Passages Between the Columns: Volume Three

By Joyce Richards Case

The Prichard familys true-to-life story continues in Passages Between the Columns. Their paper dream fulfilled, Winn and Hope Prichard press on in their small town print shop.

Winns weekly editorials in The Woodsboro News range from local items to expressing his fiery opinions of state and national issues in the late 1930s and early 1940s.

Volume three accurately portrays a couples endurance to keep their dream from evaporating with the dawn of trials they never imagined. They realize that God brought them together and miraculously opened the way for them to attain their aspiration of publishing a newspaper. Now they experience the highs and lows of the life they prayed for.

Winn and Hopes love endures though Winn cant, or wont, give up his craving for alcohol. Unexpected appearances of troublesome relatives cause upheaval for Hope. The familiar family members add a mixture of drama and heartfelt love.

A wide spectrum of new characters that bring humor into the series is introduced. The quirky townsfolk will bring a smile and a nod of recognition of someone you know.

Each week Winn writes an editorial, and each week the Prichards encounter unexpected passages between the columns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Aug 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781462411504

Joyce Richards Case

Joyce Richards Case was fourteen when she began writing for her family’s weekly newspaper. Her short stories have appeared in Life in America, Stories Most Precious, Reminisce Magazine, and other inspirational publications. She and her husband, Jerold, live in south Louisiana.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 Joyce Richards Case.

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.

Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org)

Inspiring Voices

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.inspiringvoices.com

1 [phone]

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.

ISBN: 978-1-4624-1149-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4624-1150-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015911796

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 08/17/2015

Contents

Cast Of Characters

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

Questions To Consider

Bibliography

CAST OF CHARACTERS

W inston Randolph Prichard—Winn has a burning desire to publish his own newspaper. He began his marriage to Hope with secrets of his past, including his battle with alcohol and his first marriage.

Hope (Sugar) Davidson Prichard—Winn’s wife is a woman of faith who is determined to honor her marriage and remain by her husband’s side, though she is plagued by his binge drinking and deceptions.

Hope and Winn’s children are: William (Billy) Foster, Martin (Marty) Hollis, and Mary Jane.

Priscilla Beatrice Prichard—Winn’s mother is a spoiled, selfish woman who was raised in an affluent home. She is embittered because of her late husband’s inability to provide the lifestyle she desired, yet she maintains an attitude of superiority. She is widowed and lives in San Antonio, Texas.

Luther Bernard Prichard—Winn’s brother, three years younger, is a troubled individual. He has been incarcerated for robbery and has never had steady employment. He shows up on his family’s doorstep when he’s down on his luck.

Edward (Eddie) Thornton Prichard—Winn’s brother, twelve years younger, has a compassionate heart, but his mental capabilities are limited. Never married, he lives with his mother, who takes advantage of his desire to please.

Hollis Davidson—Hope’s papa is uneducated and covers his lack of self-esteem by portraying a gruff exterior. He has a soft spot for Hope, his Sugar.

Octavia Jane (Tave) Davidson—Hope’s mama is a tenderhearted woman with little formal education, but she is a fountain of biblical knowledge and common sense. When times were hard, she kept the family afloat by selling her handmade willow cane furniture. Octavia’s mother was an American Indian, who shocked her Tejas tribe when she married a white man.

Buford and Fayella Davidson—Hope’s brother and sister-in-law have a strawberry farm in east Texas. He is a carpenter and truck driver. Fayella is a sweet, Christian woman who longs for a child.

Iris and Delbert Jones—Hope’s older sister and brother-in-law have a small farm near Hempstead, Texas and are the parents of two boys. Hope and Iris are close but very different.

Betsy Davidson—Hope’s younger sister is outgoing and personable. She adores Hope and Winn.

Pearl Davidson—Hope’s youngest sister is shy and withdrawn with a jealous streak which grows a darker shade of green as she ages.

Marsha Prichard—Winn’s wayward daughter from his brief first marriage.

The character, Winston Prichard, the man with the Paper Dream, writes newspaper columns some forty years after the events in the timeline of the story. They are interspersed throughout the fictional Prichard Family Series. As Winn looks back in Passages Between the Columns, he expresses his view of current events and reflects on the past, always grateful to God for bringing him through the passages of his long life. He gives credit, most aptly due to his faithful wife, Hope.

Each column ends with the printer’s symbol -30-. It is traditionally used by journalists to indicate the end of a story. With the backward reading type tumbling out of the Linotype one article after another, there had to be a noticeable indication of the end of each story. Also in a telegraphed message, -30- was the telegraphers’ code meaning the completion of a message.

Dedicated to my parents,

Hank and Ida,

and brothers, Sonny and Buddy

RICHLAND RECORD

More Than a Newspaper—a Community Service

A Weekly Publication Serving the Greater Richland Area

Richland, Texas                        Thursday, April 1, 1971

Winston Randolph Prichard, Editor and Publisher

News and Views of a Tactless Texan

Howard Hughes is usually referred to as the eccentric billionaire and was rich enough to be in the eccentric category. To be eccentric is to depart from conventional custom or differ conspicuously in behavior or appearance.

Mr. Hughes was born in Humble, Texas, and died in Houston, where the cornerstone of his wealth was laid by his father back in the Texas oil boom days. His inheritance grew because he was eccentric enough to make investments which the average person would not. For instance, while renting the penthouse of the Desert Inn in Las Vegas, he was asked to leave. Not wishing to depart, he bought the hotel. That incident brings to mind the saying, Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. I don’t think many angels reside in Las Vegas hotels.

In days gone by, an impoverished soul who exhibited behavior out of the norm was considered to be the town idiot. You may wonder about the point of my column today in speaking of Howard Hughes, the town idiot, and angels. I never met Mr. Hughes, but he unknowingly played a large part in the establishment of the Prichard Printing Company. My path never crossed that of the Humble town idiot, who also played a part after his death. I did know an angel who was instrumental in the beginning of our business. I marvel at how God brought me together with an angel, the town idiot, and Howard Hughes. If it was not true, my story would be labeled as a parable.

In the early 1930s, a dollar was worth much more than today. My lifelong dream of owning a newspaper seemed to be just that—a dream. I spent my youth wandering, hoping to bring my aspiration to fruition. After I married Hope, she embraced my goal and prayed for it in God’s timing. Quite by chance, I stumbled upon the Humble newspaper during the Great Depression. The owner was suffering from an illness, and we printed his paper for several months until he recovered. Ready to continue my quest, I read an ad about printing equipment offered for sale by the Hughes Tool Company in Houston. At the same time I heard that the town of Woodsboro no longer had a newspaper. We only had about sixty dollars, but with a boldness I hardly fathom now, I vowed to buy the machinery, move it south, and find a building and a place to live for Hope and our three small children. Hope prayed for my sanity.

The day before I went to inspect the equipment, the sister of the Humble newspaper owner asked to see me. Merely thinking she wished to bid me farewell, I was shocked when she gave me a cashier’s check for $150.00. She was a kind, Christian woman who had often given food to a beggar, a man known as the town idiot. When the beggar was found dead in shantytown, a note with money was found in his hut. The note indicated he revered the woman who fed him and also led him to accept Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior. She is the angel in my story. There was over $300.00 in the envelope which was designated to be used for his burial, and the remainder of the funds be given to the kindly woman.

In appreciation for my helping her brother, she gave me half of the amount bequeathed to her on the condition it would be used for establishing our newspaper. Looking over the machinery at the Hughes warehouse, I knew it was worth much more than I had. I could have been knocked over with the proverbial feather when told the price was exactly the amount of the cashier’s check the angel gave me. The equipment was a pittance to Mr. Hughes, but it meant the world to me.

From the reports of Howard Hughes’ later years, it appeared that wealth gave him no happiness. In my eyes, the woman who shared food with the beggar, and then shared with us the gift received from him, is the one who was richest in the things that matter in this life. Her benevolence proved to me that God still performs miracles. It has given my family an income for forty years and hopefully many years to come for my children, which brings more happiness than all the monies in Mr. Hughes’ financial holdings.

We established The Woodsboro News exactly forty-two years ago today on April 1, 1933. Though hardships prevailed, the Prichard Printing Company has survived with God’s provision and angels. Several moves since then were also of divine guidance.

In relating the fulfillment of our dream, I trust it will encourage those of you with a hope or an ambition. If you are sure the Heavenly Father placed an aspiration in your heart, keep praying, keep believing, and keep working toward that goal. We have seen answered prayers and are grateful for God’s angels along our way, and we pray that we have sprinkled a little angel dust on the pathway for others.

That’s -30- for now.

1

Woodsboro, Texas 1933—

A few weathered structures came into view across the flat south Texas terrain. The blaring whistle commanded the train to ease its steady momentum. Hope strained to look farther ahead. A water tower with Woodsboro painted around its silver belly stood boldly over rooftops against the cloudless sky. Billy and Marty giggled with the hiss of brakes.

Searching the wood platform by the station, Hope saw Winn, lean and tall in her favorite brown shirt. My, he looks good.

Billy pressed his nose against the window. Daddy. I see Daddy.

Winn’s chest pulsated with anticipation. His eyes searched each window, looking for the only ones who could fill the emptiness of the past months. Expelling fumes, the train had barely come to rest when he caught sight of four-year-old Billy. Winn grabbed the handrail and hopped on board, brushing past the coachman. Giving him a congenial smile, Winn said, Pardon me, sir. I have precious cargo I can’t wait to see.

The coachman’s face held understanding. I know the ones you mean and they’re anxious to see you.

The magnitude of her husband’s grin gave Hope the familiar giddiness every time he flashed it her direction, and he was definitely flashing it in her direction. Winn couldn’t deny his boys’ outstretched hands for a hug before reaching Hope, and then his arms encompassed his beloved, who was holding Mary Jane. Oh, I’ve missed you, he said. Billy and Marty wrapped their arms around his legs. He reached down and tousled their hair. All of you.

Hope’s crocheted cloche had toppled sideways during the hearty greeting. Snatching it off, she laughed with girlish excitement. We’ve missed you.

Ten-month-old Mary Jane was wide-eyed between her parents.

Winn said, Here, let me take her. Settling the baby in the curve of his arm, he gave her a gentle squeeze. You’ve grown so much, Mary Jane. He looked into Hope’s face. It seems like years instead of months.

A rotund man holding a valise stood in the aisle. Maybe you could have your reunion elsewhere, out of the way of people who also have someone to meet?

Hope scurried to her seat and gathered their things. Allowing the man to pass, Winn said, Oh, excuse us. You see, I’ve been serving in the Foreign Legion for ten years.

The man huffed past him, giving Hope a disapproving glare.

Her face reddened with the look of embarrassment which Winn loved to instigate. Winn, how could you say such an outlandish thing? We have three children under the age of five, and you say you’ve been away for ten years.

Laughing, he said, Ah, Hope, now I feel like things are almost back to normal.

With her hands full of small bags, she smiled up at him. What’s normal, Winn?

He grabbed her worse-for-wear suitcase, fastened with a belt, from the bin overhead. Being together—that’s normal. Someday, I’m going to get you a new bag. Come on, boys. I’ve got a lot to show you. His enthusiasm created adventure in the air around him.

Billy caught his daddy’s fervor and reached for his paper sack filled with metal cowboys and Indians. Marty, get your horsey. He pointed at the carved wooden horse he had treasured and given to his three-year-old brother. Marty picked up the toy and took his brother’s hand. Billy said, We’re going home.

Winn beamed with pure pleasure. You’re right, Billy boy. We’re going home—finally. Winn met Hope’s liquid brown eyes and found more love than he knew he deserved.

Setting out on the four short blocks to the building that would serve as the printing plant with their living quarters in the back, Winn carried Mary Jane. Marty’s skinny little legs worked double time to keep up with Billy. Hope said, Slow down, Billy.

Handing Mary Jane to Hope, Winn reached for Marty. Hey, partner, let Daddy take you for a ride. He swung Marty upon his shoulders and anchored his son’s legs around his neck. Leroy at the station said he’d keep an eye on your other bags until I pick them up later. Two boxes, Mary Jane’s carriage, and crib arrived yesterday. He admired Hope’s light-brown hair shimmering in the noonday sun. Sugar, you look beautiful. I’ve missed you something fierce.

She missed you too, Daddy, and so did I. Billy’s small hand shaded his eyes like a salute as he looked up at his brother high on Winn’s shoulders. You did too, huh, Marty?

Marty, with his arms around Winn’s neck, nodded. Hope laughed. I guess Billy is our spokesman.

Pointing ahead, Winn said, There’s the building, Sugar. Our own newspaper plant—our paper dream. It couldn’t have happened without your faith and prayers.

Hope’s entire being was brilliantly alive with love and relief of finding a home at last. I always had faith in you, Winn, but most of all—faith that God would see us through in all we’ve hoped and prayed for. She wanted to say, And get me away from your mother’s house, but thought better of it.

Lifting Marty up over his head, Winn lowered him to the wooden front porch. I traded an ad for a sign to put out here. I was hoping the painter would have it before you came, but he can’t have it ready until tomorrow. Billy reached the rusted handle and pulled open the unlocked screen door. Marty rushed in with him.

Hope stepped into the building and walked straight to the printing press. "Oh, Winn, I learned to run a jobber press like this at the Hempstead News." Mary Jane babbled, making known her discomfort of being held beyond her limit.

I can see a little miss needs her crib, which I just happen to have all set up. Winn held out his hands and Mary Jane readily went to him. Come on, baby doll, and see your new home. Billy and Marty gawked at the Linotype machine. That’s a doozy, huh, boys? Look back here. This is where your room is going to be. Looking at Hope, he said, I made the partition dividing the shop and our living quarters and plan on getting another one for the boys’ room built this week.

Morning presents a canvas clean and white.

Each day we’re given a new page on which to write.

When evening comes, I wonder when I lay to rest,

Did I express love and portray my best?

—Joyce R. Case

2

E xhilaration held weariness at bay for Hope. While Winn took charge of Mary Jane and the boys explored their new home, she breathed the air of expectancy—hopeful expectancy of what this place might bring to her life. She remembered the exact time Winn told her of his dream of owning a newspaper. It was on her parents’ weathered porch in Hempstead, shortly after they met five years ago. His face was bright with excitement every time he talked about being a publisher, of operating his own printing equipment, and writing editorials .

Taking everything in, Hope suppressed the crazy urge to twirl around and around. Oh, Winn, all of this is beyond my expectation. This Linotype looks like it’s in good shape.

From the back, Winn hollered. That’s because I took it apart down to the bare bones, oiled it, and prayed that I got it put back together without any leftover parts.

A prideful smile crossed her lips. If anybody can do it, you can.

And you know I’m the fastest Linotype operator this side of the Mississippi.

She adored the teasing tone in his soft southern drawl. Maybe even the whole United States. She countered with the words he said at The Hempstead News office when he came in asking for work. She replayed the moment in her mind. I fell in love with him right then—his smile, his confidence, and of course he’s handsome and tall. I hung on his every word—believing—trusting.

Sugar, where are the diapers?

Billy ran to the rescue. I know, Daddy. Mom put them in that bag Grandma made.

Confident they could find them, Hope walked to the job press. Jesus, help us to fill Your purpose here in this little town. Help me to be all Winn needs. She rubbed her hand across the smooth steel plate of the press. I’m glad I didn’t give up on Winn. Goodness, if I had, we wouldn’t have Billy or Marty or Mary Jane. It was hard though, finding out his secrets one by one. Unsettling thoughts rambled as memories of his deceptions rose to the surface. I can’t let myself dwell on those things. Did you find them, Winn?

They were right where Billy said. I have everything under control. What do you think of the shop, Sugar?

It’s a dream come true. She surveyed the worktable and type cases that held all the fonts, numerals, and wooden illustrative blocks a small-town newspaper would need. Retracing her steps to the front, she sat at the desk. Peeking in the drawers, she found pencils and a Red Chief notepad.

Winn came into the shop, obviously pulsating with joy. You’re something, Hope. You haven’t even looked at our living quarters. What woman would be more interested in a printing office than her home?

This woman. She picked up a pencil and pushed it through her light-brown curls, lodging it over her ear. I just can’t get over it, Winn. It’s a miracle that you bought all of that equipment for $150.00—the exact amount Ellie gave you.

Winn sat on the edge of the desk. Sure is amazing. When I think of all the times I begrudged working at the Humble paper for poor old Mr. Lane, I’m ashamed of myself. When Ellie handed me the check before I left and said it was a gift for helping her brother get back on his feet, I felt like God had it planned for us all along. When the man at Hughes Tool Company warehouse told me he’d sell all the equipment for the amount of the check—that cinched it.

I’m grateful that you know the Lord provided all this.

That’s a fact. And I got this desk and chair and other things from a used furniture store with our savings. He tilted his head toward the back. Come on. Let me show you what I’ve done. I got a fix-it man to help me enlarge the bathroom to put in a bathtub. Winn’s laugh spilled out like a young boy’s delight with a job well done. I lucked on to a junk man who hauled used wood over here. He helped me build the framework and I pieced the plywood. I’m not a carpenter, but it turned out pretty good if I say so myself.

They wove their way to the rear of the building. She said, You did a wonderful job with this partition. It looks like it was always here. As they stepped into the portion of the long narrow building that Winn set up as their home, Hope’s eyes grew large. Bless my soul, Winn, this is wonderful. A pot-belly stove was in the middle of the room. Looking to the left, she saw the crib and crept to see Mary Jane snugly sleeping, clutching the rag doll Grandma Davidson made for her. A few steps away, Marty had already claimed a full-size bed with his horse riding high over the sheets.

Billy hopped on the bed. Marty and me have a big bed, Mom. Maybe he won’t kick me now.

Winn swung his arm around Hope for a quick squeeze. I only got what I thought we could get by with at first. I did some printing for the mercantile. They’re willing to trade for merchandise, so we have credit for bedspreads or whatever you want to get. I figure right about here … He stepped to the wall he had constructed. … I’ll build the divider to separate the kids’ bedroom from the rest of the space.

That’ll be fine. She turned to see a bed on the other side hugging the partition. Along the back wall were shelves and a counter with a sink. The oak table and chairs were mismatched but looked sturdy.

Winn headed for the door. Well, I better go pick up the rest of your things from the depot. Leroy said he’d let me borrow his cart. Looking at Billy, he said, Hey, buckaroo, want to help me?

Oky doky. Billy ran ahead of his daddy.

Marty scooted after them, but Hope snatched him in her arms. Let’s go see our new bathroom. What do you say, little man?

We make plans, but the Lord determines our steps.

—Proverbs 16:9 NASB

3

T heir longing for physical union had intensified during the months apart while Winn established their business. With the assurance that the children were sound asleep, Winn caressed Hope with his eyes, filled with desire. Hope’s heart raced with anticipation of the tender touch of his hands and graceful strength of his body on hers. They surrendered to the hunger that drew them together in God’s glorious plan for husband and wife. Later, their passion fulfilled, Winn whispered, The partition separating the kid’s room is going up tomorrow.

I’ll help you. Their sleep was sweet.

It didn’t take Hope long to step into her print shop work shoes. Mary Jane played and napped