Salvation for an Angel

By Thomas Canter

Salvation for an Angel.

“The names have been changed to protect the innocent.” How many times has a story been prefaced by those words. In this story there is no protection for the innocent. The uncle of a girl and her brother, who becomes their guardian, is the embodiment of evil. He manipulates the community to condone his evil. Only with the heart of an angel can a sister care for her mutilated brother and endure the daily degradation. In the end is there salvation for such an angel? Perhaps. In a bottle.

Tom Canter retells the story of the girl who saw the death of her little brother ultimately escaped the clutches of the uncle. She told Tom the story between encounters with the bottle which became her escape from the horrors through which she had lived.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leonard Flachman
• Release date: Jan 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781933794518

Book preview

Chapter one

The year 1953

I was ten years old, it was a crisp autumn morning and the blue jays were threatening each other over the crumbs of bread my mother had thrown into our small front yard. The leaves were a crimson mix of gold and red that competed with each other for their beauty by dancing with the wind. The squirrels told each other in their frantic barking that winter was not far off. They scurried about the hickory trees collecting their final stores of food for the winter. The sun was reflecting off my little brothers head as his blonde curls bounced in step with the branches on the trees.

Momma and me were preparing for the winter too. We had been canning for the past several days and now our cupboards were bulging over with jars of green beans, corn, tomatoes, carrots, peas and one of our most popular diets, hominy. I love hominy fried up and served with eggs in the morning.

Life was good for me, my baby brother and momma. We lived alone in the mountains. My daddy had been killed in the Korean War. So we lived off the insurance money the Army gave momma for daddy fighting and dying for his country.

I remember my daddy as a big strong man with blue eyes and curly rich brown hair. He always smiled when he looked at me or my baby brother.

I remember how he used to tuck me into bed at night and say my prayers with me. He was my best friend and I followed him everywhere around the house and outside. Daddy used to call me his second shadow.

When that Korean War started, my daddy had to go into the Army. He said it was the right thing to do and he volunteered.

I got to see him one time in his Army uniform before he went off and got killed.

He was killed in action in 1952, just six months after he left our home. I can remember the soldiers as they carried my daddies casket to the grave and how the guns going off made my brother cry. The bugler made a sad song that made me and momma cry even more. They had some soldiers fold the flag that covered my daddies casket into a triangle.

Then a nice man said some nice words to my momma and gave her the flag that had been draped over my daddy’s casket. Momma keeps that flag on her small dresser beside her bed. Sometimes I used to see her crying and holding that flag late at night when momma thought we were asleep. Something told me not to bother her when I saw her with her arms around that flag, and I never did.

I would just close my eyes and picture my daddy as I remembered him. Sometimes it was hard for me to bring his face into my mind. I could see his form real easy but his face sometimes was just a blur to me.

We were not rich, but we had more than most folks that lived around the mountain. Our house had three rooms that were built into an L shape. There was a front door which stayed open most of the time in the summer. We had a screen door that groaned every time someone opened it and bang loudly as the spring pulled it shut.

The living room doubled as mine and my little brothers’ bedroom. We had a small bed that we kept up against one wall by the only window. A couch sat across from our bed. On one side of the couch was an end table with a kerosene lamp on it. We had electricity now for about the past six months or about. Momma didn’t trust it though so we kept that kerosene lamp ready at all times. On the other end of the couch was a big RCA radio, this made up all the furnishings of our living room. An open doorway led from the living room into the kitchen. A person could see our cook stove from the living room. We had a pump handle in the small kitchen sink. This made some of the neighbors about the mountain jealous as they had to carry their water from the creek.

By neighbors I mean folks that lived around the mountain. There were no houses within seven miles or more and we didn’t get much company. I heard most of the gossip from the kids that road the bus with me. There was a red headed girl in my class who didn’t like me too much and she was always saying what her momma thought of us living so high and mighty on the mountain like we were better than other folks. I would always tell Momma what that girl said and momma would only say that is the way some people are.

Momma would never say anything bad about someone. But it sure made me mad to hear them talk about her and me that way.

The sound of a car could be heard passing by our house from time to time. This was always exciting to me and my baby brother as we would scurry out side to watch it go by. Most times people would wave and we would wave back.

When the men from the power company was putting in the electric lines we all watched them work as we never saw so many people around our house at the same time, with all the trucks bringing in those telephone poles and the truck that had a drill on it. That was exciting to watch. It got awful quiet around our house after the electric was turned on and all those men left.

At first all we had was a light bulb lamp. Then after a while momma surprised us with that RCA radio! Now it was hard to go to bed until we listened to our favorite stations. All three of us would listen and stare at that radio as if it was alive or something.

Off to one side of the kitchen was momma’s bedroom. She kept a curtain over her door for privacy. But most often it was pulled back so we could move back and forth without having to pull it out of the way. Come to think of it, I don’t think momma ever closed it after my daddy was killed.

The outhouse set out back about one hundred feet from the back door. A path was worn from the many trips our feet carried us there, sometimes faster than other times. Just off to the side of the house was a small chicken coop that kept us supplied with fresh eggs. I always thought the chickens were a mixed blessing. Sure, they gave us eggs to eat and kept the yard pretty much clear of ticks. But they left droppings all over the place and I hated to have a pile of chicken poop squished between my toes. So like I said, we were not rich, but we had everything we needed.

Momma had built a fire in our kitchen stove, she was real proud of that stove. She ordered it from a Sears catalog and I must say it was fancy. The exterior was pretty white enamel with blue jays and red birds singing to each other on each door above the top of the stove. The stove had a place where you could store water that stayed hot whenever you built a fire. We always had hot water for the dishes, or washing our face and hands as my brother and me seemed to get dirty real fast most days.

Momma was just teaching me how to take the hot ashes out of the stove. She said I was becoming such a good helper that she didn’t know what she would do without me. I remember how important that made me feel as I scampered around imitating her moves and even talking to my younger brother in the same tone of voice as mommas.

I loved my momma; she was such a pretty woman with long dark hair that flowed in natural curls down past her knees. She had high check bones that fit perfectly with her deep set blue eyes.

She had such a quiet graceful presence about her. She carried an air of silent but strong willed character that did not demand, but took respect from everyone that met her.

After my daddy was killed, there were a lot of men wanting to court her. Momma would have none of them. She told me and my little brother that there was not another man on this earth that could come no where close to my daddy. And that she would never settle for second best. I thought she was right as I could never see anyone but my momma and daddy living with us.

My little brother could not remember much about our daddy. Momma had made it a habit to tell the two of us a story every night about him. Because it made us feel closer to our daddy, my brother and me were always ready to go to bed at night. After saying our prayers momma would ask us if we wanted to hear about daddy. The two of us would say yes ma’am in a loud unison. Momma would then ask if we wanted to hear a new one or an old one. The two of us would fall asleep as momma’s soft voice brought a picture of him into our minds and for me I remembered his smell. I missed him a lot but momma’s stories seemed to keep him fresh in my mind and my heart.

The stove was glowing hot and the big porcelain pot of water was starting to steam, I helped momma set the empty glass canning jars out for the next batch of green beans. I heard my little brother say hi and there was a quiet knock on our front door. Momma looked at me surprised like as we did not get many knocks on our door: most hill folks would just give a holler as they came into the house. The two of us rushed to the living room and I saw an old man with kind green eyes and a handsome mustache standing outside of our opened screen door. He was holding one of those old derby hats in his hands and was dressed in a three peace striped suit that was worn and tattered. I heard him say good morning, in a bright and cheerful voice. Then before momma could ask he said,

I am sorry to trouble you ma’am but could I beg a glass of water?

Momma said good morning back to him and said I have some fresh made lemonade if you would prefer that. Well the old gentleman’s eyes almost popped out of his head! Oh ma’am that would be so nice, I haven’t had lemonade in years, as momma went to get the old man his drink, my brother and I just stood there looking at him; too shy to say anything.

With a twinkle in his rich emerald eyes the old man placed the derby back on his head and then bowed to me in a grand gesture as he doffed his hat. He could make funny expressions with his face that told me and my brother he thought I was a true princess or a very important lady. With a solemn expression he faced my brother as he snapped to a position of attention and saluted him with his hand quivering from his hurried arm movement.

By the time momma returned with a glass of lemonade with the pulp of the lemonade floating around inside the cold glass, my brother and I were laughing hysterically at his shenanigans.

Thank you for your kindness. He said, as he drank half the lemonade in practically one gulp. Oh my, that is so good! with that he drained the remainder in one big swallow.

I am on my way over this mountain as it appears to be a shortcut for me; I didn’t realize how steep this hill was and how warm it got here so early in the day. Ma’am that lemonade was surly the best I have ever tasted.

He then took out a handkerchief and pretended to wipe the glass clean. And in his theatrical moves he presented the glass to me with a solemn bow. I giggled as I accepted the glass and tried to do a small curtsy. The old gentleman thanked my momma and gave another formal salute to my brother. As he started to walk away momma told him to wait just a minute. She went back into the kitchen and returned shortly with a ham sandwich and several jars of our freshly made green beans.

Take this for a snack and have a pleasant journey. Momma told him. "Oh ma’ams, Thank you, thank you so very much! He said in a genuine grateful voice. At about this time we heard a car coming up the road.

Well I’d better be off Said the old man, with a final bow to me and a solemn handshake to my brother, which once again made the two of us laugh at his formality. The old man started walking down our little driveway to the road.

Just then, the car came around the bend and we all three let out with a small groan. It was my uncle. Driving his old A- model ford a little to fast and weaving as he was obviously drunk again. My momma’s brother did not slow down for the old man and left a cloud of dust to cover him as he came to a stop by our porch with breaks squeaking loudly.

So I see you’re still feeding the bums, He said with a sneer Then added, I didn’t realize you were that hard up. This comment made my momma blush but at the time I didn’t know why. But I got mad at him for making my momma feel embarrassed for doing nothing wrong.

He was not a good man. He was tall and thin with a receding hairline and a nervous smile. His eyes always caught yours if you looked at him. You could be across the room and whenever you stared at him he would turn his head and look at you. He had pale blue eyes that made you think he could read your inner thoughts. He had a hair trigger temper that made him resort to violence whenever he got mad. He spent a lot of time in jail over his drunken rampages and was well known around the whole county as a trouble maker.

Momma had told me one time that he could not help himself. When he was a baby he had got bad sick and his fever had gone up to almost one hundred and six degrees and stayed that way for over a week. Everybody had thought he was going to die. My grandpa had even built a small casket and had dug his grave. But he had pulled through. Momma said even way back then they could tell his sickness had