Tank Commander to participate in the 1944 D-Day Invasion at Normandy. Those letters, which also appear unchanged in the second novel, were extremely helpful in identifying significant dates and events related to Uncle Wally, and some of his friends and relatives.

  Another person I am most grateful to is Aunt Gerry—Uncle Wally’s wife—who provided many details and stories for this novel, including things she heard from her late husband about his childhood and his U.S. Army experiences, much of which is included almost verbatim. In addition, I’m grateful to Helen Pass—my mother’s Canadian cousin from St. Stephens, New Brunswick—who provided ancestral details of the Haleys of Basswood Ridge, Canada. And last but certainly not least, I’d like to thank my niece Brenda for proofreading this novel and catching errors that I would never have caught.

  However, as previously stated, this novel would never have been written but for my mother and it is my tribute to her.

  Table of Contents

  The Arrival

  The Journey Begins

  The Old Indian

  The River and Paul Bunyan

  The American Dream

  Maggie

  The Right One?

  A New Family

  Baby Leona and the Eagle

  The Fire

  Edie Visits

  The Cribbage Game

  The Shooting Star

  The Boat Ride

  Hans

  Little Wally

  The Three Musketeers

  Trouble in the City

  Moving to the Country

  The Country Home

  Leona’s Paradise

  Making Ends Meet

  Eunice and Crazy Charlie

  The New School

  Meeting Jill

  Breathing a Sigh

  The Sun’s Captives

  Halley’s Comet

  The Dream

  Haley’s Comet

  Dream On

  The Journey Home

  Thanksgiving in Glenburn

  True Friendship

  The Nor’easter

  Christmas in Glenburn

  Christmas Morning

  The New Sled

  The Deer

  Trouble in the Woods

  The Stranger

  Eunice’s Journey

  Becoming a Woman

  A Friend in Need

  Wally’s Snakes and Pranks

  Jill’s Dream

  Revenge

  The Haleys’ New Friend

  Jill Disappears

  Jill’s Dream Comes True

  The Freshman

  Growing Up Fast

  The Romance

  The End of Dreams?

  Chapter 1

  The Arrival

  It was a chilly April day in Bangor, Maine, a small, yet bustling American city that unabashedly claims legendary lumberjack Paul Bunyan as its own.

  The year was 1910.

  Snow from a surprise—and most definitely annoying—late season Nor’easter covered much of the state with a soft, silky-white blanket only a few days past the Ides of March. Although the unexpected blizzard deposited more than nineteen inches on top of the season’s meager remains, the last remnant of winter had been off the ground for almost three weeks now, thanks in no small part to the Sun’s intense springtime rays; and muddy season in this pristine region of the northeast United States, known by all as God’s Country, was thankfully nearing an end.

  And I say thankfully because, despite the natural scenic beauty and almost divine serenity that residents of the Pine Tree State cherish during all four of its distinctively diverse seasons, the unofficial and rather obscure season known in these parts as the season of mud, although only two to three weeks in duration, is a time of the year that most Mainers—or Maniacs as they proudly, albeit sometimes sarcastically, always humorously, call themselves—dreaded the most. So much so that, when it was over, many of them might be heard saying, in their own unique vernacular, that they were “wicked happy to be rid of it.”

  Indeed, the coldest wintry weather during January-February, or the hated two-week period during summer when mosquitoes and black flies often made life a living hell, was more tolerable to many Mainers than was the loathsome substance that gave this dreaded season its name. And that was particularly true for the hardworking housewives, because it was they who—when not slaving over a hot stove preparing meals and doing everyday housework—had the unenviable task of cleaning Earth’s brown pudding from the floors of their homes; of sweeping the piles of dirt that it made after the unnoticed mud dried for upwards of an hour, if not longer, on those floors; or of washing the dirty mess off their family’s clothing, where it was almost destined to collect.

  Or maybe I should say scrubbing it off, because in those days there were no electric washing machines, or, for that matter, no affordable electricity in much of this rural part of the country to power the modern inventions. No, only washtubs and corrugated metal scrubbing boards, with power being supplied by hardy women in the form of long periods of tedious work; in part, because
it usually took two or three good scrubbings and a corresponding amount of clean water in the washtub to rid soiled clothes of the entrenched dirt; water that had to be carried in pails from the nearest well and heated on a properly stoked woodstove, with at least a half-dozen pails needed to fill the tub.

  And after all that effort, the women still had to manually wring out the clothes to remove most of the water before they were hung on clotheslines to dry in the sun. Though, that process wasn’t too bad if the housewives could afford the luxury of a mechanical wringer: an ingenious two-roller device that conveniently attached to the tub, allowing a housewife to squeeze the water out of the clothing with relative ease by simply turning a crank. But most people, being dirt-poor in those days, instead had to use their hands: twisting the clothes with all their might until the water was sufficiently wrung out. So, as you can rightly imagine, removing mud from the family’s clothes was no small matter, typically taking the toiling housewives the better part of a day to accomplish. Indeed, those housewives undoubtedly had trouble deciding which they dreaded most: that, or toiling all day under the hot sun in the family’s vegetable garden. One thing they did know for sure—and frequently repeated to their husbands—was this simple and oft-cited poem: “Man may work from sun to sun, but woman’s work is never done.”

  Of course, the workers in Maine’s great outdoors had no love for the sloppy mess that permeated the spring ground either. From the early-to-rise farmers who drove their cattle into the muddy fields, after finishing their daily milking chores, long before the roosters crowed; to the early-morning milkmen who tiptoed to the front doors of their customers’ homes in order to avoid, often unsuccessfully, the gooey mess on the gravel walkways; to the hardy lumberjacks of Maine, who by days end were regularly plastered from head to toe with spots of the brown substance thrown from the hooves of their pulling horses; all hated this dreadful season with a passion.

  And why?

  Because it meant many wasted hours trying to navigate through, or avoid entirely, God’s yearly hazard; and even more wasted hours scraping the gooey and sometimes hardened mess off the soles and from the grooves of their boots. Even so, this year the season was almost over; and, for that, everyone could be thankful. Indeed, the one good thing about that most dreadful part of spring was that it was accompanied by the warm rays of the Earth’s brilliant Sun, and that its end, and not March 21st, signaled the unofficial start of spring. And, with the end of muddy season, everyone could look forward not only to the beautiful life-renewing days of spring that lay ahead, but to the beautiful bright-blue and semi cloud-filled Maine skies; and, of course, to the abundant sunny, and oft breezy, 70 degree days of summer, for which Maine is especially known and blessed. And this special April day in 1910—a day that you might say marks the real beginning of this story and one that you will learn much more about before too long—was typical of the most beautiful, or maybe, most inspiring spring weather that Maine has to offer.

  Although the temperature was only in the low 60s when the morning Sun came from behind the clouds on this particular Tuesday morning in Bangor, the brilliant illumination of the yellowish-green grass and the warmth of the sun on ones face were further proof that spring had finally arrived. And although the arrival of spring in the cherished State of Maine was an event looked forward to with great anticipation every year, this year was uniquely different, for it was preceded by a more extraordinary event that happens only once every 76 years: the arrival of Halley’s Comet, a celestial comet appropriately named after its official discoverer.

  Despite being seen numerous times by a multitude of people from a multitude of countries over the past few centuries, it wasn’t until 1682 that English astronomer Edmund Halley first realized, and, more significantly, recorded for posterity what it was those people had seen in the skies, since at least the year 240BC and likely before. Because of his amazing achievement, Halley was the first to truly discover ‘mankind’s comet’, as it has since been so aptly labeled.

  Over the years Halley’s Comet had intrigued both astronomers and common folk the world around, and this part of the world at this particular moment of the Earth’s history was no different. Indeed, the comet had already captured the imagination of everyone who anticipated its arrival in the crisp winter skies of Bangor, and more so those who were fortunate to view it float visibly through the heavens from late January, on into April; and to a sickly Mark Twain, America’s literary treasure, beloved humorist, and renown world ambassador—who with fate’s blessing was fortunate to be born under the comet in 1835 and destined to die under it too—it held special significance. But to the Haleys of Bangor, the arrival of Earth’s most famous comet took second place to an event that held much more significance to them: The arrival of their third child.

  Indeed, as the distant comet was about to head away from the Earth on its eternal journey into the far reaches of the Milky Way, passers-by outside a small yellow house on Palm Street could hear a distinct slap and then the sound of a baby’s wail through a half-open bedroom window on that blissful Tuesday morn, when, at 10:37, baby Leona first made her way into this mysterious and oft cruel world.

  Granted, the 26th day of April in the year 1910 was not a day that the world will singularly remember, nonetheless, to Margaret and Murdock Haley it was a day that they would cherish for the rest of their lives. Though no one could know it then, little Leona Bessie Haley, as she was so named, would have a lasting impact on the lives of untold people who only by chance intercepted her journey through life.

  Although many of the characters you will soon encounter have their own engaging stories to tell, this is Leona’s story, or, as I like to call it, her Journey with the Comet. And as you read her intriguing story you will learn much about her unique life: the wonderful and sometimes woeful experiences she has; the many fascinating people she meets along the way; and the twists and turns, and the ups and downs that fate has in store for her. But most intriguing of all, you will join Leona on her amazing journey through the heavens where she lives out her dreams on the mysterious and oftentimes magical comet that guides her through life.

  Chapter 2

  The Journey Begins

  Shortly after noon, on the 17th of April 1899, Murdock Campbell Haley was standing on the top deck of the massive City of Bangor—one of three passenger ships belonging to the Bangor-based Eastern Steamship Company—as it slowly made its way up the Penobscot River to its host city. The young Canadian was leaning on the ship’s side rail, taking in the scenery and watching an American Bald Eagle flying high overhead, when he noticed an older man walking toward him, looking for-all-the-world as if he were lost.

  “Hi, young fella,” the man said. “Beautiful day, isn’t it? Could be a little cooler I guess, but, all-in-all, I’ll take it.”

  “You and me too, mister,” Murdock responded. “Although, when it comes right down to it, I kinda prefer the weather like this, especially where I’m from.”

  “Hmmm,” the man said before continuing. “I’ve been on this boat manys-a-time—in fact, more than I cared to—and I don’t recall seeing you before. Be that as it may, I couldn’t help but notice you eyeing that eagle circling above us. It sure is graceful lookin’.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been watching it on-and-off since we left Bar Harbor,” Murdock responded. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It must think we’re either a very large prey or an irresistible curiosity; given the diverse personalities of the passengers I’ve observed on this vessel, it’s probably the latter. As far as you seeing me before, it’s my first time on this ship—or any other for that matter.”

  “Is that right?” the elder man exclaimed. “Well then, let me be the first to welcome you aboard. You headed for business or pleasure?”

  “A little of both,” Murdock replied. “I’m on my way to Bangor to….”

  “Oh, sorry,” the man said, “gotta go; my boss is calling me. Nice meeti
ng you.”

  Murdock turned and saw the man hurrying toward a woman with an angry look on her face. He laughed when he realized it was the man’s wife. The elder man had wakened him from his scenic daydream, and now he began thinking about the reason he was on this huge ship, wondering if he was making a huge mistake.

  The adventurous Canadian was immigrating to the United States from Basswood Ridge—a small, rural village on the outskirts of St. Stephen, New Brunswick—eagerly anticipating the start of his new journey in the small, yet thriving, Maine city. The confident 19-year-old was on his way to Bangor in hopes of finding work as a carpenter—his main vocation since becoming an apprentice at the age of 16—and eventually realizing the American Dream. As fate would have it, the ambitious Canadian would have no choice but to take what he considered temporary work as a laborer at a local freight station until, hopefully, a carpenter’s job opened up.

  The station where Murdock would eventually find employment, constructed ten years prior to the turn of the century and aptly named the Bangor Freight Station, was situated on the Penobscot River, just north of where the southward flowing river met the southeasterly flowing Kenduskeag Stream, one of its many small tributaries. The Kenduskeag not only dutifully fed the Penobscot, but served as the boundary separating what residents called the west side of Bangor from the east side, the east side being where the freight station was located. Why those early residents were not instead inclined to declare that the diagonally flowing Kenduskeag separated the north side of Bangor from the south side, few knew, or likely even cared. Of course, Murdock Haley knew none of those facts yet, not even that he would soon be working in a freight station for that matter. But he was about to find out.

  —1—

  As the City of Bangor was approaching the dock in Bangor on that hot, blustery day, Murdock leaned against the portside rail of its crowded top deck watching the persistent Bald Eagle circle high overhead. To his amazement the giant bird had followed the huge passenger ship from Bar Harbor all the way up the Penobscot. When the ship’s whistle blew and the Canadian’s gaze shifted downward, he marveled at the beehive of activity before him, both on the water and on the land below. Indeed, the harbor was so full of ships and boats and barges that it took nearly fifteen minutes for the City of Bangor to worm its way safely to dockside. And the ship itself was so crowded that it was another five minutes before Murdock was able to elbow his way through his fellow passengers to the ship’s ramp. When he finally did, he eagerly left the ship and proceeded to walk through a large dusty parking lot on his way to the nearby waterfront street. Halfway through the lot Murdock noticed a taxi driver climbing off a shiny black carriage, likely there looking for customers from the boat that had just docked.