Return to Rocky Gap

By Toni Morrow Wyatt

A resident of Briarwood Nursing Home, Amelia Sterns Monroe refuses to accept that the best of her life may be behind her. Defying logic or explanation, she finds a way to travel through time back to the people and the place she once loved. She finds herself returning to Rocky Gap.

The youngest of three, Amelia grows up adoring her oldest sister, Cecilia. When Cecilia marries and leaves home, Amelia finds herself an unwilling conspirator in her sister Lydia's evil schemes. After Lydia's choices result in tragedy, Amelia struggles to find forgiveness for the sister she has never understood. When Elmer Monroe enters Amelia's life, she finds in him an all-encompassing love that can't be denied. As her life takes an impossible turn, she is shocked to discover a newfound understanding for Lydia. But, is it too late?

Spanning from 1921 until present day, Return to Rocky Gap is the epic tale of a family torn apart by tragedy and brought back together by war, only to find that distance is sometimes the hardest obstacle to overcome.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Dec 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781612355351

Book preview

untold.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: A Painful Witness

Chapter 3: Wishing for the Bogeyman

Chapter 4: The Serpent Shows Its Fangs

Chapter 5: Losing Cecilia

Chapter 6: A Haunting at the Stagecoach House

Chapter 7: No Longer the Baby

Chapter 8: Threats and Promises

Chapter 9: Revenge

Chapter 10: Trespassers

Chapter 11: Deadly Decision

Chapter 12: Blood Red Sun

Chapter 13: A Storm Brews

Chapter 14: Danger in the Gap

Chapter 15: Strangers in the Gap

Chapter 16: Trouble in the Moonlight

Chapter 17: Sin Comes Calling

Chapter 18: The Sound of a Broken Heart

Chapter 19: Awakening

Chapter 20: Something to Fight For

Chapter 21: Just Like Lydia

Chapter 22: The Truth

Chapter 23: Breaking the News

Chapter 24: My Wedding Day

Chapter 25: Becoming a Mother

Chapter 26: Still Life

Chapter 27: Clouds on the Horizon

Chapter 28: Life and Death

Chapter 29: Light and Dark

Chapter 30: We're in the Army Now

Chapter 31: The Time Has Come

Chapter 32: Glenda

Chapter 33: A Glimmer of Hope

Chapter 34: If It Smells Like a Skunk

Chapter 35: A Ghost in the Graveyard

Chapter 36: Seeing Is Believing

Chapter 37: Shattered

Chapter 38: Hope Stirs

Chapter 39: Intimidated No More

Chapter 40: A Shaky New Start

Chapter 41: Another Piece of My Heart Breaks Off

Chapter 42: Devil in Disguise

Chapter 43: The Devil's Deeds

Chapter 44: Fedora

About the Author

Previews

Chapter One

Whatcha doing sitting in the dark, Mama? the woman asked. She crossed the room to the window. I’m gonna open the curtains and let some sunshine in. She pulled the cord and opened the blinds.

I brought my hand up to shield my eyes. From where I sat in an old stuffed rocking chair, the sun hit me square in the face. I’m confused. I thought it was nighttime.

The woman picked up a piece of paper from the dresser. She traced her finger down it, and then looked up at me and smiled. Guess what’s for dinner tonight?

I’m not sure I want to. Surprise me.

It’s your favorite—chicken, she said, with entirely too much enthusiasm.

So great, we’re having chicken for dinner. Briarwood Nursing Home should hold the World’s Record for ‘The Most Disgusting Ways to Serve Chicken.’ They serve it baked, fried, broiled, in soups, and in sandwiches. You name it—they serve it that way. The only problem is; they mush it up beyond recognition and it tastes, well, you guessed it—disgusting.

Every time I eat chicken, it reminds me of the night Reuben came to our house wanting to court my sister Cecilia. Twelve years older and more like a mother than a sister, Cecilia looked after my other sister Lydia and me while our parents worked in the cotton fields. Being poor cotton farmers, they picked cotton for someone else.

* * * *

Cecilia was a sweet girl with beautiful, long chestnut hair. I loved to watch her weave it into a long braid and then wrap it around and around the crown of her head until she made a perfect halo. In my eyes, she could do no wrong. I could never measure up to her perfection, but I was hell bent on trying.

I haven’t decided if living in the past is a gift or a curse. Most people would see it as a sign of a feeble mind and think of me as an old lady reliving her glory days. My mind isn’t feeble; it’s full of a life and a love I never want to forget.

In the times when I’m lucid, I find myself back in this mind numbing old folks’ home. The people here think I’m crazy. They stick me in a room with faded red rose wallpaper and expect me to be good. How would they feel if they were confined to one room and expected to look at the same twin bed with the same quilt, the same window looking out at the same view—day after day?

My travels into the past help me escape. I don’t control it. It just happens. Everyone here wants me to live in the present, but I’d much rather live in the past.

As I sit in front of my dresser, looking in the mirror, I see a sixteen year old with shoulder length, auburn hair pulled back from her face. I’m wearing the same silver hairclips Papa bought me in Carson. A spray of freckles splash across my nose, my eyes twinkle, and my body feels alive.

I close my eyes and feel the hot sunshine of an Arkansas afternoon. The warmth of it flows over me and brings a vision of my mother’s kind, smiling face. I reach out and touch her hands. Some hideous voice in the back of my mind tells me it’s impossible because my mother is dead. She’s been dead for many years. Nevertheless, she isn’t dead in my mind. She’s here with me, whether they can see her or not.

I open my eyes and find an old woman staring back at me. I look in her eyes and see she has a story to tell. It starts in September of 1921. In a small, rural community on the secluded backside of Valentine Mountain, my story begins.

We called the area Rocky Gap. Our simple life included no telephones, electricity, or modern conveniences. We lived in log cabins, drove wagons, and worked in fields. Everyone knew each other, and gossip spread faster in the Gap than in any other place in the world. We were the original grapevine.

Most everyone living around the Gap worked in Old Man Litch's fields. In 1921, I couldn’t do much more than go along for the ride. I would stand up in the back of the wagon and look out over the rows and rows of soft, white, fluffy cotton as far as my eyes could see. All colors of people bent over, picked it off the ugly sticks, and stuffed it into cotton sacks that trailed out behind them as they worked in the unforgiving sun. A lot of them were what they called tenant farmers. They lived in shacks on Old Man Litch’s land and worked his fields. We were lucky; Papa owned our land and the cabin we lived in. It didn’t make us better, but it said a lot about Papa.

At first, I couldn’t figure out why Mama’s little hands bled. The cotton looked as soft as a cloud. The first time I had the chance to grab a handful, the sharp prick against my tender finger came as a nasty surprise, and I knew—things are not always as they might seem.

Old Man Litch owned most of the fields around here. They said the cotton gin was a great invention, but I personally thought he just liked gin. I heard Papa say so. I knew Old Man Litch even drank it on Sundays. I knew because he went to our church.

My Papa owned the little parcel of land the church sat on, but he didn’t own the religion. Everyone in Rocky Gap went to the same church. Well, that’s not true. The colored folks didn’t go to our church. They had their own. I could hear them singing when the wind was just right on Sunday mornings. They sounded like angels. They sang better than we did. Some of the women in our congregation wore their girdles too tight. It’s a wonder some of the high notes they hit didn’t shatter the windows.

We sang a lot at our church, regardless of how it may have sounded, ate plenty of food, usually had a few squabbles, and listened to a whole heap of repenting. What we didn't know someone had done during the week, we generally found out on Sunday once the Holy Spirit took hold.

I think those folks made up half the stuff they carried on about to put on a good show. But, Old Man Litch wasn’t showing off—he really was drunk.

My mama, Beth Ann Sterns, never had any dirty laundry to air on Sundays. Everyone considered her the sweetest, most generous woman around. They knew they could ask a favor of her, and she would do her level best to help them. Their only obstacle was getting past Papa.

I loved my Papa. No one would ever describe him as being nice, but I looked up to him and thought the world of him. My only complaint came with the way he dealt with Lydia. If she threatened to hold her breath, Papa became putty in her hands.

My worst nightmare come to life, Lydia was three years older than me. In my opinion, she held her breath more than she actually breathed when we were young. I considered it one of God’s miracles her complexion wasn’t a pale shade of blue all the time. If Cecilia was an angel, Lydia was the devil incarnate.

I guess you could say Reuben Carter was also a part of our family. Folks referred to him as a looker. His eyes were a beautiful sky blue, and they captured the attention of the girls in the Gap. Whenever he tried to talk to one of them, they lost all power of speech. I found it strange. I never said much around him, but it wasn’t because of his blue eyes. It was because Mama always said, If you can’t say something pleasant, then be seen and not heard. I never had anything pleasant to say to Reuben.

Mama, having a way about her that drew strangers and friends alike, became friends with Reuben long before he ever took a second look at Cecilia. She always invited him to Sunday dinner, and he walked home with our family from church. It came as no surprise to Papa when Reuben first asked his permission to pick up Cecilia in his wagon for church. Papa had seen how his oldest daughter had caught the boy’s eye. He was skeptical at first. His daughters were his gold, and there was no way he was going to let just anybody into his mine.

Reuben earned Papa’s respect with his skills in hunting and with the way he raised his hounds. People in these parts admired his hunting reputation. It was a big deal to folks because it proved a man could provide for his family.

It did come as a shock to Cecilia. Never the type of girl to fawn over boys, she’d been too shy to look at Reuben in those blue eyes. She had no clue the reason he continued to come to Sunday dinner was to see her.

On a warm, summer, Saturday evening, Papa sat whittling by the fire in an oversized rocking chair. He’d been proud of the way he’d finally been able to put it together and sit in it without it collapsing. He would have enjoyed it even more if Mama would have allowed him to light up one of his cigars, but she told him the house was off limits to his smoking. He had to make his way to the outdoors if he wanted to light up.

Our cabin consisted of one big room, which included a sitting area around the fireplace, a kitchen, and our beds. It was tight quarters, but to us, it was cozy and comfortable.

On this night, Cecilia sat on the long plank seat plucking the chicken for Sunday’s dinner. Off in some kind of daydream with her eyes glazed over, her mind in some distance place, she paid no attention to her surroundings.

Looking over his shoulder, Papa said, Reuben Carter asked if he might take you to church tomorrow in his wagon, Cecilia. What do you think about that?

She hesitated for a moment and then kept on plucking.

Cecilia, I said Reuben Carter would like to pick you up tomorrow for church.

Yes, Papa, I heard you. I guess it’d be alright.

She went back to plucking the chicken, feathers flying, to hide the flush I saw come to her cheeks.

Well, I guess you don’t have to give me your answer. I took the liberty of inviting him to supper tonight. He’ll be along any minute now. You can tell him yourself, he said, turning his concentration to the small canoe he whittled.

The wild flying of chicken feathers came to a dead halt, and a bald chicken hit the floor.

Papa, you mean to tell me, he’s on his way? she asked.

Jeremiah, Mama said. You could’ve at least given us a little warning. In the middle of plucking a chicken is not the time to tell your daughter a boy wants to court her, and oh, by the way, he’s coming to dinner. She turned to Cecilia and said, I’ll finish up for you. Run along to the creek and wash up. Supper’s almost ready, and I expect we’ll hear Reuben’s horses coming down the Gap any minute.

Cecilia picked up the chicken and put it in a pot on the table. She grabbed a small hand towel and bucket and flew out the door toward the creek, which ran by our cabin just out of sight in the woods.

You’ve scared the mud out of her, Jeremiah, Mama said.

Who cares? Lydia asked as she batted invisible chicken feathers away from her face. All this blame chicken fuzz is making me sneeze.

Lydia, if you can’t tolerate it, then I don’t expect you’ll be able to tolerate the fried chicken tomorrow afternoon, either. Tonight’s very important to your sister, and I don’t wanna hear any more complaints out of you. It’s hard enough without your constant smart aleck remarks. Do I make myself clear? Mama asked as she cleaned up feathers.

Yes, Mama, Lydia said with an exaggerated sigh as she dramatically threw herself backwards onto her bed.

Good, now go help your sister get cleaned up. Take Amelia with you.

Lydia reluctantly got up and stormed out of the cabin dragging me behind her. Her vice grip on my arm was so tight, the blood throbbed in my hand.

I don’t know why Cecilia needs my help. I hope Reuben Carter’s horses step in cow crap and fling it into the wagon. Mama’d better not ask me to help her clean up when that happens. I don’t see what all the fuss is about anyway, she said, stomping off the porch.

I heard Papa raise his voice. Now, Beth Ann, I wish you wouldn’t be so hard on her. You know how sensitive she can be.

Lydia shushed me with her finger to her lips as we stopped to listen.

Where Lydia is concerned, you’re completely blind. I’m ashamed to admit such a vicious streak exists in one of my own children. She’s jealous of Cecilia, plain as day, but I won’t let her ruin this. She doesn’t fool me, and she shouldn’t fool you, either.

The fact that big, burly Papa treated Lydia with such kid gloves had been a bone of contention between them since the day she was born.

I suppose being the middle child could account for some of the villainous ways she had. A temper as hot as Hades and a mouth that never thought before it spoke got her into a heap of trouble. She never seemed to worry about the consequences. Maybe that was because her actions rarely ever got her into the kind of trouble she deserved.

Mama finally succeeded in getting Papa from underfoot because heavy footsteps sounded over the wooden floor to the huge, stone fireplace. I knew he was reaching up on the mantle to get down a cigar from the box he kept there. His nightly habit never failed.

The screen door slammed shut, and he came out onto the porch. Lydia yanked me into the woods. I turned back to see the bright glow of his cigar illuminate his face.

He sat down in a rocker.

The sweet sound of Cecilia humming reached us as we got closer to the creek. Lydia raced to catch up to her. My little feet struggled to keep me upright. If I lost my balance, Lydia would drag me through the trees like a rag doll. My heart pounded to the point of explosion. Branches slapped me across the face.

Mama told me to help you get cleaned up for ol’ Frog Face. Not that I could care less if he came over while you were cleaning out the hog pen, Lydia said.

I must be dreaming. I never expected a boy to pay any amount of attention to me. I don’t know what Reuben Carter must be thinking.

Well, if you ask me, he must be off his noggin. He prob’ly feels sorry for you. He’s doin’ it to make some other gal jealous so she’ll pay more attention to him. I know how these men folk work. You couldn’t pay me enough to let one of the varmints around here put me in their wagon. I’d rather fling myself off the side of Valentine Mountain!

Cecilia showed no reaction to Lydia’s words. She bent down at the creek’s edge and dipped her bucket into the rippling, clear water.

Could you help me pick the feathers out of my hair? she asked. I don’t want Reuben seeing me look such a mess.

Why would you say a thing like that? He’s seen you looking worse than you do now, plenty of times. You know, just because he wants you to ride in his wagon, you all of a sudden act like you gotta be somebody you ain’t. Did you forget how you looked last Saturday when he stopped over to get some eggs from Mama? You looked like maybe you’d laid them. Covered in feathers from head to toe, it was hard to tell where you started and the chicken stopped.

Someday, when a boy comes to call on you, you’ll want to look your best. However, you’re right about one thing, if after last Saturday I didn’t scare him off, I doubt I will now. You’d better get busy. It’s time we were getting back.

I don’t know what you think of me, big sister, but I ain’t gonna encourage none of the no-goods in Rocky Gap to come calling on me. There ain’t one boy around here worth a hoot nor holler, and even if there was, they’d be the ones primping for me, not the other way around. They’re gonna have to accept this girl the way she is, she said, nearly scrubbing my face off. I could feel the cold water give way to the friction of her fury.

In the distance, the faint sound of horses coming down the Gap told us Reuben was almost here.

What do you know? Here comes the scalawag now, Lydia said as she finished washing and started back for the cabin; this time leaving me with Cecilia.

Cecilia took my hand in hers, and we followed Lydia back up the path. I marveled at the difference between the two touches. Cecilia’s touch was gentle as she guided me back through the woods, whereas Lydia’s touch had forced me through twigs, which had slapped and scratched me in the face. Walking with Cecilia, I enjoyed the sounds of leaves crunching under my feet and looking up at the clear, night sky. The stars twinkled in and out of the tree branches.

Reuben whistled as he came through the Gap. By the happy sound of it, he was looking forward to spending time at our place—especially if it included supper. Mama was one of the best cooks in Rocky Gap, and after eating nothing but his own cooking most of the time; it had to be a welcome change.

Reuben worked hard in the fields and at breeding his hounds. He had used the money he’d earned to rent the old stagecoach house. It must’ve been a lonely place for him, living there all alone.

Asking Papa for permission to take Cecilia to church couldn’t have been easy. I wondered how long it must’ve taken him to work up enough nerve. Papa was known for being brusque. Reuben had seen his softer side with Mama and us girls, but that was not the Jeremiah Sterns known by anyone else. People said that tangling with Jeremiah was worse than tangling with a polecat. I, personally, never thought Papa smelled that bad.

Chapter Two

~ A Painful Witness ~

Back then, I guess I really didn’t grasp how much Reuben would affect my life. If I had, I might’ve sided with Lydia, but I was just a kid. The ways of romantic love went over my head.

As I look out my window here at Briarwood, loud voices come to me from outside my room. I’d like to know where she got the scrapes on her face and the bruise on her wrist, a bossy lady demands.

She comes through my door with a man dressed in white trailing her. He looks a little intimidated.

Sometimes Alzheimer patients show a tendency toward violence. It took three orderlies to get her back to her room last night. We found her in Mrs. Mitchell’s bathroom scrubbing her face with a washcloth and ice cold water, he said, looking over his shoulder at me.

The poor man’s ears flame red against his uniform of white. The color slowly bleeds across his face. I feel sorry for him having to answer to her. I wonder whom they are talking about. Why would anyone scrub her face the way Lydia had scrubbed mine? I knew how painful that could be. I bring my hand up to my face and realize it still hurts from what she did.

I tilt my head up and feel a light breeze. It feels soothing against the rawness. The swirling blades of the ceiling fan blur together. I close my eyes. I see the stars and hear Papa’s voice.

* * * *

Howdy, Reuben. We've been expecting you, Papa said, coming down the porch steps. They creak under his weight.

As I come out from the edge of the woods, I see Reuben shake hands with him.

As much as we've been seeing your mug at our supper table lately, Mr. Carter, you’d think this here was one of them fancy restaurants like they got down in Little Rock. Don’t you know how to fix your own food? Lydia asked.

I'm capable of fixing my own vittles, but your Mama’s cooking could beat anything I make to shame. I come more for the fine company than anything else, he said, taking a quick peek at Cecilia.

The grin on his face made him look goofy. Cecilia walked past him and started to go up the steps of the cabin. He pranced from leg to leg as if he knew this was his one chance to talk to her, or maybe, he had to pee.

Wait, Cecilia. I was kinda hoping to have a word with you before supper, he said.

Good gravy! Here we go! Y’all are gonna make the wolves start howling with all the mooning going on out here, Lydia said, rolling her eyes.

Spinning on her heels, she stomped up the porch steps and slammed the screen door behind her. She left a cloud of dust in her wake, and it made me sneeze.

Well, I guess if you'll both excuse me, I'll go see how much longer 'til supper, Papa said. Cecilia, I'll leave Amelia out here with you.

He winked at me.

Cecilia kept her eyes on the ground. I could practically see the butterflies spinning in her stomach. They made me feel dizzy. She seemed afraid to look into Reuben's eyes. I wondered what she thought she might see. All I saw was a nervous wreck about to wet his drawers.

I'm sure your Pa must’ve told you about my asking his permission to take you to church tomorrow morning, he said. I was wondering if it’s something you might wanna do?

He watched the top of her bent head as she traced patterns in the dirt with her shoe. I saw a blush come to her cheeks by the light of the moon.

Yes, Reuben, I would.

I hoped you’d say that, he said, hesitating before he got bold. You look very pretty this evening. Is your hair different?

Reuben Carter, I've agreed to go with you tomorrow. You don’t have to try and flatter me now, she said, and then turned to look toward the cabin. She added, We’d better be getting inside before Lydia convinces everyone we’ve been eaten by the wolves, and it’s okay to start without us. Come along, Amelia.

I follow behind like a third wheel.

* * * *

The next morning, I found Cecilia up early. Nervous and anxious for her church ride with Reuben, she paced back and forth in front of the screen door. She’d finished getting ready long before we heard his horses coming down the Gap. She grabbed her Bible and paused her pacing.

Mama and Papa looked at each other over their breakfast.

Amelia, go hop in the wagon with Cecilia, Papa said, without glancing from Mama’s face.

Whoa! Reuben said, as he pulled his buggy up to the porch.

I went over to the screen door and saw him jump down. Cecilia opened the door, took me by the hand, and led me out onto the porch. He came around to the side and helped her up on the front seat. He looked down at me, smiled, picked me up under the arms, and put me in the back. Apparently, he didn’t want me up front. Fine by me. I didn’t want to sit by him anyway. He had on enough of what Papa called ‘no-bath’ to choke a pig.

He turned the horses around and started toward church. Cecilia kept her eyes on the Bible in her lap. Reuben whistled hymns. I saw sweat bead up on the back of his sunburned neck. I watched it as it trickled slowly down the back of his shirt collar.

Neither of them said a word the entire way, but they did manage to steal a few glances at each other, blushing after each one. I resigned myself to the back of the wagon and wished we’d hurry up and get there already.

The folks from Rocky Gap were standing outside in the churchyard conversing with each other when Reuben's wagon pulled up. Many of them did nothing to hide their shock at Cecilia riding along, as pretty as you please, right up front with Mr. Carter. All eyes were on us. I didn’t care. Not waiting for Reuben to help me, I hopped down by myself. I didn’t need his help.

The ruthless whispers started. I saw a few girls who had crushes on Reuben flame up mad. Others looked about ready to cry. I was sure there’d be some vicious rumors spread by the end of services.

Cecilia alighted from the wagon, took Reuben’s offered arm, and practically glided into the church. I smiled at the crowd as I trailed behind.

We sat in our family’s pew behind Claudine and Morrie Harper. Claudine and Morrie were the two most opposite people in this entire world. Claudine weighed in at about three hundred fifty pounds, while scrawny, little Morrie might have hit one hundred fifty soaking wet.

I pondered this union more than once while sitting behind them every Sunday in church. A man of few words, Morrie was meek and mild, and no wonder, all Claudine had to do was sit on him once or twice, and he’d straighten up.

Stuffed into the church, the congregation watched the preacher give his sermon with a fevered zeal. He must’ve thought we heathens needed a good preaching today. He worked himself up, and it looked to me as if his spit was hitting everyone in the first three pews. It was all hell and damnation.

The pews in our rugged, log church consisted of two boards placed side by side with peg legs at each end. They didn’t have any backs. According to Papa, comfort had no business in church.

Finally, the preacher stopped his preaching and found himself in need of a drink of water. It was either that or pass out. He instructed us to get up and sing a hymn. We stood to sing while he went out the side door to the pump house. When he came back, we finished our hymn and took our seats.

Claudine sat down first and then little Morrie.

The preacher asked volunteers to come up front and witness. Claudine jumped to her feet. The back of Morrie’s neck went from sunburnt red to a deep shade of purple.

Whatever she’s about to say, it must be embarrassing.

It started out as a small, squeaky noise, which sounded kind of sing-songy. I leaned forward a little and found to my surprise, the sound was coming from Morrie. It sounded like, Oh, my gawd! then a little louder, still with a pitch high enough to shatter a window, Oh, my gawd! Now he was fairly screaming, Oh, my gawd!

The folks around us stood up and took each other’s hands. They raised them in the air and swayed back and forth. The preacher yelled, Morrie Harper has the spirit! Morrie Harper is in touch with the Lord!

The crowd worked itself into a frenzy. Morrie Harper, who rarely said a word during church or any other time, was in touch with the Lord. God must be in the room. Women started crying and fainting. Poor Morrie was still screaming, Oh, my gawd!

The preacher got the crowd hushed and calmed. He came down the center aisle and walked up to Morrie, kneeling down in front of him. Morrie, the Lord has put his hand on you. You’re his messenger. What’s the Lord’s message?

With sweat staining his Sunday best, Morrie yelled, Oh, my gawd! My balls are smashed in the pew!

Claudine had sat down first, and with her sheer weight, those two board planks had come apart. Poor little Morrie’s unmentionables had dangled down in between. When Claudine rushed up to witness, Morrie didn’t have time to think before, SNAP, those boards sprang back together with barely a hair’s width between them.

The men scrambled to pry the boards apart, and when they did, Morrie fell straight to the ground, holding himself with both hands. When they carried him out of the church and put him in the back of his wagon, he was rolled up