By the Tyronza River: A Novel By Joyce Belle Harvell Edited By Regina Topaz Smith

By Joyce Belle Harvell

By the Tyronza River is a historical fiction about a sharecropper, W.L. Howard, from Twist Arkansas. W.L. is a proud black man living among the tumultuous times of World War II and the Japanese internment camps. Hardworking and charming to the ladies, Essie stole W.L.'s heart. They struggle to raise their family, but never stop thinking about the secret they have kept for years. From Mississippi to Arkansas, to St. Louis, Missouri, and to New York and Italy, W.L. and his family's lives take different paths that could bring them closer or separate them forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543937527

Book preview

Copyright 2018 © Joyce Belle Harvell

ISBN: 9781543937527

Dedication

I dedicate this novel to my dear mother Esther, whose love is as strong as the trees on the Tyronza River.

By the Tyronza River

Twist, Arkansas

October 1941

A small country town near the Tyronza River, Twist was named after a plantation with the same name. Twist only came on the map when a well-known Blues singer B.B. King mentioned the town as the location of a club where he once played, in which a woman named Lucille caused a fight. King later named his famous guitar Lucille. It was during the time of World War II, and the United States was in turmoil.

On a cold breezy morning, W.L. came home early to meet with the midwife, who had just arrived at his home. She hurried and stepped off her horse and wagon to inform him that his wife Essie was in labor. He hastily went into a small room he considered his kitchen and on the black pot-bellied stove went through the process of boiling water that he had pulled out of the well near the chicken coop. He was tired, but excited. At night he worked as a night watch-man and during the day he was a sharecropper. His knees ached, and his hands were scarred from picking cotton the day before.

W.L. was a strong, handsome black man in his late 30’s, close to 6 feet tall. He had dark brown skin with a hint of golden brown undertones in his complexion. His muscles were well-formed, and as he toiled in the kitchen preparing for the midwife, he had to stop and think about his beautiful wife Essie. They met when she was 19 years old, a light skinned young woman with freckles. He met her in the country store where she was purchasing mason jars to prepare fruits and vegetables from the fall harvest. W. L. walked leisurely into the country store. The worn wooden floor creaked under his heavy footsteps. He approached the counter to check on lumber he had ordered from Memphis, Arkansas. Old man Shepard smiled and said, W.L., your supply just arrived and so did that young lady over there looking at those mason jars. Any nigra in his right mind would just walk right over there and speak. W.L. smiled and said, Man, I saw her mother outside waiting in a wagon and I in no way tend to disrespect her. Old man Shepard laughed and said, W.L. you are a good man, and a hard worker. What are you worried about, that her mother will find out that you are not only a carpenter and sharecropper, but sell bootlegged whiskey on the side? Old man Shepard laughed his hearty laugh, his cheeks turning as red as his red and black checkered shirt. His white eyebrows hung over his eyes, and you could barely make out his blue-green eyes. Then Old man Shepard sobered up and said, I’ll tell you what W.L., when you finish building that fine wood cabin, I’ll personally introduce you to Essie. The old man was true to his word.

Winter came and the snow covered the country side. W.L. gathered his beef and pork from the smoke house. He gathered pecans from his pecan tree, packed his molasses in a couple of tin cans, chopped wood for his coal stove and arranged the furniture he built and waited for the season to change.

By the Tyronza River

Spring arrived almost like a quiet whisper. The ring necked doves cooed outside W.L.’s window. The trees began to bloom. The smell of the lavender blossoms in his yard sent a warm pleasant fragrance to W.L.’s nostrils. From the distance, one could hear the cows mooing in the pastures. The rooster crowed with his natural alarm clock. It was a beautiful morning. W. L. went and milked the cows, then went to the chicken coop to gather the brown-speckled eggs. He went into his kitchen and prepared his breakfast of smoked ham, eggs and fried potatoes. He sat down and sliced the stale bread that he bought from Miss Nellie a couple of weeks ago. Then he proceeded to boil water for his bath in an over-sized metal tub, shaved and got dressed to go to Old man’s Shepard’s country store to purchase more pans and coal for his stove. He hitched up his horse to the wood wagon he built and headed into town.

On the way into town, he encountered families, men, women and children, old and young, some walking and others with wagons. Their shoes were worn, and encrusted with dirt and mud from weeks of traveling. Carrying bags and bundles of their few belongings, these were black people migrating from the North, coming South to escape the poverty of the Great Depression. Some were so tired they would stop to camp and build camp fires to rest and eat. The smell of cooked onions and potatoes filled the air. The stench of unwashed bodies and clothing mingled with the evening breeze. The men had the look of quite determination and the women looked hopeful. The children followed the elders who appeared exhausted. W. L. decided to take some of the people as far as Frenchmans Bayou. There they could set up camp near the Tyronza River where they could bathe. After he took several families, he proceeded to go to Old man’s Shepard’s store. When he arrived at the store it was crowded with people from the North, white and black, but mostly black. They were purchasing anything they could afford to help in their travels. Old man Shepard was also the owner of several farms that he leased for sharecropping in several counties. He was in the process of writing deeds to some properties he owned to these new visitors to the South. W. L. felt that he did not accomplish all that he wanted, so as he turned to return home, Old man Shepard hollered out, Hey W.L., you just missed that pretty young girl that was here last fall. But her mother said they will be back first thing in the morning to beat the crowd of visitors. W.L. replied, You know that’s not a bad idea. I think I’ll take up rest in my wagon here in town and come back first thing in the morning. Old man Shepard said, That’s a good idea, and I heard about you giving these good people a ride into Frenchman’s Bayou. Goodnight W.L., see you tomorrow.

W.L. left and drove a mile away from the store to set up his resting place with his horse and wagon. Two young black men, hungry and tired, rested near W.L.’s wagon. He shared some food with them and asked where they were from. One said Chicago, and the other said Pennsylvania. The one from Pennsylvania said he was planning on joining the Army because things were getting pretty bad with the Germans, and it was better than all this walking and traveling. The other man from Chicago said he could just be happy working on a farm. W.L. said, You what? I am a sharecropper and just built a new house and I have a farm. I could sure use some help. I have five cows and 10 hogs, a chicken coop full of chickens and a cotton field.

By the Tyronza River

The work is hard, but at the end of the day it is well