A storm ferments the sky. He’d stop the dark clouds from gathering if he could. But of course he can not. The experiment will happen.
A booming voice beside him: “Not afraid of a little lightning, are you, Billy?”
As a matter of fact he is. Afraid, that is. Even though in his short life he’s seen piles of corpses scalped, one horror does not belay another. He’s also seen men who’ve been struck by lightning and they are…not as they were afore. He’s — if not terrified — then at least gravely concerned. But he would never tell his father this. He, William Franklin, was a captain in the King’s Army after all. He has parlayed with Indians on the western frontier. He’s endured the taunts of “Bastard!” for as long as he can remember. “No” is the reply. …