Sparrow Falls

By Ronnie L. Seals

BOOK FOUR OF The Blue Mountain Series
1920
Boone Moss returns home to Blue Mountain after twenty years of self-imposed exile, his mind and body shattered by the Great War, the war that would end all war. Once home, he become embroiled in the miner's struggle to unionize, and the hatred of a corrupt county sheriff.

Abraham Branson is a young man torn between heaven and hell, between the bottle and him immortal soul. When the woman he loves marries another it throws him into a tailspin that threatens to destroy him and all that he lover.

Deputy Franklin Parks, at twenty years of age he is given the reins of power in a town totally corrupted by miner owners and bootleggers. He will have to deal with striking miners, a homicidal security guard, and the brutal murder of the mine owners beautiful daughter.

While everyone is fighting each other, Sister Guyla Lott fights for the souls of all who would seek salvation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ronnie L. Seals
• Release date: Sep 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370857388

Ronnie L. Seals

I was born and Raised in Michigan, the son of a Kentucky coal miner. Like thousands of others, my parents were forced to move from their home in the mountains when the coal mines modernized. Every long weekend or vacation found us on the long journey from the flatlands of southern Michigan to the mountains of Kentucky, My summers were spent in Harlan and Bell County, running around with my cousins and picking green beans in my grandmother garden. This is the root of my fascination and love of the south.I would like to believe that my writing style was inspired by Steinbeck and Hemmingway. But the pulp detective novels of Mickey Spillane and Edward S. Aarons, which I devoured at much too young an age, probably had more to do with who I am as a writer.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The coal miners of Appalachia carried eternity with them into the mines. It weighed on their shoulders like their picks and shovels. A roof fall, methane gas, a faulty wick on the dynamite, these or any of a hundred other things could end their lives in an instant. Or they could be trapped beneath the mountain, in the dark, waiting for hunger or lack of oxygen to take them, while their more fortunate brethren dug through the rock and coal until their hands were raw and bloody.

When the world went to war its appetite for coal grew insatiable. The machines of war had to be fed. Profits soared in lockstep with the death tolls. Hundreds of thousands of men filled mining camps hastily erected to meet the new demand.

But the end of the war brought the end of the boom. Wages fell. What few safety measures had been taken were abandoned. Why spend money to make the mines safe when there were so many surplus miners sitting idle on their porches.

Into these mountain valleys came men with fire in their hearts, the fire of union.

CHAPTER 1

Abraham Branson opened one eye just enough to see the pale pink light of sunrise shining through the bedroom window. He closed it again and drifted to that place of half sleep, where he was aware enough to direct his dreams but asleep enough to believe them. He dreamed of Iris. They were standing by Sparrow Falls, their arms wrapped around one another, watching the swiftly flowing stream. The gentle breeze blew through her long dark hair, causing it to ripple and flow like the waters of Branson Creek. Her hazel eyes sparkled. Her red, full lips parted and grew near to his. Somewhere in the background his brothers were singing ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus,’ there voices coming in and out as though from a cheap radio. A woman was humming along with the melody. He frowned, wondering what they were doing in his dream. Then the song ended and he heard Guyla’s voice say, Yes friends, what a glorious friend we have in Jesus. That’s all the time we have this morning. I hope the good Lord gave you a good blessing.

He shot out of bed in one swift motion, realizing that what he was listening to was not a dream. It was Sunday morning and the woman in the other room, what was her name, was listening to the broadcast that he was supposed to be on at that very minute. He put his shirt on so fast he did the buttons wrong. He’d fix them later, when he wasn’t in another man’s bedroom listening to his wife humming in the other room. He threw on his pants, grabbed his socks and shoes and headed for the window.

Where you going in such an all-fired hurry? the woman said from the doorway.

He turned and gave her a charming smile. I thought it might be a good idea to be gone before your husband gets home, he said.

It’s only nine o'clock. He don’t get off work til ten. Then it takes him a half hour to get home from the mine. You want some breakfast?

No, I think I should be going. His toe bumped the flask of gin he’d sat on the floor by the bed. He picked it up and drank the few drops that were left.

She was leaning against the doorway in a white slip, the left strap hanging loose on her arm, her dark, tangled hair covering one eye, accentuating her pale skin. The flow of her long, sleek body under white silk made him pause.

You don’t have to leave right away, do you? she said and closed the door behind her.

Sorry, I have to go, he said and forced himself to sling one foot out the window.

Ain’t you even going to kiss me good bye?

He paused and turned to her. One little kiss, then I’ve got to go. He kissed her quickly, but as he tried to leave she grabbed the front of his shirt and said, I love you, Abraham.

He gave her a big smile, hoping that would be enough. He hated to lie.

Well, ain’t you going to say it back? She held tight to his shirt.

Well, of course I do. You think I do this sort of thing with just any ol’ gal?

I want to hear you say it.

I love you.

Say it with my name, like I did yours.

I love you-honey.

Her gripped tighten on his shirt. You don’t even know my name.

Well now honey, he said, calling on his vast reserve of charm, a little thing like a name ain’t all that important. It’s what’s in here that counts. He put in index finger to her heart. You have to know how I feel about you. Now, darlin’, I have to go. We’ll talk about this next time.

Promise?

He lifted her hand gently from his shirt. I promise, he said and kissed each finger before throwing his other leg though the window. He kissed her again and was gone.

Carol, he mumbles to himself, wishing he could have thought of it earlier.

Her husband, Clifford Frazier, was the night foreman in the mines, a position that allowed him the honor of living just above the miners cabins, in a house just a little nicer than theirs. As Abraham made his way up the hill the houses became more grand, the residents more wealthy and important. This was Silk Stocking Row. Reaching the very top of the valley wall he paused at the Brock house. It was the finest house of them all because it was the home of none other than Carter Brock, the son of the owner of the whole operation. He hoped to get a glimpse of Iris. Maybe she'd be sitting on the porch drinking coffee. He knew it was a faint hope, Iris never got out of bed until she had to, but faint hopes such as these is what he lived on.

He made the crest of Blue Mountain and walked the network of paths that would take him home. He paused on Eagle Rock to take in the view. He said a quick, Praise the Lord, and walked on down the mountain toward home. It was a long walk but he'd been walking this mountain all his life.

There was an old Bible tucked safely away in a cedar chest in the bedroom of the ancient cabin that had been the seat of the Branson clan since the Revolutionary War. The first name in the register was Nathan Branson, born 1749-died 1795. A long list of names followed, listing births, deaths and marriages, ending in 1825 with Johnson Branson, the last Branson who could read and write. That was long before the coming of the coal industry and the schools it brought to the region. Since most of the generations before Abraham couldn’t read, the old Bible it was in better shape than one might expect. A flood back around the turn of the century had stained a few of its paged, but his Aunt Serina had rescued it before it was washed away in the muddy water. As a boy he remembered her sitting on the front porch with the Bible open on her lap, staring at the words she couldn’t understand. As he walked down the mountain he resolved to read at least three chapters before the sun went down, his way of atoning for the sins he’d committed the night before.

He’d once confided this system of sin and atonement to his brother Isaac, who had roared with laughter and slapped Abraham on the back. That is a darn good way of doing things, big brother. Don’t know if it’ll square things with The Lord, but the way you run around, you should have The Good Book memorized before you’re twenty-one.

He was twenty years old and six-foot tall, with curly, copper colored hair that most people considered just a shade too long. His intense green eyes, 'preacher eyes,' someone had once called them, were softened by the good-natured smile that charmed everyone he met. But it was his deep, silky, baritone voice that made the ladies want to invite him over for coffee.

He wasn't a preacher, though many, including his mother, encouraged him to become one. He was one of The Branson Boys, a gospel quartet that roamed the mountain churches singing the praises of The Lord.

When he came to the narrow hollow that was his home the fog was just beginning to lift from the dank water of Branson Creek. His three brothers were on the front porch. David was strumming an old guitar he’d made out of a cigar box when he was a young boy. He had better guitars, the ones he took when they performed, but he love the old handmade instrument more than the others.

Their Aunt Serina had named the first three boys Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, but had died, some say murdered by a witch, before the youngest came along. Momma named him David, after her favorite person in The Bible, besides Jesus of course. Why his parents had let Serina do all the naming was something he would never know.

Isaac stood up when he saw his brother coming down the path and shouted, Where on earth have you been?

Sorry I didn’t make it to the service, Abraham said as he walked up the steps. Was Sister Guyla real mad?

A little, Jacob said. As close to mad as she's able to get anyway. Besides, I don’t think it comes as a real big shock to her anymore when you're not there.

David stopped plucking on his guitar and looked at Abraham. I think you ought to go on and decide which side of the fence you want to walk on, he said.

Meaning what, little brother? Abraham said, though he knew exactly what he meant.

Are you going to walk with Jesus or the devil?

Well, it just so happens that I love Jesus just as much as you do. He leaned against the porch rail, careful not to give it his entire weight. But when I see a pretty girl, well, I just can’t help myself.

Or a bottle of gin, Jacob said.

Or a deck of cards, Isaac added. They all laughed except David.

Abraham saw his younger brother scowling and smiled sheepishly. I know it’s an awful way to live, and I keep praying that The Lord will make me strong enough to resist the temptations of the flesh.

Be careful what you pray for, Isaac said. You might get it.

Abraham straightened himself up and said, I think I’ll go up to the rock and do some praying right now.

There’s some biscuits and gravy left, Isaac said. No use praying on an empty stomach.

I think you need to do a little fasting and praying, David said. A short prayer ever now and again ain’t going to break the hold Satan has on you.

As Abraham walked into the cabin he said, Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.

You ought not to misuse scripture, David shouted after him. And you two need to stop encouraging him, he said to his brothers. It’s just a matter of time before he gets shot by a jealous husband.

The other two boys looked sheepishly down at their feet. Jacob, who almost never said anything, said, Reckon you’re right.

David leaned the guitar against the wall and walked off the porch, shaking his head in frustration. He was going up to his favorite praying spot, a small clearing up on the side of the mountain with a large rock in the middle. He would mostly pray for Abraham, whom he deemed perilously close to the gates of hell. But he’d pray for the other two brothers as well. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only one in the bunch that was at all interested in following The Lord.

CHAPTER TWO

Collin Lacern sat behind a desk in a small office, half listening to his cousin's sermon as he opened the donation envelopes from the listeners who supported the show. He would open an envelope and turn it upside down so the contents could fall out onto the desk. He'd toss the letters into the trashcan at his feet without checking to see if there was a note inside, except for the few he would leave for Guyla to read over the air. There was rarely more than a few pennies in the envelopes. Their listeners were mostly dirt poor farmers and miners, with maybe an occasional store owner. He counted the money, mumbling, Two dollars and thirty seven cents, and put it in a small pouch.

The Branson Boys started singing 'What a Friend we Have in Jesus.' It was his cue to get ready to do his part. When the song was over the boys came out of the studio, giving Collin a quick, not too friendly nod. Collin went into the studio and waited for Guyla to say her last few words of good-bye.

Yes friends, what a glorious friend we have in Jesus. That’s all the time we have this morning. I hope the good Lord gave you a good blessing.

When she backed up he stepped forward and spoke into the microphone. Yes, friends and neighbors, he said in a silky smooth voice dripping with down home charm, We do have a friend in Jesus. The best friend we'll ever have. And one day we'll be able to meet him in the air, glory be to God. Now I know that most of you folks out there are just a struggling to get by. If you're like most of us, you need another ten dollars just to have seven-five cents. He paused a moment for the laughter he imagined in the homes of the listeners. But if this show has blessed you, well, try and send a little something to help Sister Guyla and myself keep this ministry going. A penny, a nickel, whatever the Lord puts on your heart. Praise The Lord. He told them where they could send the money. "And if you don't have a nickel or a penny to send, then send us a letter telling us how the Lord has bless you, or how this show has brought you closer to The Lord. We'd particularly like to hear from you if we have, in some small part, help you in your search to find Jesus as your personal savior.

Today we have a special announcement. As you all know, the city of Lacern is putting on a big celebration for our returning soldiers. I understand there will be quite a show of fireworks on The Fourth of July. He lowered his voice as though telling the listener something on confidence. I have no doubt that there will be a lot of drinking and carrying on as well. But we ain’t about to let the devil get the best of this celebration, not by a long shot. We are going to have us a good, old-fashion Holy Ghost revival for the whole week leading up to the big day. We will be declaring our independence from Satan, praise The Lord.

His voice grew in passion and tempo as he warmed to the subject. We will pitch our tent on the eastern edge of town. There we will take a stand against the evil that is corrupting this land. Come join us and see what God can do. Services start next Monday, June twenty-first at seven o’clock. I hope to see you there.

Guyla stepped up and joined him for a verse and chorus of The Old Rugged Cross before signing off with, May the good Lord hold you in his loving hands til we meet again next Sunday. Praise the Lord.

I wish you wouldn't go begging people for money every time we do a show, Guyla said as soon as they were off the air.

I don't beg for nothing, Collin said. I simply let the folks know that there is a need. Preaching over the radio ain't free, you know. And I ain't never been to a church meeting yet where they didn't pass the plate. It was the same argument they had after every broadcast.

They got in the old Model T someone had given them in exchange for a torn-up old revival tent. When the deal had been done Collin believed he'd gotten the better of the deal. But now, thinking about the long climb over Blue Mountain, he wasn't so sure.

I didn't mean to get you upset, Guyla said. I reckon you're right.

Of course I'm right, Collin said, cooling off a little. And it ain't like I'm asking for their life savings or the rent money.

All right, Guyla said. She almost said, 'The Lord will provide,' but knew it would just make Collin flair up again.

It was Sunday afternoon. The streets of Lacern were deserted. The businesses locked and shuttered. The only thing open was the sheriff's office and the taxi stand.

I wonder what happened to that Abraham this morning, Guyla said.

Collin snickered and said, Best you don't know everything about Abraham Branson.

Guyla laughed and said, Reckon you're right.

In her younger days, 'her sinful past' as she called it, she had seen people at their worst, men in particular. But since coming to The Lord many years ago she had refused to see the bad in people. Instead she viewed them as sinners who would hopefully someday come to Jesus. Or in Abraham’s case, a Christian who had yet to let himself be sanctified and filled with the sweet Holy Ghost.

I need to stop in and see Brother Rice, Guyla said.

Why? You know he’ll be over to see you as soon as he hears about the camp meeting. Wouldn’t surprise me none if he was waiting for us when we get home.

All right, we’ll just go on home.

At the east end of town Collin turned right and the two lane dirt road began its assent. Guyla looked at the steep incline and said, Think she'll make it this time?

Ira Lacern gave me a little tip the other day, Collin said. Let's see if it works. He pulled the old car to the side of the road and turned it around so the rear end was facing the steep grade.

Just what do you think you're going to do? Guyla said.

You'll see, Collin replied, and started up the hill in reverse.

Help us Jesus, Guyla aid.

Steering the old car wasn't easy. The small back window was hard to see out of, and the steering wheel had a lot of play to it. The car swerved up the mountain.

Come on, darlin, Collin whispered.

You might be better off talking to Jesus, Guyla said, interrupting her own prayer.

You pray. I've got too much on my mind at the moment.

Near the top the car started to chug, jerking them back and forth. The motion made Guyla stutter as she prayed. When they made it to the top they rejoiced, acting as if they’d just experienced a true miracle. But Collin knew they would need a few more miracles before getting home.

They both said a quick, Thank you Jesus, when they made it to their home in Powell Valley.

I’m about as hungry as I can get, Collin said as he got out of the car.

You go ahead, Guyla said. I’m going to go pray for a while.

Didn’t you just pray all the way over the mountain?

Guyla just smiled, picked up her Bible and walked down a winding path that led to a small wooded area on a small hill just south of her home. It was her favorite place to pray, read The Good Book and contemplate on The Lord. It was far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the homestead to give her the solitude she needed, but close enough to respond to any emergency that might arise. And everyone in the little homestead knew better than to bothered her with anything that wasn’t an emergency.

She sat down on the wooden bench her husband Carl had made for her and laid her worn, dog-eared Bible in her lap. Her first thoughts were always of her dead husband. Carl had been one of the many killed by the influenza outbreak that had raged through the hills the year before. Sitting in this quiet place, on the bench he’d made her, it was almost like he was with her, holding her hand.

She heard twigs breaking on the path and turned to see who it was. Brother Ulie, she said, and forced herself to smile. She loved Ulie Rice like a brother, but she was not looking forward to this conversation.

I'm sorry to bother you in your hour of prayer, Ulie said, his hat in his hand. I talked to Red. He said it would be all right.

I'll have to have a talk with Red about that, Guyla thought. But she smiled up at Ulie and said, Of course it's all right. She stood and shook his hand. Where's your better half?

She's back at your place, he said.

Good, let her talk Red's ear off, she thought, then said a silent prayer of forgiveness. Tater Rice was a sweet soul but she never stopped talking.

I've come to talk to you about the camp meeting, Ulie said. I'd be proud to help out in any way I can.

You want to preach one of the nights?

He nodded and said, I'm willing to work in whatever way you think best.

Now Ulie, I’d love to have you preach, but I’ll have to ask you to keep your snakes at home.

She watched him fiddle with his hat, knowing he was forming his argument. Ulie was the shyest man she had ever known, but when it came to his snakes he was as stubborn as a man can be. Well, Sister Guyla, I know we don't see eye to eye on some things-

You're not going to rope me into another argument over Scripture, she said. She regretted interrupting him, but knew it would have to be done sooner or later. The purpose of this revival is to win the lost to Jesus. Now the only way to do that is if the lost come to the meetings. And there ain't nobody going to walk into a tent full of copperheads. No sinners anyway. And that’s who we’re after.

But the Bible says-

I know what The Bible says.

We ought to obey God rather than man.

"I know it. But what it says is, 'If thy take up any deadly serpent, it will not harm thee.' It isn’t a command. When Paul accidently picked up a snake on the island of Malta he got bit and it didn't hurt him none. There is no record of him picking it up and playing with it."

These are the signs that follow the believer. What better way to prove your faith than to take up a deadly serpent.

Prove it to who? The Lord already knows if you have faith or not, so who are you showing off to?

It ain't showing off. It's showing the power of God.

Well, Ulie, you done drug me into an argument after all. But I'm done with it. If you're coming into my tent you'll have to give me your word that there will be no snake. Not from you and not from any member of your congregation. Is that clear?

Ulie sighed and said, Abe Branson drinks strychnine. I don't see you fussing at him.

I'm always fussing at him. He keeps promising he won't do it no more but he always does. She'd always suspected that the only poison in Abe's bottle was gin. Besides, the only person a body can hurt with poison is himself. It ain't going to scare folks away like snakes do. Now, do I have your word?

Can't I bring just one little rattle snake?

No.

Ulie nodded and said, Okay, you have my word. And I'll tell my folks not to bring any with them neither.

Good. Now let's go to the house and get something to eat, Guyla said.

CHAPTER THREE

Though he tried hard to resist, sleep overtook Boone Moss. The rhythm of the train, the dark clouds and his own fatigue conspired to force him to close his eyes. Sleep was a rare and frightening thing. When it came it brought faces twisted in pain, or made blank by death, or shattered beyond recognition. The march of the dead, he’d come to call them.

He’d learned quickly that looking up at the flashing lights would temporarily blind a man. He learned to cover his ears when he heard the whistle of an approaching shell. He’d learned to ignore the voices of the men around him as he lay in the mud in the bottom of the trench, the praying, the crying, the men calling out to their mothers. He listened to the veterans give advice to the new recruits. Keep your head down. Gas is heavier than air, so stand up if you get gassed. Crouch low