Andrew F. O'Hara
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Much has been written about the rich history of the Sacramento Valley - the Gold Rush of 1849, Sutter's Fort, the Donner Party and the Pony Express.
"The Swan" brings you tales inspired by the people who live in the valley today: their dreams, their hopes and loves, their weaknesses and their personal tragedies. Beginning with two children who meet in a field under the stars to face life and death together, author Andy O'Hara explores how ordinary people face extraordinary challenges with quiet determination and unseen heroism. For some, the line between courage and cowardice is a thin one, the choices difficult, and the paths they follow full of surprises. It is no coincidence that, in one, a police officer is overwhelmed by his job and fights thoughts of suicide.
This book is not without controversy. It's not a collection of warm and fuzzy "feelgood" endings--only life at its enigmatic, often confusing but truthful best. There are parts you will love, even hate, but they will force you to think (or retreat into whatever safe corner is yours).
A thread of ancient legend and mystery binds the people of these dramatic tales together in a web that will endear you, forever, to the charm and beauty of the Sacramento Valley.
Andrew O’Hara is a retired California Highway Patrolman who spent much of his boyhood and career in the Sacramento Valley. He lives in Sacramento with his wife, Lisa.
It rained when the priest arrived in River Bend. It was a warm, unexpected summer shower and evening was settling as the taxi pulled to the curb and let him out in front of the Boatright boarding house. He stood a moment, suitcase on the sidewalk.
Across the street, Irene Manning parted the curtain and watched him closely. “Brian,” she whispered to her husband, seated behind her with a newspaper. “He’s here.”
“Who’s that?” he asked without looking up.
“It’s that priest,” she hissed. “He’s here!” Waving her hand in disgust, she turned her attention back to the new arrival.
The taxicab had pulled away, and the priest seemed uncertain. Pulling his jacket collar up to protect his neck from the rain, he finally lifted the suitcase and went up the walkway to the door.
Irene Manning followed his movements intently, straining for a glimpse of his face. Between the rain and the falling darkness, however, it remained shrouded from her view.
The priest climbed the steps to the door of the boarding house and rang the bell. The porch light came on and the door opened. A hurried conversation took place, during which he handed Mrs. Boatright a paper. She looked at it briefly, nodded and held the door open.
When the priest lifted his suitcase he turned and looked at Irene. She held her breath—he couldn’t possibly know she was watching. His gaunt face was illuminated in the porch light briefly. Startled, she let the curtain fall as he turned back to the door and vanished into the rooming house. Irene was still holding her breath and her heart was racing as she looked at her husband.
“I can’t believe he came,” she gasped.
