Kindred: A Love Story (Editing)

Prologue

A woman is driving along a quiet back road. It is just after dusk, the sun has set but there is still a little light in the sky.  There is a truck that has been following close behind her for several miles.  The lights are bright and she cannot make out the license plate or the driver. Suddenly, the driver in the truck rams the woman’s car she swerves into a ditch, hits her head on the steering column and loses consciousness.  The truck speeds away.

 

It is the beginning of fall, kids are just going back to school and the small town of Freeman, Ohio is getting ready for harvesting of crops, preparing for fall festivals and Halloween.  The town was established in the early 1900s and was a settlement for Native Americans, Caucasians and later inhabited by free African Americans. It has a population of approximately 500 people, including children.  It is picturesque, almost like one of those Thomas Kincaid paintings, the ones with the little houses with white picket fences, old dirt roads and little shops. People around here value family, go to church on Sundays and help their neighbor whenever they can. Not too many people have left the small town, except for the occasional student going off to the big city for college, but most return to run family owned businesses.  Everyone knows each other as they do in most small towns so when a stranger comes everyone knows about it.

The town is home to a small grocery store, hardware store, restaurant, Bed and Breakfast, various other small shops and a lumber yard.  Most people find work at the lumber yard, or in selling crops and goods at a farmer’s market in one of the larger cities about an hour away.  The B&B is the biggest draw for people travelling through wanting a little comfort of home before they make it to their destinations, or who just want to relax in the comfort of a small town without the big city prices.

 

The bell hanging over the door jingles as a man enters, goes to the fridge takes out a bottle of water and walks to the counter.

“How much?” he asks.

            “A dollar.” said the man behind the counter, a stout man in his mid-fifties, with brown hair and a thick mustache, answers.

He looks at the man suspiciously because he has never seen him in town before. He wonders what the man is doing here and how long he’s planning to stay.

 “Looking for the B&B, any chance you can point me in the right direction?” The man asks while paying for his drink.

 “Earley’s yep, ‘bout half mile up the road.” Eyeing the man closely he answers, pointing out the big store front window.

“Thanks.” the man says walking out the store.

As he walks up the road, he notices a sign indicating the B&B is a half mile away and is sure the walk will take about fifteen minutes. He figures what’s another few minutes when it has taken him half the day to get to the town in the first place. What he isn’t sure of is what will happen when he gets there, because like most small towns a stranger coming is something nobody wanted, especially someone like him. He just hopes his trip isn’t in vain.