Thunder Snow: In the Shadow of the Cedar, #1

By Sheila Hollinghead

A coming of age story with roots in child abuse during the depression era. This book hit me hard as I could relate with the main character so easily. I read it in one sitting because it swept me away. Have tissues handy! ~Pauline Creeden, Book Reviewer

Family means a haven from the world, a place of warmth and happiness, but for Sarah Jane it means adversity.

After she suffers a heartbreaking loss, Sarah Jane watches her mother spiral into mental illness. The fourteen-year-old girl must discover a way to rescue her younger brother and herself from a lifetime of pain.

Something she glimpsed long ago, a loving family, is offered by her aunt and uncle, but it will mean the loss of all she holds dear. Yet she must be open to loss to receive the riches of God's grace.

In the midst of the storm, Sarah Jane finds refuge can only be found ... in the shadow of the cedar.
 

A story of hope and the true meaning of family. Buy today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sheila Hollinghead
• Release date: Jan 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507069561

Book preview

Foreword

In the Shadow of the Cedar tells a fictionalized story of my grandmother, mother, aunts, and uncles. Even though it describes many events that actually occurred, the event may not have happened directly to them. For example, the rooster in the wagon happened to my uncle, not my grandfather. Also, the personalities each has are not indicative of the person’s actual personality.  My grandmother was kind and caring throughout her life and loved deeply by her family. It suffices to say that the mother is not.

The books also tell of several South Alabama towns that exist. However, both the unfolding of the events and the descriptions of the towns are flavored with artistic license.

This is not a history or geography book although I attempted to remain true to the times and places whenever possible. This is a work of fiction that tells a story, one that I lived, if only in my imagination.

Dedication

To my readers:

May you always find rest

in the shadow of the cedar.

Thus saith the Lord God; I will also take of the highest branch of the high cedar, and will set it; I will crop off from the top of his young twigs a tender one, and will plant it upon an high mountain and eminent:

In the mountain of the height of Israel will I plant it: and it shall bring forth boughs, and bear fruit, and be a goodly cedar: and under it shall dwell all fowl of every wing; in the shadow of the branches thereof shall they dwell.

And all the trees of the field shall know that I the Lord have brought down the high tree, have exalted the low tree, have dried up the green tree, and have made the dry tree to flourish: I the Lord have spoken and have done it (Ezekiel 17:22-24, KJV).

Chapter 1—Ruined

M omma, you’re hurting me, I whispered. The wind swirled leaves and dust around the churchyard. I stared down at the ground, my cheeks burning.

I worked my fingers to the bone sewing that dress, but do you care?

The south Alabama red clay stained my dress, and the hem hung crookedly around my knees. The stares of the farmers and their families bored into me, and I squirmed under their scrutiny.

Sorry, Momma.

You will be sorry when I get you home, Sarah Jane. Fourteen and acting like a four-year-old.

I clamped my lips together, trying to keep the tears at bay. Momma grabbed my chin and yanked my head up. A tooth slashed the inside of my lip, and blood oozed into my mouth.

You look at me when I’m talking to you.

Her icy stare pinned me like a moth as she raised her hand. I braced myself for a slap, but her hand fell to her side where Ezekiel James clung to her leg. She stroked my four-year-old brother’s silky, blond hair while continuing to glare at me with her pale blue eyes.

Most of the people were moving away but lingered over their goodbyes, waiting, I thought, to see what else Momma would do. Mrs. Yard, Momma’s best friend, crossed her arms, her lips puckered as if she had just eaten a green persimmon.

We’re in a depression, Sarah Jane, Momma said. You don’t care how your poppa and me work our fingers to the bone. I told your poppa you didn’t need any store-bought underwear. I bet you’ve ruined them.

Before I knew what she was doing, she bent over and grabbed my dress. And just look at this. Half the hem is out. She yanked so hard, my dress ripped along the seam.

Momma! I tried to jerk away, but her hold tightened. Momma let go! My tugging caused the dress to continue ripping upward. My dress gaped open. Horrified, I pulled my dress back together, glancing around at the faces watching us.

She stepped back. Now look what you’ve done. Your dress is completely ruined. I’ve a good mind to . . .

Molly, that’s enough. Poppa had walked up, unseen by Momma. He didn’t raise his voice, but Momma reddened.

She turned to face him. Do you see what she’s done? She’s ruined her dress.

Sarah Jane, get to the wagon, Poppa said, his brown eyes full of compassion.

Yes, sir, I whispered, my throat burning with the effort. I stumbled away.

Poppa never called me Sarah Jane. Momma always called me that. Said she didn’t hold with people using nicknames. But Poppa always called me Jay. When I was little, it was Blue Jay. When had he quit calling me that? Tears seeped from the corners of my eyes as I struggled to hold the dress together.

Laughter drifted on the cool breeze, and I stopped to stare at the red clay hill. A few kids still took turns sliding down on a fertilizer sack. Why had I listened to my cousin? Laurie convinced me I wouldn’t get my dress dirty. Just tuck it in tight, and it’ll be okay, she had said. Right. Tears slid down my cheeks.

Store-bought underwear, Jay?

Swiping at the tears with the back of my hand, I turned to confront the source of the voice. Dan Drake. We called him Drake the Slimy Snake. Just not to his face.

At seventeen, Dan stood over six feet tall, towering almost a foot over me. He slicked back his brown hair and narrowed his yellowish-green eyes.

What’s it to you? I said.

Just wanted a little look-see. Are they red or are they blue? I’m just betting they look good on you. He smirked.

I glared at him, forgetting my dress. As I took a step toward him, a puff of wind tugged the material from my grasp.

What d’ya know! They’re blue. He snickered.

Warmth flooded my cheeks. I caught the edges of my dress and pulled them back together. I whirled around and bumped into someone. I gasped.

Michael. His eyes caught mine for a second, a second that ticked by with infinite slowness. With an effort, I looked away, and he averted his gaze. I staggered away with my cheeks on fire.

Holding my dress together the best I could, I scrambled awkwardly over the side of the wagon. I didn’t know if anyone was watching. I didn’t care. My head throbbed. Michael of all people. His warm brown eyes seeing . . . Had he also watched my mother berating me? It didn’t matter. Someone was bound to tell him anyway. Half the community had been in the churchyard.

I ran my fingers through my hair and caught the ends. I yanked hard. All that accomplished was to make my head ache. I leaned against the inside of the wagon and waited.

The half-dozen or so people who owned trucks or cars cranked them and drove away. The churchyard rapidly emptied. Where were Momma, Poppa, and Zeke? Our mules, tied to an oak tree, stomped their feet and switched their short tails. I drew up my knees, wrapping my arms around them to keep my dress together. I let my head droop and closed my eyes, counting to myself. I heard someone clamber in and opened my eyes. Zeke. He hovered before dropping down beside me. The boards creaked as Momma and Poppa climbed in without speaking. Poppa spoke softly to the mules, and they plodded home.

Jay, Zeke whispered. When I didn’t answer, he laid his head against me.

I did not shirk his comfort. I draped my arm over his shoulders, and tears silently spilled onto his hair, the hair Momma had so lovingly stroked. While darker and lighter shadows fell over us, formed as the sun spilled through the mostly bare branches, half-formed words of prayer slipped through my mind.

When the mules stopped, I bounded over the side of the wagon. But it was too late.

Momma’s harsh voice called me back. Hold your horses, young lady.

I stopped and turned to face her.

You’d better get something straight. You will not embarrass me again like you did today.

Embarrass you? My head snapped up. You humiliated me! Why did you pull on my dress? My voice shook. My dog, Chance, nudged my hand and whimpered.

Jay, Poppa said, his voice soft but firm.

I bit back the words on my lips and shot him a pleading look. Poppa pressed his mouth together and gave a slight shake of his head.

James, you deal with her. She ain’t got a lick of sense. Momma’s cool blue eyes cut like shards of glass. Talk some sense into her. And I mean it this time! Ezekiel James, come here! She stomped into the house, pulling Zeke behind her.

Poppa took out his pipe and tapped it gently against his palm. Try to understand, Jay. With that bad crop last year and . . .

I nodded. I know, I know. The Depression.

All this worry about money has your momma ill as a hornet.

But she didn’t have to embarrass me in front of everyone. Especially Dan. I fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around Chance.

Jay, Momma’s . . . Poppa rubbed his chin, his brown eyes staring into the distance. He shook his head as if clearing it of cobwebs.

Momma’s what, Poppa?

He sighed heavily. Just tired. She’s had a hard life. He rubbed a hand over his forehead. And it’s my fault.  His eyes, cloudy with pain, sought mine. I’ll have a talk with her. Now, don’t worry ‘bout Dan. He ain’t worth a cussing. His gentle hand squeezed my shoulder. Just stay out of Momma’s way. I’ve got to see to Mr. Price and Aunt Sally.

Stupid names for mules, but Zeke had named them. Zeke always got his way. I stayed seated on the hard ground and looked at my torn dress that I still clutched together. Yep, it was beyond repair.

What did he mean it was his fault? He couldn’t help the Depression. It did seem my family suffered more than others. But Poppa worked hard, from dawn to dusk. It wasn’t his fault we were poor.

I hugged Chance tighter to me. What if I just ran down that dirt road as far as I could go? Ran until no more red clay clung to me?

Cheeks still burning, I brushed at my dress, climbed wearily to my feet, and slipped into the house.

THE NEXT MORNING, I awoke with worry gnawing my mind like rats gnawing a rope. No escaping it. I’d have to face everyone at school, sooner or later. I downed my breakfast and bolted from the house.

The soles of my shoes flapped, stirring up red clouds of dust. The cool March breeze made me shiver, and I pulled my sweater tightly around me.

My cousins, Laurie and William, waited for me. Their mother, Jennifer Hunter Bryan, was Poppa’s sister.

William, at fifteen, was a year older than me; Laurie a year younger. It was like having an older brother and younger sister, and the thought brought a smile to my lips.

William smiled back at me weakly. Aunt Molly was fit to be tied.

Tell me ‘bout it. And then Dan . . . I shook my head.

What happened with Dan? Laurie played with one of her braids as curiosity danced in her eyes.

I gritted my teeth and shook my head again.

It was his fault you fell off the sack, William said.

I looked at him in surprise. How?

He threw a rock in front of you that snagged the sack. You didn’t see it?

No.

I’m gonna kill Dan, Laurie said. She puckered her forehead. Her hazel eyes flashed, and the freckles dusting her nose darkened.

Laurie, stay away from him. He’s got no respect for girls. William cleared his throat and shot a sideways glance at me. Especially Jay since she wouldn’t go to the peanut boiling with him.

He didn’t really want to go to the peanut boiling with me. He was just joshing.

No, he was serious. He really likes you. William shot me a look. Or did.

I looked down at my patched dress and my worn-out shoes, the soles loose again after being glued only last week. That doesn’t make sense. Why would he like me?

Laurie laughed. He likes you because you look like a princess!

You’re being silly.

No, really. I wish my hair was as shiny as yours.

Shiny? My hair’s just plain old dull brown.

Dark brown, almost black. Looks okay, especially with your blue eyes, William said, reddening.

Blue? You don’t know your colors. They’re not blue.

Yes, they are, Laurie said. They’re the color of , of . . . Well, I don’t know. But they’re pretty.

They’re a dark turquoise, William said, still looking embarrassed to be part of the conversation. Anyway, he really did like you.

I was mystified. Sure, everyone was feeling the effects of the Depression. But Momma wouldn’t even buy me a ribbon for my hair.

And I only had three dresses to my name. Two, now that I’d ruined my Sunday dress. Why would Dan like me when his father was one of the wealthiest farmers in the area?

You’d better watch out, Jay, William said. No telling what he’s liable to do. And you too Laurie. Stay away from him.

Laurie snorted. He’d better stay away from me. No telling what I’m liable to do.

William and I laughed, and William tugged at his sister’s braids. Listen to the runt talk!

I’ve told you, don’t call me runt. She pushed William’s shoulder.

William held her off with one hand, chuckling. Laurie’s arms fell limp, and she stepped back with a gasp. I knew before I turned around.

Dan!

Chapter 2—The Devil with Horns

Dan rode toward us on a dappled-gray horse. He slapped his skinny legs against the horse’s sides and urged it forward. The old horse, with swayed back and belly sweeping toward the ground, plopped his huge hooves faster, stirring up eddies of red dust. William and Laurie dove toward the ditch, but my anger, pulsating in my veins, kept me rooted to the spot.

Come on, Jay, William yelled. Move out of the way.

I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I heard Dan lashing his horse and the plopping steps drawing nearer. I knew he wanted me to run, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, no matter how close he rode his horse to me. Although my legs quivered like jelly, I turned my back on the horse and resumed my normal pace. The school stood in the distance.

I took a deep breath. Wasn’t far. I could make it.

When the horse’s hooves brushed the back of my shoes, he snorted in indignation—probably knowing he shouldn’t be walking this close to me.

He had more sense than Dan.

The horse’s breath warmed my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I focused on the school. No way would I let Dan see me run. My legs weakened by the moment, and the school didn’t look any closer. The horse blotted out all sounds, as if we were in a world all our own. Even Dan was forgotten.

Then Laurie passed in a blur, her braids flying. My heart thumped loudly in my ears as my senses reawakened.

Tattletale, Dan called after her.

Laurie must be going to find Miss Jackson. My heart gave a leap of hope. Please, God, let her find her quickly.

Hey, Jaybird Legs, got on new underwear today? Dan chuckled.

I flipped back my hair. The rut in the road