Lord, Stand by Me

By Eula Youngblood

LORD, STAND BY ME


This book is more like a series of novellas, than a continuous novel; for it is the strange recorded moments of an eight year old child remembering tales she overheard her adult relatives, and their friends tell of hardships, rape murder, and other horrific crimes that occurred in the early forties in the deep South.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481730945

Eula Youngblood

Eula Youngblood is a Licensed Vocational Nurse, and a retired Quality Control Manager who worked for Computer Peripheral Manufacturing for twenty five years. She has taught drama, and Creative Writing in the communities where she lived, and has written, and produced numerous stage plays that she wrote. She has five published novels, and this is her sixth book Eula is legally blind, and writes with the assistance of a voice activated program on her computer, that converts voice into text. Up, showered, and a cup of coffee on her desk at five in the morning, she writes about five hours each day, Monday through Friday, and walks about a half mile each day. Look for Eula's seventh novel early next year. It is a Documentary about her murdered grandfather, and the lengthy trial that followed. It is entitled "Lodge Hall Schism in 1911.”

Book preview

Lord,

Stand By Me

EULA YOUNGBLOOD

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AuthorHouse™ LLC

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2013 by Eula Youngblood. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/19/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-3095-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-3094-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013905015

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

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

Ebonics

About the Author

Prologue

The photograph below, could be what eight year old Ebony Anika and her little brother, Willie Jay Howard looked like in the early forties in the deep South, long before the Freedom Fighters patrolled the Southern States to free the Negroes, a right that was given to them in the mid 1860’s when slavery was abolished.

In the North, West, and Mid West, eight year old girls were still playing with dolls, but not little Ebony in the South, who was taught how to take charge of a household just in case her parents were assassinated. Astute little Ebony was an avid reader, proficient needle crafter, and excellent cook who dreamed of becoming a writer someday

While her parents thought Ebony was off somewhere playing, she was listening to their horrific tales of hardship, rape and murder that was happening in the community where she lived.

Names and places have been changed to protect the innocent. The evil clan called The Bob Cat Raiders is a fictitious name assigned by the Negroes to the spiteful hate group.

Now come with me, the author of this tale, through the pages of an eight year old’s account of life on the edge, in 1940 in the deep South. Then try to understand their way of life, and their language called EBONICS today. As you read, you will understand why this tale is entitled: LORD STAND BY ME.

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MASON DISTRESS SIGNAL

1. One, or both arms straight over the head…

Once or both arms straight out from shoulder…

One or both arms straight down beside thighs.

VERBAL SIGNAL WITH ABOVE

2. Oh Lord, my God. Is there any help for the window’s son?

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT SIGNAL

3. Three, five, or seven whistles made in quick succession, indicates the severity of the problem.

LOCATIONS

1. Madison Georgia

2. Mt. Zion Church, Buckhead, Georgia

3. Rufus Howard’s four-horse farm, Buckhead, Georgia

4. Mt. Zion road.

Chapter 1

It was past breakfast, and well into mid morning. The air of the early spring day was edged with an exhilarating chill, perhaps caused by the thick thunderheads that covered the sun. Georgia was like that in the early 1940’s; sometimes chilly, extremely hot and humid, or plagued by quick-tempered thunder storms and flash floods that brewed up without warning.

The Southeastern section of the state where we lived was so beautiful with its red dirt hills, bordered by tall pines, and dark green grass carpeting the meadows, and there were numerous clear running brooks everywhere. The early forties was also a time when evil lurked in the hearts of some people, rotting their minds like bad apples in a barrel, migrating to the weak-minded, multiplying as maggots in hog slop.

Fuller Sims was Morgan County’s hate maggot, who’d been excommunicated from his membership in the Ku Klux Klan due to his insane ideals and practices. He had recruited a small group of malcontents whom the Negroes called Bobcat Raiders because they always left a dead bobcat at the scene where they’d destroyed lives, homes or farms.

The raiders not only raped and murdered Negroes, but killed and burned out white people who attempted to testify to their evil doings. Due to fear of reprisal, there was never anyone who dared to testify against the dreaded raiders.

Hello, my name is Ebony Anika Howard. I’m almost eight years old, and is sixth of the seven Howard children. I’m going to try to tell you, the readers, stories that I can remember witnessing, or heard my mother and her lady friends talking about as I hid beneath the house to eavesdrop. I’m not sure if I was more horrified from learning about the troubles in our community, or what would happen to me if Mama caught me eavesdropping on adult conversation.

Quite honestly, I can’t remember enough of the actions that occurred in the mind of an eight year old that would actually fill the pages of a normal novel, so I have been instructed by my writing colleagues to fictionalize that parts that I don’t remember and base it on true fact. Most names and some places have been changed to protect those who might not want to be identified

We lived in a large white colonial house, trimmed with green shudders and it sat on brick pillars about three feet off the ground. The main road was about an eighth of a mile from our house that stood in the shadows of lovely productive fruit trees, two large oaks, and a number of shady liquid umbers.

My story begins on the morning of a cloudy spring day that I’ve described, and I was taking care of one my many chores, feeding the chickens. Usually, country children are assigned chores at a very early age and routinely perform this work without being reminded.

As I distributed the soft corn mash around the barnyard, I called out to the fowl in a language they all understood, and they gathered around me with flurries of excitement. A gray frizzy Dominique rooster, that we named Pinch-peck decided that he rather peck my bare toes and legs. I kicked the rooster away but he came right back to attack me again.

I kicked the rooster away, shouting loudly to scare the vicious fowl off: Get away Pinch-peck! You’re as mean as old one-eyed JD. JD was my eleven year old yellow brother, who’s real name was Jimmy Dell. He was a devilish prankster who thought the color of his skin made him superior to those of us who inherited color from or Africa ancestors instead of the Indian and white slave owners.

The rooster lost interest in attacking me when he heard a hen cackle. She had just laid an egg and was making the jubilant sounds of accomplishment before she made her mad dash around the yard with a number of roosters in close pursuit. It amazed me to see the hen suddenly stop running, sit down, raise her tail feather and wait for a rooster to date rape her. I really think it was consensual. Such things as rape and sex were too far out for my eight year old mind to comprehend. I did understand that Pinch-peck hand won the hen’s affection by bullying the other roosters and a wild wrestling match was taking place between him and his prize hen.

The rooster’s attack on my feet and legs was still stinging and I sat down to rub away the pain. As I looked at my small painful lets, I remembered hearing my mother tell her lady friends that Ethel Moore had broken her leg. I gasped at the thought of what I’d heard from my secret listening place. I wondered if my legs would break later, for I’d seen Ethel at church the previous Sunday, and her legs were not broken, but her belly was awfully big.

My thoughts soon forgot what I’d heard from silly grownup talk, and I placed a short piece of lumber across a large fallen tree limb, and began to play foot see/saw, reciting a childish ditty as I treaded up and down: Little Sally Walker, sitting on a saucer, crying and weeping over what she had done. Rise Sally rise, wipe your weeping eyes, put your hands on your hips, and let your backbone slip. Shake it to the east, shake it to the west, shake it to the very one that you love best.

I heard my mother call me from the back porch, Ebony.

Yes Ma’am, I yelled back.

Be sure you cover the brooder chickens, and tie the tarp tight. The weather man said a storm is on da way, n those sto-bought chickens don’t have enough sense to come in out of a shower of horse pockey.

Yes’um, I yelled back, began to cover the brooders with the tarp and laced the ropes as tight as I could.

Mama was tall and slender, and her long crinkled black hair was wrapped around her coco colored head. Her jet black eyes shone like glistening stars on a cold cloudless night. As I finished tying the tarps, I noticed a strange occurrence, the chickens had all gone to roost, the birds were no longer chirping, and the leaves on the trees were still.

In my youthful quest to understand these strange occurrences, I began to scratch my stinging arms, legs, and face; for it felt like tiny pins were pricking my bare skin had a tightness grasped my throat, all of the animals that were in the barn-yard had gone into their stalls. Suddenly, I heard the whining like several freight trains and the roaring of wind that I had never heard before.

Mama yelled frantically for me to run to the house, and then it was so dark, the path to the house was almost obscured in darkness. The funnel cloud plowed a large path across the lower pasture, ripping up trees in its path, and I heard the clicked clack sound as the heavenly monster worked its way towards Gainesville, where it picked up momentum and destroyed homes, livestock, and a few human lives.

When Mama and I crawled out of our fireplace hideout, I could still hear the storm winds roaring, on its way to more destruction. I went back to get my mash bucket and see if the chickens were still roosting, then I heard the sound of a truck, and saw an Army truck driving down our private road, and I yelled to Mama: Mama, somebody coming!

The flatbed truck filled with uniformed army men stopped beside our well, and the men in back jumped down and began to search all around our house. Mama screamed when she saw the uniformed soldiers, for my oldest brother was stationed at Fort Binning GA. I’m sure Mama though something had happened to Addison and the soldiers were here to bring us the bad news.

My God! Is it my Addison? Is he in some kinda trouble? Is he ah-ite?

I had run to the house to see what was the matter and I heard the soldier, with a number of stripes on his shoulder, as he spoke gently to Mama:

Madam, I’m Colonel Dennis Blunt, and we are here searching for one of my boys who is AWOL

What’s AWOL? Mama managed to ask between her runny nose and tears.

It means absent without leave. The Colonel told her.

If it’s my boy, my Addison who done gone off wid doubt askin. He don’t know nut’n ’bout soljur’in, wars, n stuff like dat, he’s jes skaid.

The colonel interrupted Mama; Madam, it’s not your boy, it’s Jasper Perry. I was told that he is sweet on your oldest girl.

Mama was still shaking like dog pooping a peach seed, while wringing her hands in her apron, and her teeth chattered like it was cold winter as she responded to the Colonel. I saw Jasper at church Sunday fo lass. He sho looked mighty fine wid dat gun n MP badge, starched suite and white leggings. The young ladies swarmed around him like bees in a honey comb, but he don’t come ’round here no more, ’cause my big girl lives wid her grandma in the north where she goes to finishing school.

The Colonel looked towards his men, who were visually searching the possible hide-outs, and then he looked back to Mama with a puzzled expression on his face, before asking: Why is your big girl living away from home? Don’t you need her to help you with this big place?

Displaying a proud smile instead of the tears of fear, Mama said proudly: Ebony, my baby girl, is a whole heap of help, after we had to send Ginny away to keep her safe ’til she’s growed up. Most girls her age already have a couple of white young’uns.

Winking at his companions, the Colonel asked: The little Negro girls like those white boys?

T’aint so sir! Mama declared defensively. T’is the growed up white men who ravishes our young girls. Sometimes dey beat the girls to death.

Colonel Blunt looked at Mama as though he could not believe what he had just heard. Although, he’d been told by some of his enlisted men from the Deep South, that such horrific crimes took place, but he’d had trouble believing it before. Meanwhile, he was looking around the property, and keeping a suspicious eye on all movements in the wind.

"What kind of animal harmed these young girls?’ He asked.

Mama breathed like she was jetting up from the bottom of a swimming hole and needed a large supply of air before responding. Folks who live through the fitful acts, is too skaid to talk about what done happen to them.

Shaking his head in sympathy, Colonel Blunt kept a curious eye on the number of out buildings surrounding the property, Madam, what’s all those buildings around the grounds for, and do you mind if my men take a look, just to be sure no one is hiding out there?

Mama began to point to the individual buildings, giving the Colonel permission to look where he pleased. That one on the right is the wood shed, and next is the one where my husband, and the boys sharpen the plow and other tools, in the middle is the smoke ’ouse, where the cured meat is kept, beyond the meat ’ouse, that teepee is where all sorts of root vegetables arte store, ish’tatere, sweet taters, onions n’ all. Across the path, the big building is the chicken roost, and beyond the oak tree is the out ’ouse. Y’all be careful in the barn beyond the fence, for I spect my young boys are they doing their chores, after that tornado lit.

Colonel Blunt yelled to his men to watch for the boys in the barn. I could tell that Mama was exhausted from the long speech of explaining the buildings, and what they were for, she leaned against the house top keep her weakened legs from folding beneath her body.

The Colonel kept a close eye on Mama, for he could tell that she was exhausted, but he visually inspected the buildings as well.

Where is your man now? He asked Mama.

Him, and Carl lee, my next oldest boy, went to repair the shingles on the school ’ouse that the last storm tore down.

That’s a mighty fine looking barn. Did your man build it?

The Colonel was still watching Mama just in case she fainted, but he kept a protected eye on the barn so that his men did not harm the boys.

Yes sir, my man built everything around here. When we bought this place, there was one little shack sitting right here near the well. He said that good paint `n early repairs gives things a long life.

I can certainly agree with your man’s philosophy," the Colonel stated. He appeared startled when he saw my brothers and a cousin coming toward the yard with two gallon buckets of fresh milk and a basket of eggs.

The boy’s faces were full of curiosity as they spoke politely, but they were taught not to meddle in grown-ups business. It was hard for JD to keep his mouth shut, but he knew that Mama would tell Daddy and that meant a trip to the woodshed.

JD never seemed to mind getting his come-uppings. He was a true cousin to that mean old rooster Pinch-peck. Daddy said that JD got his mean streak from his uncle Ed. Great uncle Ed murdered his oldest brother, my grandfather, for slapping him at a lodge meeting.

I was glad when the Colonel finally told Mama that he was leaving. He made me nervous, and it scared me to see Mama so upset. He handed Mama a slip of paper and asked her to get in touch if she heard something about Jasper’s disappearance.

Before the Colonel climbed onto the running board of the truck, he winked at me, and told me to take care of my Mama. He gently pulled on one of my braids and winked again.

By the way madam, are all these boys yours?

That tall one is JR, he’s thirteen, the red one is JD, he’s eleven, and the little one is my baby Willie Jay, he just turned five. Mama explained proudly.

Making a thorough inspection of the boys, and a final sweep of the out buildings, the Colonel told Mama: You forgot one of your young’uns. That little cross-eyed one.

That one is not ours, he belongs to Julia Lou, the neighbors on the south pasture, but he spends most his time here ’cause his folks fight so much when his Daddy is drunk, and that’s most every day. His name is Loren.

While climbing into the truck, the Colonel yelled a remembrance to Mama. Don’t forget to get in touch with me if you hear something about my missing man.

Mama yelled back, Yes sir I sure will.

Curiosity still hung heavy on the faces of my brothers, for they wanted to ask questions about the army visitors, but they were reluctant to say anything due to their training to keep out of grown-ups business. Mama managed enough strength to question the boys so that they had other things to think about.

You boys finished all of your chores? she asked.

Yes’um, JR replied.

Mama continued with her distractions. Put the fresh milk in the churns that’s bottom uppers, and set the other ones on the shelf outside so the sun can help them turn for butter churning, before sloping it to the hogs, and put the eggs in the basket on top the ice box. Loren, when you go home, take some milk and eggs to your Mama.

Yes Ma’am, Loren replied.

I could tell that Mama was still quite shaken, for her hands were shaking, and she wiped them on her apron as though they were wet, and she stared quickly down the road toward the disappearing Army truck. I had finished washing the mash feed bucket when the boys returned back outside, after finishing the chores that Mama had assigned to them. Their faces were still shrouded in questions about the army men’s visit.

Mama noticed the inquisitive looks on their faces, and she quickly found another subject to talk about. "Those three rabbits y’all put in the ice box last night were the only ones in the hutches out back?’

Yes Ma’am. Jimmy Dell responded.

Be sure y’all check all the hutches, for the Sheriff, and all of his muck de muck friends will be here later on to go bird hunting, and your Daddy done promised dem rabbit stew wid dumplings, corn pudding, collard greens wid ham hocks, and okra, corn, egg bread, and sweet tato cobbler. Those there rabbits ain’t near’bout enough with our crowd. The lawyer Baldwin can eat those three all by his self.

Jimmy Dell decided to complain, and he sure as heck should not argue with my Mama. But Mama, its late morning, and just past a bad storm, ain’t no rabbits gonna go into the hutches now. He strutted around with a scowl of dissatisfaction on his face.

You’d better straighten you face out boy, before I knock it straight! Y’all take your guns. I need at least three more rabbits.

Chapter 2

When Mama said take your guns I saw my chance to go with the boys. After all I was a better shot than they were. When we practiced shooting strings and matches, I always hit my mark, for