527 Hope Street

By Victoria Best

This story is about several peoples journey of faith. It was in a time where the whole
country was being tested. The division between the haves and have not was wide. The
country was wedged between economic crisis and war. Even the atmosphere seemed to
be against the country, causing the mighty dust bowl, due to lack of rain and drought.
The people in this story had different paths to take to gain faith, but somehow an
invisible force bought them together in a town. The town was like nothing any of
them had experienced, almost too good to be true. In one woman a seed was planted
and through her it grew and wove toward the various new folks in town. Together
they built a church. A few of them couldnt believe what they were a part of, but there
it was the church! Someone was sent you might say to watch over the progress. At the
opening service they were dumbstruck when this person made an appearance. They
had indeed found faith, and ironically the very address was a clue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469145884

Victoria Best

Victoria Best is Lecturer in French at St John's College, Cambridge

Book preview

527 Hope Street

Written By

Victoria Best

Copyright © 2012 by Victoria Best.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012900233

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-4587-7

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4691-4586-0

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-4588-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Dedicated to The Memory of My Mother

Barbara Niblack

This book was conceived at her kitchen table over ten years ago. She thought the title and story were good.

The story has been expanded and I know she is pleased with the completed work.

Thank you Mom for believing in me.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my daughters Barbara and Tereasa, for putting up with my constant insistence to read as I wrote.

My son Seshep for feeling the need to correct my grammar.

My son in laws, Anthony for only remembering Glistening sweat,

Mark, who dozed off as I proofread,

My brother Dwayne, who encouraged me to take this story as far as I could.

My nephew Ian, who listened to chapter after chapter, his reply,

That’s pretty good.

My large brood of grandchildren, who was excited their Oma was writing a book, and amazed at the number of pages and time spent. Dherron, Glenn, Vicki, LaShawn, Jordan, Erik, Anthony, Devin, Kyra, Oni, Thomas, Makhi.

The little one’s in North Carolina, Ninti, Anu, Quahar. Kisses to my

Great grandsons, Tajir, and to Little LaShawn.

To my lovely daughter in law Temple, who encouraged me to take my little story and expand it, also for reading more chapters than anyone.

Chapter One

The Hodge Family

I’ve been living on this street for more years than I can remember. So long ago, seemed like yesterday. A blink of an eye when I came to be here. My home was built by hard working faithful folk, who had dreams of something better for themselves. The wood they used was cut, planed and polished with the sweat and determination of men who had those dreams. The furniture, borrowed and salvaged was made their own. The windows were a work of art. In those days it was hard to get those kind of windows, but one day they came as a gift. No name on the carton when delivered. Some of the women cooked to keep the men going while some helped by clearing land and carrying buckets of earth and water. You know, it’s strange but even my address is significant. Some say a sign or another. Only a few folks on this street before me, then afterwards they started coming! Well that’s later. {Ha-Ha}

Folks back home had a plan, a vision if you will. They wanted to leave the place they were born. The big depression made home feel less like home. They wanted to leave, go up north. They were fooled, oh they knew it was bad everywhere, but maybe just maybe it was better up north. More and more folks were moving in that direction. Things were slow at home, some had farms cut from larger pieces of land that fathers before fathers tilled and broke their backs. As time went on, farming for some was out of style. Income from poor crops barely enough to feed families. The younger ones wanted to fly, away from home to spread their wings not knowing where that flight would land them.

Schools taught enough to get by. The need to survive was stronger than reading, writing, arithmetic. Some children stopped going altogether to help out at home, getting what work they could find. There were a lucky few who got there first. They held on and even took cut in pay, but it helped put food on the table. Every town has a place where the no-good go to do no-good. The once innocent girls held their hand out for a dollar, lucky if it were more because it got a good deal of groceries if you shopped smart. The first Big War took a lot of the boys who wouldn’t or couldn’t farm. They thought going to war was a way out. The ones left had a new kind of war, so now they had to make plans for yet another crisis. Families one by one packed what they could in wagons, trucks, old cars. Folks sold keepsakes, valuable reminders of ancestors and long ago loves, for those wagons trucks and cars. Of these families were the Hodges, Wrights, Nelsons, Mrs. Hale with her daughter Belle. Others went too, they got the hint to leave not knowing where but glad they were going. Mr. Hodge, first name John. You can call him the leader or boss if you will of this particular move. He tried for years to etch out something better for his large family. It was hard endless work. He looked older than his thirty five years. Hard work with stress can and will age you. Mrs. Hodge, her first name Mae. She was as small as Mr. Hodge was tall. She was small but fit to have all those children one step above the other, she handled them with a firm and loving hand. The Hodges had the right combination of children, three boys, three girls. Mae was pretty with warm cinnamon skin, dark brown almost black eyes that had a slant. Her lips were full and delicate with a point in the middle of her top lip that looked as if she were pouting. She wore her hair up or braided, no time for fancy marcelling of the day. She was of both African and Native American heritage.

With that obvious beauty you couldn’t help but see the weary look she sometimes had from rearing those children so close together. She put herself aside and did the job she was meant. She had an old piano that she played in the evenings. I don’t know how she made the time. She had said it was her peace, her quiet. She would play just after the children went to bed, it would settle them down. People would pass the little farm to and from town. At night sound vibrated, and the music would drift in the air and through the trees. Along the road they would hum the tune if they knew it as they bobbed over the ruts in the road. The wheels of their wagon or truck would dip up and over. They bobbed and swayed.

The Hodges place was one of the smallest stamp sized farms in the county, but the music from that piano was big! She had a way around her old friend, it seemed like it wanted to give her it’s best tunes. She would play lost in the melody her fingers drew from the keys. There were times when after her work done, she would go to her unpretentious parlor, rub her tired hands together and gently play. The older children, allowed to stay up longer felt their eyes grow heavy, like a small parade off they went to their rooms to sleep. Their mother’s gentle playing serenading them. All the work and demanding children melted in the music she played. Aware that some thought it was a waste of time with so much to do, she paid no mind. Some folks had drink, gambling, or other things to keep their minds off of the present state of the day. Mae had her music, her only extravagance. She played songs from long ago Sunday services. The Old Rugged Cross, Precious Lord, and her favorite In The Garden. Often guilty for not attending church as she once did, the very condition of her life and others focused on survival. The church was a way of survival, but that eluded the weary, Mae included.

The day John bought it home was one of the hottest days she could remember. They lived too far inland to benefit from the bay breeze. She was hanging laundry, a third load that morning. So hot, Thank You Lord, the clothes dried quicker than usual. She was as wet as the clothes she hung. Mae chewed on the clothes pins in her mouth, streams of sweat burned her eyes. An ever present mosquito buzzed about, hell bent to interfere with her mission. She wished it would rain to cool things down, but today was not the day. In the back of her mind were the children. The older ones were looking after them, but it was a little too quiet for her taste. As she decided to hang the last sock and check things out, the sound of a truck coming down the road caught her attention.

Mae turned covering her eyes against the blaring sun. With her arms raised she felt the warmth of sweat flow down to the valley of her breasts. She pulled a hankie from her apron pocket, quickly dabbing her chest. As she stood transfixed in the hot sun, the sound got closer. Mae made out the shape of the driver, it was John! The children must have heard too, because they all came running out into the yard. Briefly Mae turned to them warning, That’s your daddy, now move on back now! Staring at the truck, she said to no one in particular, And what does that man got in the back? With hands on hips, she waited as the truck slowed to a stop just a few feet in front of her. John clearly had a big smile on his face. Head up and proud, with two men in the back of the pickup truck, holding something big covered with blankets. With a jerk the truck stopped bobbing the heads of John and his partners in this grand offering.

Mae didn’t move a muscle, she just stared at the old rusty sputtering truck. Eyes wide with wonder at what could possibly be under those blankets. Grinning, John jumped out, ran to the back and pulled down the tailgate. The hot sun made no impression, the heat didn’t seem to bother him. His skin looked like melted chocolate glistening and rich. Mae looked to his two helpers for some sign, all she got was a few nods, more grinning. They didn’t seem to mind the heat either. They quickly started untying the blanket covering the large object.

All three men were sweating buckets of unyielding sweat as they carefully lowered it to the ground. Mae finally saw what caused the grin on her husbands face. No longer paralyzed, she ran over to him, she asked. John, where in the world did you get that piano, how you get it? Then, thoughts of bean and potato soup loomed in her head. She knew he must have sacrificed something to get this piano. Probably a part of their meager profits from the fields. John was blinking from the sweat stinging his eyes, he answered. This here is yours free and clear! I got it from old Mr. Clyde cause he was fixing to chuck it out. He said it was old and needed tuning. His girls didn’t want it anyway, they have their mind on one of those grand pianos.

I know you been wondering why I was helping Mr. Clyde at his place with all I got to do around here. When he asked me to help, I saw the chance to get the piano, so I stayed on a little longer. He wouldn’t take nothing for it, so I worked for it. I wanted you to have this you know, so it would bring to mind the time before you were my wife. You was always happy when you played.

John often saw the tired look in her eyes and felt responsible. He longed to see the light in them when they first met. Mae felt awful, she put her head down to the ground, she didn’t want John to see her face. When he married her he promised to make her dreams come true. He tried, Lord knows how he tried. He always put her needs before his own, now she felt ungrateful for questioning about the piano. She knew his very reason for being was her and the children. One constant was he loved her deeply and she him, and no amount of luxuries could compete with that kind of love.

Practically, she did think about the things the family needed, not just the occasional chicken on Sunday. Slowly she raised her head, looked into his coffee colored eyes. Thoughts of we need went away. John returned the look, both were silent standing in the middle of the yard. The children were plunking the keys, shoving and pushing to plunk first. The helpers puzzled by John and Mae just stood there staring, waiting to move the upright inside while the children made no kind of melody whatever from the plunking.

Breaking the silence, Mae to John as she placed her hand on his chest. I was happy when I played, but you and my babies bring me joy, don’t you know that? The time before I was your wife is gone, my family is everything to me, you hear me man? Tears ran the full length of her face, she added. I’m ashamed, all I thought of was what you had to lose. You didn’t cause the way things are now, with this depression. My life with my mama and daddy are no more, they gave their blessing a long time ago. I made the right choice then and I don’t regret one day we were together. Her hands slid from his chest to gather his hands, their pulses beat against the other. They were one in every sense of the word. Folks having it bad everywhere. She continued. The president going around talking about a chicken in every pot, but most folks got just pots!

We gonna make it, all of us together on this here land, you just got to have faith! Mae circled her arms around John’s neck, kissing him tenderly. When lips parted she whispered. Thank you for being the man you are and for never letting me forget I’m loved. The helpers laughed, elbowing each other, the kids caught up in the moment was making fun kissing at the air.

Lost in her embrace, John looked over her shoulder and scanned the fields. He shuddered because of the recent thoughts that invaded his mind. Those thoughts he didn’t dare tell Mae yet. Mae felt the shudder, held him tighter. Mae’s words echoed in his head,. On this land. He closed his eyes and returned a tighter hold of his wife. That piano found a home filled with love, more appreciated than in that house on a hill that looked down on the other small homes. They parted, Mae held his face in her hands, no words were needed. John knew she was alright with the piano. He walked away to help the two men get the piano in the house. Mae took a deep breath, gathered the children and followed, reminding them not to get in the way.

Mae looked about the parlor, smiling she admitted, I don’t know exactly where it should go. Annie, Jesse come mind the babies till your daddy’s done. She instructed her older daughters. She rubbed her hands on her apron, while shaking her head yes or no to John as to where the piano was placed. They made room by the big window. A worn side chair was given a new home to the helpers for payment. One of the children bought in an old preserve jar filled with wild flowers. Another got old lace from Mae’s sewing basket and the flowers were put on the piano top with a gesture of grand display.

Mae called to her eldest daughter. Annie please get some lemonade for your daddy, Bobby and Jimmy, we have some sweet biscuits left too, so bring them would you? Her voice had a musical tone, John knew there was no doubt that the piano was the reason. Annie striking in looks in every feature a younger Mae, did as she was told. A short while later Annie came back carrying a large tray. Following her was next in line Jesse with the biscuits. Annie sat the tray down, poured the first glass to John, then Bobby and more hesitantly to Jimmy. Her lashes fluttered although she was not aware of that occurrence. Jesse