Crowley Stories: Swamp's Edge

By T. M. Strait

Living at the swamp's edge isn't always. Nature isn't the only challenge. There's also the people. Sit and read a spell in the delightful, passionate kaleidoscope that is the town of Crowley and its residents. You'll treat yourself to romance, mystery, drama, and even a whiff of the fantastical.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543940497

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All Rights Reserved: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any forms or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any people, locations, or products are used in a fictitious manner, and any likeness is purely coincidental.

Crowley Stories: Swamp’s Edge

Copyright © 2017 by T. M. Strait

Print ISBN 978-1-54394-048-0

eBook ISBN 978-1-54394-049-7

Bookbaby Independent Publishing Platform

Cover design by BookBaby

Edited by Cristina Relyea and Rose Aldridge

PUBLISHER:

Swamp’s Edge Publishing

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Rose Aldridge. Rose Aldridge is the mother of my wonderful spouse and life partner, Alison. Rose has lived at Swamp’s Edge her entire life, most of it in the small town of Blackshear, the same town Alison was born in, raised in, and came back to not too long after college. Rose started out as a waitress, where she met the newspaper publisher, Robert Williams, and was offered a job at The Blackshear Times. She spent the next two decades as an outstanding editor and award-winning columnist. She has also twice placed in the Okefenokee Heritage Center’s Writing Contest, with excellent short stories pulled from her experience in growing up in rural South Georgia.

I want to thank Rose Aldridge for her editorial assistance in preparing this book. I admire her achievements and would be thrilled to accomplish even a small part of what she has done in the writing world. I also appreciate Cristina Relyea, who also read the book, and had some valuable edits and suggestions. I can assure you – any typos or inconsistencies that remain are purely on me. My beautiful wife, Alison, and my son, Benjamin, were kind enough to give me the space to work on this and to provide me feedback as I progressed in my work.

I appreciate all my early readers, giving me their opinions and encouragement, including Carol Easlick, Linda Arnst Spayeth, Leslie Crane and Grace Lee.

I want to thank Elizabeth Welch for her guidance in this crazy world of writing and publishing, and to the entire Okefenokee Writer’s Guild for their support and assistance.

Interested readers may wish to know that I have another novel, History of the Trap: Year One, available on Amazon in both paperback and Kindle editions. History of the Trap is a Young Adult novel, a science fiction/fantasy story set in a 1970s high school where students and staff find themselves…trapped. Check it out on Amazon, along with several other Kindle-only offerings.

And now…. it’s time to visit awhile in Crowley!

The stories here take place between the Fall of 2013 through the early Spring of 2014.

Contents

Good Morning, Bright Crowley Sun

Dark Day

Barn and Stars

The Vigil at the Honey Dew

A Crowley Celebration of Longevity

Early Morning Hang Out with Bobby Ray

The Sheriff Steps In

Office in the Round

Maryanne Loses Her Job

Trailer Without Travel

Ghosts in the Crowley Night

Dancing with the Scars

Winston’s Last Town Hall

Living at Swamp’s Edge with Kayak Kelly

Contemplations at the Honey Dew Stoop

A Meeting in the Pines

The Slum Lord of Magnolia Street

Smokin’ in the Teacher’s Lounge

A Very Steel Thanksgiving

Accounting for the Rest of Us

Ten PM at the Oasis

Confessions in the Garden of New Life

Ode to a Teenage Dialogue

Night Stocker

Swamp’s Edge: Blue Afternoon

New Year’s Eve, Gingham Style

The Naked Truth in Gariton’s Bed

Loosening the Belt at Spitchaw Ridge

Crowning a New King

Miscarriage of Justice

Crowley Kaleidoscope

Dona and the Vows

Murder in the Round

Slammer Time

School Yard Fun Time

Bailin’ at the Honey Dew

You’ll Need a Flowchart

Betty’s Confession

Christie’s Confession

Mall of the Swamps

Freddy’s Confession

Archie & Reggie Meet Jughead

The Murderer’s Confession

One Last Spin

Goodnight, Sweet Crowley Moon

Good Morning,

Bright Crowley Sun

Good morning, bright Crowley sun.

The bright red/yellow orb, a kaleidoscopic mix of mustard and Tabasco, melted the night away, spinning a rich hue of color across the South Georgia sky. Emerging from the sky’s glorious color wheel, flying straight towards Spitchaw Ridge, a magnificent bird of prey, the Golden Eagle, swoops towards the pond in front of the home of Crowley’s richest citizen. The man watches from his front porch, wondering how close the bird will get, and if his rifle is too far away.

Another man, a mile away, lies awake in his bed, no longer able to sleep, listening to a rooster crow, ready to immerse into the routine that was the only thing that helped him endure; a young woman is asleep in the barn, and her father wonders where his daughter is, because it is time to start the chores; a waitress sits on the back stoop of the Honey Dew, waiting for the diner to open, wondering if this will be a day he comes in; a man fixes his wife coffee, unsure of what time she actually came in the night before; a woman nearing 105 sees the sun come through the slats of her assisted living apartment, and realizes she is still around to experience another day; the high school football field lights up in orange reflection, the school’s prospects dimmed by an injury to their star quarterback; the Sheriff rises, thinking about whether the fish are biting, and smiles at his sleeping wife, patting her gently on the behind; Crowley Circle and all its businesses and offices brighten, readying for the daily work week; a doctor practices early morning yoga in her office, preparing herself to take on the often ignorant onslaught; a trailer park stands empty, everyone inside their pseudo-mobile hovels, except a man retching near his porch picnic table, and the sound of one tied-up dog barking; the sunlight melts away the ghosts and the dark things that lurk in the midnight black; a woman nervously prepares breakfast for her sleeping husband, knowing the consequences if she doesn’t get things exactly right; a man prepares his kayak for another trip in the swamps that lay at the edge of Crowley, armed only with a camera and a scientific mind, equipped with a love of nature and appreciation for the beauty of the earth.

The waitress leaves the stoop, puts aside her worried contemplations, and opens her arms to the bright, rising sun. She begins to twirl, the sound of music flooding her brain. To dance, to dream, to hope, to pray. What better way to start the day.

The diner back door opens, and the owner beckons the dancing waitress to come inside.

Another bright Crowley day has begun.

Welcome. Let us all come in. At least for a spell.

They’re all waiting for you.

Dark Day

Oh, shine! said Susie Mayer. It’s him! Susie and Jenky Evans were watching the parking lot out front of The Chicken Hut. Sure enough, the same old rusty Ford Pickup was pulling up. Just like every Thursday at 4:30 PM.

What are we gonna tell him, Jenky? stressed Susie. He is gonna freak the flat out when he sees the change! She started to move behind Jenky as if that stringbean could hide her. Tall and ropey, Jenky looked like the entire Evans clan, like lean cowboys instead of the grease monkeys most of them were. Susie was a tiny thing, only five foot, and a little round, but in a feminine way. Many a night Jenky longed to work up the nerve to see Susie after work, but his voice choked off at all such things.

He’s gonna see that Maybeen has gone up on the Thursday Dark Special, and he’s gonna blow up, just you see! said Susie, her hands clutched together in front of her face.

The door creaked open with a tinny squeal and out rolled Elbert Luck, a squat, determined-looking man. He only came into town for Wednesday Senior Discount at Swain’s IGA and then Thursday to The Chicken Hut for the Dark Day Special. Elbert was a stocky man, built like a trash compactor. He had a grim determination on his face. Not a mean look, but one of a man who knew what his mission was and was determined to achieve it.

He pushed open the front door of The Chicken Hut and moved in shambling steps to the front counter. Jenky retreated, leaving a shivery, little Susie to wait on Mr. Luck. G-g-good day, Mr. Luck. What you like today, Sir? As if she didn’t know.

I’ll have the dark special, Elbert said it slowly, carefully, in a deep firm voice, as if he were announcing the second coming to those non-believers who were bound to perish.

O-o-kaay, sir? You-you did see, sir, that the price has changed slightly, sir. Susie shakily pointed up at the handwritten pricing board. The longstanding price of The Dark Special, nine pieces of dark meat for $4.99 had changed. It was now $5.69. Maybeen Herreld, the owner for the last twenty-three years, had held out as long as she could. But with the rising price of poultry and the damn increases in minimum wage, she had to adjust even the special price. Still and all, it was three bucks less than the regular price.

Elbert looked up, puzzled. He was not a man used to change. He had not varied his routine much in the last five years, ever since his wife Arletta had passed. He thought for well over a minute, as Susie wondered if her bladder would hold. I’ve got $5.34 exactly. That’s for the chicken, plus the government’s blood money. That’s all I brought with me.

I-I appreciate that, Mr. Luck, but the price has changed. It’s now $5.69, which with tax is, is... She looked around for somebody else, her mind too afire to think out the math. Jenky peeked from around the fryer and squeaked, Six dollars and nine cents.

Elbert shrugged. Don’t got it. Don’t see why it has to change. A special is a special. He stood at the counter, unsure what to do. After a minute he asked, How much would you charge for nine pieces?

Susie was reeling, Well, you could buy pieces you want individually. Dark meat is 99 cents apiece individually. You can buy that way.

Jenky had a brief fit of manning up and came round to the counter with Susie. Yeah, that’d be nine pieces for 99 cents each, so it would equal $8.91 plus tax, for a total of $9.53.

Elbert shook his head. That sure don’t seem right. And he stood there, blocking the counter as the Easter family came in, all seven of them. That was followed by the Harley brothers, and then even the Gorland twins. And Elbert wouldn’t budge. If I can’t get my special, I may have to go someplace else.

Dang it, Susie! the uglier of the Harley brothers griped. Can’t you get him to get a move on?

This was followed by some major league caterwauling by every soul there. Except for Elbert Luck, who, in a sense, was placidly blocking the plate. Finally, Maybeen came out of her office. What in the name of our savior is a-going on out here? Has everyone lost their mind?

Everyone started shouting about Elbert. Please! Maybeen shouted. One at a time!

Jenky put on his brave pants and spoke up. Elbert, uh, Mr. Luck here, wants to buy the Dark Day Special, but he only has enough to cover the old price. I don’t think he knew about the increase.

Maybeen scoffed. "Is that so, Elbert? Well, what do you think, Elbert? I can hold my prices forever? Geez, I wish my poultry suppliers would hold the line, but they got their problems too. And then the government stepping in to tell me how much I got to pay these damn kids who are lucky in this town to have a job at all. Elbert, Elbert, what am I gonna do with you? You know things change!"

Elbert looked at Maybeen, tears welling in his eyes. I think...I think...things have changed enough. And Maybeen and the others (all except the Harley brothers who had the extra special privilege of being mean AND dumb); all began to realize that this wasn’t about the price of chicken, but about Elbert desperately holding onto a routine that diminished in his mind the pain of his wife’s passing.

Okay, Elbert, just for you today, the Dark Day special will be restored at 5 PM. You can get the special for $4.99.

$5.34 with tax, piped in Jenky. Maybeen gave him a stern look.

But, Elbert, I swear to God, next week you better be prepared to fork over an extra three bits, because I can’t keep things the same forever. And I’m so sorry, Elbert, but neither can you.

Elbert looked at her with sad recognition. Okay, I’ll sit down and wait until 5. But that’s pushing it for me getting to The Wheel in time. It starts at 5:30, and it takes me twenty minutes to get back home.

Maybeen let out a sigh of exasperation. Take a seat, Elbert. Maybe we’ll accidentally give it to you a few minutes early.

As Elbert sat down, the ugliest Harley brother piped up, Hey, we want that special too!

Maybeen looked at those two wretched examples of humanity and said, You know, I do have the right to refuse service to anybody I want.

So Elbert got the special, and eventually, The Chicken Hut returned to normal.

The next week, Elbert Luck was there with six dollars and nine cents.

Barn and Stars

She should have been exhausted.

She should have just crawled straight into bed. But even though she was physically tired and worn out, her mind was still a whirl.

She ran outside to the barn, climbed the ladder to the loft, and looked out the open window. She sat down on the fresh hay and looked out at the stars. It was a clear night, and she could make out the constellations. She wondered what it would be like exploring those distant celestial bodies so far from the dreary, grinding routine of the farm.

It almost made the pain in her back recede. Her red, chapped hands that so recently bled with today’s work were forgotten. She was up before dawn and worked with her father and siblings until dark. There was only work, rest and food. The same routine, day after day, all year round, only interrupted by school or inclement weather.

But there had to be something more, she thought. Something that made life more exciting, something that would challenge her mind and not just her body. She folded her arms on her knees, laid her head down, and began to tear up.

A moment later, she thought she saw a flash of light. She looked up and saw a falling star, come crashing into the horizon just behind a nearby field. Then she heard her name called from below.

Tabitha! he called, in a strong baritone voice. He made the name sound very clipped and foreign. Tab-eee-thuh! He called.

She looked down and saw standing in front of the barn, Yul Brynner. Not someone who looked like Yul Brynner, but THE Yul Brynner. He stood there with his hands on his hips. He was naked from the waist up, except for a purple sash. He had flowing pants that looked like a genie’s or...or...the king of...something. He had bare feet. He had a huge scabbard belted to his waist. His face had the look of grim determination, and he was staring right up at her.

Tabitha! shouted Yul. It is time! Come with me now! I command you! Instruct my children in western ways. And who knows? Someday I may dance with you! Someday you might be my.... consort! He reached out his hand to her.

She froze in fear and indecision. How could this be happening? Was Yul Brynner even alive?

Before she could do anything, she heard a strange sound and a wavering image appear near Yul. As it solidified, she knew who it was. It was Captain James T Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, in his prime!

Tabitha Steel? he asked. He looked up at her, a glint of a smile crossing his face.

Y-y-yes? she managed to stutter out.

I am Captain James T Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. I am here as a representative of the Federation to recruit you to join us on our five-year mission, to boldly go where no man or woman has gone before, to explore space - the final frontier!

Oh, wow! I can’t believe this! she said. She looked at her hands - still rough and unhealed. Her back still hurt like the dickens. She pinched her cheek. Ow! She got up to come down from the loft.

Yul Brynner pulled a huge sword out of his scabbard. He raised it up to smite Captain Kirk. Kirk quickly whipped out his phaser and fired. Yul Brynner collapsed to the ground.

Against her better judgment, she still came out of the barn towards the two men. Don’t worry, Tabitha! It was only on stun. He’ll be alright in a few minutes, said Kirk. She just looked at Kirk, wide-eyed, her mouth slightly open.

Look, if you still want to go with the, uh, King here, that’s fine. Recruitment in the Starfleet is strictly voluntary. But we have a fine crew. I think you might enjoy assisting our Science Officer, Mr. Spock. He could use a fine mind like yours.

Mind? she said. That was all she needed. She was sold. I am so there, Captain! Ready to come aboard!

Welcome aboard, Ensign Steel! He reached out his hand, and she took it. Her hand immediately filled with soothing warmth, and she could already feel her sore hand beginning to heal. He put a cell phone shaped device near his mouth and spoke into it. Beam two aboard, Scotty! We have our new recruit!

A strange, wavery sound occurred again, and then they both vanished.

Tabby! TABITHA! Her father came up the ladder and saw Tabitha sleeping there in the loft. Tabby! She stirred from her deep sleep and found that she was not on the Starship Enterprise. Tabby! Did you sleep out here all night?

I-I guess so.

Well, no matter. You’re already late for your morning chores. No time to eat or change or dilly dally. Let’s get up and at ‘em!

The weariness of it all about did her in. She got out of the barn and started to trudge to her chores. Then she noticed on the ground an unusual object. She picked it up and saw that it was an Ensign patch for a Starfleet uniform. She was also startled that her right hand, the one Captain Kirk shook, was no longer red, no longer cut.

Yes, it was a hard slog. But there it was. A hint or hope of something else. Not there yet, but certainly to be hoped for. She stepped a little more lightly.

Live long and prosper!

The Vigil at the Honey Dew

He waited for her. He was determined to wait however long it took.

The Honey Dew Diner, its owner and staff, might have other plans in mind, however. It was one of Crowley’s favorite lunch spots, but it didn’t serve an evening meal and was a-fixin’ to close at 2 PM, like it does every day, Monday through Saturday. So if 2 PM up and came, and Adam Garnett was still sitting there, he would have to go, whether he wanted to or not.

No one except Adam thought Racine was going to show up. The whole town seemed to understand that Racine Steel had moved past Adam. Everyone, that is, except Adam.

Adam sat quietly at a table, nursing a Coke. On the table were a dozen white roses, wrapped up at the end with green tissue paper. His left hand clutched them. He could not take his eyes away from the door.

It was now 1:45. Someone was going to have to break the bad news to him. The staff drew straws, and Franny Goodkind got the short one. It was going to be both easier and harder on her than it would have been on anybody else because Franny was also sweet on Adam. But Adam had never taken her any notice. And how could she blame him when Racine Steel was around. Brighter, prettier, with a sparkle in her eyes and soul that put all the other girls in Crowley to shame.

Adam was not a traditional handsome stud type. But he had a soulful romantic charm that could even pull a girl like Racine in. At least for a brief time. Adam was just too short and chunky to be truly popular. Not to mention a complete ineptness at sports and most of what people would call normal conversational skills. Still, when Franny looked into his eyes, she could almost feel herself drown.

She came up behind and then just to his side. Adam, I don’t know how to tell you this. We’re closing in about ten minutes, and it might be a good idea to be thinking about giving it up for today.

Adam turned his head and looked up at her. She couldn’t help but skip a tiny beat. Her heart flipped its flop. Adam, I...I don’t think she’s coming here today. Now, you know she’s been seen back with Bobby Ray again. She’s probably off watching him practice, or studying with him, or...or something.

Adam winced. No, she’s coming here. She comes here every Saturday to meet me. I know I ain’t seen much of her this week, but that shouldn’t change this. Of course, every Saturday had been just the last three Saturdays. And for a moment, Franny could see doubt pass across Adam’s face. But that vanished quickly. No. She’ll be here. I know she will.

The bell tinkled. Racine stepped in. Franny’s mouth dropped open. Adam smiled and started to stand up.

Racine was a vision. Blond hair, perfect face, body curved in all the right places. Don’t get up, Adam. I just got a couple a thing to say, and then I’ll be on my way.

Adam tried to hand her the white roses, and she brushed them away. They went back down on the table. Could you excuse us, Franny? Franny closed her mouth back up, nodded, and then left to go back to the kitchen area.

Adam, the flowers are lovely, but I can’t take them. You know that, said Racine.

But, Rayce, we’re still seeing each other, aren’t we? You said that you liked me. I mean that you really liked me. That you might even...

Racine interrupted Yes, I did say those things. And I meant it. And I don’t want to stop being your friend. It’s just that...I need to be with Bobby Ray.

Adam winced. I don’t understand. Why do you need to be with Bobby Ray?

Racine had some fellas, but Bobby Ray had always been her go-to guy. She had been with him more often than not. Bobby Ray was tall and athletic and very good looking (mind you, trusting here the opinion of the Crowley female population). He did not have Adam’s imagination and romantic flair, nor were Bobby Ray’s cultural needs or intellect very pronounced. He’s the man for me, Adam. I’m sorry. I love being with you and all, and I hope we can be friends (has any woman ever uttered a more soul-crushing phrase?) but me and Bobby Ray...we’re too connected now. Racine’s hand went to her belly and gave it a slight rub. Adam might not be able to figure that out, but Franny, watching from a distance, knew exactly what it meant. Rayce had done raced off just a little too far with Bobby Ray. Poor Adam.

Adam looked at her, confused but quickly trying to take in what was happening, and reassembled it into something that made sense to him, even though it was distant from reality. Okay, I’ll see you around, then. I’ll look forward to the next time.

I will too, Adam. Racine looked at him sympathetically. Why wasn’t she firmer? Didn’t she know she was leaving him dangling? These questions were racing through Franny’s mind. She gave him a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and then walked out.

As she was leaving Adam said, I’ll keep those roses preserved for you! But if she heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it. Adam stood there smiling as if he had every shot in the world with her.

At 2 PM, they had to ask him to leave. Franny had to hold his hand and lead him to his car.

Thank you, Franny, Adam said, stepping into