Finding Charlie: A Forbidden Romance

By G. K. Fralin

Five years after the death of his father in 1905, Charlie Bueller finds himself cast out of his family home by an interloper. Charlie's dark-skin sets him visibly apart from the rest of his white family. When a Con Man courts and marries Charlie's mother, the young man is immediately cast out for his dark-skin.
Now, on his own, except for his best friend, Charlie leaves to find his own place in the world. The two friends find work with the railroad in St. Joseph, Missouri. They are hired to lay sections of rail. When they're told to pick up supplies like a hammer and overalls, Charlie comes face to face with a beautiful young white woman. He tries to keep the young woman at arms length, but she's persistent in pursuing him. How much more will our young protagonist have to endure. Can Charlie manage to find a way to undo the harm of his mother's new husband? How will he reconnect with his family and what about the young white woman?

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. K. Fralin
• Release date: Aug 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463050613

G. K. Fralin

G. K. Fralin’s lust for writing rose from a sixth grade poem that gained her notice by her teacher and encouragement from her parents. She loved growing up under the protection of the Flint Hills in walking distance to the popular fishing sites of the Big Blue River. The scenic majesty of that valley plays heavily into her work. She’s spent her adult life thirty miles or so north in Southeast Nebraska with her husband, raising three children who are now married with children of their own. Once the children left for their own life pursuits, G. K. found time on her hands to spend on her dream of writing a book. After working as a licensed practical nurse for nearly twenty-year; G. K. went back to school and earned a Bachelor’s of Applied Science degree in Business Management. While back in college she took as many writing courses as she could before finishing her senior year. G. K. Fralin’s family, country background, conservative Christian values and vivid imagination all play into what she writes. She is a stickler for research. “I wasn’t great at history or geography in school, but now I can stretch my horizons as I choose and the world is amazing outside the small area of the globe where I live. The times of past and possible futures load a curious mind with wonderful knowledge and trivia.” Her first published book, The Search, trapped her main character, Sheridan, into the back country off I-80 in a small town of Hidden. She’s stuck with an increasingly deceptive innkeeper. The only way out is to follow a man called Shepard on a treacherous journey. Six Strange Short Stories shows G. K. Fralin’s bizarre repertoire of short stories she felt worth putting together. Now with the release of the first book of the Charlie Bueller series, G. K. brings Who Be Charlie B.? out of the shadows of history to help him find why he was born with dark skin to white parents. How will he learn to step out from under his parents protection into a world of hate and prejudice?

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G. K. FRALIN

FINDING CHARLIE:

A Forbidden Romance

Copyright © 2019 G.K. Fralin

ANT publishing

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the memory of those who inspired the story. Charles and Edna Fulton who lived in a different time under different laws but broke the mold anyway

Edited by Mary Jo Caffrey

Cover by Victorine Liske

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments i

Chapter 1 St. Joseph 1910

Chapter 2 Workaday 22

Chapter 3 Jacob 33

Chapter 4 Edna Nurses Charlie

Chapter 5 Train to Wyman

Chapter 6 Picnic Under the Sycamore

Chapter 7 Edna and Belle

Chapter 8 Mrs. Wilson falls Ill

Chapter 9 Lula Nearly Blind

Chapter 10-Truth about Beal

Chapter 11 Belle’s Letter

Chapter 12 Charlie Finds Love

Chapter 13 Life and Love Changes

Chapter 14 Beal has a Stroke

Chapter 15 A Wheelchair for Beal

Chapter 16 Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bueller

About the Author

Other Books By This Author

v

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish to thank the following people for making this story possible.

Joel Fralin, my husband, who patiently went without attention at times when I needed to focus my efforts on writing.

Mary Jo Caffrey, whose diligence and patience editing this book proved invaluable in making it worthy of you, the reader.

The Nebraska Writer’s Guild, whose encouragement over the years kept me going.

People of Wymore, who helped me with information and memories of Charlie and Edna.

Beta Readers, who helped with the final touches.

To the readers for whom this book was written, I hope it helps you understand and appreciate the people and times of early Nebraska

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Chapter 1: St. Joseph 1910

Dirt from shoes and boots rolled under Charlie’s broom in the Wyman Railroad Depot. A painful screeching of brakes rose high pitched above all other sounds. His head popped up as a rush of terrified passengers came toward him from the platform.

A gray haired, plump woman waved Charlie toward the direction of the train.

"Pa?"

She nodded, tears streaming off her face.

The distance to the door stretched longer and longer. No matter how fast he ran, his long legs couldn’t cover the distance. Then he was on the ground, watching his father’s torn body fall apart as he desperately tried to close the gaping wounds. Charlie looked into his father’s scared, wide eyes.

"No Pa, no!"

"Hey, wake up. It’s okay. We’re at the St. Joseph

Depot," Carl’s voice broke through.

Charlie jumped as the fuzz slowly cleared from his mind only to be replaced by a lurching deep in the pit of his stomach. Oh, my Lord! He leapt off the train, barely making it to a space between railcars where he could hide. He vomited until he was empty but continued to retch. Did someone hit me in the head with an axe? Charlie stumbled backwards and Carl caught him, helping him to a nearby stack of railroad ties.

Rest, I’ll be back after I ket our bags. I don’t want to leave them alone. Carl still could not make the g sound since his head had crashed through the barn floor back home in Wyman a few months earlier, nearly killing him.

When Carl returned a few minutes later, Charlie’s head didn’t feel so much like someone was chopping it in two, but now he had a steady pain from the back of his neck around to his forehead.

The train had pulled away and Carl helped Charlie to a hand pump behind the building.

The two odd-looking friends, one dark and one white, refreshed themselves with the cold spring water. Anybody looking might have noticed it was the white man pouring cold water over the dark man’s head and giving away the first few swallows of water. Maybe you should stay away from trains, Carl advised his friend. We live in a railroad town. The best paying work is with the railroad. It’s a two-day ride on a horse back to Wyman and half a day by train. What do you think, Carl? Ouch, Charlie sat down on the grass, holding his head.

Taking a deep breath, he continued softly. How do I stay away from trains?

Pull it together, Carl ordered like a weary parent. You had a shock. Don’t sleep on the train anymore. He pulled a handkerchief from a back pocket, wet it under the pump and laid it against the back of Charlie’s head.

Later the two made their way to the railroad office, which looked exactly like the other railroad cars except that it sat off the tracks with wooden steps leading to regular entryway instead of the usual huge door on pulleys.

Ready? Let’s sign in for the section repair crew and swing some hammers. Carl sounded excited.

I’m ready. Thanks man, my headache is completely gone. He drew a deep breath and sighed. For the first time, Charlie stepped into a future without the security of a parent. My dear friend Carl, you have no idea how important you are to me.

The two stood before a balding, gray haired man who barely looked up from his desk. "Hello, I am Section Boss Harry Brake; you can call me ‘sir.’ Sign the payroll list on that table next to that door to my left. Tell Edna, the lady peeking through the top half of that Dutch door, your size and she’ll get you some overalls. You get one pair free, then you have to pay for any additional pairs.

You’ll need a spike hammer. Get one here and we’ll deduct it from your pay. The man’s voice droned like he’d repeated the same speech many times. We work a six-day week. You’ll live in tents and take your meals in the cook’s tent." He finally paused for a breath and pointed to the other end of the office. A blonde, curly headed woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties peered through the top half of a door while the bottom half remained closed.

So that’s a Dutch-door, Charlie beamed, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before.

I’ve seen one in a barn, Carl bragged.

Charlie thumped his friend playfully on the arm.

Well, I’m going to build me a house someday and put one in it. What do you think of that?

I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. This time the voice was female and as the men realized they’d been overheard, an engaging smile cut across the woman’s face.

The payroll ledger is on that table to my left, and if you haven’t figured it out yet, I am the Edna that ‘Sir’ spoke of. Her grin widened more as a low groan crossed the room.

The clerk’s platinum hair swept modestly up and back into a sort of loose bun. Strands escaped around her face and neck. She wasn’t dressed stylish as one would expect a woman around town might be, but instead wore a pale-blue, cotton work-dress with a simple tie at the waist. Charlie had seen his mother wear similar clothing when doing chores around the house. Even though she wore a drab costume, Edna was anything but plain. Even without a corset, her waist was tiny, and her curves filled out in all the right places.

At the door Charlie pushed Carl in front of him, which caused his friend to glance back, scrunching his nose between his eyes in a what the heck kind of glance.

Hello, write your name on the line there. Edna handed him a pen and pointed to her record book of supplies. The bottom half of the door fascinated Charlie even more than the top as he waited for his friend to finish. The lower half had about a 12-inch ledge on Edna’s side to hold her supply book. He set his resolve to include one in his own house. The woman went through the motions, asked for Carl’s size so she could fit his overalls to him and what hammer he preferred.

Transactions finished, Charlie’s friend picked up his gear and stepped out of the way. It was his friend’s turn now.

Charlie tried to concentrate but doing so was an exercise in determination. Then the worst thing possible happened. Edna’s gaze met Charlie’s. Her full lips slightly open to show a straight set of white teeth. Hello, sir. I’ll need the same from you. She pushed the ledger with the pen toward Charlie.

He signed it, appalled that his hand shook. He could

see many printed names and X marks mixed in with a few perfect cursive signatures on the page. "I’ll need

some long overalls. I think I’d do best with a large sledgehammer."

Edna stretched her small frame over the door down his front. I’m going to guess your inseam is about a 32 or 34. Charlie knew he was blushing but hoped she wouldn’t notice through his brown skin.

Don’t worry; I do this all the time.

He felt someone pulling at the back of his dungarees.

He’s a 34 if I’m reading this tak correctly. Carl spoke up.

Damn, man.

Well, now she knows.

Edna laughed as Charlie stood nervously trying not to get caught watching the woman reach up high to get a pair of overalls off the top of a shelf or bending down to find a shirt on a bottom shelf. Somewhere along the wall he couldn’t see, she must have grabbed the hammer. Charlie took advantage of the few seconds she was out of sight to look down at his hands resting on the shelf of the lower door.

My, you big ones make a girl work. I generally keep the bigger sizes on the top and bottom because most of our workers aren’t so big. She took a breath. Whew, here you go; one pair of overalls with a 34 inseam and well, I guessed your chest to be about 42 or 44 so I got you the 44 to give you some room. She paused and Charlie had to look up. There, now I got your attention: will those work for you?

I’m sorry, you never lost my attention, I was just, he wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. Well anyway, yes, those will work just fine. My ma made all our shirts, and this looks about the right size. Okay and this-- Edna groaned as she lifted the sledgehammer.

Charlie reached across and took the weighty hammer from her. He could see her muscular biceps relax when he hefted it. You remind me of my ma in a way. Charlie hadn’t realized he said it aloud.

Oh, my! I hope I don’t look old enough to be your ma. The young woman seemed to have a natural chirp of laughter whenever she spoke. A smile stretched the bow of her lips, shooting an arrow into the heart of a man who could never be with her.

Charlie’s mind slipped back into the present. "No, no, I meant, my ma works as hard as most men and her arms are nice and strong, too. Ah, I think we’d better go.

Thank you."

The boss, forgotten in his corner of the office, cleared his throat. This is a two-month job. If you want to go on from there you can sign up again for the next job.

Thank you for rescuing me, Section Boss Harry Brake.

Yes, sir the two new employees replied in unison.

So, get going, there’s a truck leaving in about five minutes. You should catch a ride to the camp.

The new rail men grabbed all their new clothes and hammers. Charlie fumbled with his hammer until he finally rested the head on his shoulder and carried the clothing in the crook of his other arm. Carl, already holding the door open, shook his head. He’d mastered his kit without problems.

Once the door closed behind them, Carl spoke up,

"Lordamercy, Charlie! What are you thinkink? That

could be his lady."

Did you see her? She’s gorgeous, and that smile. One punch to Charlie’s shoulder and then the two of them stood in the rail yard looking for the truck. The cluster of railroad tracks spread out before them like crooked lines on a map in pairs of parallel strips of metal.

I see it. Charlie pointed about 100 yards south on a dirt road to the west between sets of track.

I think we’d better run. Smoke’s coming out of the tail pipe. Carl sat his spike hammer down and waved at the Model T truck.

A short time later, winded, they handed their stuff up to a couple of men offering their hands over the back of the vehicle and hopped into a new occupation for at least two months. Everybody aboard? someone yelled from the front. Yes, Foreman Daniels, a man sitting behind the cab answered.

The ride to the work site took less than ten minutes. Canvas tents lined up a few hundred feet away from the railroad tracks. Men of all colors and backgrounds milled around, making Charlie feel less uncomfortable about his own brown skin. However, he still had to learn how to act around other black men.

There were two Chinese-looking fellows who seemed to keep themselves separate. He did notice that many of the white men were clustering inside the largest tent with a canvas canopy half filled with weathered tables and benches. Two tables lined up alone at the other end in front of an enclosure that filled the back one third. Charlie figured it must be the cook’s tent and living quarters.

Everyone started gathering at the tables, so Charlie

and his friend Carl followed, sitting across from one another at an empty table near the back of the tent.

"Wait, Carl, you were going to see your aunt in St.

Joe before we started a job--"

Not a problem, friend. I wrote Aunt Betty a letter and I got an answer the other day. She’s out of town for a while. She sukjested somethink I hadn’t even thought of.

What is that?

Karklink

Kar; oh, gargling. Ha! Why didn’t anyone think of that before?

I’ve been workink on it. Carl grinned, picked up some pebbles from under the table where they sat, put them in his mouth and gargled. The g sound came out of his throat like a warbling bird.

Foreman Daniels came toward them, looking at Carl. What are you doing, kid? Then he started laughing when Carl suddenly bent down and started coughing out pebbles.

Damn, you made me almost swallow rocks. Sorry for snappink, boss, I have a problem with g sounds. I was karklink to show Charlie the way my aunt told me to ket it back.

What the hell is karklink?

He can’t make the g sound; he’s trying to say ‘gargling.’

Why can’t he say the g sound?

Is it a problem, Foreman Daniels? I mean he’s a great worker. Charlie felt like a child pleading for permission to play with his friend.

No, of course not, I came here to tell you the situation with the tent assignments. By the way, most men call me ‘boss.’ He lowered his voice and sat on the bench across from Charlie. "What are your names?

I’m Charlie Bueller.

I’m Carl Travers.

Good, I’ll check your names off the list, or add them more likely. You were a little late. Now that I have the names, I have a few things to share. We all work together here. Nobody is better than anyone else on the line. I’m the boss, but Jacob, the big black guy, has been with this crew since long before I got here. Most of the new guys see the more seasoned workers asking Jacob about something and follow suit. So, if you’re working on the line and have a problem with how to lay something, or a hammer or something, talk to Jacob. If it’s something to do with anything like pay, meals, having problems with someone then you come to me. Are you following me so far?

Both men nodded and Foreman Daniels continued. You can see there are a variety of workers here. Most are white, but there are two Asians, three other Negroes like you, Charlie, and eight white men. The tents are all about the same size, so the whites use the two tents on this end, your people in the next and the Asian’s on the far end to the south there. Working together is one thing but sleeping together can present problems. Are you able to do that without any bad feelings? He looked at Charlie, who nodded.

I understand. Not everyone is like my buddy Carl here.

There’s nothing funny with you two is there? Foreman Daniels’ head jerked back.

No, Carl laughed. "I lean more toward something

in a skirt."

Now the foreman looked embarrassed. Well, that’s fine then. I don’t expect any of us will have problems.

The man walked past the empty tables and talked to the crowd of workers gathered outside the cook’s tent. Most had waited at the camp for the truck to arrive with the last group, which had included the two friends from Wyman.

Many of the announcements were similar to those the boss gave Charlie and Carl, but some had to do with meals and other matters. You get a canteen to take to the worksite, so be sure to drink plenty of water. The cook brings a hot meal out each evening. He’s my father and does not stay since our family farm is close by and he can cook better meals on his own stove. Oh, and he even makes sandwiches for your lunches.

Yup, and they be good ‘n fillin’ too. Let’s hear a cheer for the cook. Someone in the group yelled out.

His sandwiches are better than my wife’s. Everyone laughed at the man’s joke and clapped, while the boss rubbed the shoulder of the aproned man, probably sixty or so, who stood beside him. Cook held up a large, wooden, serving spoon. This will be your punishment if you complain. He waved the spoon around like he was hitting something with it.

Dad, Foreman Daniels warned, most of these guys are big enough to take that spoon from you.

I don’t think any of them would dare. They like to eat.

Laughter filled the room again. The boss, smiling, put his hand up to hush the men. For you new guys, the Missouri River is through the tree line west over there. If you decide to stick around on weekends, feel free to do some fishing and you can make a campfire to cook up your own fishies as my son calls them. He laughed at his own joke. "I won’t be around on weekends because I live on a farm close by and it gives me