Two from Tennessee

By Gary Lee Ward

W.D. and Jesse, cousins from the back hills of Tennessee, head to Missouri "just to pick some cotton". Swimming the Mississippi River and being caught in a hailstorm turns out to be the easiest part of their life-changing trip.

The old sea captain they find in a pool of blood aboard the Tiptonville ferry is alive, but barely! He's been robbed of a magnificent diamond necklace. As his life hangs in the balance, the sheriff treats the Two From Tennessee like suspects.

They soon find work at the R.G. Billings' Plantation, but get far more than they bargained for as a U.S. Air Force T-6 "Texan" crashes in the cotton field where they're working. Disregarding their own safety, they attempt a daring rescue of the trapped pilot.

In the meantime, Jesse falls head over heels in love with the sea captain's niece, Angel Steffelow, while W.D. gets involved with Kerri Lynn Carlisle, a young girl from New Madrid, Missouri who has psychic powers that intrigue and frighten him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 16, 2005
• ISBN: 9780595822928

Gary Lee Ward

Gary Lee Ward was born and grew up just outside the small town of Risco in the Missouri Bootheel. He attended Arkansas State University where he graduated with a major in Radio/TV Journalism and a minor in Newspaper. As a retired broadcaster for the Illinois Farm Bureau, he turned his attention toward writing novels. His first book, Two From Tennessee, was published in January 2006 and is fiction but based on his own real-life experiences growing up in the cotton fields of southeast Missouri. Renegade Re is also fiction, but here Gary created a story that takes place a world away from rural life. It’s a complex mystery of twists and turns that takes place mainly in London and Paris and centers around the hostile takeover attempt by a small U.S. company of an international conglomerate. Gary and his wife, Linda, now make their home in the Southwest Missouri Ozarks.

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Copyright © 2005 by Gary Lee Ward

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Table of Contents

__________________

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 1

__________________

The shortcut! Why had they taken that damned shortcut? Why had they listened to anything that that blowhard, Spud Dockens, had to say? They knew better, but they were anxious to have some money in their pockets for a change. They were headed to Missouri to pick cotton and were on foot because they couldn’t afford a car. A car? They didn’t even have enough spare money for gas, even though it was only 17 cents a gallon. For the past 10 minutes they had cussed Spud Dockens up one side and down the other for giving them such bum directions. They had found the river alright, but just where the hell were they?

W.D. and Jesse contemplated what to do next as they stood on the bank of the Mississippi River on the Tennessee side looking toward Missouri. It was a bright, sunny day, but dark, ominous looking clouds were beginning to boil-up in the southwest.

It was late August 1954 and the severe drought that had lasted for the past several months made the mighty Mississippi look more like one of the almost dry drainage ditches over in the Missouri Bootheel. And not only was the river extremely low, the water was almost running clear…a rare occurrence.

The late afternoon sun bore down like a welder’s torch, further drawing down the river’s water level. The temperature soared to a sweltering 105 degrees as the humidity climbed to over 90 percent. A slight breeze gently stirred the tall, parched grass near the water’s edge causing a few crickets to chirp loudly.

Son of a bitch is it hot! W.D. swore as he wiped his forehead with an already sweat-soaked rag he had cut from one of the legs of the Levis he was wearing. He’d decided earlier in the day to cut off the jeans just above his knees to make it

cooler. He would have laughed his ass off if he had had any idea that in a few years cut offs would become a fashion statement.

Hotter than fresh fried frog legs in a fryin’ pan! Jesse shot back as he spat his chewing tobacco into a small pool of water near his feet. Sort of makes you wish we were back home at Sonny’s Barber Shop, don’t it? That air conditioning sure would feel good about now. Hey, that reminds me, I didn’t tell you the good one I heard in there the other day that old Pistol Stokes told. Seems there was this guy in the Army by the name of Rodriguez, and—

Damn it Jesse, W.D. cut him off. Pistol’s told that joke a dozen times! We don’t have time to stand here jawin’ about his cock and bull stories. We damn well better get across this river if we’re gonna find us a job pickin’ cotton tomorrow. Besides, son, looks to me like there’s a storm brewin’. Just look at that cloud back yonder. Bet it’s gonna rain like pourin’ piss out of a boot!

Hotdamn! You ain’t just a wolfin’, Jesse agreed as he eyed the cloud. We swimmin’ this sucker or are we takin’ the ferry across? Regardless of what that ignorant Spud Dockens says, the Tiptonville ferry shouldn’t be more than a mile from here, and it might still be runnin’ if the water’s high enough.

Well, that cloud’s hangin’ awfully low back there in the southwest and it’s gonna be here on us before we can get to the ferry, so we might as well swim for it, W.D. decided. Hell, either way we’re gonna get wet!

Back home they would never swear, use four letter words or chew tobacco. Willard and Ona Mae would see to that. But out on their own, it just felt good and carefree to say and do whatever they pleased. Even so, they never strayed far from the high moral values they had always been taught.

W.D. and Jesse Wright were cousins from the back hills of Tennessee. When anyone asked them where they were from, they would just grin and say they lived just a stone’s throw from Pumphandle Junction, just across the creek from Possum Holler. Most people didn’t know whether to believe them or not. The way they laughed and joked, it wasn’t always easy to tell when they were stretching the truth.

W.D. had been orphaned at age seven and was sent to live with his aunt and uncle, Jesse’s parents. Willard and Ona Mae let W.D. know from the start that he was only being taken in and not adopted since they already had 12 children of their own. The Wrights were sharecroppers and were dirt poor, and even though they tried to show him they loved him as much as their own kids, he always felt like he had to fend for himself. He became fiercely independent, but even in the hardest times remained optimistic and always wore a warm, bright smile.

Although it was common at the time for many poor families to keep their kids out of school to work, the Wrights insisted that all their children, including W.D., go to school. Willard also taught them to always be polite and respect others…to say Sir and Ma’am.

W.D. had been out of high school a year when Jesse graduated back in May. Even though both of them made almost perfect grades in school, they didn’t always use correct grammar or proper English. Sounded sort of cityfied, they said. Sometimes they’d use such words as wuz and uf’ and git, instead of was, of and get. They’d say warshrag rather than washrag. Often, they’d leave the g off the ends of words. They’d say things like, I wuz goin’ to town to git me some warshrags." But they were wise enough to know when to fit in and could sound well educated and sophisticated or like country hicks, whichever they chose, depending on the situation and the people they were with at the time.

Now at 19, W.D. was ruggedly handsome. He was six feet, two inches tall with a muscular build and curly, dark hair. All year round his skin was a dark tan. His deeply dimpled chin and angular cheekbones gave his face a distinctive look. His brown eyes seemed to dance with mischief whenever he talked, and his broad smile showed off his perfect teeth.

Jesse, a year younger than W.D., always worshiped his cousin and called him Cuz. Now at five feet, eleven inches tall, his slender, wiry frame belied his physical strength. His blondish, wavy hair and blue eyes were in direct contrast with his cousin’s. But although his complexion was lighter than W.D.’s, he too maintained a golden tan.

As the dark cloud edged closer, it became deathly quiet. Even the crickets became silent. The humidity was so heavy it was hard to get a good breath. Distant thunder rumbled a warning that the approaching storm would be intense. W.D had already taken off his shirt, shoes and socks and stuffed them into his knapsack along with his other possessions, including a frying pan, some corn meal, salt and pepper, a small tin of lard, a few eating utensils, two changes of socks and underwear, two shirts, two pairs of Levis, a comb, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a shaving kit with a small mirror, and his trusty, sharp-as-a-razor hunting knife. He strapped the knapsack to his back and strode off past Jesse into the river.

Well son, W.D. chided as he waded into waist-deep water, you comin’ or are you gonna just sit right there till the storm hits?

"I ain’t rightly made up my mind. Besides, we can’t make it any further than that sandbar, and if it rains much the water’s liable to come up and drown our asses!

The persistent drought throughout the Midwest had helped create huge sandbars up and down the river. The one Jesse was pointing out was right in the middle of the river. It was about an eighth of a mile wide and almost a quarter mile long. The water surrounding it was eight to twelve feet deep, and they would have to swim nearly a quarter of a mile to reach it.

Come on you little pantywaist, W.D. teased as he turned toward Jesse and splashed water in his face.

Why you sorry bastard! I’ll beat your ass to that sandbar! Jesse yelled. He had already removed his shirt, shoes and socks and put them into his knapsack that was similarly packed to his cousin’s except for the cooking supplies and utensils. He quickly strapped the knapsack to his back and dove headfirst into the water knocking W.D. off his feet. He then started swimming as hard as he could toward the sandbar. W.D. came up sputtering and laughing and with a tremendous dive and splash caught up with Jesse and the race was on. Back at home they swam almost every summer day in the deep water holes along the creeks, so this quarter mile jaunt was just a cakewalk to them. Even the added weight of their backpacks hardly seemed to slow them down.

The last one there is a rotten, egg-suckin’ dog! Jesse yelled as he lurched ahead of W.D. by several yards. Just then, a fierce bolt of lightning flashed in the distance followed by deafening thunder.

If that damn lightning gets any closer before we get out of this water, we’re dead sumbitches! W.D. shouted as he and Jesse swam at Olympic speed, churning the water like a couple of motorboats. Now the wind was starting to blow in strong gusts ahead of the rapidly approaching storm while keen lightning was dancing in brilliant streaks along the Missouri side of the river. Waves nearly three feet high made it extremely difficult for the swimmers to gain much headway. But with powerful strokes and sheer determination, they reached their target in a matter of minutes.

We made it, Cuz! Jesse yelled and laughed in triumph while collapsing to the ground as if he were completely exhausted.

Oh yeah, well you’d better look at that cloud again, dingwhistle! W.D. motioned as he came up beside Jesse on the sandbar. By that pale green look near the base, I’d say there’s hail the size of goose eggs in it!

Hotdamn! I see what you mean! Jesse said as he became instantly alarmed and scrambled to his feet. We’d better find us something to get under and I mean fast. Hey look, there’s somebody’s old johnboat! See it? Over there in that pile of driftwood!

The first drops of rain the size of half-dollars splattered the water and swept across the sandbar island. Then a jagged, red-hot lightning bolt ripped through the clouds and struck the river not more than 50 yards away. The bright flash and almost instantaneous ear-piercing clap of thunder sent W.D. and Jesse running at top speed toward the johnboat. W.D reached it first, dragged it from the driftwood and turned it upside-down as he and Jesse scurried under it and quickly took off their knapsacks. Lying on their backs, they grabbed onto the old boat’s wooden seats and braced themselves for the storm. Only seconds later it hit in full fury. Rain came down in torrents while the lightning seemed to be almost one continuous flash. The wind howled in 60 mile per hour gusts almost ripping the boat from their grip. Time seemed to drag by as the gale raged. Their hands and arms began to ache, but there was no relief as the storm intensified.

Oh god, here it comes! W.D. yelled. I told you there was hail in that cloud!

Damn, damn, damn! Jesse cussed as hail the size of golf balls pounded the boat’s bottom. God, I wish I was back in Tennessee pickin’ baccer! Even though he hated picking tobacco, he’d used variations of that expression ever since he was just a little kid. Whenever he got into the least bit of trouble he’d say, I sure would rather be pickin’ baccer!

The onslaught seemed to go on forever, but it actually lasted just a short time. The entire storm had taken only about 15 minutes to pass and was now tailing off and moving away as quickly as it came. Light rain was still falling, but the strong winds had died away to almost dead calm. Jesse was the first to raise the boat a bit to peer out. Galldamn! he exclaimed. Would you look at the hail! It’s bridle-deep to a tall donkey!

Now on his knees, W.D. pushed past Jesse to take a look. To his astonishment hailstones were piled up almost a half-foot deep. Beats anything I’ve ever seen and I’ve been around the world twice and to four hog callin’ conventions! he joked, relieved that he and his cousin had made it through the storm in one piece. Together they raised the boat to its upright position. Then as they stood up to survey the situation, they were immediately surprised to feel how cold it had become. A gentle breeze had begun to blow across the hail-covered island taking the temperature down drastically, but the air smelled wonderfully fresh and clean. The rain slowed to a sprinkle and then stopped, but the sky was overcast and thunder could still be faintly heard as the storm moved on to the northeast.

I can’t believe it could be so damned hot one minute and so friggin’ cold the next! We ought to name this place Hail Island, Jesse said as he shivered. Both he and W.D. had opened their knapsacks and found shirts, socks and shoes to put on. We’ve got to build a fire. Do you think we can get some of this driftwood to burn, Cuz?

Maybe so, but we need something dry to get it started, W.D. said as he bent over and started searching around in the boat. Hey, look! There’s an old newspaper sticking out from under one of the seats! He reached down and pulled it out. Great! It’s still dry! He started unfolding it when one of the headlines caught his eye:

$50,000 Recovered From Bank Robbery

Wait a minute, listen to this! W.D. said as he quickly scanned the story. This says a girl from New Madrid with psychic powers led police to an old, abandoned farm house where they found $50,000 that had been taken in a Caruthersville bank holdup.

What the hell does ‘sack-ick’ powers mean? Jesse asked, irritated that W.D. was wasting time reading the paper.

"Not sack-ick, psychic! W.D. emphasized. You know, like a fortuneteller. You remember in school when Mrs. McConnell was telling us about people with psychic powers? Anyhow, he said before Jesse could answer, this paper is only a couple months old. It’s dated June 17. Says here the girl’s name is Kerri Lynn Carlisle and she’s 18 years old. I always think of a fortuneteller as an old woman with a crystal ball or something. But this is a high school girl who lives just a few miles from here. Hmm, that’s really something!" he mused, still reading the story and shaking his head in disbelief.

That’s just interesting as hell, Cuz, but I’m standing here freezing my ass off and starving while you read some damned newspaper from 20 years ago! Jesse complained. Let’s get a fire going!

Son, didn’t you hear a word I just said? W.D. groaned. It wasn’t 20 years ago, it was just a month or so ago and…oh just forget it! If you’ll gather up some driftwood and build a fire, I’ll see if I can catch us a couple catfish for supper. How’s that sound to you?

Now you’re talkin’! Here, let me find you some line and hooks, Jesse said as he searched through his knapsack. I know it’s here somewhere…yeah, here it is. Everything you need right here in this cigar box…even a few worms I picked off a catalpa tree this morning. I thought they just might come in handy. Here you go, Cuz.

Handing Jesse the newspaper, W.D. took the fishing tackle and worms and strode off. The hailstones crunched under his feet, but were rapidly melting. The clouds had moved away and the sky was a brilliant orange as the sun hung low in the west. In less than 30 minutes it would be dark. Luckily, the storm’s heavy rains had been so localized the river level had not risen. Mostly, the effect had been only to muddy the water and increase the appetite of the fish. After just a short time, W.D. had caught and cleaned four good-sized channel catfish. As he started back, he could smell the intertwined aroma of wood smoke and coffee.

Nice fire! he called to Jesse as he approached the campsite. Take a look at these beauties. Already have them filleted and ready to go. If you’ll get the skillet, cornmeal and salt out of my pack, I’ll have them fried up in no time.

Way ahead of you, Cuz! Already have the grease in the skillet and the skillet on the fire. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse! Want a cup of coffee? I melted a bunch of hailstones and made us a big pot. It’s good and hot, too!

It was now completely dark and had warmed up considerably, but the fire still felt good as a slight chill remained in the air. The boat made a comfortable, dry place to sit and they had placed it right next to the fire. When they had eaten the last piece of fish, W.D. lay back in the bow of the boat while Jesse sat on the seat at the other end and poked at the fire with a stick. Neither of them said a word for quite a while. Millions of stars twinkled overhead while a full moon was rising on the Tennessee side of the river.

After about 20 minutes or so, Jesse broke the silence. Cuz, I have to tell you, that was the best catfish I’ve ever ate in my life, bar none! Not answering, apparently deep in thought, W.D. just kept staring up at the stars. Hey! You hear me? Jesse slapped the side of the boat with the stick. I said that fish was labdocious!

Oh…ah…yeah, it was really good, W.D. mumbled, only half hearing what Jesse said.

You were a thousand miles away. What were you thinking about?

It’s that story in the newspaper. I was just wondering about that girl with the psychic powers. I’ll bet she’s ugly as homemade soap…but still, with a name like Kerri Lynn…I just wish her picture had been in the paper.

Well, I don’t know what difference it makes, you’re never going to meet her. Besides, like you say, she’s probably ugly as a board and weird to boot. Never heard of a fortuneteller who wasn’t short a brick or two!

Yeah, I guess you’re right, W.D. agreed, rising up and getting out of the boat. What say you scrounge up a little more wood for the fire while I go wash the supper dishes?

Sounds like a good deal to me. You know I never did like scrubbin’ dishes.

Light from the full moon made finding the water’s edge easy. As W.D. kneeled to wash the dishes, he noticed that the river was already beginning to run clear again. With handfuls of wet sand he scrubbed the tin plates and coffee cups, then the skillet and forks. Just as he finished rinsing everything, a long, slender willow branch came floating by. What a great idea, he thought as he grinned, reached out and plucked the limb from the water. With the dishes in one hand and the limp willow in the other, he made his way back to camp.

Hotdamn, this is even better than I’d hoped! he said to himself as he very quietly slipped up behind Jesse, who had chosen that particular moment to relieve himself.

"Snake!" W.D. yelled as loud as he could, at the same time flipping the dripping wet willow across Jesse’s shoulder.

"YeeHiiiiiii!" Jesse screamed while jumping, wiggling and grabbing at the slimy thing crawling on his body. YeeHaaaaow! he yelled again, finally flinging the devilish limb to the ground.

Doubled over with laughter and with tears streaming down his cheeks, W.D. grabbed his sides. That’s the funniest thing I ever saw in my life! he roared, trying to catch his breath.

Damn you! Damn you! Damn you! Jesse yelled as he picked up the ‘snake’. Besides scaring the hell out of me, you caused me to piss all over myself!

At that, W.D. went into convulsions of laughter. Oh god! Oh god! My sides! he laughed, still bent over holding his stomach.

I’ll get you back for this, Jesse promised. Just you wait. Sometime when you’re least expecting it, I’ll get you!

It was several minutes later by the time W.D. had regained his composure, and Jesse had calmed down enough for them to try to get some sleep. The boat made a pretty hard bed, but at least it was dry. Still grumbling to himself about W.D.’s prank, but exhausted from the day’s events, Jesse stretched out and fell asleep almost immediately. But W.D. lay at the other end of the boat gazing up at the stars and thinking about all the tricks that he and his cousin had played on each other since they were little kids. It was this kind of give and take that had made them so close, and they were always there for each other when it counted. He was glad that his Uncle Willard had just gotten a good paying job at the lumber mill and had decided that the rest of the Wright family wouldn’t go over to Missouri to pick cotton this year. It would give him and Jesse some time out on their own away from the family for a couple of months. While he dearly loved his aunt and uncle and all their kids, Jesse was the one closest to his own age, and the one he’d always confided in and completely trusted.

By now it was getting late and he was dead tired, but only seconds after he’d closed his eyes to go to sleep, he was nearly jolted out of the boat. Suddenly scared out of his wits, he jerked upright to a sitting position and looked around. He fully expected to see Jesse standing there laughing at the results of one of his payback pranks. But Jesse had not moved and seemed to be sleeping peacefully. For a full minute, W.D. looked in all directions but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Finally satisfied that it was nothing but his imagination, he again lay back in the boat and closed his eyes.

Instantly there was another jolt!

His eyes flew open!

But this time he realized it was not physical. It was that headline in the paper he’d found in the boat. It flashed in his mind like a slap in the face! The entire article in the newspaper came flooding back to him. He was fully awake now and for some reason couldn’t stop thinking about that young girl with the psychic powers. Who was