Lynching Jimmy White

By Iris Gibson

Will White Southerner lynch her daughter's Black fiancé, in spite of guardian angel guidance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Iris Gibson
• Release date: Feb 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310963421

Iris Gibson

Iris Gibson lives in the United States with her husband George where she enjoys playing Scrabble, painting oil portraits on canvas, reading and, of course, writing fiction.

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LYNCHING JIMMY WHITE

by

Iris Gibson

COPYRIGHT

Lynching Jimmy White

Published by Iris Gibson at Smashwords

Copyright 2016

All Rights Reserved

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. Except for mentioning public figures, all other characters are fictional and any resemblance to any living person is purely coincidental.

SMASHWORDS EDITION LICENSE NOTE

If you did not receive this ebook for free, please purchase it now, so that I can make a living from my work.

Thank you, readers.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my friend Jesus Christ, to my husband George, and to my wonderful muse.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

When Mary Lou said she was getting married, her gaze avoided mine.

The weather had just faired up in our North Carolina town, and she sat across from me at the kitchen table. I, Georgia Wilson, felt that it was high time for my only child of twenty–seven to walk down that aisle. Especially since her delay had nothing to do with her looks. She was pretty, but picky.

Who are you marrying, honey? I asked.

She shrugged.

"You mean you don’t know?" I teased.

Of course I know, Mama. She twirled the end of one of her blonde, wavy, shoulder–length locks—like she always did when her nerves got the best of her.

Mary Lou was getting married. At long last I’d have grandbabies to show off.

Then (to meet her sweetheart) I said, Mary Lou, me and you are cooking up a fried chicken dinner for your beau.

But, Mama, you know I can’t cook.

Just toss a chicken wing into the fryer, and it won’t be a story. Mary Lou, you’re making me dizzy with all that hair twirling. Thank you, that’s much better. Now, you go on upstairs and phone, email, or Twitter your beau. Have him get over here tonight around seven o’clock.

Tonight! On such short notice?

That don’t matter none. He’ll be family soon.

Her red blouse shone maroon under her damp armpits.

When she walked away, her body looked adult, but her feet moved in the same, slightly pigeon–toed way they had ever since she was nine months old.

Yes, she was still my baby.

Halfway up the stairs, she stooped down and peeked at me through a baluster. I may get me my engagement ring tonight.

Her ring finger looked naked and embarrassed.

I hope your diamond blinds people, I called out, feverishly.

She grinned and dashed on up the stairs.

Tonight I should wear my four–leaf clover gold earbobs, which flatters my short, gray hair. And instead of keeping on my jeans, I’ll wear my black and white striped pantsuit, which makes me look fifteen pounds thinner. No use having Mary Lou’s intended seeing my extra weight and imagining it stacked up on her behind come twenty years from now!

What wedding flowers we will have! My husband Luke and me never went to college (like Mary Lou done with her liberal arts), but after he served in Vietnam, he developed a business that grew from Luke’s Weeding