Pop’S Sickles

By Rebecca A. Brady

Pops Sickles is history, mystery, and an adventurous romantic comedy set in the early 1950s. Pop, a gentle giant of a man, befriends Ted, a small boy who has lost his own father in WWII and takes him under his wing into his Harley Davidson repair shop. Not only does Ted learn mechanics but he obtains one of his own motorcycles in his senior year of high school. All goes well until romantic miscommunication between Pop and Teds mother, Thelma, results in a crazy chase by mule- back high into Georgias Cohutta mountains, a mad bus ride to a VA Army post, followed by a life threatening journey across the hurricane-washed bayous of Louisiana. You will read about encounters with people along the way that will leave you wondering what is going to happen next.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jun 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490757766

Rebecca A. Brady

I grew up in the southern United States and have always been interested in the 1950s era of which this story takes place. I love to read and like exploring new places and learning about the people who live there. There is always something to learn wherever we go!

Book preview

Chapter One

O ne of the most difficult promises I’ve ever had to keep was the one to not shed a tear at his passing. It’s been one heck of a ride, ain’t it, Sport! was the last thing he said to me before closing his eyes in that final moment.

Difficult? Yes! But not impossible. There were too many outrageous stories and adventures with him to cling to. Although he would be sorely missed, his presence and influence in mine and so many other lives around him supported a perpetual joy for more than he could ever imagine.

I first met Pop when I was about nine years old. It just so happened that I was in dire need of his expert help, even though I didn’t know it at the time.

Nor was I aware that he had been watching my approach and departure as I passed by his motorcycle repair shop because I was too involved in my own difficulties. All of my attention and frustrations were focused on my old worn out bicycle. Before I could pedal fifteen feet, the drive chain would jump off the sprockets, which not only made the bike go, but also happened to control the breaks.

I would then have to flip it upside down beside the road and wind the greasy chain back into place. After wiping as much of the grease off my hands as I could in the roadside grass, I would set the bike back on its wheels and pedal only a few feet before having to go through the whole procedure all over again. I can’t say that thoughts of chucking my old two-wheeler into the ditch and walking away didn’t cross my mind. The day was just too hot.

So engrossed in my dilemma, I hardly noticed when the big Harley cranked up. It wasn’t until he screeched to a halt right beside me that I was aware of his overwhelming presence.

Mama and I had seen him many times before when we came to the Crossroads to sell her eggs, but then, only from a distance. All we knew was that he was a giant of a homely man on a big motorcycle!

Even at a distance we could see that the crown of his head was as bald as a baby’s behind and as crimson as a Winesap. His only hair fringed around the back of his head from ear to ear and flowed half way down between his shoulder blades, at least when he was at a standstill, rumbling down the highway where he was often observed, his silver mane waved straight out behind him.

Yet upon seeing the old man up close and personal for the first time I realized why he always wore such a menacing expression; mainly because that was beyond his control.

His weathered, leathery countenance presented two wide-set brow-less grey eyes set on either side of a large crooked nose that showed signs of past multiple breakages. That was underlined by almost nonexistent lips that, when parted, revealed that the big galoot didn’t have a tooth in his head. When he smiled he made a perfect impression of a fireplace with all the ashes removed!

Yet the most obvious of his poor pathetic features were the numerous burn scars that laced his face and scalp. They made him appear to be scowling all the time, even when he wasn’t.

Remarkably, from the neck down one would have thought that this old guy had switched bodies with a young weightlifter. His torso bulged from the big overalls he wore, matched with rippling biceps, triceps and more ’ceps’ than I had ever seen one person possess before, that were clearly visible through the sleeves of his sweaty white cotton shirt.

I didn’t know what he wanted or why he happened to stop, but his intimidating bulk put me on the alert. Mostly because I remembered a story Mama once read to me about a giant that ate little kids.

It also put me in mind of one of my dear old grandma’s favorite sayings. "A runnin’ cow carries a whole hide!" That little recollection prompted me to take the nearest exit!

I was just preparing to launch myself across the ditch to disappear into the full grown corn when he spoke up as if reading my mind. Don’ be a-skeered, Sport! Ah jus’ come down here ta he’p ya! Ah can make ‘at bicycle ride like a new one!

That certainly caught my attention! There was nothing I needed more than help with my unreliable transportation. Any help!

H-h-how? I asked, still not sure whether or not to trust him. This might be a trick!

Why all yore spokes is a-lose, Sport! When ‘at wheel wobbles it tho’s off tha chain. Let me tighten ’em spokes fer ya an’ you won’t have no mo’ problem!

Still unsure, I questioned him further, How do you tighten spokes?

Brang ‘at thang up at ma shop an’ Ah’ll show ya! he replied.

Aha! Maybe it was a trick. Was he trying to lure me back to his lair so he could gum me to death?

Still, with that one tiny glimmer of hope for my bike I decided to take him up on his offer. To my delight he kept his word.

With the bike upside down once again, the old man slowly rotated each wheel, systematically testing and tightening each spoke until both wheels spun straight and true. Then, loosening the axel nuts on the rear wheel, he slid the whole thing back in its adjustment notches until there was no slack in the chain.

With the bike still on its back, he wrapped a big meaty hand around a pedal and began to crank it until the wheel was spinning much faster than I could ever ride. To my delight, the chain stayed right where it was supposed to be. Then he did something else I didn’t expect.

Without a word he fished around in his overall pocket and produced two shiny nickels. Hit shore is a hot ’un taday, Sport! How ’bout gittin’ us a couple of Docta Peppas outen ma sody machine an’ jaw wif me fer a spell! Ya got time? Ah ain’t had no comp’ny fer quite a while. Been too busy a-workin’, ye see!

While I was anxious to go and ride my now trouble free bicycle I still didn’t want to appear ungrateful for his kind services so I agree by answering him with my own question, Can I get a Pepsi instead?

Doctor Peppers tasted funny to me.

Why, shore thang, Sport! Git what ya wont an’ come set inna shade o’ that Willer tree. That there is tha coolest spot inna whole state o’ Jaw-ja!

It didn’t take long to discover that Pop wasn’t at all like I had expected him to be. Nor was he anybody to be afraid of. Well, for me at least. I can’t say the same for Sammy Boucher, the town bully. I was often his victim. Sammy was a couple of years older than me and a whole lot bigger.

I should have said he used to be the town bully until someone showed him the error of his ways. Up until then old Sammy strutted like he was the biggest bear in the woods!

I don’t want to get too far ahead of my story, but it happened just a couple of years later when the older boy had cornered me behind the Esso station, demanding the twelve dollars that had taken me a weeks worth of mowing lawns to earn.

It was when he had finally grabbed me and was too busy trying to pin my head with a dumpster door to notice the large shadowy figure slipping up behind him. I couldn’t really see as much as I heard.

The bully let out an ear-splitting scream as I felt his vise like grip suddenly release my neck. It sounded like something had just eaten him!

Just as I was about to slide the metal door open enough the extract my head, the one on the opposite side slammed open letting blinding light into the darkened bin.

Just as quickly it was darkened again when a red-faced, bug-eyed Sammy came sailing through the opening in just his underwear. That would have been funny if I wasn’t so scared. I had no idea what had caused the scene I had just witnessed. That in itself was quite unnerving!

Freeing myself, I ran around the bin and almost smacked right into Pop, who was standing there shaking a handful of Sammy’s overalls.

He had just happened to catch a glimpse of the larger boy sneaking up behind me as he was riding by.

Then, in a voice I had never heard before, a low, almost animalistic growl that prickled my nape, he told the cowering bully, "Boy, ya got ’bout four hours til sundown. If’n ya don’t wont ever’body in town tas see yore chunky butt a-walkin’ home in yore under-drawers Ah se’gest ya stay right where ya are til dark!

"An when ya git home be shore ta tell yore maw an’ paw Ah done took yore britches from ya. Have ’em call me so Ah can tell ’em ’zactly what ya was a-doin’ when Al took ’em off ya!

"Now, Ah’m a-gonna tell ya sump’n, Punk, an ya best listen! Ya might thank yore big an’ tough, but ya ain’t bigger’n me!

If’n Ah eva hear tell of you a-picken’ own another kid, even if’n he’s a-lyng about it, you ain’t a-gonna b’lieve what’s gonna happen, even while it’s hap’nin!

Sammy crouched in the dumpster’s shadows, hardly visible except for the whites of his bulging, terrified eyes. If ever there was a time I was glad to call Pop my friend, that was one of them!

After that first encounter with the kindly old mechanic I returned to his shop as often as I could. He made me feel warmly welcome there. Our friendship bonded and grew out of a mutual need for those certain ingredients missing in both of our lives. For me it was my father. I was still a toddler in diapers when somebody named Uncle Sam summoned him to go and fight in the big war. He never came home. When I mentioned it to Pop that day under the willow tree his unexpected reaction caught me completely off guard.

The gentle giant reached over and tenderly stroked my little head and shoulder with his big meaty hand. When I looked up at him tears streamed down his weathered cheeks, then he spoke so softly that I wondered if he was talking to me or to himself. "Don’t let nobody kid ya, Sport! They say we won ‘at waw! But the fac’ o’ tha matter is that so many what done tha fightin’ to win tha waw lost so much they’self! A don’t neva talk ta nobody else ’bout it own account o’ they cain’t unnerstand. Ah thank you do though!"

Slowly and deliberately, Pop narrated to me about how Army surgeons had removed nearly two pounds of shrapnel from his head and face. The worst part had been when he came home from the war to face his young bride, who couldn’t accept that he was no longer the handsome young man that she had married. He told me that she couldn’t stand the sight of him. That was part of the reason he had moved to Putnam’s Crossroads. I don’t know if we were talking man-to-man or boy-to-boy but it seemed that we connected in that moment as trusting and caring friends.

I knew Pop could never replace my father, but we began to bond in that manner. I knew that he was everything a boy could ever want in a dad. Yet when I suggested that notion to Mama it was one of the few occasions I had heard her laugh since my real father had died. Why, land sakes, Teddy! she scolded, "Do you know how old that man is, sweetie? Shucks! He’s old enough to be my daddy too! Ha ha ha! Boy, you sure are a caution!

Besides, Warren Handy has asked me out twice already and I’ve about decided to go with him. He seems like a decent sort with a nice steady job. Don’t you think it’s time we started thinking about our future?

Warren Handy was the new foreman at the local paper mill. I tried to like him for Mama’s sake but there was just something about the man that kind of gave me the creeps when he looked at me.

I couldn’t put my finger on why, but the thought of him being close to my mother worried me to no end. I was also concerned that I wasn’t living up to her expectations. Ever since I could remember she had always called me her little man and the man of the house. Why would she need another one?

Awe, Pop! I complained one afternoon, I guess I just don’t suit Mama as the man of the house any more. I try real hard but I still cain’t carry those feed sacks for her. It’s all I can do to get them in the wheelbarrow! I think she wants a grown man around to lift ’em! Mama hasn’t come right out and said it but she doesn’t need me.

Wait a minute, Sport! he interrupted, Back up there a little! What inna world would make ya say setch a thang? You know yore maw loves ya more’n anything!

You don’t understand! I explained, "She wants to go out with Mr. Handy. He’s not a big man but he can probably lift those sacks! Why else would she want another man around? Maybe she quit loving me but hasn’t got around to telling me yet! She knew for a long time before she told me that my daddy had died but she didn’t tell me. Maybe she’s doing that again!"

Awe, naw, Sport! he responded, Ya got it all wrong! Lemme tell ya sump’n! Ah sware that yore maw loves ya wif all her heart an’ her lettin’ old Handy court her ain’t got nuthin’ ta do wif you! Hit’s got ta do wif a full growed woman a-needin’ the company of a full growed man. That’s jus’ tha nature of thangs, boy! Women’s got more feelin’s and setch than a man does. ‘At’s own account of the good Lawd give womenfolk a double dose of ’em! Reckon He done that ta make up for the feelin’s men ain’t got. ‘At’s why women’s gotta feel sump’n ’bout ever’thang!

"Are you sayin that she feels something for old Handy? I asked him. I couldn’t imagine Mama feeling anything for anybody except me and my father.

Well, now, he grimaced, Ya shore got me there, Sport! Ah don’t see nothin’ special ’bout Handy, he’s too mousey ta suit me. Far as Ah’m con-sarned he wouldn’t make a pimple own a man’s behind! If’n yore maw feels anythin’ fer that lil loudmouth twirp it’s prolly sympathy!

Her sympathy must have been a lot greater than I realized. Two weeks before my eleventh birthday they were married. Thankfully we didn’t have to move into Handy’s little two-bedroom bungalow down by the paper mill. He moved into our big, sprawling farmhouse instead.

We lived on a large grain farm that had been owned and worked by my father and grandfather. With them both gone now there was no way Mama could work the farm with a small boy for her only farm hand.

All she could do now was lease out the fields to old man Northrop, another local grain farmer. This paid the taxes and then some, but the majority of our income came from Mama’s laying hens. As much as a small boy in the early 1950’s would know, we lived quite well.

Yet as it turned out, this small boy’s secure world was severely shaken one night at the dinner table. Meals alone had become awkward enough since Handy came to us. Mama and I used to laugh and talk all through dinner when it was just the two of us. Now, nobody talked but him!

That was the night he just happened to mention to Mama that he had spoken to a couple of realtors that day. I wasn’t exactly sure what a realtor was but I got my first clue from Mama’s alarming protest. "No, no, no, Warren! I’ve told you before that we can’t sell this farm! It’s not mine to sell! This property was handed down through generations of Cutrells and Teddy is the last one! I promised Carl that if he didn’t come back alive that I would keep the place for his son! When Teddy is old enough to take a wife and start his own legacy I’m supposed to relinquish all rights to him! No one else!"

NONSENSE! Handy bellowed, "Don’t tell me that you’re gonna try to keep a promise to a dead man!"

Oh, how I hated the way he said that, as if my father meant nothing to us.

My normally ferocious appetite turned to a knot in my stomach. Handy just flew to the top of the list of guys I needed to clobber when I got big enough.

What’s he talkin’ about, Mama? I asked, shocked and bewildered at the notion of not living here anymore.

You stay out of this, BOY! Handy snapped at me, It’s none of your business! Then, softening his tone to plead with Mama, Cain’t you see how much better off we would be if we sold this place and invested the money? I know of some real good deals we could get rich on. I swear to you, Thelma, that we would never have to work again!

"Well, what’s wrong with working I’d like to know?!! she fired back at him. I’ve worked all my life and I like it! I am very proud that a lot of my own labor went into keeping this spread going after Carl left. If I could have kept this big farm going by myself, I would have!"

My tiny little mother’s exposure to her chicken flock must have rubbed off on her a little because I had never seen a more authentic impression of a Bantam rooster than when she jumped up and began to pace the linoleum.

Unexpectedly her demeanor changed as a sudden thought came in to her mind. Warren, she asked, You told me when we were engaged that you intended to leave your job at the mill so you could concentrate on taking care of your new family. Didn’t you mean that you wanted to work this farm to make our living?

Work this place? he sputtered, "Have you lost your mind? You’ve got more acreage here than any farm in the county! I ain’t about to work myself to death for you and the kid! Believe me, babe! There’s a lot more money in selling the place than farming it as far as I’m concerned! We have to sell it to live!

"You forget, woman, that this property is half mine now! If I say we sell, then by God we sell! Case closed!"

With an icy, infuriated almost-whisper, Mama hissed like a cottonmouth about to strike, "Over my dead body!" I had never seen such anger in my mother before and it almost scared me. Yet, her rage quickly melted into fear at Handy’s next statement.

Oh, that can be arranged too, darlin’! He sneered, If something was to happen to you, like maybe some kind of farm accident, this place would be all mine! Lock, stock, and barrel! Either way, I’m selling! If you know what’s good for you then you better do what I say!

Mama had always raised me to be extremely polite and respectful to my elders so I had kept out of their argument thus far. However, when he made what sounded like a physical threat toward my mother, something inside me exploded! Knocking over my chair as I jumped to my feet, I lunged around the table with the two-pronged cooking for from the meat tray. I wasn’t about to let him harm my beloved mother! Unfortunately at eleven, I was still kind of small and no physical match for a man. Even a small one like Handy.

With quicker, more experienced reflexes, he grabbed my puny wrists and wrenched the fork from my hand before twisting my arm up behind my back until I cried.

See what you done to the kid now, Thelma? he yelled, Now I have to take him out to the barn to teach him respect for his elders! C’mon, boy! You got a lesson to learn!

Warren, don’t! P-l-e-a-s-e don’t! she pleaded, to no avail. He began shoving me toward the back door when Mama picked up the broom by the brushy end and began to brandish it like a baseball bat.

Handy saw her over his shoulder as he dragged me onto the porch and turned long enough to threaten, If you hit me with that broom, Thelma, you’re next!

The more I struggled, the more he twisted my arm as he pushed me toward the darkened barn. Once inside he turned me loose long enough to light the old kerosene lantern so he could see well enough to bar the door so Mama couldn’t get in.

Then grabbing my wrists again he proceeded to wrap them separately with bailing twine so he could tie me spread eagle fashion to the top of a stall’s metal gate. Then, removing his wide leather belt, began to beat across my back, shoulders, butt, and legs.

I can’t say how long that beating lasted. All I can remember was hearing Handy gasping and panting and grunting with each blow.

I remembered getting a couple of mild spankings from my mother when I was a lot younger. I also recall that she cried both times as well. She hated doing that to me.

Yet this whipping from Handy was far worse than I had ever experienced or even imagined possible. Nothing ever hurt me so much as the searing heat from those uncountable lashes. I had just begun to grow a little numb before I passed out.

Chapter Two

D rifting in and out of consciousness I had vague recollections of my bawling mother half-carrying, half-dragging my battered little frame back to the house and my room. Between sobs she mumbled over and over about how sorry she was for bringing such a monster into our lives. Now it appeared that we were both trapped by a mad man who had actually threatened murder if he didn’t get his way.

The agony from the whipping had been so severe that I couldn’t get out of bed for two days. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without Mama’s help.

My back was crisscrossed with big glaring red welts where my bandages didn’t cover. My mother had salved and wrapped all the places where my skin had been broken. My right cheek was still a bit swollen from when Handy’s belt flew a little high of its target. I lay there bewildered at the notion that Mama could ever have feelings for a rotten egg like him. So, depressed because we would soon be leaving our beloved farm, my sanctuary, my security, it never occurred to me that I might be missed by anyone. It wasn’t until I heard Thumper’s approach through the open window that I remembered Pop. Thumper was the name Pop had given his big red Harley. There was no mistaking that he was coming up our lane from the highway.

The big biker had never been to our house before because Mama wouldn’t let me invite him. He’s such a horrid looking man, Teddy! she used to scold. I shouldn’t let you hang around his garage! Even after I told her all the nice things Pop had done for me, she still didn’t like him.

Luckily, Handy was over at Lottie’s, a tavern just over the county line. Our county was one of the ‘driest’ in Georgia so he had to go over there to drink.

It was a temporary relief that Handy was gone for the moment but the disturbing reality that he would soon return, and even worse, would likely be intoxicated, gnawed at the back of my mind. Though she feigned bravery, I could tell that Mama was apprehensive about his return too.

Mama knew without guessing who had just pulled up. Needless to say, she certainly wasn’t very happy about Pop showing up just then.

The last thing she wanted was for anybody in the community to know what had been going on at our house. Not just because she though it would make her look like a fool, but she was also afraid that Handy might try something drastic before we could draw attention to our plight. If everybody knew what he was up to he might not get away with it. Just lay still, Teddy! Mama instructed. I’ll go downstairs and meet your friend and try to get rid of him before Warren gets back.

I really wanted to see Pop, but I didn’t want him to see me. Especially like this. He was a tough old bird and I was afraid he might think me a sissy for being in bed in the daytime. Hearing Thumper go quiet through the open screened window, then the unmistakable sound of Pop’s heavy footsteps crossing the wooden porch just below my room, I listened intently for his knock. He had only rapped twice before I heard the latch click and the door squeaked part way open.

Yes? came Mama’s timid inquiry, What can I do for you, sir?

Beggin’ yore pardon, mam! Pop drawled in his soft southern accent, ‘But Ah ain’t seen yore young’un in a couple o’ days. Ah come ta see if’n he was awe-right! He ain’t sick is he?"

Oh, he’s fine, Mister— What did you say your name was?

Matthews, mam! he answered, But ever’body calls me Pop. Can I see the boy?

"Well, he is in bed, Mr. Matthews. I don’t think—" before he cut her off.

"You jus’ said the boy was fine, mam! Now ya tell me he’s in bed! That ain’t fine! Pop pointed out. What’s wrong wif him?" I could tell from listening that he was determined to get an answer. Not wishing to stress or burden my poor mother anymore on my behalf, I threw back the summer quilt and made my way painfully down the stairs. I knew that he wasn’t going to leave until he saw me.

She had already stepped out onto the porch by the time I got to the front door and I happened to catch a glimpse of the two of them silhouetted through the screen. Mama looked so tiny standing before the enormous visitor. Pop towered over her like a Philistine giant so she had to look almost straight up to talk to him.

Pushing the screen door open I stepped out still clad in my new Roy Rogers pajamas. Pop turned and stood quietly looking at me for a brief moment, blinked a couple of times as he muttered under his breath, W-w-what inna w-w-world? Then he asked outright, What happened to ya Sport? Didja fall off’s yore bi-sickle?

The big man knelt down in front of me to examine the bruise on my right cheek when his eyes fell to the raw looking marks barely visible from the edge of my collar. Without a word he gently pivoted my little frame and slowly raised the back of my shirt.

At that moment Mama burst into tears of pain and shame as she began to sob with all of her heart. Seeing her in such emotional agony was almost more than I could stand so I started to look away when I noticed she had stopped crying and was staring at Pop.

Her expression was so wondrous that I was compelled to look at him too. For the second time in my life I saw his free-flowing tears that betrayed his intimidating exterior.

Suddenly, self conscious about openly expressing his emotions, he retrieved a bright red bandana from his faded overall pocket. Then he turned his face away until he could regain his composure before facing my mother again.

To my surprise and delight, Mama reached over and gently brushed his big shoulder. Stiffening from her touch at first and then relaxing enough to hesitantly turn his watery eyes to the tiny woman standing beside him.

Won’t you come in for a cup of coffee, Mr. Matthews? she asked softly. You look like you could use a cup.

Thank’y kindly, mam! he responded, Ah shore could!

Briefly forgetting my pain and fears because Pop was finally in our house drinking coffee with the woman I had loved since birth. After all the things she had said against him in the past I had never thought it would happen.

I even took the liberty of treating myself to a big glass of Postum to celebrate the moment. The coffee was for grownups. Then the talking took on a more serious tone.

The old man looked from me to Mama, then back to me as he was realizing that my injuries might not have been of my own doing. He just wasn’t sure who did it.

Ya ain’t a-gonna tell me that Sammy done this to ya, are ya, Sport? he questioned. "Ah know he ain’t real bright but he cain’t be that stupid! That only leaves one other culprit. Handy! Where’s he at?"

Mama was full of surprises that day. The first was that she seemed to have completely changed her mind about how she felt about Pop. She would never invite somebody for coffee if she didn’t like them. Yet the greatest surprise was that she was breaking all of her own rules!

It’s no secret that small southern towns are famous for their gossip networks. That’s why she was always cautioning me about who I talked to. In special cases, such as Mrs. Sarah Barnes and her sister, Miss Carol Jean Ballinger, I had been carefully instructed to say no more than Hello to them and, under no circumstances was I to answer any of their old nosey, busy-body questions! Yet, now, in the presence of a complete stranger, Mama poured out her soul. Weeping through most of her story, yet trying to hold back her own tears because every time she started to cry the gentle giant across the table from her, would begin to weep too.

I’m so sorry for burdening you with my problems, Mr. Matthews! she whispered. I just felt like I had to tell somebody in case something was to happen. I’m afraid Warren’s going to hurt Teddy again and I don’t know what to do! Pop was always a good listener. In fact, he listened so well when I shared my problems with him that, at first, I thought he was ignoring me. It wasn’t until later that I learned that he had a way of processing everything before he would give you an answer. A well thought out one.

The only time Pop stirred at all was when she got to the part about Handy’s threats of an accident. Laying his big hands flat across the table and squinting a little, the way he always does when he is trying to make a point, the old fellow assured here, "Wey-ell, Mizz Cutrell, tha man was right that somebody could have an axi-dent aroun’ a farm, but Ah can promis ya that if’n there is one ta somebody, it won’t be to you, mam. Now, where’s Handy at?"

As if on cue we began to hear Handy’s old Roadmaster Buick groaning and creaking up our lane long before we heard him pull into the yard and slam his door. Mama motioned for me to go upstairs.

I didn’t want to but I understood her meaning. We both knew her husband would be drunk after his little excursion to Lottie’s which made him meaner than usual. Yet, I would have given anything to watch him face Pop when he came inside.

Instead of going straight to my room I opted to hide at the top of the stairs to peek into the kitchen. My feet and legs stretched out on the second floor but my head and upper torso hung down the first couple of steps so I could see without being seen.

Watching Handy’s shadow pass down the hallway and disappear into the dining room I knew he was headed right for the kitchen. It was obvious that he had seen Thumper parked in the front yard but hadn’t quite connected it with Pop.

Who’s motor-sickle is tha—? he demanded before he noticed Pop sitting at the table. "What’s he doin’ in my house?"

Before he could say another word, Mama quickly informed him, "Mr. Matthews is my guest, Warren! I invited him to have coffee and dinner too, if he will stay!"

No! He ain’t stayin’, Thelma! he slurred. What do you want to feed that big dumb ox for? I’ll bet he eats like a horse!

I sort of expected Pop to stand up and squash the smaller man but he just sat there quietly, expressionless and motionless as though he hadn’t heard a word of Handy’s outright insults. Yet, my timid little mother spoke back to her husband as if she had lost her fear of him. I wondered how much we were likely to suffer after Pop left us alone with him again.

Please stay for dinner, Mr. Matthews! Mama asked nervously. We would like to show you our appreciation for all the kind things and friendship you’ve shared with my son!

"No we wouldn’t! Handy bellowed. Now, get out of here, old man before I call the sheriff on ya!"

Oh, Warren! Mama started to protest, but was quickly stifled by her own gasp as her husband reached over and grabbed a handful of her long shiny tresses and jerked to hard she lost her balance and almost fell.

In one big blurred motion Pop gently caught her shoulder with his big right hand and simultaneously wrapped his gargantuan left around Handy’s esophagus. I wouldn’t have thought that such a big man could move so fast.

Obviously too intoxicated to realize that he wasn’t exactly in a position to be giving orders as he dangled a foot above the floor, the little man bellowed, Thelma! Call the sheriff! just before Pop gave his throat another little squeeze, reducing, but not completely cutting off his oxygen supply. Handy’s eyes began to bulge a little.

Yes, Warren! she chuckled nervously. I’ve been meaning to call the sheriff all day. But, I suppose that can wait until after dinner. Now, Mr. Matthews, since you’re our guest I’ll give you the option to choose your preference. We have chicken or pork roast. Which would you like, sir?

I couldn’t believe my ears! How could Mama talk so nonchalantly with her new husband being suspended in midair by a great big giant? That made no sense!

Gasping and gagging while he kicked in the breeze, the captive made one last attempt at getting free, "Teddy! he yelled. Get outta that bed and call the sheriff for me, boy! There’s a maniac on the loose!"

That’s when I caught on to Mama’s attitude and response. I wasn’t about to do anything to help Handy either. It appeared that Pop had matters well in hand, so I didn’t move away from my hiding place but happily laid there and watched.

It must have been the alcohol that made him say such a stupid thing, but the next words out of his mouth broadcasted a direct physical threat against a small boy who, by chance and design, happened to be close friends with the biggest and the strongest man in the whole state of Georgia, and, at the moment, happened to have a handful of his neck!

Teddy! He hollered again. "If you don’t get your worthless butt down here right—(gasp), now, I’m gonna give you more of what I did the other night! Now ged—(gasp), down here!" he gurgled.

There was no doubt that Pop could have easily squeezed the life out of Handy right then and there, but he merely controlled his air flow just to let him know that he was no longer in control. Even that didn’t seem to verbally subdue the belligerent drunk.

He turned his wrath directly toward his captor as the big man lowered him just enough for his spit-shined black shoes to touch the floor, but not relinquishing his steel trap-like grip on his throat.

I almost laughed out loud when Handy threatened Pop with, "I’m gonna have the law on you, old man! They’ll put you away for the rest of your life!"

I didn’t find his words funny at all but I nearly cracked up when they came out sounding like he was Donald Duck. Pop’s response was funny thought.

Maybe so! my hero answered, But not fer what you think! Inna mean time, Ah don’t see no law around here right now! D’you?

Mizz Cutrell, Ah ’preciate yore offer fer supper! Ah shorely do, mam. But Ah’m ’fraid I gotta tend to a bid’ness meetin’ me and yore husband need ta have out in yore barn. Thank’y just’ tha same.

Looking a little confused or dismayed, I’m not sure which because I was too young to grasp the weight of this situation for her, she just nodded her approval and turned her back as the two men struggled out the back door and down the stoop. Although I couldn’t hear her sobs, I knew that she much have been in terrible agony over the recent turn of events evolving from her marriage to a man whom she suddenly realized that she didn’t love. I could tell by the way her shoulders shook and spasmed as she fought to stifle her emotions so I wouldn’t hear her and be alarmed. At least, that’s what I was thinking.

Scrambling from my perch and taking the stairs two at a time, I rushed down to comfort her. She stood facing the big double sink with both hands clasped tightly over her mouth. I thought this was to muffle any sounds of weeping. From behind it appeared that her heart was breaking. Taken aback when I lightly laid my hand on her trembling shoulder, she spun around to see who was behind her, with a momentary hint of fear across her face.

Then to my greatest surprise, resumed her shoulder shaking, but when Mama lowered her hands she burst into gales of uncontrollable laughter. Had she gone nuts?

Oh, Teddy! she gasped between guffaws, I wish you could have seen it! Your Mr. Matthews is so strong! Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Warren looked like Howdy Doody when Mr. Matthews was dangling him in the air! Ha-ha-ha! I didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or run for the Kodak! Hee-hee-hee! It was sooo funny!

Chapter Three

A lthough I found great relief in discovering that my mother was laughing instead of crying, most of my attention was directed toward what possibly might be taking place in the barn. In spite of his enormous brawn, I had always known Pop to be such a gentle man. Would he really hurt Handy?

Knowing Mama wouldn’t have approved of what I had in mind, I kissed her on the cheek as if I was going back up to bed and strolled out of the kitchen. However, instead of turning up the stairs, I quietly slipped out the front door into the darkness.

Pausing for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the pale moonlight, I immediately regretted that I was barefooted in the dark. Mama kept all of her hens penned up but our three wild spirited roosters roamed freely. Of course they would be roosting somewhere at this hour. They weren’t my real concern. One wrong step might result in having to wash my feet, which couldn’t have been achieved without Mama’s notice and she would know what I had been up to.

Slipping around to the south side of the barn, where all the good knot holes were, I tiptoed from one to another trying to get a clear view of the two men inside. Unfortunately my line of sight was blocked by our old John Deere.

Naturally I was disappointed because I couldn’t see any possible action inside, but I could hear every word very clearly. That alone gave me enough information to send static electricity coursing up and down my spine.

By now it had finally dawned on Handy that he was no longer in control. Of anything! He realized that a force much greater than he had full command of his current and future destiny.

Look, bud! he whined, I’ll make you a deal! If you let me go I promise I won’t call the sheriff or say a word to anybody else about this! Okay?

Well, Pop chuckled, That’s mighty big of ya, Handout, but Ah already knowed ya weren’t gonna call nobody. They ain’t got no telly-phones in Purgatory!

"What? Handy shouted in alarm, Are you threatening my life? Don’t you know what you’re doing is against the LAW? Are you insane?!!!"

Reckon ‘at question has come up befo’? the big man snickered. But it looks ta me like Ah’m tha onliest law ya got right now. An’ ma rulin’ come from tha same place tha gov’ment gits theirs! Tha Good Book!

"That’s ridiculous! the little man hollered back at him, Now let me go! Don’t you realize how much trouble you’re already in?"

Naw, cooter! Pop answered, "All Ah can see is how much trouble yore in! Do ya remember what them scrip-jas say ’bout a eye-fer-a-eye?’"

An eye for an eye? Handy sputtered. What in the world are you talkin’ about? Have you lost your mind?

Naw, suh! Pop countered, Ah ain’t lost nuthin’! Miz Cutrell done tolt me what ya done an’ what yore a-fixin’ ta do! Well, Ah ain’t a-gonna let ya, Handjob! Tha Good Book says sump’n ’bout reapin’ what ya sow. Ah thank it’s time fer ya ta reap what ya been sowin’ here!

She’s not Mrs. Cutrell any more, Mister! Handy pleaded. "Her name is Handy now! Thelma is my wife! That gives me certain rights for God’s sake!"

She might be yore wife on paper! Pop responded, "But you shore ain’t her husband! There’s a lot more ta bein’ married than a preacher an’ a paper! Yore jus’ too danged stupid ta know that! Tha Good Book says a man’s s’posed ta love an’ cherish his wife. There ain’t a cotton-pickin’ word in there that says ya got tha right ta kill her! Or e’ben threaten ta!

"Ya ain’t that boy’s papa neither! Ya ain’t got no right ta be a-beatin’ own him! Reckon Ah got jus’ as much right ta be a-beatin’ own you as you done him! Ain’t that right?"

Now, wait a minute! Handy screeched, I know what you’re up to, old man! You’re after my wife, ain’t you? You’re too ugly to get your own so you’re foolin’ around with that worthless kid to get to her! You don’t fool me!"

I would have given anything to see what happened next. All I could hear was a resounding, "Thwack!" followed by a