The Calling of Amos Puckett

By Clabe Polk

Amos Puckett grows up to be a missionary in late 19th century Cuba, a Spanish Colony. Unconsciously following in his father’s footsteps, he encounters a series of potentially fatal experiences and learns to use a natural gift, an interest in herbal medicine, to heal the bodies and souls of others. His defeats teach him about winning and losing, and about his faith. His wins teach him that God is in control. At times, he feels he is the biggest sinner of all. At times, he hangs by a thread and prays for an end to the diseases that cause his people, including his loved ones to suffer and die.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clabe Polk
• Release date: Jul 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463294536

Clabe Polk

CLABE POLK is into a second career as a writer of fiction. So far, he has written four novels, three novellas, several short stories, and has a couple of other novels in process. He is a lifelong reader with a great variety of life experience.With a background in biology and natural sciences, Mr. Polk has more than thirty-seven years in professional environmental protection program management and law enforcement.He lives in Powder Springs, Georgia with his wife, two daughters, and the family’s Cockapoo named Annie.

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The Calling of Amos Puckett

By

Clabe Polk

The Calling of Amos Puckett is entirely a work of historic fiction. All characters, organizations, actions, and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or incorporated into the story purely for purposes of historic timeline or setting. Actual events, activities, locations, organizations, persons, either living or dead, are sometimes used in a fictitious manner to establish conditions, setting, and orientation for the story, however, these locations, organizations, activities, events, or persons, have no actual association with events in the story.

Copyright © 2020 by Clabe R. Polk. All rights reserved.

Except as permitted by the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976 (Title 17, United States Code, as amended), no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or information retrieval system without the written permission of the author.

Published by Clabe R. Polk

Powder Springs, GA

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My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.

James 1:2,3, KJV

Table of Contents

Chapter 1, Into the fire

Chapter 2, Lost and alone

Chapter 3, Miracle Medicine

Chapter 4, Morgan City

Chapter 5, Eye of the Storm

Chapter 6, Galveston

Chapter 7, Speak of the Devil

Chapter 8, Running From the Devil

Chapter 9, Hell to Pay

Chapter 10, The Tripoli

Chapter 11, Aftermath

Chapter 12, Indianola

Chapter 13, Rebound

Chapter 14, A Church for Sailors

Chapter 15, Cuba

Chapter 16, Meeting With The Devil

Chapter 17, Going to Ground

Chapter 18, Juracán

Chapter 19, War

Chapter 20, Los Americanos

Chapter 21, Home

Chapter 22, Resurrection

Historic Timeline

About the Author

Chapter 1

Into the Fire

Amos! Aaron! Get yer backsides outa bed, boys! There’re chores to do! Ambrose Puckett’s voice cracked like a bullwhip throughout the tiny cabin; three small rooms made of rough pine boards topped with Sabal Palm thatch, dried to tinder by the hot Florida sun.

Ambrose, a farmer of Puritan Congregationalist ancestry, now a part-time itinerant Baptist preacher, was building a church on his farm to join other similar churches throughout Florida. Aaron and Amos managed the farm when he traveled. But today, they would be driving spikes into pine boards building the walls of the church.

Amos! I ain’t callin’ you again, boy. Next time I’ll knock ye windin’ wid’ a lighter knot, Ambrose yelled.

Amos sat up with a sigh, stretched and reached for his clothes. On the other bed, Aaron stirred and groaned. Yesterday, the two boys had cut logs to length with a cross-cut saw to be sawn into planks by a steam-driven saw. Damn! Aaron complained as he sat upon the edge of the bed rubbing his lower back. My back’s killing me.

Amos considered his older brother. Stop complainin’ and quit cussin’. Pa ‘ill kill ya instead o’ yer back.

Let ‘im kill me! bout time I left here one way or the other. ‘Bout as well deal wid’ the Devil as Pa. I’m sick of his preachin’; and sick of toein’ his line. I want t’ see the world an’ I don’ want no preacher makin’ me feel guilty ‘bout it!" Aaron rolled over facing the wall.

Ya better hush! The only world you’re goin’ t’ see is the field and inside the church. Yer a Puckett and Pucketts ain’t much for adventures. Com’on, get dressed a’ fore we both get a beatin’

Mark my words, Amos. I’m goin’ t’ do it. Aaron said pulling on his boots. By the way, what’s with you and Lucinda Green?

Ain’t nothin’ wid’ me and Lucinda Green, Amos replied.

Looked like somethin’ t’ me, Aaron teased. Seemed like she ‘as showin’ you a little more than what was lady-like.

Yer imaginin’ again’, Aaron, Amos called going out the door. "Lucinda doesn’t give a pig’s fart about me. Get movin’. It’s time for breakfast and I’m hungry.

***

By the first Saturday in July of 1878, the walls of the church were up and roof battens had been nailed to the rafters. Ambrose Puckett was feeling grateful to God as he stood on a keg of nails in the shade of a spreading oak to address the ten or twelve neighboring families who’d gathered for weekend church services outdoors. A fine sunny Florida day; a day made for appreciating all of God’s creation and slapping at many of the small black biting ones that swarmed in that summer. Already sweating, Puckett was thankful for the shade of the oak tree but not at all thankful for the swarms of mosquitos sharing his shade.

Reverend Puckett would be preaching at another church next weekend; it would be a month before he again held a service this close to his neighbor’s homes so they loaded their wagons and buggies with food and blankets prepared to brave the mosquitos and camp for the weekend in the churchyard. They were Floridians; they were used to mosquitos. Besides, it was a grand time of fellowship for the devout, playtime for the kids, and social exploration time for the teenagers, sometimes in ways falling far short of straight-laced Baptist acceptability.

Aaron focused his social outreach on Katy McDuff. It wasn’t long before raging hormones overpowered social propriety and the two of them moved their social exploration to a blanket behind the palmettos.

Amos and Lucinda, several years younger and guided more by curiosity than hormones, kept their explorations of each other more circumspect, although Reverend Ambrose and Lucinda’s parents would have been equally shocked.

***

Amos, Katy’s pregnant. What am I going to do? Aaron whispered in a low voice. The two boys lay on Aaron’s bed staring at the ceiling, watching spiders build webs in the corners of the ceiling to catch mosquitos while Ambrose prepared sermon notes by lamplight in the next room.

What’s that got to do with you? Amos asked.

Everything, he replied. Young’uns don’ just happen.

They don’t? I never thought about it before.

No. You know how…well…that women and men are different? Aaron asked.

I noticed, Amos said. Lucinda…she taught me a little about her body.

Yeah, Aaron responded dryly. Katie did too. That was all great, but now she’s pregnant. Her Pa and our Pa are both going to kill me. We can’t marry. I have no expectations; nothin’ to give her.

Does anyone else know?

No. Us for now, but everybody will know soon, Aaron replied.

So what are you going to do?

That’s what I asked you, little brother! Aaron retorted.

***

Amos’ eyes flicked open automatically. In his ears, Ambrose’s voice danced, Amos! Aaron! Get up! It’s daybreak and the chores won’t do themselves! He listened. His Pa’s voice wasn’t repeated. I must have dreamed it, he thought. No matter. It’s time to get up. Pa will yell at us any minute.

Amos sighed and rolled to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Aaron didn’t move.

Com’ on Aaron, get yer lazy bones up! Pa will be up here to beat ya wid’ a belt, Amos said shaking his brother’s shoulder. Aaron? What’s wrong? You’re tremblin’ like a stuck pig!

Aaron didn’t answer. He drew tighter into a fetal position and kept shaking, his head glistened with sweat.

Pa! Amos called. Pa, come in here. Aaron’s sick! There was no answer. No one moved. Pa! Amos yelled again. Aaron needs help! There was still no answer; still no movement.

Amos pushed open the door to the next room. Ambrose sat slouched at the kitchen table, his face beet-red, his brow glistening with sweat. His arms wrapped around him in a tight hug; his eyes open but unseeing. Pa? Pa, you okay? Are you sick too?

Ambrose slowly turned staring eyes bright with fever toward Amos. Sick? Who’s sick? He managed to say before another chill seized him. He shook as though having a seizure.

Dear Lord, please help me now! Amos muttered to himself. Give me strength. Tell me what I need to know. Taking his father’s hand and wrapping his arm around his shoulders Amos helped him stand and stagger to bed.

Afterward, he punched up the fire and heated water. Food, he could improvise, medicine, he could not. He needed a healer, someone who knew medicine; who knew this illness. He would boil water, cool it, and leave it for Ambrose and Aaron. Then, he would make some soup, try to feed them a little, saddle the mule and ride the thirty miles to Tampa looking for Coontie Billy, a black Seminole half-breed that worked for Ambrose whenever he needed drinkin’ money. Billy knew the healing power of every plant and herb, and every shaman’s incantation. Amos hoped he knew the right one.

***

The Spotted Bull catered to cowboys, sailors, and businessmen alike. Strategically located across the street from the Tampa wharves, not far from the cattle pens and loading ramps, the Bull was known far and wide for the quality of its liquor, entertainment, and the willingness of its prostitutes. On a warm July evening, Amos Puckett entered the Bull seeking Coontie Billy. Ignoring the challenge in the stares of a couple of the prostitutes, he made his way through the crowd to the bar. What’ll it be, boy? A glass o’ water? the bartender laughed.

No, said Amos. Seen Coontie Billy hangin’ ‘round?

Billy is it? Whatcha be needin’ wid Billy?

Talk to ‘im, Amos replied.

Hear the piano?

Amos nodded.

That’s Billy. The more he drinks, the more he plays, the more he plays the more he drinks. After a while, he’ll pass out at the keyboard and, then, you can talk to him…if he’s conscious.

Much obliged, Amos nodded turning toward the piano. The bartender grabbed his arm.

I’ll tell ya once, don’t mess wid’ ‘im while he’s playin’ He keeps the customers happy. You can have ‘im after ‘e passes out.

He’s no good drunk. Amos asserted.

Too bad, boy. The bartender said, motioning to two men leaning against the wall. That’s the way it is. One of the men took Amos by the arm.

Maybe you should leave and come back in an hour or two, he said. Old Billy should be pretty mellow by then.

***

The night time Tampa streets both fascinated and scared Amos. At thirteen years old, he was too young to appreciate the abundant vices that beckoned; too young to be wary of the dangers lurking in the shadowy alleyways and poorly lit streets of the port. He was also too shocked to be scared when a passing man roughly shoved him into an alley and two other men pinned him against a wall. Give us your money! the man growled. Distant lamplight glinted on the bare steel of a knife as he exhaled spilling out a wave of garlic and onions mixed with the scent of rotting gums and teeth. Amos retched and struggled to vomit.

’e’s nothin’ but a boy, Gomez, said one of the men loosening his grip on Amos. Couldn’t ‘ave got us a dandy instead o’ a mutt?

Waste ‘o time, said the other.

Yer lucky day, Mutt, muttered Gomez as he sheathed the knife and the three of them disappeared into the shadows of the alleyway.

Shaken, Amos wiped his face on his sleeve and ran the other way down the alley, back to the Spotted Bull. Back to the wall, he tilted his hat over his eyes and hunkered down to wait. Before long, he dozed.

The saloon doors clattered open with a crash. Two men dragged another out, dumping him in a heap on the porch. Throwing his hat beside him, they went back inside.

Painfully, the man crawled to the wall and curled up against it. Soon, he was snoring.

Amos shrugged unconsciously and went back to sleep.

***

Amos woke to the morning sun in his face and the sound of horses’ hooves, and then, the events of the night before filtered back in his consciousness. He had to find Coontie Billy. His Pa and his brother were sick; they depended on him.

Standing, he examined the man stretched out on the other side of the porch, and almost yelled for joy. It was Billy! Amos prayed, thanking God for good fortune. Neither happy nor sad, Billy just snored.

Billy! Billy…wake up! Amos shook Billy’s shoulders until he rolled over, still asleep, on his stomach. Com’ on, Billy, wake up. He stood up and kicked Billy’s feet. He was beginning to attract attention from the street.

"Why doncha