Sundown

By Connie U Wright Roberts

A young girl searching for her hearts desire and her destiny

• Language: English
• Publisher: Connie Wright Roberts
• Release date: Dec 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087928494

Book preview

Disclaimer

 SUNDOWN

                                        By:  C. W.R.

All Rights Reserved

          Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual firms is purely coincidental. All characters or establishments appearing in this work are purely felicitous.

Preface

In retrospect I do not believe any of us are able to know how one road can take us so far away from familiar places we know, only to arrive at destinations one could never imagine. I have always wondered at the greater plan that intertwines our lives with others, is it just circumstance or are there paths that we are destined to follow? Do we really have a choice, or does every choice bring us back to where fate intended for us to arrive at all along?

For those of you who were not raised in the old south as so many will fondly refer to it, I will try to explain what it was like for so many of us that were not born with a silver spoon in our mouths. Also, just for clarification on what is a southerner, it is not the sort of back woods people that have been typecast as ignorant simpletons in so many telecasts and stories. We do speak with a slight twang and have been known to say words like ya’ll, or other remolded English infractions. Southerners should not be confused however with the people who never received an education or were located in isolated parts of the country where only cousins were available for matrimony and reproductive resources, just to clarify. The time period was the early 1960’s in the lower southern states, and the differences between the northern and southern parts of our country was drastically different, to say the least. Much had not changed in the hierarchy akin to the days of the plantation owners, where the wealthy decided the roles of their slaves, the privileged class continued to make the rules and guidelines that the masses of southern born were expected to dutifully follow. We were taught to continually fear northern parts of the country as a heathenistic society. At many of the smaller towns in parts of the south the upper class continues to rule those they masterfully keep in poverty still yet today, but one must go way back into the rural areas to find them. While many of you believe that the colored folk of the south were mistreated, that would be those of you that did not live in our world, because it was a very different world indeed. That was our description, colored folk, we did not digress to the word nigger, that is an exaggeration that more adverse influences tried to typecast our society. Of course, you heard of the atrocities and unfairness, but those were the extremes that happen, as in all cultures. I remind you of the forced marching of thousands of American Indians to their death so that the haves could have more. From birth in the south we were trained as it were, to not speak out against any adjustments to laws that might need to be made if they did not quite fit into the plan of ruling southern class. You dare not step out of line because then you would be branded, ostracized, outcast, with your reputation ruined so that you could never survive financially. This treatment was for all middle, lower and impoverished classes, there was not discrimination on what color you were as we all shared the same burden. Rebellion would not be tolerated, as witnessed during the Kennedy years with the mass hysteria that came about with integrated busing. In fact any sort of defiance and you could find yourself on state roads working on the chain gang, then no one would ever hear from you again. There were harsh prices to pay for not doing as you were told.

The world that we knew did not change when the civil war ended, slavery just had different levels and it was dealt within more hushed tones, so the rest of the world did not interfere. As history has taught us, fear used as a ruling factor always works well with people that are isolated from others; we were led to believe that everything north of the Mason Dixon line was dangerous and intolerable. This world in the south during the early 1960’s was not a choice that native born southerners made, but a burden. If per say that your father had been a drunk, then you and your family would forever be branded, as lower class and no good, few ever rose above these labels. For most of us there was no hatred that forced the segregation of colored people in the public areas, it was just deemed by the ruling class as the way that we were to conduct ourselves. Most of the colored folk of the south knew this and so there was never any need to speak harshly to each other or mistreat each other; we were all in the same pot so to speak, so we just accepted our plight.

Like obedient children we defended our lifestyle against the dangerous foreigners who tried to destroy us during the civil war, or so we had been told. You could recognize many of us humbled and beaten down by observing our eyes cast down at the ground, our heads always bowed. Emotionally beaten into submission as a whole but divided in other ways. The misconception of the northern populace was to assume that southern people were stupid because we were slow in response to their quickly fired inquiries. In actuality we would just take our time in responding with cautious deliberation, it was the safest way. Most of the time we were either uninformed on certain issues or ignorance was spun from a web of deliberate elimination processes evolved in the southern education system. This ensured the absolute control over the masses necessary for the better good of the community you see, so we were told. Thus, this type of environment made us more vulnerable to the rest of the world, requiring even more protection from the ruling class which safeguarded their well-developed working class. Our opinions were not valued or sought after, which is why we had little to say to others. It had never been expected of any of us to have a difference of opinion, so all that we knew was to live our lives observing in silent obedience. I say "us’ because we were a group unlike any other at this time in history.

A product of this environment Dawn was a horribly shy, raised to dutifully attend all church functions even when it came to becoming a campfire girl; which was the religious version of girl scouts. All good southern folk were expected to attend church, and when I say all the church events that meant bible school, choir, junior leadership events, picnics, and more if it had to do with church then we were sent packing. Damnation awaited all of us sinners. Your right there is that word us again, bred on guilt we could not even escape being born without blame. This is what it meant to be southern born, southern bred.

Her father was born into a family that once had wealth but had long since gone broke during the depression. An eccentric relative in his lineage made it mandatory that each heir buy exotic outfits and forty pairs of shoes each year, it did not take long when you had ten siblings and their children as well, to lose any amount of wealth. Although as with all aristocracy they never seem to acknowledge that their status had been changed at all, so my mother would tell you. Dawn’s mother on the other hand came from cotton farmers and she always felt inferior to his family, which was only enhanced by my father’s relative’s haughty stance. I suppose her parents might have loved each other in the beginning, but with so many negative forces at work it is hardly surprising that it turned into something else after time. They were good parents, in that they took care of her and her three siblings, seeing to their physical needs abstaining from any physical abuse. As children they were lucky to have relatives close by that had an abundance of children with which they shared many delightful times of innocence. These golden moments of her youth molded her character by giving her the balance between right and wrong, her morale well being as it were. Her grandparent’s farm was a child’s imaginative dream. There she could escape all the confines of her environment to green rolling meadows, running streams, and created her own empire. Her brothers, sister and she spent a great deal of their early childhood on this farm. When children are left to the wonders of nature the most amazing magic can happen. If it was blackberry season, then each of them would be expected to gather blackberries all day for the production of pies and jam from grandmother’s kitchen. You had to be tough to gather blackberries, putting your arms through thorny patches to pluck out the berries was not for any scaredy cats. They were able to enjoy simple pleasures like on the occasion her aunt would load all the children up in the car and on the drive over to her house she would speed up so fast so that when coming over a slight bump in the road it would make everyone temporarily air borne, giving them a slight queasiness in their stomachs. Her aunt would often sometimes disappear for short periods of time and it was rumored that she would sneak down to the pond to take in a smoke (ladies were not supposed to smoke). She always had a smile on her face no matter what the day brought her.

Dawn’s grandmother was a hard-working Christian woman that toiled in the fields and raised nine children. With never a thought of what she could not do, she would fry up chicken, hoe the garden, fill the stove with coal and keep her home clean with one leg strapped to a brace and a useless arm hanging by her side after two strokes. She lived every day of her life to the fullest of her ability. Her grandmother was half Cherokee Indian, but few people had knowledge of this. To have been openly public with her Cherokee heritage could have brought on certain death or isolation earlier in the century. So many Cherokees were hidden away on southern farms far from society as it were, to be kept safe from the death march that Andrew Jackson sent them on. The Irish immigrants knew what is was to be driven from your home, and so many married Cherokee women to protect them. Her grandmother’s nightly ritual was to read the bible in her rocking chair after putting the grandchildren to bed early. She did possess a peculiar sense of humor which seemed to be passed on to mother and child, as she once told Dawn that cows living on the side of the mountain had two legs shorter than the other so that they did not fall off the hill, one of those bizarre tales Dawn though was actual truth for many years. Dawn’s fondest memories were of how she would snuggle deep down under the quilts of grandmother’s bed that they shared during their stays at the farm. Sometimes she would daydream that she was there once again and would be fully awake. Farm life existence is a fine balance between the earth, animals, and humans that brings about a respectful understanding of where our place in the sphere of God’s creation that we should exist. It is a natural peaceful path in life like no other.

The Wikipedia defines culture shock as the personal disorientation a person may feel when experiencing an unfamiliar way of life due to immigration or a visit to a new country, and that would be an accurate assessment of what was about to take place in Dawn’s life. Sociologist describe it as to where individuals encounter a new and different culture and experience a major disruption of their normal assumptions about social values and behavior. Old values seem unable to provide guidance in the new situation giving the individual culture shock. The new culture appears strange, unacceptable and literally shocking. Culture Shock is experienced by individuals who travel to a very different society and discover cultural ideas and practices that differ very much from their own.

Child of the South

Monday Morning:

Dawn awoke buried in the old patched quilts, piled on top of her body in multiple layers of warmth that reached the edge of her nose. She pulled them slightly up over her face to keep all the early morning chill from invading her temporary sanction. An all too familiar aroma of bacon frying and fresh perked coffee floated in from the kitchen to tease her senses. Dawn, it’s time for breakfast, get outa that bed lazy bones, called her grandmother Lucille from the kitchen. She grimaced before reluctantly sticking one toe out from underneath the quilts. It was absolutely necessary in order to test how much suffering one would encounter after being forced to leave the safe haven of the cozy bed. Coming, she replied. She then dutifully leapt from the bed grabbing a quilt to wrap around her shoulders and then raced for the kitchen to find the wooden chair that was sitting in front of the hot coal stove. Her lazy sister however remained snoring away under the same lovely warm covers of her grandmother’s king size bed she had to leave behind. Her grandfather Elam, with his silver white hair was sitting at the old wooden kitchen table reading the Greenville newspaper he held in his weathered gnarled hands. Whiffs of steam rolled up from the fresh cup of coffee resting by his arm, and his spectacles laid perched on the end of his nose. Her grandmother dressed in her faded house dress, stood by the stove carefully tending to the turning of each piece of the bacon in the cast iron skillet. Her long gray hair was braided falling down past her waist. Grandmother, today may I please have a cup of coffee Dawn pleaded? I am now ten years old you know. Dawn was convinced that her transition to an adult was hinged on the single privilege of being allowed to drink coffee, a rite of passage of sorts in her mind. Lucile’s mouth gave way to a hint of a smile, and after wiping her hands on her apron she obliged the child by preparing a small dap of steaming coffee from the stove into a white coffee mug, which she followed with a very large amount of milk. Dawn’s face exploded with total joy as the cup was placed in her hands. It did not matter that there was so much milk, she had the forbidden drink, at last coffee. Thank you, she whispered. Your welcome child now go get your sister up for breakfast her grandmother ordered. Dawn carefully placed the coffee cup next to where her grandfather was sitting, she was sure he would guard her gift until her return. Her grandfather briefly looked over at where she had placed her cup and then returned to reading his paper. Leaving the warmth of the kitchen Dawn ran barefoot into the bedroom to poke her evil sister out of her comatose state of unconsciousness. Her eyes wandered over to a small crushed June bug that was laying on the windowsill by the bed. Smiling Dawn could not resist this rare temptation of revenge on her way to bossy sister. She reached over and carefully picked up the winged carcass positioning it over her sister’s face she waited till just the right moment when Cindy exhaled with a loud snore. Then she carefully lowered the decayed remains into the gaping snoring cavern. Cindy’s body responded with a startled cough; Dawn stepped back in the event an emergency getaway might be needed to escape her sister’s wrath. Cindy remained clueless as her next deep snore drew in the putrid bug debris to the bottomless cavern of her stomach. Then in a single second both of her sister’s eyes suddenly popped open, Cindy stared at her sister and mumbled, Go away. Grandmother says you need to come to breakfast now, she responded as she gave her one last poke. Cindy thrust her leg out with a kick which missed its mark as Dawn skillfully dodged the blow skipping her way back to the kitchen. Cindy then leapt from the bed in an attempt to pursue her but only just missed catching the back of Dawn’s nightgown as she left the room.

Their mother Alice had now joined them all at the kitchen table which was now laden with breakfast plates covered in scrambled eggs, bacon, and a bowl of grits, red-eye gravy and biscuits. Her grandfather tapped her coffee mug with his gnarled fingers as if to signal he had kept a vigil watch, never looking up from his paper. Dawn smiled at his gesture, her grandfather never had much to say but there was that quiet understanding between them. She then took her place next to him at the table cuddling the mug between her hands. Cindy finally came stumbling into the kitchen complaining of a funny taste in her mouth, Dawn stifled a giggle which prompted a suspicious look from her mother.

Her grandmother was conducting her morning ritual of placing a small chunk of colby cheese in her coffee mug, which created a wonderful mixture of flavors and oil in your cup. This also offered up a delicious lump of melted cheese when one reached the bottom of the cup. Dawn was eager to follow her example by dropping a chunk into her coffee cup as well, still grinning from ear to ear with her recent graduation into the adult world. What are you drinking? her mother asks suspiciously giving her the evil eye stare. Her mother’s evil eye as her siblings called it was to be feared, especially if provoked it could bring about a whipping with a switch off a nearby hickory bush. The worst part was when you were ordered to go and fetch the switch yourself. Her grandmother however came to her rescue by placing a hand on her mother’s shoulder, Nothing more than just a dab of coffee with a little milk Alice. Her mother shrugged it off, seemingly then unconcerned, she picked up the portion of newspaper to read that grandfather had discarded. Holding the coffee cup in her hand Dawn then started visibly shaking it ever so slightly, but not so hard where she would spill any precious drops. What are you doing now child? inquired her grandmother Why I am drinking my coffee the same way my grandfather does, she replied innocently. It was not intended to be disrespectful, but a sincere form of flattery by wanting to duplicate her grandfather’s actions. Never realizing that his shaking was uncontrollable due to his advanced age. Her mother and grandmother stopped what they were doing to stare silently at Dawn with disbelief, her Grandfathers only response was to peer slightly over the paper at her with a grunt and a slight clearing of his throat. Eat your breakfast and stop with your nonsense, her mother instructed. She obediently stopped the shaking of the coffee cup. Grandfather led the family in prayer before the start of their morning meal. Dawn then kept her eyes lowered, focusing all of her attention on the plateful of food before her, unsure as to what she had done wrong for everyone to get so upset.

The frequent stays at her mother’s parents farm was sometimes for extended periods of time, which was always eventful and often a pleasant time for herself, her sister and two brothers. The fully functioning farm lay on the outskirts of Greenville, South Carolina during the early part of 1960. It was a very rural area that lay next to open fields and dirt roads. Not too far away was their mother’s sister’s farm, where her aunt Jean and her husband Donald resided with their seven children. Often the children were all intertwined into family gatherings. Their father, Gregory, served two terms in the Navy during the WW II and the Korean wars, and Dawn’s mother could not seem to cope with the responsibility of the children on her own. So, she often sought the shelter of her family to aid her with raising the children alone. Her father was also employed as a salesman for a large pharmaceutical company which required a great deal of travel, this would often entail weeks away from home and family. Her grandmother who came from Cherokee blood, had raised nine children and knew how to organize any number of children into her daily life. She, like so many southern women loved her family to be close by. It was rumored that each child born from her daughters had to be inspected and given her approval. Of course, each southern woman would always have their one favorite child that they favored above the others; this was just the southern way.

After breakfast Dawn asked to be excused from the table, she then took her plate over to scrape off the remaining scraps into the slop bucket by the stove. The slop bucket housed an indiscernible compost of mush. Nothing was ever wasted on a farm, so everything you could think of went into that bucket. It continued to amaze Dawn how any living thing could find a taste for, or even eat such a bubbling mess of rank mixtures. The fermented concoction consisted of coffee grounds, fruit rinds, and left-over grease, corn cobs and whatever else was thrown in there. One of her chores was to carry the murky remnants when it became full out to the pig’s trough. Daily chores were expected of everyone in order to keep the farm running smoothly. Dawn’s sister was expected to assist her mother with the dishes. Dawn was in no hurry to trade her own tasks for that of her sisters any day.

No shoes were necessary as almost all the children ran bare foot in the summer, Dawn lugged the heavy bucket out the kitchen screen door letting it slam behind her. As she walked past the shed and barn, she let out a little sigh ready now to greet another great day. The sun had already started its rise into the sky leaving just a hint of dew on the grass that dampened her feet as she walked through the yard. Her path to