To Billie, With Love

By Beth Bowland

Attending a funeral was not how Billie Reynolds planned to celebrate her twelfth birthday. After arriving in Texas for the funeral, she finds herself stranded in the middle of her very own mystery, when odd looks and whispers seem to happen whenever she enters a room. And Billie isn’t getting any answers from her grandmother, who has been her guardian for as long as Billie can remember.

Billie soon discovers that her mother, who abandoned her as a toddler, has resurfaced only to leave a trail of unanswered questions about why she left. Billie learns that her “crazy” Uncle Roscoe, who mysteriously disappeared in the 1940s and did not return for thirty years, is somehow tied to her mother and could possibly hold the answers she’s been searching for.

But the secrets of the past are closer than Billie thinks, and they’re bringing trouble that Billie isn’t ready to face.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beth Bowland
• Release date: Jul 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463902486

Beth Bowland

Beth Bowland, a native Ohioan, has always enjoyed reading and creating stories of her own. As a child she devoured every book she could get her hands on and spent numerous hours at the library each week. She loves writing stories for tweens and young teens and is now the author of several novels. Her characters are often described as quirky and fun, but always relatable. When she's not writing, she loves watching HGTV. She resides in Texas with her husband, Phillip.

Book preview

tobilliewithlove-1800.jpg

To Billie, With Love

Beth Bowland

Contents

Dedication

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

Acknowledgements

Other Books

To Billie, With Love by Beth Bowland

Copyright © Beth Bowland, 2019

All Rights Reserved.

Smashwords Editon

This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events is coincidental.

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

Published in the United States of America

Book Design: KMD Web Designs

Dedication

A special dedication for mothers and grandmothers of the world. Especially my mother, the beautiful Ruby Lee Staples, her love, guidance, encouragement throughout my life, made me into the woman I am today. Love you, Mom!

Chapter 1

My daddy was killed while in jail when I was two years old. That was when my grandmother, Ida Mae Reynolds, took me in. I don’t remember the funeral and never wondered why I lived with my grandmother or what happened to my mother until kindergarten. When my teacher asked who would be attending the parent conference, I told her my grandmother. She asked for the whereabouts of my mother. I told her I did not have one. She told me of course I did and sent me home with a note.

That night, I found out that my mother was a subject my grandmother did not want to talk about. She only said, It’s complicated and I was too young to understand.

I thought about my mother from time to time but asked my grandmother about her only one other time when I was in the third grade. I was older and smarter, so for sure she would tell me. She gave the same answer. I figured I’d asked again when I turned twelve.

Now it was days away from my twelfth birthday, and I was in Texas for my grandmother’s brother’s funeral.

My grandmother, Ida Reynolds, had three brothers: Roscoe, Leon, and now gone-to-heaven Stanley, my great-uncles. She had two sisters, Ellen and Lacy, my great-aunts. My younger cousins had nicknamed them The Greats.

We were staying at The Greats’ six-bedroom home just outside of Dallas. The Greats had built one large house to share instead of their own individual homes. They owned the surrounding thirty acres. Only Great Uncle Roscoe decided to live elsewhere on the property.

Family members said that since my grandmother was raising me, I acted older than I was. An old soul. I agreed. My name was sure old, Willemina, after my great-grandmother, but everyone called me Billie.

The Greats’ house was starting to fill up with guests who stopped by to welcome my grandmother back into town. The whole house smelled like collard greens and pound cake.

I slumped into a chair near the kitchen and watched as they stood around waving paper fans to cool themselves off. I heard someone say Great Aunt Ellen would not use the air conditioner because it made the electric bill go up. Outside was a heavy hotness that made my lungs work overtime. Inside was the same. They turned on ceiling fans, but they only tickled the heat enough to laugh at them. Today was Sunday, and the funeral was not until Saturday. I would probably look like a raisin by then, a shriveled up twelve-year-old raisin.

A plump woman carrying a chocolate cake passed and smiled, her front teeth smudged with deep red lipstick.

I smiled back.

The woman nudged my Great Aunt Lacy. Is that Ida’s grandchild?

Aunt Lacy nodded. Yes, Charlotte. That’s her.

Miss Charlotte’s smile flattened out. She shook her head slowly and continued as if I were not right in front of them. She’s fortunate to have such a loving grandmother to take her in. I don’t know if I could’ve done the same.

Aunt Lacy pulled her away and lowered her voice. Well, you know that was just one shameful mess.

Miss Charlotte nodded. So sad, she said and smiled at me again.

I did not smile back, and even though chocolate was my favorite cake, I was determined not to eat hers.

Aunt Lacy pulled Charlotte in closer. I’ve seen her mother around town…

"My mother?" I said under my breath.

My heart about stopped, and I sat up in my chair. I tried to hear what they were saying, but they continued into the living room, where they bunched in closer and continued whispering. I felt a pain in the palm of my right hand and realized my hand was clenched tightly. I wanted to ask where she was, but I knew to sit back and be quiet. I would keep to myself and ask my grandmother about my mother before my birthday.

I knew he was the one they called crazy the moment he walked into the room. The way his pinky finger on his right hand curved made me think he had broken it a time or two. Deep, dark circles swelled under his eyes like two freshly tarred roads. His skin was the color of walnuts—worn, rugged, and dry. Scars covered his face, and I wanted to ask how he got them.

I tried to figure out how he was crazy, besides being really old. His scars? He had the Frankenstein look, with a long scar down the side of his face and another in the middle of his forehead that went back into his hairline.

Great Uncle Roscoe Matthews was Grandma’s eldest sibling and known as the keeper of secrets and an outcast of sorts. Uncle Roscoe disappeared in the 1940s and did not return for thirty years. I’d heard he never told anyone where he was, what happened to him, or why he had gone.

He walked over and stood in front of me.

Hi, I managed to stutter out. Hot outside today, huh? I looked into Uncle Roscoe’s eyes. They were the color of burnt sand, surrounded by a light burgundy. His eyes were not sad, but interesting, so much so that I was unable to break the gaze. I felt hypnotized, unable to move as Uncle Roscoe stared at me. He was dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt buttoned all up to his collar. On his feet, he wore what I called easy walkers. I didn’t know if that was the official name for them, but when Grandma bought hers, she was in a store with all old people. They talked about how nice they felt on their feet—oh, and good support. I guess that was important to them. I wondered why most old people wore easy walker shoes in black, beige, or white. Uncle Roscoe saw me staring at his feet, so he looked down at them too and wiggled them around.

Comfy? I asked.

Great Uncle Roscoe looked at me and grinned. After a long pause, he pinched my cheek and shuffled off. He said absolutely nothing to me. I didn’t know if he was really crazy, but he was definitely weird.

Why are you sitting here by yourself? You think you’re better than everybody? a voice said beside me.

Huh? I turned to see who had spoken. It was Squeak, Great Aunt Lacy’s granddaughter. We were the same age. Her real name was Nadine, but everyone called her Squeak. I had not seen her since she turned nine, and they came up to Ohio for a visit. It took me a moment to realize who she was, dressed in a denim mini skirt and crop top that showed her bellybutton. I silently thought how my grandma would have a fit if I wore that. According to my grandma, proper young girls did not show their navels. Squeak still had those huge ears and a wide gap between her two front teeth. One thing had changed—her hair. I remembered it being short, and she wore it in little curls. Now her hair, thick and wavy, hung past her shoulders.

Squeak rolled her neck and sucked her teeth. Wassup? You can’t speak?

Did I mention she was a bully, always trying to pick a fight with someone? Today was not the day for me. It was too hot.

Wassup with you? I asked. Is your weave made out of human hair or synthetic?

Squeak’s face tightened up, and her lips drew back in a thin line, which made her teeth stick out farther. Stop hatin’. This ain’t no weave. She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

I decided to leave the hair subject alone and not mention how I could clearly see the tracks where the weave was sewn in. Okay. Well, I still like it.

She rolled her eyes and walked off.

That was the second person who had walked away from me. I was zero for two. Let’s see who else I could chase away. We had just arrived and I wanted to leave.

I stood in the kitchen doorway to see what my grandmother and her sisters were doing. When they saw me, they lowered their voices, so I backed out of their sight, picked up a magazine, and pretended to read.

How’s Roscoe? Grandma whispered to Aunt Ellen. He hasn’t said a lot to me since I arrived.

Aunt Ellen chuckled. Well, you know our brother was never too big on words. However, he did say it was nice seeing Billie again.

Grandma sighed. Did he say anything to her? Her words were anxious.

I’m not sure.

I’m not concerned about if he talks, but what he’ll say when he does.

Well, Ida, Aunt Ellen said, no need getting yourself worked up about that now.

Billie, Grandma yelled.

Ma’am? I went into the kitchen, where it was ten degrees warmer. It felt like a sauna. Grandma’s face was all shiny from the heat. I would tell her that she seriously needed to go powder her face, but she didn’t wear makeup.

Grandma must have felt what I was thinking because she wiped her face with a paper towel. You hungry? Want me to fix you a plate?

I glanced around at the prepared food. My eyes zoomed in on the bowl of peaches. I’m not really hungry, but I’ll take a peach for now. I grabbed the fruit and gave it a quick rinse in the sink.