Blackbirds and Butterflies

By Bili Morrow Shelburne

In the summer of 1959, the tranquility of a small town in rural Georgia is shattered by the violent acts of a few, forcing young Jesse Wheeler to reach manhood in a hurry. A fast-paced, bittersweet memoir that will keep you turning pages well into the night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wendover Press
• Release date: Oct 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9780996743037

Bili Morrow Shelburne

Bili Morrow Shelburne spent twenty years teaching language arts before leaving the academic world to become a full-time writer. She now resides in Houston, Texas, but returned to her former home on Hilton Head Island for the inspiration for Clemmie. Shelburne is also the author of Blackbirds and Butterflies.

Book preview

Chapter 1

My mother had come out to stand on the porch, a position she always took when a vehicle arrived at or departed the Wheeler farm driveway. Pumping the accelerator, I turned the ignition key, hoping the old pickup would sputter to life. I had to round up some field hands fast, before the rains came. When the engine caught, I waved at Mama, smiling through her tears, then depressed the clutch and shifted into first gear, heading for town.

The corner of Fisk and Leonard Streets was the unofficial employment office in Finchville, Georgia, a gathering place for locals looking for a day’s work. But when I got there, the place was deserted except for Old Gabriel. There he sat on the wooden bench he had long since claimed for his own. On this very bench Gabriel Sims had dried my tears, come up with solutions to my unsolvable problems and entertained me with his particularly tall tales. Old Gabriel was just there, like the Presbyterian Church, or the jailhouse or the Morgan & Sayle Drugstore. He was there every single time I needed him.

I sat down beside him. He was peeling an apple, his blue-black face exhibiting the same determined set of the jaw he wore when performing any task he deemed worth his time. Then, his handiwork complete, he held up the perfectly long, even peel for my approval. I nodded like I always do.

Whut you doin’ in town this time of day, Sonny? he asked. He never used my given name.

It looks like I’m wasting time, I answered. Where is everybody? I need five or six men to help me haul in hay this afternoon.

I reckon you mean all them worthless layabouts that pester me from dawn ’til dusk. They all gone to the county fair. It been kindly peaceful aroun’ here today.

I had forgotten all about the fair, thanks to Dad. It was easy to forget most everything when he was on one of his binges. I had worked like a madman all morning, and he was still sleeping it off at lunchtime.

I’ll bet I can pick up all the help I need at the fairgrounds.

’Spect so, Old Gabriel said, slicing off a hunk of browning fruit with his pocketknife. Though the sky appeared more threatening by the second, he made no move to leave his bench, canopied by two ancient hackberry trees.

Take care of yourself, Gabe. You hear?

The old man raised a thin arm, bidding me goodbye.

The storm was already in the air as I drove to the fairgrounds. I had the radio dial set on the only rock ’n roll station close enough to pick up and had it turned up full blast, listening to The Big Bopper boom out Chantilly Lace. Static popped and cracked from the speaker, and I eyed the mare’s tails in the sky, hoping I could beat the rain.

Once inside the fairgrounds, I began scanning the crowd for candidates.

After a few minutes I spotted a cluster of strapping young coloreds, watching a feisty redhead tease the crowd to fill the girlie show tent. I approached the men as the girl writhed unashamedly before them and a handful of red-faced farmers.

You guys want to earn a little cash? I asked one.

Doin’ what?

Hauling hay. I pay the going rate. I’ll take all five of you.

I ogled the redhead while he talked it over with his buddies. Money won out over the girl, and they followed me to the truck and climbed into the back.

Dad always said there was no point in hiring people unless you were willing to set the pace and work as hard as they did until the job was finished. So that was how I attacked the race with the weather. We were hauling in the last load when the storm broke.

The bank was closed when we returned to town, so I stopped at Ed’s Grocery. Ed had a check cashing policy and a No Credit sign posted on his ancient cash register, but he never enforced either.

Well, hello there, Jesse, he smiled. What can I do for you?

The bank’s closed, and I need to cash a check to pay some field hands, I explained.

Well, I think I can handle that.

I wrote the check, and Ed counted aloud as he peeled the bills off one at a time and laid them on the counter.

I sure do appreciate this, Ed.

Glad to oblige, Jesse. Be sure to give my best to your folks. Hear?

The men were joking around with one another when I came out. I paid them and watched as they swaggered down the street. Strange how a few bucks can change a man’s stride.

Mama was putting supper on the table when I got home. She looked the way she always does when I dream about her; wearing an apron and a wisp of auburn hair, just beginning to gray, eluding the hairpins she uses to harness her long tresses into an outdated chignon. The only thing missing was her gentle smile. Her face was expressionless. I leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching her move from the stove to the table in her quiet, efficient manner. She was the perfect picture of the schoolteacher she was.

The youngest of five daughters, my mother had grown up in Kentucky. Her father was a gentleman farmer who spoiled and fiercely protected his daughters. The girls were like rare and beautiful treasures to this locally powerful landowner who kept a watchful eye on each of them. Mama was the only one to abandon the family’s beloved Bluegrass State when she married. She said goodbye to her family and the farm she had loved and followed her new husband to Georgia, taking with her the two things she held most dear: her books and the spinet piano she had learned to play as a young child. Though her new life paled in comparison to the one she had left, she had a ready smile and never looked back. It was hard for me to understand why she had put up with my dad all these years.

She had just deposited a steaming bowl of fresh green beans and new potatoes on the table when she glanced up, startled. Jesse, I didn’t hear you come in. Supper’s just about ready.

I’m not hungry, Mama.

I’ll leave something for you in the oven in case you change your mind.

I hurried to the barn and saddled Danny Boy. If I went for a ride before doing the milking, Dad would have eaten and gone back to bed by the time I finished. So, climbing into the saddle, I rode down the ridge toward the woods.

My old man must have had a powerful hold on me. I considered him a lowlife when he pulled these stunts, but no matter my assessment of him, he dominated my thoughts. I couldn’t get away from him; even out here on this remote part of the farm. I felt like a kid, but not the same kid who saw this dark sanctuary as Sherwood Forest or a sacred Indian burial ground. The fearless kid who was Tarzan, negotiating a crocodile-infested river, swinging across its death-gripping jaws on a grapevine, was nowhere to be found. No. This kid was beaten down and afraid to stand up to the scum he called a father.

Fortunately, Dad’s trysts with the bottle didn’t occur often, and to his credit he was about as discreet as a drunk could be. His brutal mistress never left the tool shed, and I knew that if Dad had his druthers, he would prefer to lie down in the bed of destruction right where he had made it and sleep it off in private. But somehow Mama always seemed to know. She would go to the tool shed to claim him and minister to his needs; she knew how he suffered.

A ground squirrel scurried across the path, and Danny danced to the left, jerking me to attention. I had been gone the better part of an hour, so I figured it would be safe to go back. Dad would be back in bed, sawing logs.

Herding the cows into the milk shed, I went about my business like a robot. My muscles knew the routine. Pour the scoop of feed into the trough, drape the strap over the cow’s broad back and fasten the metal hook under her belly, wash the udders and hook the chrome canister on the metal hook; attach the air hose and turn on the machine; slide the suction cups onto the udders and pat the cow on the rump. Piece of cake. Move on to the next cow while the machine milked the last one. It was the same monotonous job, day after day. I couldn’t wait to leave this life and begin a new one.

I’d skip supper. Courtney would be expecting me in a half-hour and I didn’t want to be late. I owed her an apology. When we spoke on the phone earlier, she had guessed that Dad was stewed again, and it had made me defensive. It really frosted me that I felt obliged to defend him.

When I went to get the truck keys from the counter, Mama was standing at the sink with her back to me. Her trembling shoulders told me she was crying again.

What’d he do, Mama?

She didn’t answer, but there was no place for her to hide. I gently pulled her hands away from what used to be such a beautiful face. Her upper lip was laid open near the corner, crusted with blood and twice its normal size.

I hate him when he drinks! My teeth were clenched, and my hands made and unmade fists. I wanted to hurt my father, to make him feel physical pain, but most of all I wanted to make his heart ache.

Jesse Wheeler, don’t ever let me hear you say that again. Mama had stopped sobbing to take up for her abusive husband. We were a lot alike, Mama and me.

It’s true, Mama. I can’t stand it when he hits you. Look at your lip. You won’t go to church on Sunday because you’ll be too embarrassed.

My lip will be just fine by Sunday. Stop worrying about me. Go on, now, and give that sweet Courtney my regards.

Mrs. Grisham called to me through the screen door before I had a chance to knock. She looked fresh as springtime in her floral print dress as she tripped toward me, quite gracefully for a woman so prone to plumpness.

Courtney’ll be right down, Jesse. She pushed open the screen door to join me on the front porch. Let’s sit in the swing while we wait, shall we?

Mild mannered as she appeared, her words taking their time to escape smiling lips, Mrs. Grisham was issuing an order. She had decided that we would sit in the swing, so that was what we were going to do. She patted the spot next to her. I squeezed in beside her. She was just over five feet tall, and it was impossible for her knees to hinge unless she sat on the edge. The toes of her black patent leather pumps preceded her, reflecting miniature images of the yellow rambler rosebush with each pump of my long legs. The squeaking swing brought back memories of the times Courtney and I had sat here late at night. I could almost smell the fragrance of her perfume and feel her warm, soft lips.

Evenin’, Jesse. Mr. Grisham called. His greeting came from the living room and was accompanied by the deliberate rattle of a newspaper.

Good evening, sir, I responded.

And how are your folks, Jesse? Mrs. Grisham was asking, ignoring her husband.

They’re fine, thank you, I answered, wondering if Courtney had mentioned Dad’s condition to her parents.

I declare, Jesse, you are the spittin’ image of your good-lookin’ daddy.

Her remark made heat rise from somewhere under the collar of my shirt and climb up my neck.

Now, don’t let me embarrass you, darlin’. All you have to do is look in a mirror. You’ve got the same dark good looks and blue eyes with Will’s square jaw, and I’d bet a dollar you’re even taller than his six feet.

By an inch. I grinned.

At that moment Courtney appeared in a blue and white checked sundress. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and I thought she was just about the prettiest thing I had ever seen.

Hey, she said. Sorry I’m late.

It was worth the wait. I smiled.

Mrs. Grisham beamed at her daughter. You two have a good time at the fair, and Courtney, don’t stay out past twelve.

We won’t, Mama.

I was the luckiest guy in the state of Georgia and I knew it. When I opened the door of our old beat-up truck, Courtney got in and spread out the folds of her full-skirted sundress just as if she were about to go riding in a stretch limousine. I grinned at her and we took off for the fairgrounds.

Oh, Jesse, I’m feeling blue and real selfish today, she said. Summer’ll soon be gone and you’ll be going with it. I know how much you want to go to college, and I know I shouldn’t feel the way I do, but I’m going to miss you so much. I don’t know if I can stand being away from you for so long,

I’ll miss you too, sweetheart, but I’ll see you every holiday.

Promise?

I promise.

The whole county must have turned out for the fair. Two lines of traffic entered the parking lot and one came out. It was our luck to be in the ingoing line that had been stopped by Elwood Botts, one of several men directing traffic.

Elwood was something of an enigma to Finchville. He showed up at the St. Nicholas Hotel several years back and took up residence. The newcomer provided an abundance of grist for the town’s gossip mill from the moment he arrived. Tongues wagged because although he had no regular job he managed to pay his bills as soon as they were due. Nobody knew where he had hailed from or why he had chosen Finchville to be his home. But it was Elwood’s weird behavior that caused folks to pause and scratch their heads in utter bewilderment. He might walk up to a total stranger and begin spouting off the full names of the presidents of the United States and the years they had held office. Mama was in the grocery store one day when Elwood accosted her. He greeted her and politely tipped his hat as was his custom, then proceeded to recite Hiawatha’s Childhood in its entirety.

Elwood wanted people to like him, and he possessed a unique quality that made folks want to return his friendliness. Businessmen hired him to do odd jobs so he would feel useful, but he never failed to botch the task. Although I understood their good intentions, I couldn’t help but wonder who in the world would be so shortsighted as to hire him to direct traffic at the fair.

Elwood wore a bright orange vest over a white shirt, and his long arms were beating the air like a hummingbird’s wings. His deep-sunken dark eyes darted quickly back and forth above high cheekbones, and it was plain to see that he was overwhelmed by his assigned duty. Trying to maintain a cool front, he was losing this battle just like all the others.

There was a fender bender up ahead, and people were grumbling through open car windows. Elwood abandoned his post and started going from car to car, assuring the passengers that traffic would move in a moment. He was passing on the good news to Courtney and me when Dr. Fulshear, one of the town’s two physicians, came stomping through the dust in his freshly polished wingtips and grabbed Elwood by the collar with both hands, nearly lifting him off the ground.

Elwood Botts, am I to assume that you, of all people, are in charge of this disaster? he growled, wringing the starch from Elwood’s collar.

Uh, yessir, Elwood stammered. Me and several other guys. I mean nobody’s exactly in charge. We’re just helpin’ out, and I’m tellin’ you, we ain’t gettin’ paid nearly enough. This is not as easy as it looks. Heck, people don’t listen to you. You tell ’em to go down a certain row, and what do they do? They ignore you and go wherever they want. Do you know what happened up ahead there?

Shut up, Elwood! the doctor spat. Just shut up and get this blasted traffic moving! He released his hold on Elwood and huffed back to his Cadillac. Elwood went back to placating disgruntled drivers, and someone else got the traffic moving.

The gatekeeper was stamping Courtney’s hand when I heard someone call my name. It was Don Fulton and Mary Lou Gibson. Mary Lou had her left arm hooked through Don’s and locked in place with her right. She was decked out in a tight yellow sundress, and her considerable charms were spilling out over the top. Her pretty face was liberally painted, and cheap rhinestone earrings dangled from her lobes.

Mary Lou had quite a reputation at school. About eighty percent of the guys in the senior class claimed they had been out with her and they all told different versions of the same tale. It was common knowledge that her mother was the town tramp, and Mary Lou seemed dead set to prove that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Hey, Don. How y’all doing? I said.

Fine, answered a pink-faced Don, just fine. Y’all know Mary Lou, don’t you?

Sure. Where are my manners? This is Courtney Grisham.

Hello, Courtney said. Her tone was pure ice.

Mary Lou tossed her long blond mane, and her hot pink lips parted into a smile. I’ve seen you around school, she said.

I knew Courtney would be embarrassed if one of her friends spotted her keeping company with the likes of Mary Lou Gibson, so I steered her toward the Ferris wheel. If we got on first, we could disappear into the crowd before Don and Mary Lou could catch up.

I can’t wait to get Mary Lou at the top of the Ferris wheel and rock the seat, Don teased.

Mary Lou grinned and cracked her gum. You just want me to snuggle up real close to you. She elbowed him in the ribs. You’d like that a lot, wouldn’t you?

Don gave her a knowing smile and a little squeeze.

The big wheel came to a stop, and the carny running it popped the safety bar. Three wide-eyed little boys jumped from the seat to the ground, bypassing the three-foot inclined platform, and Courtney and I slid into the seat.

See you later, I called to Don and Mary Lou, my eyes riveted to the copious overflow of Mary Lou’s sundress.

The good Lord sure took His time putting her together, I said.

Courtney rolled her eyes.

I love you, Courtney, I told her, meaning it.

She looked at me, squeezing back angry tears. And I love you, Jesse, but it makes my blood boil when you look at another girl like that, especially her.

Like what?

You know like what. You practically undressed her with your eyes, not that she was actually dressed in the first place.

Oh, I did not. I laughed.

I draped my arm over the back of the seat and brushed Courtney’s temple with my lips, attempting to restore a feeling of intimacy as we ascended. Smells of cotton candy and caramel corn danced on the air, and tinny carnival music vied to drown out the hoarse shouts of the barkers, touting their wares. When we were at the very top, I tilted my girl’s face so I could look into her eyes and, once again, declare my love for her.

The tension had seeped from her shoulders, and her brown eyes no longer swam in unshed tears as each revolution of the big wheel became slower. Courtney was nestled close, the nape of her neck warm against my arm. She was smiling. Then, suddenly, she let out a disgusted cry. Inches from where my hand had been, caressing her silky skin, a repulsive gob of saliva made its way slowly down her shoulder.

I took out my handkerchief and wiped it off as the wheel came to a standstill, and we got off. Courtney looked embarrassed, and for a moment I thought she was going to cry. I looked up to see if I could spot the clod who could do such a vulgar thing, but the ride was going at full tilt, so I gave it up. Maybe I could win a prize for Courtney and take her mind off the incident.

We stopped at a quarter tossing booth, and I won a big pink teddy bear that seemed to brighten her mood. I was in high spirits, thinking ahead, anticipating a more private, romantic setting under the stars, away from the carnival hype, with my beautiful Courtney.

We were strolling down the midway, laughing at nothing at all, taking in the sights. I was ready to leave, but I didn’t want to rush Courtney. She had mentioned something about craving a candy apple.

Well, looky here, a nasty voice snarled. Did you win a bear to lick off the spit? Benny, you’re gonna have to do it again. I don’t see a sign of your spit.

There I was, facing off with the town white trash. There were four of them; they traveled in a pack, like wolves.

Just go on about your business, and we’ll forget it, I said.

Forget it? said the one called Benny. What if we don’t want to forget it, hayseed?

He smiled, contorting his mouth until he maneuvered it into an Elvis Presley lip curl he must have practiced for hours. Then, he stepped forward, confident, and pushed me backward into a puddle. I looked up and saw Courtney. Wide-eyed and red-faced, she hugged the teddy bear. I scrambled to my feet, hoping to spot a cop. Since I hadn’t had time to come up with an escape plan, I had no alternative but to tackle one of the ruffians and hope the other three wouldn’t interfere.

I took a swing at the smallest one, and it was a good connection. I felt his nose crunch beneath my fist. The blood came gushing out, and, I swear, I thought he was going to bawl. Cupping his nose with his left hand, he blindly searched for a handkerchief with his right. Blood seeped through his fingers, and a red river coursed down his dirty arm.

A small crowd had gathered. One glance at Courtney made me want to crawl into a hole, but I had no choice but to stay poised for more action in case one of the others decided to join in the fray. None of them made a move, and the one I had hit was busy nursing his nose. Satisfied that everybody was ready to call it quits, I took Courtney’s arm and began guiding her toward the gate. We were almost running, and Courtney kept looking back to make sure the bullies weren’t following us. I thought we were going to make it, but as we were passing an alleyway between two booths, someone grabbed me from behind, and I felt an arm tighten around my throat. A big brute appeared on each side of me.

Run, Courtney! I yelled. Get a cop!

Dropping the bear, she dashed into the crowd.

Want me to try to catch her, Benny? one of the thugs asked.

Nah, let her go. We’ll be done with our business before she gets back.

They hauled me behind the booth and into the shadows, and I knew I didn’t have a chance. Two of them held me while the other two began working me over. The one whose nose I had bloodied was especially fierce with his punches, and I had the uneasy feeling that he wasn’t going to stop until my nose was in as bad a shape as his.

Fortunately, the hoods had been drinking. The first one who came at me stumbled around, throwing wild,