The Crushing of Wild Mint

By Diane Tate

The Crushing of Wild Mint is a family saga told through daring adventure and sweet romance, a rags-to-riches story showing both the good and evil that go with having money.

Ive seen money do incredibly good things, or in this case, it seems to have made us a target. The money meant nothing to Harrison. His only concern was his daughter. He would gladly pay the ransom.

Dexter Hughes and Farley Briggs were hungry for more than food as they waited, watching the party from outside the Windham home. They were sick of running and sick of each other but would endure if it meant getting a lot of money. Now they were sizing up the people of the town, separating rich from poor. It was always good to know whom to threaten, who would pay, who could not.

Step back in time and enjoy a relaxing summer in the small town of Caney.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jul 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449753733

Diane Tate

Diane Tate is a graduate of Austin Peay State University, Clarksville, Tennessee. She enjoys Tennessee history and appreciates the folklore that has been passed through generations of her family. A retired teacher, Diane lives on a farm in Cedar Hill, Tennessee, and enjoys gardening, music, and walking through the fields.

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The Crushing of Wild Mint

Diane Tate

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Copyright © 2012 Diane Tate

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.

ISBN: 978-1-4497-5373-3 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-5377-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-5376-4 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012909175

WestBow Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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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.

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.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

WestBow Press rev. date: 6/29/2012

Contents

Of Leaf and Flower

1. THE STORYTELLER

2. RUN

3. IN THE TOWN WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS

4. HUMBLE BEGINNINGS

5. BIRTHDAY GIRL

6. ALOES AND PRICKLES

7. HERITAGE

8. JOHN PRUITT WALLACE

9. PARTY TIME

10. A DOG’S LIFE

11. COOL AS MINT

12. BACK TO THE PARTY

13. Juggling

14. GENTLEMAN FARMER

15. ROSE SATIN

16. GUESTS?

17. SMALL KINGDOM

18. BANKER’S HOURS

19. HEADS UP, JO

20. BANKER BLUES

21. NEVER ASK

22. LITTLE BROTHER

23. BREAKDOWN

24. BEST FRIENDS

25. SEARCH

26. SECOND GUESSING

27. TRIAGE

28. TAKE CARE OF IT!

29. EPIPHANY

30. MORE ANSWERS

31. PLANS

32. SMOKEHOUSE SEASONING

33. TRUST ME

34. EXCURSIONS

35. TRUTH

36. REAL SOUTHERN, REAL GOOD!

37. BILLY RUSSELL GOES TO THE DOGS

38. THE DEAL

39. WEDDING PREP

40. BITTERSWEET

41. JUST SAY GOODNIGHT

42. WAKE UP AND GO TO BED!

EPILOGUE

In loving memory of

Philip

My very own Billy Russell

Of Leaf and Flower

Sturdy trees,

Both great and small,

Protect lesser plants

And give shade to all,

A quiet place to rest.

Their roots are sure

And go deep,

Great strength

In their bending.

The smallest,

Palest blossom fair,

Her nectar ever drawing;

Alluring color,

A flush to skin,

Birds and bees

Go deep within,

Seemingly inconsequential—

Until she springs with life.

D. L.T.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to Debra, Melody, and Darlene

Also

Anita, Rose Anne, and Patti

And

My dear brothers, Steve and Paul, and your precious families

Finally

Jim, Bill, and Joanne

Thank you for all the prayers, love and encouragement.

1. THE STORYTELLER

The old woman slipped out early to the waiting back porch, careful of the screen door, as its usual screeching would awaken her husband. The sun was not up yet, but it was daylight. The sky was just beginning to break the first faint streaks of color, suggesting the urgency of the day. A mocking bird’s shrill cry disquieted her, shaking away the last traces of sleep. In the distance, she could hear the sound of the mourning dove, its call soft, almost a coo. Everything else was quiet.

This time of morning was always special, the air still fresh. Though the dew covered the grass in heavy droplets, the sun would make short work of it. A new day had begun and with it came possibilities.

She would sit for a moment and drink in the quiet stillness until the delicious aroma of the coffee awakened her senses. There was absolutely nothing better than that first cup, well—maybe one thing, maybe iced tea with a sprig of fresh mint. No matter. She would get to that later.

She had many plans for the day. Slowly her mind began to focus on the needs of her gardens. She would pull weeds and move a few of the younger, sturdier plants. This would give them room to spread, a place to become the size and shape they were meant to be.

The early crop of green beans had filled out and was ready. She should get to those about mid-morning. The dew would be off by then.

A few more sips from her favorite cup and she would begin. After that, she would put on her well-worn gardening shoes and lace them up, a habit she had learned from her father. He would always go to the porch barefooted in warm weather and put his shoes on there before he went out for the day. He did this to keep his footsteps from waking the family. How she had loved her father; he was such a sweet memory. Later, she thought.

The first rays of sun eased over the tree line, and she knew it was time. She picked up her basket, always sure to find something ripe or a flower ready, and stepped off the porch into the lush, wet foliage of her flower garden. Dee Dee, a descendant of the original family cat, went with her, always ready to pounce on anything that moved. This cat was still young and playful, hungry for imagined adventure.

The woman pulled stray plants and creeping vines from between the roses and continued to wake up. Activity always helped with this process. She loved the way gardening of any kind seemed to work on the mind as well as the body. Though old now, her muscles were strong and her joints moved freely in spite of stiffness at times. But more than that, gardening released her mind, and her thoughts came more freely. Only random thoughts would come at first, but slowly, the thoughts came together allowing her to make sense of most things.

She stood while brushing dirt from her faded blue skirt and wiping her hands on the apron. Looking around, she was quite satisfied. The garden had come alive in the last week; it happened that way every year. Early summer was one of her favorite seasons.

Her basket was full now, and it was time to go to the shade of the porch. Though it was still early, the combination of heavy dew and sunshine made the air quite heavy. She sat in her chair, removed her hat, and began fanning herself with it. She poured the first glass of iced tea for the day. Yes, a sprig of mint would be nice, she thought as she took a sip. Sifting through the basket of just picked blossoms, she found a young, green sprig. As she brushed a leaf, it released a bit of its delicate scent. With the mint in her glass, she sipped again. That is much better, she decided. It was more an event of aroma than of taste.

She sat there, rocking, cooling from the heat of the morning, and drinking the tea. The creaking of the old, weathered chair gave evidence to its use and age. The lemony-sweet taste of the tea and the smell of the mint brought back old memories. In her mind’s eye, she could see everything as clearly as though it were yesterday.

2. RUN

Mason had to keep going! His mind and his lungs were screaming, Faster, faster, jump!

He was so tired of trying to make the next train out of town before railroad agents could catch him. For what seemed a very long time now, all he could remember was running as hard and as fast as he could. He no longer had a choice. It was run, prison, or die.

At fifteen, he had left the current shack of a house his parents called home. He had been so sure there was an easier way of life than picking cotton. Mason had seen his daddy work as hard as any draft horse or mule, but they had nothing to show for it. Their lives had been about scrimping, just getting by, and doing without.

Yes, he knew his current way of life was wrong. It didn’t matter. He was not going back to that! But what was he going to do? At the age of forty-two, he couldn’t keep doing this. His aching body told him that much. Though hardened by rough living, he had lost the will to keep going. It was just too hard! He had barely caught this train. Old injuries were constant reminders of schemes that had gone awry.

Common sense told him more than once he should part company with his two present running mates. One was sick—disgusting; the other one was crazy. Mason didn’t know which was worse.

He had run with others, and he had run farther than most. It was all the same in the end—they ran until they got caught or died

He needed time to think, and sleep, if he could just close his weary eyes for a few minutes. They were safe for now. Sick and Crazy were already in the box car.

The smoke-billowing train was in full throttle and wasn’t due to stop for several hours. The rhythmic motion of the swaying cars and the music of the tracks would be enough to dull the senses, ease the body, and lull the mind into blessed unconsciousness. They would hear and feel the train slowing and wake up just in time to jump off before it stopped—or they wouldn’t. Right now, he didn’t care. He could not think anymore.

Tired to the bone, hungry, and aching, Mason slept the sleep of the dead.

3. IN THE TOWN WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS

When a place is dormant for a very long time, certain conditions come together to create a vacuum. Out of that vacuum comes a fully blown storm.

It could have been any small, rural town in the early 1900’s. It was the kind of place where nothing ever happens, except on this particular Friday night, something did.

The train station was unusually crowded. Three or four men waited on the wooden benches outside the small telegraph office. It was very warm. Windows and doors stood open wide to catch any breeze however brief. A few nervous women and over-tired children were milling about, trying to find lodging for the night and transportation out of town the next day. Everyone’s plans had changed. The train had made an unexpected stop due to heavy rain that had washed out the tracks about two miles out of town. It would take at least a week to re-lay the track, but first, gandy dancers, old timers, and other workers, would have to be brought in from Nashville. There were certain advantages to living near the Tennessee-Alabama border, but remoteness was not one of them.

Boy, called the telegrapher. Come in here. I’ve a message that needs deliverin’. It’s a ‘might important too. Go tell the bank manager he’s got a deposit to pick up today. Hurry, it’ll be almost closin’ time. Give him this here telegram.

The messenger boy smiled sweetly and doffed his father’s oversized cap to Mr. Percy, knowing the telegrapher would put a penny in it for his trouble. He took the message and off he ran as fast as his young, bare feet would carry him. Charlie liked running errands. It made him feel grown up. He was especially happy when someone gave him a penny.

Being a sweet, simple, unassuming youth, people often said things they shouldn’t in his presence. This was good because Charlie soon found the true character of people, those whom he could trust, and those he could not.

Charlie ran down Depot Street, straight to the bank. He found the manager and handed him the telegram. It read:

To Whom It May Concern STOP

The train tracks have washed out below your town STOP On the train is $50,000.00 enroute to our station in Birmingham for the steel industry STOP It will be at least a week before the track is fixed STOP The rail line would consider it a professional courtesy if you would receive the deposit and lock it in your bank’s vault until the train can continue or one of our agents can be sent to retrieve the money STOP Please advise as to the feasibility of this plan STOP You have our deepest gratitude in the matter STOP

Sincerely,

Hayden Farris, Farris Rail Line

John Vernon Wallace, the bank manager, who everyone just called Wallace, thought a moment, considered the situation, reached in his pocket, and removed three pennies.

Charlie, I need you to do some running for me. First, go down to my house, find my wife, and tell her I’m going to be late tonight. We’re supposed to go to a party, so please tell her to go to the party without me. I’ll be along later. Then, go directly back to the telegraph station and give Mr. Percy this reply to be sent to the rail line’s office. Can you remember all of that, Charlie?

Yes, sir, I can! replied the young boy.

Well then, here’s a penny for speaking to my wife, a penny for getting back to the telegraph office quickly, and a penny for delivering my note. And thank you, Charlie.

Charlie ran immediately to do as he was asked. Everyone knew him to be a very reliable child, and this too, made him happy.

He tried his best to be a good boy, and he hoped to someday be a good man. He could hear his mama’s words, Charlie, always do what’s right, and one day you will be a very good man. And Charlie, your mama loves you. Be good. And he was.

Charlie found Mrs. Wallace, delivered the message, and ran back to the telegraph station with the reply to be sent to the rail line. It simply acknowledged their request, stated the matter would be attended as requested, and signed Vernon Wallace, Bank Manager.

Charlie had done very well today. He was satisfied.

Mr. Wallace considered what he should do first. He realized he should stop by the jail and explain the situation to the town constable. He would ask him to both witness the pickup of the money and act as security if needed. The event of that happening was highly unlikely in this town.

Henry Milton, the town constable, was an easy going man. This could be an asset in an explosive situation. So far, he had never had to do more than break up fights between friends when they got drunk.

The constable had been a school teacher up north for many years. He soon realized if a desire to learn was not present in a child, only rudimentary facts could be taught. Those facts were basically what the public wanted, but Milton had wanted to teach much more.

It seemed to Henry there was always so much more to learn about the sciences, the laws which seemingly ruled the Universe, and he believed those disciplines contained the secrets of life. He was continually amazed with the way the world was a self-sustaining cycle run by smaller cycles within, ever renewing the whole thing. And numbers, he often lost track of time while contemplating the relationships among numbers. He believed an equation could be written for almost every situation in life. Unfortunately, most people seemed more interested in making money and enjoying ball games than actually understanding how they fit into the beautiful, physical world around them. Apathy from the public in general had taken its toll on the teacher.

When Henry read about a small town needing law and order, he decided to go south and try a career change. It had worked. People trusted him, and it was not as if he ever had to fight a crime wave or deal with any real hostility.

Wallace and the constable went to the telegraph office first to make sure the telegram of assurance had been sent to the rail line. It had. Next, they found the train’s security officer, got the money from the safe, and counted it. They each signed a receipt for the amount.

A few minutes later, Mr. Wallace unlocked the door of the bank. Though small, it was furnished with a beautiful, thick, emerald green carpet that was trimmed in a broad, gold leaf pattern around the edge. There was a small entry in front of the lone booth, and behind that, there stood an oak, roll top desk where Mr. Wallace worked, and the safe. It was simple but adequate for a town of this size.

Wallace and the constable brought the money to the back of the teller’s booth. The manager took a small key from his pocket, unlocked the roll top desk, opened a drawer, and lifted a false bottom from the drawer. He put both his copy of the receipt for the money and the telegram he had received into the drawer and