A Seed Planted

By Cat FitzGerald

Julia (JuJu) Ready begins life in a hard place. Born to an unwed teenage mother in 1948, she is eventually given up for adoption at the age of eleven months, handed over to a couple who probably should never have had children. As she grows, the rejection by her birth mother, coupled with verbal abuse and neglect from her adopted parents, leads her to resentment that grows deeper and deeper into a series of bad choices.

JuJu’s saving grace and refuge has always been her Grandma Jean who lives across the highway on the family farm. Despite her grandmother’s unconditional love and fervent prayers, JuJu grows distant following a tragic event that hardens her heart. She withdraws from her friends, intent on graduating high school early and leaving the small town of Serendipity, Georgia far behind. JuJu’s good intentions to stay in touch with Grandma Jean are overcome by the freedom she has at college, and when tragedy occurs, she finds herself without an anchor in the adult world she is about to enter.

Armed with her diploma and plans for continued education, JuJu pushes her way into the field of higher learning, capturing the attention of her superior, a handsome fellow with a Ph.D., and a bucketful of charm and sophistication. Adam represents everything JuJu, now going by Julia, has ever wanted in a man, mature and smart, nothing like the boys from college or even graduate school. His flattery feeds a deep need in Julia, and it isn’t long before the relationship moves well beyond that of boss and employee. However, the past will rear its ugly head in the form of repeated loss, and Julia is left alone to pick up the pieces.

Forced to return to her rural hometown, Julia is hurt and ashamed, but mostly angry. Angry at how life has treated her. Angry at the God who rejected her by never answering her prayers. And extremely angry at the young man who is now running the family farm. Determined to get rid of him so she can sell the property, Julia is surprised to discover she has met her match when it comes to stubbornness. She’s doubly furious to learn of his devoted faith to God, which she finds beyond irritating.

Will Julia be influenced by Marley’s witness, or will she wear him down with her antagonistic approach to almost everything?

Rejection, rebellion, remorse, repentance, and resurrection come full circle in this story of a rocky path becoming good soil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Nelson
• Release date: Jan 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781400328888

Cat FitzGerald

Cat FitzGerald is a wife, mother, and grandmother who’s been writing stories and poetry since she could hold a pencil in her chubby little hands. Having taught women’s Bible studies for more than twenty years, she began speaking at women’s events four years ago in addition to writing for local magazines and newspapers. Cat resides deep in the South Carolina woods near beautiful Lake Murray with her husband and an ornery, overweight black cat named Rajah. A Seed Planted is her second novel.

Book preview

Prologue

March 1949

The lawyer’s office was dark and cluttered. Even though the day was sunny, none of the sun’s yellow rays penetrated the dusty blinds. Every flat surface held a haphazard array of books and files. Two cheap vinyl chairs crowded together in front of the desk, uncomfortably occupied by two women trying not to look at each other. A middle-aged man in the corner glanced around nervously. One of the women was quite young, a baby in her lap. The other was pale, touches of gray showing in her stiff waves. The man, dark all over, eyes, hair, and skin, shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Seated on the other side of the desk, John Lincoln, Esquire, studied the child. She was less than a year old, blissfully unaware of what was happening and how it affected her. Content for the moment, she sucked her thumb noisily, dark curls shimmering under the harsh fluorescent light, green eyes wide with curiosity. Her name was Cindy.

Mr. and Mrs. Ready, if you’ll sign here, please, full names and today‘s date. He pushed the documents across his desk and offered a pen.

The couple did as requested, eyeing each other to confirm what they were doing was the right thing. A good thing. For them.

And, Miss Roberts, if you will sign here, also full name and the date, the lawyer repeated to the young woman who moved the child to her other knee and took the pen. Holding it above the signature line, she hesitated briefly, a single tear seeping from her eye. Glancing at Mr. Lincoln, she saw him nod imperceptibly and scribbled the required information. Nearly knocking over the chair in her haste to escape, Janet Roberts handed Cindy to the older woman and fled the room, not bothering to close the door. Startled, Cindy began to cry.

Malcolm Ready reached into the bag left by the child’s mother, found a bottle of milk, and handed it to the baby.

Martha bounced her knee up and down, causing the bottle to slip from the baby’s hands which set off another round of tears. Malcolm picked it up, giving his wife a look of annoyance.

Here you go, baby girl, here you go, Martha tried again, keeping herself still this time. Cindy clutched the bottle to her mouth.

Well, that concludes just about everything..., Mr. Lincoln’s voice trailed off as he gave Malcolm a questioning look.

Oh, right, responded Malcolm as he reached into his jacket’s inner pocket and brought out an envelope.

Thank you, Mr. Lincoln. We really appreciate all you’ve done to help us. Martha smiled at the lawyer as she gathered her purse and stood.

Yes, thank you, echoed Malcolm, picking up the baby’s bag.

Lincoln eyed the couple from behind wire-rimmed glasses that added to his Teddy Roosevelt appearance. He’d known the Readys for years, was close friends with Malcolm’s mother, Jean. She was a fine woman, honest as the day is long, hard-working, and kind. He could not say the same about her son, and it was only because of his friendship with Jean that he agreed to handle the adoption.

Y’all take good care of little Cindy now. I look forward to watching her grow up, John said as he escorted them to the door.

Oh, she’s not Cindy anymore. Her name is Julia now, admonished Martha.

That’s right. I forgot. Julia, it is.

Yes, after my grandmother. Her middle name is May. Julia May Ready. Martha‘s happiness was evident.

Lincoln knew of the couple’s heartbreak after learning there would be no biological children. They’d seen dozens of doctors and undergone as many tests before acceptance settled in. Approaching forty, they’d all but given up when Malcolm’s sister heard about a young woman looking to give up her baby.

Although surprised to learn the child was nearly a year old, they took the plunge. Jean Ready called her lawyer friend, and he handled everything on their behalf. Not knowing why Janet Roberts was giving up her child, they assumed it was because she wasn’t married. They had asked no further questions.

Malcolm opened the door for his wife, nodding once more to the lawyer as they left.

John Lincoln sat at his desk, hands folded before him. He wasn‘t a religious man, but at that moment, he was praying this adoption would work out. He prayed for the care and safety of that sweet, innocent baby girl. He knew Martha would do her best, but he was more than a little concerned about Malcolm. He was known to drink and let his temper get out of control. Lincoln never heard that Malcolm hit Martha, so he told himself all would be fine. Hopefully, having a child would settle him down, make him more responsible. He dearly hoped so. At least, Jean would be close by.

**************************************************

Outside, at the bus stop, Janet Roberts sobbed. Handing Cindy over was much harder than she’d imagined. She knew it was the right thing, but it still hurt. She should have done it when Cindy was born, right in the hospital. Just signed the papers and let her go to a good family. Instead, she’d foolishly convinced herself she could do it, but with no help from her parents, she’d struggled to put food on the table, let alone anything else.

She shook her head at the memories of her encounter with Cindy’s father. Thinking he would marry her when he knew she was pregnant, she’d been shocked to learn he was already married. She’d slapped him and cried, but there was nothing to be done about it. He was stationed at the army base, shipping out in three days. She didn’t even know his last name.

She just wanted somebody to love her. Anybody.

Cindy filled that need for a little while before Janet realized it was hopeless.

Pulling an envelope from her purse, she counted the money again and sighed. With this, she could start over. The tears began anew, bitter as the pain in her heart.

One thousand dollars. The cost of her child.

The loud rumble of the Greyhound interrupted her thoughts. Shoving the envelope back in her purse, Janet picked up her ratty suitcase and inhaled the nasty diesel fumes as the bus ground to a halt. This one would eventually make it to Atlanta, but right now all she cared about was leaving Serendipity, Georgia, as far behind as possible.

Chapter 1

Present Day

JuJu

rocked slowly in the front porch swing. The evening was quiet, as evenings on the farm generally were. Not quiet, as in there was no sound at all, but rather quiet as in the crickets chirping at the edge of the tree line, the occasional sharp cry of a whip-poor-will, or the obnoxious belch of a nearby bullfrog. Farm quiet did not mean silence. JuJu found it comforting as always, although sounds no longer emanated from the barn or the stable as the livestock had been sold long ago. A few chickens were still around for eggs as well as entertainment for Rocky, her fifteen-year-old black Lab. Snoring softly, he slept by her side, twitching now and then in dreamy pursuit of some unknown prey. Dixie, the cat, was curled up next to her on the swing, purring contentedly. Neither of them had a care in the world beyond their next meal. They didn’t know what the future was bringing.

JuJu didn’t either.

Dixie was as black as Rocky, and when they played together, tearing around the yard, all you could see were whirling black shadows. No one ever told them they were mortal enemies. They often slept curled up together, one giant black lump on the floor. Marley once joked that they even shared fleas. JuJu smiled at the memory even though it still brought pain.

You can’t know joy if you haven’t met pain.

JuJu‘s grandmother had said that more times than she could count. It made her furious when she was younger, before she understood joy and pain were sisters. Before she learned from experience that beauty can, indeed, rise from ashes, and ground has to be torn up before it can produce a harvest.

Lord, this life has been hard. But just like Job said, even if you kill me, I will trust You.

JuJu gazed across the fields where once corn had grown tall. They were fallow now. Who knew if they would produce again? She hoped so, but that was no longer her concern.

Memories, heartache, and joy, all wrapped together now, she could hardly keep straight what happened when. No matter. She could remember clearly the pain but chose to focus on the happy times, seeing the bad times as bookends that held the rest of it together. Today, she felt gratitude for the blessings aplenty to fill up the spaces between.

Gratitude was the balm she regularly applied to keep the shadows away.

Chapter 2

1958

"M artha,

can’t you keep this kid’s stuff out of my way? I can’t even walk through my own house without tripping over her crap! Where is she anyway?"

Martha Ready dropped the spoon in the stew, grabbed a dish towel, and scurried into the living room. JuJu always picked up her toys; she was well aware of her father’s unpredictable temper and careful not to give him extra fuel for his outbursts. Martha took a sharp breath and stopped at the door. A pile of checkers lay scattered on the rug and the coffee table. JuJu knew better. What could she have been thinking, and where was she?

The faint sound of a toilet flushing near the back of the house answered the question. Martha heard the door open, footsteps echoing down the hall towards them, JuJu unaware of the mounting tension.

JuJu stopped suddenly, fear shadowing her face as she caught sight of her father standing over the checkerboard. Her mother stood speechless at the entrance to the kitchen.

How many times have I told you to clean up your mess? You don’t leave toys on the floor! Ever! With that, Malcolm Ready viciously kicked the game board, pieces flying around the room like freshly broken balls on a pool table.

I’m sorry, Daddy. I went to the bathroom. I wasn’t gone but a minute. One look in her father’s bloodshot eyes and JuJu knew the excuse was useless. Her small shoulders slumped.

In response, her father violently swept the rest of the pieces from the table then turned on her mother, glaring and slurring his words.

I work my butt off to provide for you two, and all I ask is a little respect, food on the table, and a clean house. Is that too much to expect? Huh, is it?

No, Malcolm, of course not. We’ll clean it up right away. You just relax in your chair. We’ll take care of it. Martha didn’t move from her spot and kept her head down as she answered.

JuJu, get this cleaned up right now, then come help me finish dinner.

JuJu! What a name! Why do you call her that? She knows how to say her name, don’t you, girl? Malcolm turned to face her again. Don’t you know how to say your name, little girl? Huh, little baby? Say your name. Say it. Malcolm taunted her.

Julia, JuJu whispered so softly she was barely heard.

That’s right. Julia. Ju-li-a. Malcolm sneered and focused his drunken gaze on his wife. When’s dinner? I’m hungry.

Martha jerked. In about half an hour. I’ll hurry. Just relax a bit. Turning, she fled into the kitchen, leaving her ten-year-old to clean up under Malcolm’s stern eye.

JuJu dropped to her knees, scrambling for scattered checkers. The front door slammed as Malcolm left, and she released the breath she wasn’t even aware she’d been holding. She crawled around, searching for every checker. God forbid a stray piece turn up later.

JuJu, hurry up and come help me, her mother called from the kitchen.

All right, Mama, I’m almost done. She loved being called JuJu. It made her feel special.

When she was a baby, she couldn’t pronounce Julia, so it came out JuJu. Her grandmother said it was cute. Even her dad at first. Lately, though, it was something ugly in his mouth. Everything became ugly in his mouth.

She put the game away, carefully counting to be sure she had all the pieces and shut the lid on the toy box. Making her way into the kitchen, she silently watched her mother at the stove, every hair in place, perfectly starched and pressed apron tied around her small waist. JuJu often wondered why her mother didn’t help when her father yelled at her. Standing there, JuJu recognized her mother’s fear for the first time. She wasn’t sorry for Mama, though. She was angry.

Chapter 3

Present Day

Rocky

lifted his old head and looked towards the road, his hearing pretty good despite his advanced years. JuJu looked, too, and a few seconds later, was able to make out a cloud of dust over the treetops at the far end of the drive, a quarter mile away.

The massive oaks that lined the farm’s entrance kept vehicles hidden until they reached the edge of the front yard. Rocky stood up, snuffling as he focused his stare on the spot where the intruder would first appear. He growled softly.

JuJu sighed. Dixie opened one eye, yawned widely, changed position and returned to her slumber. She could not be less interested.

Rocky growled again, louder this time.

It’s okay, boy, JuJu spoke firmly, and the big dog moved to the other side of the swing before dropping to the wide-planked floor. He had done his job.

A slight breeze ruffled the changing leaves, bringing with it the smell of fall.

The rev of a large engine broke through the evening’s calm and brought more memories, some she wished to forget.

1960

Malcolm owned a Dodge pickup with a big, diesel engine that scared the daylights out of the chickens and anything else within earshot. He loved revving it up loud to annoy his mother, Jean. She came out of the house yelling at him to turn that thing off before he gave all the livestock a heart attack. He just laughed and stomped the pedal again before shutting it down.

Since JuJu and her parents lived across the road from Grandma Jean, there was no need for Malcolm to drive the truck over. The driveway was pretty long, but he did it purely to aggravate. On this particular day, Malcolm returned from an afternoon at the local pool hall to find his family missing. Assuming they were at his mother’s, he whipped the truck around and barreled across the highway. Parking near the back of the house, he stumbled out of the truck and into the backyard where he found his daughter playing with Betty, the old family dog, who growled at the sight of Malcolm.

Don’t you growl at me, you mangy mutt! Malcolm yelled at the black Lab. I’ll kick you to kingdom come.

JuJu knew he was drunk and would give anything to be invisible at the moment. Instead, she accidentally dropped the basket of eggs she’d just collected.

You are so stupid and clumsy! Look what you did.

I’m sorry, Daddy! I didn’t mean to! Honest.

Malcolm Ready’s hand whipped across her cheek with a sharp whack. Stunned, JuJu didn’t realize at first she’d been hit. Then she felt the burn. Her eyes watered despite her best efforts. Tears only made him madder. She knelt down to pick up the basket, letting her hair fall to hide her face.

Malcolm! What are you doing? Did you slap that child? Don‘t you ever do that, you hear? I will call the sheriff. Don’t you think I won’t. Jean Ready pointed a defiant, angry finger at her son.

She needs discipline, Mama. She don’t get none from Martha, and she don’t get none from you. Y‘all just spoil her. Spoiled rotten is what she is. Malcolm staggered slightly as he turned towards his mother standing on the screened porch clutching a dish towel with a tight fist.

Go on home, Malcolm. I won’t put up with your nonsense over here. You oughta know that by now. One more time, and I’m calling Sheriff Dan. Jean Ready glared at her son. Malcolm glanced at JuJu still on the ground picking up broken egg shells. He muttered again, Spoiled rotten, and shuffled back to his truck. Revving the engine as loud as he could, Malcolm threw the Dodge in gear and roared down the driveway, leaving clouds of dust in his wake.

Jean threw the dish towel across her shoulder and hurried down the steps to where her grandchild sat in the dirt, tears leaving dusty trails on her face, small fists clenched in her lap.

I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m so sorry, Grandma Jean said tenderly, gathering the girl into her arms. I wish I could fix it for you. I wish I could.

JuJu wrapped her arms tightly around her grandmother’s thin frame, clinging to her. Although in her seventies, Jean was strong and feisty enough to stand up to her bully of a son. A son who, unfortunately, did not take after his own father. Jean could not figure what caused her only child to be good for nothing. He could be successful. He’d been an officer in the army and held a steady job at the local textile factory after that, but he took to hanging out at the pool hall and drinking too much. He still worked at the factory but was demoted because of absences and careless, sloppy work. He blamed everything on others, of course. Nothing was ever Malcolm’s fault. He lost his temper because other people irritated him; he drank because Martha wasn’t the kind of wife she should be.

Jean sighed and lifted JuJu to her feet.

Don’t worry about the eggs, baby. Just leave it. We need some pie with a little whipped cream on it, don’t you think?

Pie solved everything, according to Jean Emma Ready. Pie and prayer.

She wiped JuJu’s face with the towel, took her hand, and led her up the old wooden steps, through the screened porch, and into the kitchen.

Go on and sit down. I’ll get the pie and whipped cream.

JuJu sniffed. Grandma Jean’s pie couldn’t solve everything, but it sure helped.

Grandma Jean, why is Daddy so mean? I hate him!

Jean stopped, knife in midair over the apple pie. It wasn’t the first time the child asked that question, but it was the first time she asked in anger. Usually, Jean was able to distract JuJu and move on to something else. This time she felt some kind of answer was in order. She finished cutting two slices of pie, added the topping, and carried them to the table. Before sitting down, she poured two glasses of milk and set one at each plate. She looked at her granddaughter whose emerald eyes still glistened with unshed tears, a mixture of sadness and hatred on her sweet face. Jean sighed.

Don’t ever hate anybody, sweetheart. I know how you feel, but hate just eats you up inside and has no effect on the other person. Your daddy wasn’t always like this. When he was a boy, he was so good and helpful, always on your grandpa’s heels, wanting to do whatever he was doing. Your grandpa had to watch him like a hawk, so he didn’t get hurt. He wasn’t careful like he ought to be out in the barn and the stable. He wasn’t a good student like you, either.

He wasn’t? Do you mean I’m smarter?

Jean continued, "He did not like school at all, not at all. It was a chore to get him to