Pressing on with Hope: Volume Two

By Joyce Richards Case

Dreams Devotion

Deceptions Disappointment

Hope and Winn Prichard discover that God brings

about His plan in surprising ways. Earthly angels, beggars,

and even Howard Hughes help them in their quest to

publish a newspaper during the Great Depression.

From a riotous boomtown to a Texas border town,

Winns unwise decisions and unpredictable

bouts of binge drinking keep Hope on edge.

In fear of losing Hopes love, Winn covers

his footprints on the path behind him

with deception by omission.

With an ulterior motive, Winn aids a stranger which results

in the revival of an entire town. While Hope stays with

her hypercritical mother-in-law, letters and prayers

sustain them while Winn works to establish a newspaper.

The Prichards rely on faith as they press on to

achieve what God has placed in their hearts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Sep 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781462410514

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

PRICHARD FAMILY SERIES

Volume Two

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Joyce Richards Case

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Copyright © 2014 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.

Inspiring Voices

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.inspiringvoices.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.

ISBN: 978-1-4624-1050-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4624-1051-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014916818

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 9/30/2014

Contents

Cast of Characters

THE RICHLAND RECORD

More Than a Newspaper—a Community Service

A Weekly Publication Serving the Greater Richland Area

Richland, Texas Thursday, February 20, 1969

Winston Randolph Prichard, Editor and Publisher

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THE RICHLAND RECORD

More Than a Newspaper—a Community Service

A Weekly Publication Serving the Greater Richland Area

Richland, Texas Thursday, August 21, 1969

Winston Randolph Prichard, Editor and Publisher

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THE RICHLAND RECORD

More Than a Newspaper—a Community Service

A Weekly Publication Serving the Greater Richland Area

Richland, Texas Thursday, October 16, 1969

Winston Randolph Prichard, Editor and Publisher

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THE RICHLAND RECORD

More Than a Newspaper—a Community Service

A Weekly Publication Serving the Greater Richland Area

Richland, Texas Thursday, May 7, 1970

Winston Randolph Prichard, Editor and Publisher

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THE RICHLAND RECORD

More Than a Newspaper – a Community Service

A Weekly Publication Serving the Greater Richland Area

Richland, Texas Thursday, December 10, 1970

Winston Randolph Prichard, Editor and Publisher

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THE RICHLAND RECORD

More Than a Newspaper—a Community Service

A Weekly Publication Serving the Greater Richland Area

Richland, Texas Thursday, January 7, 1971

Winston Randolph Prichard, Editor and Publisher

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THE RICHLAND RECORD

More Than a Newspaper—a Community Service

A Weekly Publication Serving the Greater Richland Area

Richland, Texas Thursday, February 18, 1971

Winston Randolph Prichard, Editor and Publisher

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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

Questions to Consider

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 first marriage and his battle with alcohol.

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 plagued by his binge drinking and deceptions.

Francis (Frank) Martin Prichard—Winn’s daddy is a kind, Christian man, but he found himself in the insatiable clutch of alcoholism. He was an attorney in Dallas, Georgia. After public and courtroom intoxication, he was threatened with disbarment. On a downward spiral, there was nowhere to turn but to the Lord to overcome his addiction. Frank moved with his family to San Antonio, Texas, and has remained sober for over seventeen years.

Priscilla Beatrice Prichard—Winn’s mother is a spoiled, selfish woman who was raised in an affluent home. Priscilla crowned herself with an attitude of superiority and doesn’t hesitate to let it be known. Her husband’s inability to provide the lifestyle she expected has contaminated her once lovely countenance. Frank learned early on in their marriage to indulge her whims or live in misery.

Luther Bernard Prichard—Winn’s brother, three years younger, is a troubled individual. He was incarcerated for robbery and works for a few dollars here and there to satisfy his thirst for whiskey. 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, still lives at home, and is dependent upon his parents. He has a compassionate heart, but his mental capabilities are limited. Priscilla takes advantage of his desire to please others.

Hollis Davidson—Hope’s papa is uneducated and covers his lack of self-esteem by portraying a gruff exterior. A sharecropper most of his life, he now works at Abbot’s Funeral Home in Hempstead, Texas. 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 is a fount 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. His main income is carpentry. 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. 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.

Pressing on with Hope, Volume Two is the fictional continuation of The Prichard Family Series. In 1929, Winn Prichard was striving to achieve his lifelong ambition of becoming a newspaper editor and publisher. Through hardships, unwise decisions, and deceptions he pressed on toward his goal. His wife, Hope, shared his vision and was the compass that kept Winn on course when the way seemed unobtainable.

Interspersed throughout The Prichard Family Series are newspaper columns written some forty years after the timeline of the story. Winn takes a look back at the arduous journey which brought the fulfillment of their Paper Dream by Pressing on with Hope.

THE RICHLAND RECORD

More Than a Newspaper—a Community Service

A Weekly Publication Serving the Greater Richland Area

Richland, Texas Thursday, February 20, 1969

Winston Randolph Prichard, Editor and Publisher

News and Views of a Tactless Texan

It is human nature to keep the good and dismiss the bad. But it is wise to occasionally examine some bumps in life’s road and take inventory. Difficulties reveal our true character, make us stronger, and give us experience and wisdom for the future. Tough times, if we allow, shape us into the person God created us to be.

One such ordeal of extreme difficulty for Hope and me was our short time living in Colt, Texas. In 1927, oil was discovered there which changed the sleepy West Texas settlement into a riotous boomtown where life was similar to the wild frontier of America’s Old West. I accepted a position as a linotype operator at the newspaper hoping the burgeoning town could support another paper which I intended to establish.

Arriving there by bus in 1928, Hope and I were shocked by the chaotic circumstances which prevailed. Later, I read John Steinbeck’s novel, Grapes of Wrath, about struggles during the Great Depression years. It vividly brought to mind the scenes in Colt of tent encampments and hardships of people who flocked there in droves. The dream of making fast money enticed folks from every corner of the country. I admit I was one of them, but living conditions at that time were not conducive for a young woman expecting a child. I learned that my bride was resourceful and able to make do in meager situations.

The discovery of oil, like in the gold rush days, attracted a multitude of folks seeking instant wealth in the sudden, rapid population and economic growth. Some pursued honest endeavors, but those with dishonest intentions quickly moved in with racketeering and all manner of crime. At that time, Texas was reluctant to support Prohibition laws. Therefore, bootleg whiskey was readily available. To put it bluntly, Colt became an open cesspool. Greed was in the hearts of men, written on their faces.

If you are under the impression that I am painting an exaggerated picture of boomtown madness, I suggest a review of Thomas Hart Benton’s painting and description of another panhandle boomtown in the 1920s, Borger, Texas. He captures the spirit of the political, social, and moral corruption manifest in an otherwise peaceful community.

However, with thanks to the Good Lord, there are compassionate, Christian people among the lawless. We were befriended by an honest couple who contributed to making our time there bearable. I’m glad to report that Colt survived its boomtown days and returned to the law-abiding community it once was. ‘Tis true that even in a dark place, a beacon of heavenly light still shines.

No matter the errors made or situation a person finds himself in, he can take away valuable lessons from every circumstance. Each new day ushers in the opportunity of beginning anew, dawn is a wonderful gift. We can make amends and determine to make improvements needed. The past can be a springboard to learn from, asking God for His forgiveness and thanking Him for the pleasures and progress. If I may impart a small bit of advice from our experiences, I would say take a good, prayerful look before a hasty leap toward a life-altering decision.

Until the next edition, I’ll close with the printers’ symbol indicating the end of a column. That’s -30-.

1

Colt, Texas—July 1929—

A  first anniversary should be a monumental celebration, but for the Prichards, it was a solemn affair. Winn’s night of drinking and losing all their savings at Wildcat’s Saloon loomed over them like an ominous West Texas sandstorm.

Winn was trapped in a place he had come to hate; the love of his life, carrying their baby, was leaving. The aspiration of publishing a newspaper seemed to be an impossible goal; his paper dream was as elusive as a night vision disappearing with the dawn.

Sugar, this is going to be a long day and night. I hope it’s not too hard on you, especially since you have to wait so long in Fort Worth for the train to Hempstead.

I’ll be fine. You just be sure to keep your nose clean without me. No crazy ideas about gambling or bootleg whiskey, you hear? Hope’s voice was teasing, but her message was not.

I promise. It’s only work and home for the next month or so. He saw the bus making its way toward them through the crowded street. As soon as you can get to a phone tomorrow, call the printing plant and leave a message to let me know you made it to Hempstead okay.

Hope nodded. I want to see Miss Adkins at the newspaper office. I’ll probably use the phone there.

Others also waiting for the bus gathered close by. Winn’s words were too personal for strangers to overhear. With a protective arm around Hope, he held her place for boarding. I guess you’ll have some catching up to do with everyone. His face turned downcast. I, ah… I hope you won’t put me in a bad light with your folks, Sugar. He knew Hope was not one to share her troubles, but guilt cast an ugly picture in his mind.

She pulled his head down and spoke in a whisper. We’re one, remember? What transpires between us is only for you and me to know. The forgiving and loving words from her compassionate heart were a soothing balm in his core.

Winn had found his soul mate in Hope and guarded the truth of his wayward past and weakness for alcohol. The facade he’d painted for seventeen-year-old Hope before they married began to crumble when she figured out that he was thirty-five instead of twenty-eight, as he had told her papa. That lie was just the first of his cover-ups. Other discrepancies of his past emerged, to be dealt with one by one.

He was thankful for her forgiveness of each lie, but he understood her reluctance this time. His latest scheme of sneaking out in the middle of the night to lay their savings down on a poker table was a huge pill for a wife to swallow. After that loss, Winn thought it best for Hope to go to her parents’ home in Hempstead until he found a job away from the boomtown madness of Colt. They had scraped together enough money for Hope’s sojourn, and the dread of their parting hovered like a dense fog. Her bus ticket to Odessa was purchased, and from there she would travel the rest of the way by rail.

Winn kept his arm around her until the bus driver announced it was time to board. Guiding her up the steps, he found a place close to the front and stowed her suitcase on the upper rack. The latches on the old valise didn’t click shut completely; Winn had secured it with a belt. His gut was belted tight with concern about his young, pregnant wife setting out alone.

Clutching her purse, handmade stole, and crocheting project in a paper sack, she settled in the seat. Don’t worry, Winn; the Lord is with me. Anxiety was sculpted in his face. She laughed. "For goodness sake, you’re not putting me on the Titanic. I’ll still in be in Texas."

The bus driver said, Don’t you give a care now. The bus stop at the Odessa train station is the last one for me today, so I can help the missus and tote her suitcase to the train.

Hope smiled. See, the Good Lord is already taking care of me.

Looking into the driver’s kind eyes, Winn guessed the gentleman was accustomed to witnessing long good-byes. He shook the driver’s hand. Much obliged, sir. She’s precious cargo.

Yes sir, I can see that. Winn handed him a dollar bill. The busman’s eyes lit up, and he thanked him. With a lingering look at Hope, Winn stepped off the bus. The driver swung his torso out the door and hollered, All aboard to Odessa.

Standing below Hope’s window, Winn clasped her hand until the bus edged into the throng of vehicles and pedestrians. It was reminiscent of the time she’d held his hand as they bid good-bye at Butch’s station in Hempstead in their happy courting days. He was a forlorn picture, standing in the dirt street in front of that hovel of a depot. He would be without his anchor, his navigator. Their eyes were locked until the bus turned at the corner.

Winn’s loneliness set in immediately as he watched the bus disappear. His splayed fingers took a swipe through his thick brown hair. A loner for years, he had settled into a single lifestyle before finding Hope. But now, his world was on a Greyhound, riding to her mama’s, and he wouldn’t be there when their first child would be born.

His thoughts were troubling as he walked to the Colt Messenger newspaper office where he worked as a linotype operator. Again he berated himself for the harsh living conditions and hardship he had placed upon Hope by moving to a rowdy West Texas oil boomtown. Desperation had pulled him into a clandestine poker game, thinking he could gain enough to start over elsewhere. His winning streak was short-lived. Drunk from bootleg whiskey, he was attacked, robbed and locked up like an inebriated vagrant. Even worse than his night in jail was the heartbreak he had caused Hope. His teeth were set on edge with the vision of her innocent face contorted when he got home reeking with residue of his misadventure. His dream of becoming a publisher seemed to be further away with each unwise decision he made.

To be a Christian means to forgive

the inexcusable because God has

forgiven the inexcusable in you.

—C. S. Lewis

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L eaning back, Hope was thankful the seat beside her was empty. The bus curved, block by block, away from Winn. As the wheels picked up speed on the open road, she marveled at the oil rigs anchored haphazardly across the brown landscape. She thought each derrick could be a small replica of the Tower of Babel, with men from far corners of the earth hoping to reach the heights of heaven with siphoned liquid gold. Of course, she knew the necessity of oil, but living in a boomtown, she had witnessed how the lust for oil revealed the dregs of men’s hearts.

The wind was hot. She managed to close her window, but she still felt the current of air flowing briskly through the bus. Her brave front dissipated. The gravity of fear formed an anvil in the pit of her stomach, not for herself and the baby really, although that contributed to her trepidation. No, it was for Winn, his drinking, and his lack of faith. I pray his resolve is stronger than his desire to drink. Keep him safe, and let him find another job soon, Lord.

The past year held both ecstasy and heartache—more than Hope thought possible. Her love for Winn was beyond understanding; it was almost supernatural. Deep within, she knew the Lord had put them together for a purpose, and she must trust and hang on for the completion of God’s plan.

The route to Hempstead headed northeast before turning south. In Odessa, the bus driver was true to his word and walked with her to the train bound for Fort Worth. Helping her on board, he gave her suitcase to the porter. Got a special passenger for you. This here’s Miss Hope. She turned to thank the bus driver, and he bid farewell, as caring as an old friend.

Nodding at the bus driver, the porter took the bag and turned to Hope. Welcome on board the Texas-Midland line, Miss Hope. The porter’s starched coat was so white, she thought he must have just put it on. He escorted her to an isolated seat and put her suitcase in the overhead bin. Now, ma’am, you let me know if you need your bag before we get to Fort Worth. I’ll get it when we get there; don’t you lift it.

I appreciate your kindness. The man nodded and went about his work. With a blast of the whistle, the train made claim as king of the track. With surges and fits, the locomotive coughed itself away from the station and finally settled into a rhythmic hum. Hope was tired, but among strangers she was leery of surrendering to sleep. Thank you, Jesus, for sending people to help me. I trust You to see me safely home. As peace settled around her, she closed her eyes.

The Lord will guard your going out and your

coming in from this time forth and forever.

—Psalm 121:8 NASB

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I n Fort Worth, the porter lifted Hope’s bag from overhead and helped her disembark. She noticed the man’s jacket was just as crisp and white as it was in Odessa. Thank you, sir. Not sure if it was enough or too much, she handed him some coins.

He shook his head and gave her a smile. No, ma’am, you just go on over to that cafe and get yourself the special. It’s pretty good for depot food.

At this point in her journey, Hope couldn’t care less if the food was good or not. She was famished and would settle for a cup of broth. The man was correct; surprisingly, the food was tasty and hardy. That should last me through the night. With her paraphernalia, she walked through the station until locating a ladies’ room. The sign said, WOMEN, and underneath it—WHITE. She noted down the way was a door reading, WOMEN—COLORED. She was aware that public buildings had separate facilities for colored people; but in her mind, it was a waste of money to build two bathrooms and drinking fountains.

Entering the restroom, Hope fumbled with her belongings. She awkwardly tried to fit them in a stall. A cleaning lady set her mop in the bucket and stepped toward Hope. Here, let me help you, ma’am. I can put your things where you can see them under the door here. When Hope handed her the suitcase and bag, the lady sat them just outside the enclosure and spoke kindly. I’ll be right here and won’t bother your things or let nobody else neither. After Hope splashed water on her face and washed and dried her hands, the woman lifted the suitcase and bag for her.

Hope looked into the woman’s tired eyes and smiled. You’re very kind, thank you.

You’re welcome. God bless you and the baby. She pulled the mop out of the bucket, squeezed it free of murky water, and resumed her chore.

Leaving the restroom, Hope glanced at the sign over the door. Humph—white except for the cleaning lady. She gazed around the cavernous station. The large schedule on the wall stated the Southern Pacific train south to Hempstead wouldn’t leave until eleven o’clock in the evening. The huge clock hanging near the ceiling said seven forty-five. Finding an area out of the mainstream, yet within view of the coffee shop, she wearily sat on a hard wooden bench. With her eyes on the arrival and departure area, Hope was amused at the variety of people parading through the station. There were couples with lingering good-bye kisses, dapper young men strutting with their leather briefcases, elderly women embracing youngsters, and parents with whining babies. Her heart went out to several people who looked to be down on their luck. She glanced at her scuffed shoes and worn, belted suitcase. Guess anyone analyzing my appearance may conclude I’m down and out too. By the grace of God, I’m not—nor will I be.

An aged colored man toiling with a push broom caught her attention. He worked across the large central section of the depot, sweeping cigarette butts, candy wrappers, and dirt. The trash was whisked into a receptacle. He started toward the benches, and when he glanced her way, she nodded and smiled. Continuing his task, he said, Evening, ma’am. Sure nice to see a smiling face.

Hope had a good feeling about the old gentleman. As a train departed, there were fewer people to watch so she pulled out her crocheting. After an hour or so, she became tired of her handwork. Pushing the loop of thread securely onto the curve of the hook, she stuffed the partially finished baby sweater into the paper sack. Turning to ease the ache in her back, Hope thought about stretching out on the bench, but propriety kept her from doing so. She was dismayed to see the swelling in her feet had swallowed her ankles.

The cleaning man came around again. Scuze me, ma’am.

Yes?

You waitin’ for the train to Houston?

Well, yes, but I’m going on to Hempstead.

He smiled, put his lanky arm over the end of the broom, and leaned on it. Hempstead? You have kin there?

After the unpleasantness of Hope’s experience in a boomtown, it was a comfort to discover friendliness still existed among strangers. I’m from Hempstead and going to stay with my mama until the baby is born. My husband works out in Colt.

The janitor’s eyes twinkled. Well, I swan. I’m from Raccoon Bend outside Bellville, not far from Hempstead.

With a bright smile, she perked up. Oh, I’m familiar with Bellville. Mama and Papa used to go to dances in the pavilion near there when I was small.

I know that place. Me and the wife and young’uns rode there with some neighbors in a wagon on Saturday nights. We had a fine ole time dancin’ to the music outside in a clearin’ for us folks. His lined face crinkled, as the corners of his mouth curved upward with the memory.

My sisters and I sat on pallets and listened to the band. I always liked the fiddlers. I never thought about not seeing colored people in the dance hall.

He nodded and straightened to continue his rounds. Ma’am, you still have some waitin’ to do, and there ain’t many people here at the station tonight. If you wanna put your feet up and lie down, I’ll look after you.

Well, I am pretty tired. She looked around to make certain she was the only one in that area. Across the expanse were a few people lying on benches.

I’m a God-fearing man, ma’am, and I ain’t about to let nobody harm you or take your belongings. You just take a little rest, and I’ll come help you with your bag when it’s time to board. He returned to his task.

Hope never would have thought so, but she felt completely comfortable lying down with her legs covered with her stole. In a few minutes, the old gent came back with a pillow for her head from the housekeeping closet. As she closed her eyes, she thanked the Lord again for people helping her along the journey home.

With the squeal of brakes and belching steam, a train took command of the track outside the station. There was no way Hope could sleep through its arrival. Disheveled travelers disembarked and passed through the station. True to his word, the janitor came to aid Hope in boarding. She offered him some coins, but like the porter, he refused. I’m just glad to help. You take care of that baby now. She sat by the window and watched him walk away. Starting out the trip with apprehension, she thought about God’s goodness through the day and evening.

There were a few short stops before reaching Houston where she remained on the train during the thirty minute wait before continuing to Hempstead. The train pulled into Hope’s hometown at five o’clock in the morning. Before daybreak, the streets were vacant. The walk home took her by familiar store windows and the Hempstead News office, but now they presented an eerie presence. Her feet ached, and her ankles were puffy muffin tops over her shoes. The suitcase felt heavy. It seemed like a week had passed since she left the shotgun house in Colt, but it was only yesterday.

With a pounding heart, she sensed someone was following her. Lord, there’s nothing I can do to defend myself. I have to trust in You. When the threatening footsteps behind her were replaced by a strange clomp, clomp sound, she was sure someone was running away. This is silly. I’ve been taken care of all this way, and I’m just a few blocks from home. Walking a little farther, she was puzzled by the clomping and turned to see a large billy goat. He stopped and