The Land of Nod: Dreams of Justice and Equality

By Michael R. Preston and Nadine T. Preston

The Land of Nod is based on a true store of the life and times of Jerrell Dean Thomas. Born after the Civil War in north east Texas, Jerrell Dean Porter was the only daughter of Robert Terrell Porter a wealthy liberal Christian Plantation owner who was also a former slave owner, and Louisa Love (Lou) a 15 year old former slave girl from the Porter Plantation. Because of her appearance, and an elaborate deception, Jerrell Dean Porter passed for white while being raised by her aunt Pearlee. She would eventually choose love over privilege and fully embrace the ramifications of her choice.
Its a story about love and lust, of loyalty and betrayal, of evil and kindness, tolerance, compassion, respect and hope. Its a story about the slow progress of fairness and personal freedom against tremendous and formidable obstacles like constant threats of violence, racism, sexism and homophobia. This entertaining story is full of colorful characters with a wide variety of twists and unexpected turns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499032307

Book preview

PROLOGUE

God had always been on our side as Americans, during the war between the states, God was on both sides. Now in 1967 freedom was on the march. In Vietnam, the US troop level had reached 500,000. In the Middle East, Israel had defeated the Arabs in the 6 Day War. In Great Britain, male Homosexuality was decriminalized by a vote in the House of Commons.

On the national scene, Thurgood Marshall would become the first African American Supreme Court Justice, while race riots in numerous northern American cities would claim the lives of countless African American men women and children.

Aretha Franklin dominates the radio air waves with her cover of the little known artist Otis Redding’s song Respect. While Rock music becomes the dominant counter-culture. San Francisco becomes center of the counter-culture movement with groups such as Jefferson Airplane, Big Brother & The Holding Company, Sly & The Family Stone and The Grateful Dead. While the Doors and their number one hit song Light My Fire bring Los Angeles rock to the forefront. A young African American man from the Central District of Seattle Washington by the name of Jimi Hendrix would make his American debut with his band, The Jimi Hendrix Experience at a festival that year in Monterey, California. Hendrix would go on to become an international phenomenon.

In sports, World Heavyweight Champion Muhammad Ali was stripped of his Heavyweight Title for his refusal to step forward and be drafted in to the US Army. Also, Seattle would get it’s first professional sports team, The Seattle Supersonics.

Our story begins in Seattle, Washington. It was a typical Autumn day in the Emerald City. All the old Seattleites referred to this particular kind of weather as an Indian Summer. Traffic began to get heavy and moved less rapidly as it was past 3 p.m. and more motorists were joining the fight to get home from shopping, working before the peak hours of traffic began.

The autumn sun peeped out through the smog. A few thunderclouds moved in from the West. The Ferry edged slowly from Coleman Ferry Dock headed for Bremerton. The sidewalks of Seattle were lined with people everywhere. Some shoppers loaded with bags were carrying their loot from the month end sales, that the big department stores such as the Bon Marche, Frederick & Nelson, Nordstrom Best, and others were known for. Some were rushing to or from work, changing buses, window shopping and rushing in to buy a few things as they passed through downtown on their way home. Everyone seemed busy as they went about their way, doing their own thing.

A late model tan colored Cadillac having Battled its way from the Central District in Seattle was headed down 1st Avenue destination, Queen Ann Hill. The driver, Michael, was a tall, thin, light brown skinned youth with a serious expression in his hazel eyes. He was an intelligent looking young black man. His short trim flat top fade natural Afro hair-do was a sharp contrast to his almost Caucasian like features. When the young man smiled, you would quickly notice that his left front tooth was a gold tooth. He wore black Chuck Taylor tennis shoes, jeans a white tee shirt, and a purple and white jacket with a Garfield Bulldog letter on it. He turned on the tape and listened as he drove the car that belonged to his dad. Some male voice sang about The Windy City…. Something about livin’ double in a world of trouble. (That was a popular song in those days)

Sitting in the front with him was his mother Nadine a middle-aged fat woman with the same features and very fair complexion, what people called light skinned in those days. There were still hints of rare beauty despite the age and fat. She wore a short styled wig and was neatly dressed despite her size. Her blue gray eyes were red as if she had been crying recently. She rode sideways talking to the other occupant, a tall wide shouldered man nearly sixty. An older almost carbon copy of the youthful driver, the eyes, complexion everything except the hairdo… the man’s hair was reddish brown shortcut with no signs of gray. He was dressed in an expensive well-tailored light gray suit. He had a Masonic ring with a large diamond on his finger and was wearing glasses. His Stetson hat and hand stitched boots completed his ensemble.

There was a strong family resemblance between the three. The eyes. All three had those light colored eyes, Nadine and Brownie had blue gray eyes and reddish brown hair and Michael had greenish hazel eyes and reddish brown hair.

The woman was talking nervously as they rode along, and looking out the window. She said, Yeah, that’s the Space Needle, there’s a café up there you know? No, I never been up there, I always wanted to but never did. The Monorail runs from downtown to the Seattle Center, it’s built on the same principal as the old Interurban that used to run from Dallas to Forney years ago, remember? The Man did not respond, he was deep in thought.

The Center, as it’s now called is what’s left of the World’s Fair Grounds, it was right there where you see the Space Needle. We will take you sight-seeing later in the week. Oh, you’re going right back tomorrow? You just got here last night! Gosh. I thought you would at least stay two or three days Brownie

Oh yeah, we knew you as soon as you came through the unloading gate at the Airport. Ronnie and Michael both look like you. Not only do my sons favor you, but also you and I look more alike than any of the others. Maybe that’s why Mama showed so much partiality towards us, especially you Brownie. But you do look like Mama more than I did. No you haven’t aged much. The years have been kind to you. Yes I am glad you could come too. I guess your kids must have realized how much you wanted to come for a visit. That really was a nice birthday surprise, your trip up here.

Let’s see now Nadine continued, I was home last in 1943 and this is 1967, gosh it has been 24 years since we saw each other. Yes, I do have to admit that we’ve both changed a lot. You have been divorced and re-married and have four kids and I’ve gained one hundred pounds. You’ve put on quite a few pounds yourself. I remember we were both slim & trim when we last saw each other. Now you can tell just by looking at the two of us that we haven’t been missing any meals. (They both laughed) Now look back when we start up this hill…isn’t it pretty? That’s Puget Sound. Looks like a picture don’t it?" Brownie looked, and agreed.

The woman spoke again, Brownie she addressed the man in the backseat who once again appeared deep in thought. It’s too bad you didn’t come up here during the World’s Fair. You would have liked it.

Tickie and Griner came but they always come every year to visit us. When they were here last Mama told them to enjoy this visit ’cause I won’t be here when you come back". She was something else. She knew! Her time was limited, yet she enjoyed life to the utmost. The crowds, exhibits, tourist, rides, people from everywhere were here in Seattle. But there is always something exciting going on in Dallas. You’re used to excitement."

I know everything was in an uproar in Dallas when President Kennedy got killed Nadine said. Yes it was, he answered. I pass that place often and I feels like crying every time I do. So I avoid passing it all the time. I go a block out of the way to keep from passing it Brownie said quietly.

Nadine Continued, Poor Mama, she cried and cried and carried on so when she saw it on T.V., you would have thought he was one of her own kin or children. It hurt lots of people. But I don’t have to tell you that. Yea I know, Brownie answered sadly.

Brownie, why didn’t you come to the Fair? You wrote and told me you were coming Nadine asked meekly. Well Nadine, Brownie started then paused thoughtfully, I started and got as far as Los Angeles. Driving through the mountains really put my nerves on edge. I nearly had a nervous breakdown and almost had a heart attack. Shorty (Brownie’s nick name for his wife) and the kids didn’t know how nervous I was until I almost collapsed after I drove to the Motel and parked. I hired someone to drive us back to Dallas. I couldn’t have drove myself if my life depended on it he said defiantly.

Don’t seem like a little driving like that would bother you Brownie Nadine exclaimed. You drove those big Express Trucks with trailers all over the States for years Nadine said almost like a question.

Brownie Responded, Yes I know, but I lost my nerve near the end. It’s a good thing I was eligible to retire; else I would have had to quit. Every night when I parked and went to sleep I had the same dream. I dreamt that the truck had turned over on me and I was under it and it was on fire. I figured when I kept having this dream that Mama used to say it was a warning. That I should give up driving the truck before this really happened.

The tan colored Cadillac was now creeping up Queen Anne Hill, looking back you could see the Puget Sound and the shore in the distance. There were a few small boats off shore probably one or two people in them fishing, they looked like dots in the distance. A tugboat belching smoke was headed across the Sound destination unknown, pulling some boxcars they looked like toys to the trio from up on the hill.

Nadine spoke again, we are going up Queen Ann Hill, that’s the first place I want to show you. It’s where Mama is buried. Michael interrupted their conversation, mama he said, none of us have had any food I don’t think, at least I haven’t. What about you uncle Brownie, are you hungry?" Brownie was busy loosening the strings on his shoes, his feet felt uncomfortable and he was hungry.

Brownie said, rubbing his jaw, Nadine, I have new dentures and I ain’t used to them. It’s such a long ways out here and it’s really high up, Queen Anne hill is really a hill.

Nadine answered, Yes, I know, that’s one thing Mama wanted was to be buried high up on a hill. She knew how much it rains here in Seattle and she didn’t want the water to flood her coffin. She had it all figured out, Brownie. They drove along in silence, each one thinking their own thoughts as they drove out to the cemetery to show Brownie his mother’s grave.

Brownie had suggested they eat hamburgers. He had been living on them, and ice cream since he got his new teeth. He hated soup. Almost everything he could eat, he didn’t like, he had always been a picky eater.

The three were now getting near and nearer to the cemetery. Michael had driven his mama and uncle west, and all around about ways telling himself that he was letting his uncle get a little sightseeing on the way. But the real reason was that he hated to go back, hated to think about that cold dark grave. His thoughts were on his dear Grandma, he thought, "She was so dear to me, my special love. I know she loved me more than anyone else.

She told me how she came to Seattle to visit when I was a baby. I was so pretty, she had said. She taught me to dance before I learned to walk. She said she would play a record called 60 Minute Man. I would dance all over the room but soon as the music stopped I fell to my hands and could only crawl, yet I could dance. She loved me so, she couldn’t bear to leave me she had said when she went back to Big Spring Texas.

She sold her home and came back because of me. From her I always got the soft lap to sit on and slept for hours in her wide warm lap for me she gave the biggest piece of cake, a bag of jelly beans that I could pick the black ones out and eat first, the drumstick when she had chicken, ice cream, money, change to go to the store, or pennies, nickels and dimes to stack and count, all the best treats came from my Grandma. I even got the honor of counting her fortune, the gold and silver cache of coins in the big trunk.

Then in later years understanding I used to go to her with small problems—big to me then. She let me watch my favorite TV programs. At times I would just sit with her. Neither of us talking. If she felt bad, just having me there made her feel better. She said she rested better having me near".

Michael smiled, remembering the pleasure he used to get out of seeing his Grandma whip Ronnie and Linda with a long green switch off the plum tree in the back yard when she was babysitting them and he tattled to her on something they did. Grandma seemed to dislike his older brother and sister. If she ever went through the farce of spanking Michael, she barely touched him with a little twig. She could never hurt him, even when he was naughty. She loved him too much. But she would really whip the older two hard, cutting their flesh with a switch, looking mean and frowning.

Sometimes she also cursed them! Michael had picked up some choice words listening to his Grandma. Curse…how on earth could such profane language come from the mouth of the most loving person on earth that he had ever known he often wondered. Michael’s Grandmother, Nadine and Brownie’s Mother, Jerrell Dean Thomas was a very unique and unusual person.

Brownie had also been in deep thought. He spoke slowly and apologetically. I guess you know that when I got your telegram telling me Mama was dead I didn’t have a cent of cash I could lay my hands on. We had just sunk every penny we could beg or borrow into this new house we were building. All our savings buried in our car and our old home. Shorty and I had started working two jobs and we still do. We’re not out of the red yet. We have a janitorial service nights and a cafe days. We open the cafe from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. When we close, the whole family goes straight to our buildings and we usually finish around 1 a.m. We’ll keep this up until we get straightened out. Saturdays we’re off and Sunday we attend church.

Oh, yeah, Brownie, Nadine spoke interrupting Brownie Mama’s funeral was October 16, 1963. I thought it would be a relief when the time came to close that chapter of my life but it turned out to be one of the hardest days of my life. Once your mama is gone she is gone for good and you will never ever see her again. Brownie, she had been so sick and suffered so much.

They said it was a different kind of cancer…very rare. They were going to photograph the entire surgery. Mama made her X" on the permit and thought she was going to be all right after she had her surgery. She thought they would just cut out the cancer, but she didn’t know that they were going to cut off her entire bottom and sew her up like a rag doll. She would have a colostomy and a tube in her stomach to drain her bladder that would stay there. When I told her what they would do she said Never! Get my clothes. I am going home. Why that would be worse than death. She wouldn’t wait for me to go home after her clothes. She wore my coat and her hospital gown home." Brownie laughed out loud.

Nadine continued, "Well, for almost two years she was up and about. The only difference is that this thing was growing. Soon it was difficult for her to walk. Then it started to bleed and drain. All this time Mama was living alone, except for Michael, Daryl or sometimes one of the other kids. The doctors were disappointed. They wanted to do surgery so bad. But Mama wouldn’t go back nor would she take any medicine. She took good care of herself and her apartment.

Then she changed. She invited me to come by and eat. I hadn’t been there for 2 days as I was working double shift. She told me on the phone she had cooked some butter beans, corn bread, pot roast and a peach cobbler. She was lying in bed when I got there.

Where’s the peach cobbler you told me you had cooked? I asked.

In the kitchen, of course, she said.

I don’t smell it. I said. "I went into the kitchen. The place was all confused. There was no food prepared, only some dirty pots with water in them in the sink. Cockroaches boldly walked across the table and crawled down the side of the refrigerator. She was very sick becoming delusional. She had only imagined she had cleaned house and cooked.

"I cleaned up despite her protests of Leave it alone. I will do it myself. "You know how independent she was. I couldn’t afford to quit work. Sis couldn’t either but Sis’s husband Mr. Johnson kept an eye on her while we worked. Fixed her food every day. The neighbors began to take advantage of her. I was lying on her couch asleep, as I had worked night duty, when her back door opened. Clarky the woman from across the hall came in, poured most of Mama’s washing powder in a paper bag, got a can of salmon and peas and some rice that had been open, put them in a bag and started out.

I said, Who told you to get that? She looked surprised. She just stood there, her hair short, nappy and uncombed, barefooted with a dirty robe and one flabby titty hanging out. She ran out the back door that she came in clutching the stolen bag of mama’s detergent and food.

Mama had to keep her groceries in a box under her bed to keep them or else Clarky would steal them, constantly, a little at a time. Another woman offered to iron some for Mama but stole Mama’s best dresses and ran home with them. Yet you couldn’t get Mama out of that apartment. She wanted to stay home.

After one heavy hemorrhage, Mama grew frightened, and she went to the hospital and stayed overnight several times for transfusions but was afraid, and I had to stay with her. She thought the doctors might operate on her without her consent.

A year and a half after she refused the operation she started to speak of dying, like it was a picnic or formal affair. I want to tell you something and don’t you forget, she said, talkative as usual. Keep that peach colored dress of yours clean. The one you wore to Barbara’s wedding. You know, lace with big sleeves?

Why, Mama?" I asked and she said, Cause I want to be buried in it. Man, that dress will be old and rotten by the time you go. No, it won’t be long now—stop carrying on foolishness that and listen. Get Linda to fix my hair. If the dress is dirty, wash it or dry clean it so it’ll shine. Put some lipstick on me and fix my eyebrows with an eyebrow pencil. Oh yeah, and earrings and beads —either those crystals of yours or the star sapphire. Don’t put your good set on me or they’s liable to take them off me anyway before they bury me, as you can’t stand and watch them throw dirt over my coffin like they used to do.

I want a high pillow. Remember, I can’t stand my head low. I don’t want to be squashed down where you will have to get over me to see me. Nor do I want anyone to see me if I’m not looking good. That’s why I just make myself eat so I won’t lose weight and look bad. Oh yeah, I want a peach colored coffin and a whole blanket of red roses to cover it. A blanket of roses draped over my coffin."

Well, she grew weaker and weaker. Soon Sis and I brought her home with us to Sis and Mr. Johnson’s house. After another hemorrhage and hospital stay for a transfusion. She was just barely there. You could hear her talking and laughing, when listening closely she would be talking to Papa or to Ceal (Seal) and her other loved ones long gone to rest …

At times she responded just like her old self before the cancer. I kept her clean, bathed and soaked her everyday with Phisohex. It would take over an hour just to get her into the tub, soaked and out. Mr. Johnson cooked for her and did the washing. I cared for her, thankful of my nursing knowledge. If I never earned a penny it was worth all the time spent just knowing Mama was cared for, and that I could do it properly. She never had a bed sore. I planned her diet and fed her.

When she had her worst spell, she had just been talking with someone she called Gertha she knew long ago. She said, I know you didn’t want that black baby girl but I thought you was gonna give it away. I didn’t know you was gonna tie a string ’round its neck and kill it. It couldn’t turn out white like your others. It had a nigga daddy.

Did you know Gertha, Brownie? Nadine asked. Brownie answered, Yes, she used to live with us but she died when you were a little girl."

Nadine continued talking as if she had not heard Brownie’s answer. "Mama went into a coma and never spoke another word. She had started chain stoking. She was beyond my care. She was not responsive. We had lost the battle. Mama was on her way out. I called an ambulance. Sis and I went with her to the hospital. I sat in the back with her, my heart heavy. Signing her into the hospital, I know they thought—just another old terminal cancer case. To them yes, but to me, my Mama! My everything! I was losing … my life!

People don’t understand unless it happens to them. Sis, bless her heart, worked and helped money wise, but she is afraid of sick people. She never looked at Mama after she was seriously ill nor did she view her body after she died nor go near the hospital. I followed the stretcher upstairs. They put her in a private room. I could stay, come and go any hours.

The nurses knew her, knew she was afraid of the dark previously, so they kept the lights on all night. She had an I.V. running. As I said before, she never spoke another word.

The next morning I asked for an oral care kit. They gave me one, and when I opened her mouth to clean it I discovered she had ate her tongue off. Why, maybe she thought in her unconscious mind it was food. Maybe she wanted to stop talking. She had talked so much, random, raving on about the past, bout things too bitter to speak of. Things she had put in back of her mind to forget. No, the cancer was like a thief. It weakened, distorted, and ravaged her body, yet she died of a pulmonary thrombosis.

I let them do an autopsy providing I got a complete report. And Brownie, she just slept away. Slept and probably dreamed of happy days. She died with a smile on her face. Believe me, she looked like a mask had been removed. She didn’t look more than fifty years old, or younger. After she died, I called a local funeral home to pick her up. The Andersons who owned the funeral home were neighbors. The staff was especially kind to me. Not in just a business way but personal. They acted as if they really cared and I think they did.

Linda and I went and made the arrangements. We ordered the pillow that mama had wanted. Told Mr. Anderson about the autopsy and he promised to call me when the pathology department released her remains after the post, and he did. Linda and I went to the funeral home next. Linda carried Mom’s comb and brush and the peach colored dress and we dressed her—Linda fixed her hair real pretty. Oh yeah, we remembered to carry that big ball of hair that Mama always saved when she combed or cut it. She had saved it through the years and her teeth, too. We put her hair and teeth in the foot of the coffin so she wouldn’t have to spend eternity looking for them. She believed this. Why? Only God knows."

Nadine continued speaking about the day of her mama’s funeral, "Up this hill riding in the funeral procession on our way to Mt. Pleasant Cemetery to bury our Mama. The whole time it was happening it seemed so strange, and unreal. It was as if this event was happening to some one else and I was only a spectator, looking on from the sideline.

I rode in silence with my eyes closed. I felt that by not looking, I could shut out the events of the day. I felt as if I was dazed or having a bad dream and that I would awaken from this nightmare and everything would be alright again.

The Limousine (one of two family cars) stopped momentarily; when I sensed this I opened my eyes and looked outside. The motorcycle Policeman one of the three hired as escorts was directing traffic so that the funeral procession could safely cross a busy intersection and proceed up to Queen Ann Hill.

Becoming aware of my surroundings, I looked around the Limo. Sis, Michael and my four younger children were riding with me. No one spoke a word. All five of them were completely silent. Their eyes were swollen, they had cried until there were no tears left.

I addressed myself silently, "Nadine, this is no dream. This is for real. I mean, it’s stark reality. This is it!" I couldn’t blame myself, nor could I blame anyone else. I had tried so hard to keep her with me. Death had won and I lost my Mama and in a few minuets the grave would be her final resting place.

Brownie, my heart was so burdened. I wanted to cry for the first time since mama had been diagnosed as terminally ill and now she had passed. I screamed only silently, my mouth was wide open but no sound came from my lips. I hurt too much, I couldn’t let go. It was all there bottled up inside of me. It couldn’t and wouldn’t come out, there was no way for it to escape.

The colors of the rainbow—that’s the eulogy the minister gave. Born in 1873 on the Porter Plantation in north east Texas. Married, age 12, to Silas Thomas age 20…he gave her obituary. Oh, yeah, the songs…Nearer my God to Thee. He’ll understand and say Well done.

Nadine stopped talking and thought now to herself, The Colors of the Rainbow. Red, for love, of babies brown and plump, she thought Mama’s first born. Sis, then ‘Ceal, (pronounced Seal) her babies, how she had loved them, all thirteen of them. Yeah, red was for love of her babies, plump with wet kisses and gummy smiles. Little children running in the green fields, playing on the bales of cotton brought home from the Mid Wife. Wading barefoot in the creeks, little boys catching crayfish and bringing them home for Mama to fry the tails. Tater ‘shooting’ a rabbit with their nigga shooters, little girls in starched dresses or bloomer suits, their big braids tied with quilt pieces to keep the curly hair from crawling down…love of her children.

Her husband my father, Brownie’s father, Michael’s grandfather, Silas Thomas, people called him Si, with his beautiful black skin, laughing eyes and black hair shining as he played the fiddle for dances, while his young wife was the first lady on the set to ‘Shu Fly,’ her two long braids flying in the wind as he danced. No two people were ever happier. They had a wonderful marriage.

When he came home from a hard day’s work, she soaked his feet in a tub of water and dried them, even if she was so large with child she had to sit in a chair to dry them. Love, for her husband, her neighbors, and her friends was strong and unconditional. They were all gone on to glory, that’s why she wanted to follow them.

The next color, yellow, yellow for peace…peace on earth, good will to all men. Nadine said out loud, Mama liked everybody regardless of race creed color, national origin, religion no religion or sexual orientation. To her there was only one race, the human race. If you were nice to her she was nice to you, but she was strong and did not take no crap from nobody. If you got on her bad side, she would not piss down your throat if your heart was on fire.

Nadine’s thoughts and dreams were interrupted when Michael stopped the car. He had driven slowly all the way from the Central District and finally turned into the gates at the cemetery and stopped. It was getting late. They had wasted a lot of time.

Turn here Michael Nadine said quietly, straight down near the flag pole. See that large marker with Kennedy on it near Mama’s grave. Yeah, stop here. I remember standing underneath that big tree. Don’t look so sad, Michael. She’s gone. Her body is gone back to the dust from whence she came. She paid the debt. We all have to pay. That’s what Mama always said, remember. Mama didn’t want us to cry and grieve over her, remember, she made us promise not to, Nadine said softly.

Looking closely among the graves, Nadine found the small marker. Here it is she said somberly. They spelled her first name wrong, but here it is.

The trio stood over the grave with the small cement marker with her name and birth date on it. These were the three closest to her left. Her favorite son, youngest child that lived, her twin and beloved grandson, her Joy Boy, the grown-up youth, who as a baby had lured her away from her lifetime home.

Brownie removed his glasses and knelt in prayer alongside the grave. He prayed silently with tears streaming down his cheek, his big body shaking and racking with emotion. The mother and son walked slowly to the Cadillac, got in and sat silently, waiting. Neither spoke a word. The son had tears in his eyes. To them the time seemed sacred, fixed for meditation and prayer. As Brownie prayed, all his pent up emotion overwhelmed him. He started speaking, feeling that wherever she was, she would understand, and hear him.

Brownie spoke emotionally through his tears, "Mama, I didn’t know you was sick enough to die. I meant to come later. I thought I had time. I just couldn’t come. Wasn’t cause I didn’t love you. I know you wanted to see me, Mama—I been trying so hard to have something. Not for myself—but for Shorty and the kids. Remember when I was small; you sensed I liked nice things. I always helped you and I put my things away carefully and took good care of them. Remember I got a job on the good road when I was almost 14 and gave you the money but you took it and bought me new boots, a pongee shirt, and a blue serge suit and used it all on me. That wasn’t why I went to work. I had meant for you to spend it on yourself. But you knew I liked nice clothes—so you bought me some. You said; Son, a person can have anything they want if they are willing to work for it. That’s what I was doing, Mama, working, willingly, to get a decent place for my family and myself. I likes to live good, treat my family good and tries to live a good clean life. Tries to be the kind of son you and Papa wanted."

Brownie continued, Now I come here to see where you were laid to rest, here, miles away from Papa, away from ‘Celle, and Lanford. I come to tell you, it wasn’t cause I didn’t care that I didn’t get to see you ’fore you died, nor to the funeral. Mama, I came up here on a plane. I am scared to fly, too. My family knew how bad I wanted to come. So my kids got together, my grown step kids and Robert and the little ones at home all sent me. It’s a birthday present. I’m here. Four years late, but I’m here, Mama.

Michael said, Mom, we had better get back to the Central District before the sun goes down, this might be a Sundown part of town remember, me and Carl Kilgore got jumped last night by that big group of white guys at Dick’s in Lake City. You also remember what happened when we beat Ballard last year in that basketball game, the police didn’t protect us when that white mob attacked us after the game, all they did was ask us to leave Ballard faster. I am so sick of this sh.. stuff. Nadine did not respond to Michael except to calmly say, Michael, go tell your uncle we had better go. This place also closes at sunset.

Michael opened the car door and walked slowly over to his uncle, kneeling by the small marker on his grandma’s grave. Gently, Michael touched his uncle on the shoulder. Brownie looked up. Michael took his arm, and helped the kneeling man to his feet, where he stood blinded by his tears, (they were meeting under his chin) and weakened almost to the point of collapsing. Michael extracted a tissue from his pocket and wiped the tears off his uncle’s cheeks and patted him on the back. Neither uncle nor nephew said a word, but just by Michael’s touch, his uncle gained strength. No words were needed to say that they shared each other’s feelings. Their love and their loss were too great to put into words.

Michael waited a moment for his uncle to gain composure, and then he, still holding Brownie by the arm, led him to the car. He opened the door and assisted Brownie to his seat in back. Rapidly he drove through the curved lanes of the cemetery and out the gate and headed away from Queen Anne Hill bound for the Central District. At a stoplight he glanced back at his uncle. Tears were still running down his cheeks and his lips were moving in silent prayer. Michael turned on the 8 Track tape.

Shotgun a song by Junior Walker and The All Stars rocked the air and changed the mood of all three occupants of the Cadillac. Turning down Madison Street, Michael said, Do you want to stop at Aunt Sis’s house or do you want to go home, Mama?

Stop at Sis’s, she answered. We will sit up and talk until wee, wee hours. You mean you three are gonna sit up all night? Michael asked. Yeah, we haven’t seen each other for a long time and we got a lot of visiting to pack into these few hours, Brownie spoke up.

Well, here we are, Michael, said, parking in front of a little white duplex. The duplex was located in an area that was then in 1967, called The Valley by the Negros who lived there, but was called Coon’s Hallow by most the white people who lived just over the hill to the east, near the lake.

Nadine spoke, I see Sis peeping out the window. Bet she got somethin’ good cooked. I see the little kids are here. She called them to come down to eat because she knew I would be coming down here instead of going home. We are spending the night. The kids will like that.

I thought you said Sis only had one bedroom, Brownie said.   She does, Nadine answered, but she has a full basement and three big beds and one twin bed and a TV and record player down there. All of us have stayed here many a night when Mama was sick. There’s plenty of room.

I’m not going in, Uncle Brownie Michael said. I gotta take Daddy’s car back to him. Then I am going to the gym and play some Basketball. I’m going from the gym to spend the night at Daddy’s house tonight. Brownie responded, Oh yea, you are a basketball player aren’t you. Nadine interrupted, Yea Brownie, Michael is a really good basketball player, he also plays music, he plays keyboards and his brother Ronnie plays the Bass, they have their own little band.

Nadine continued, Oh I didn’t tell you, Ronnie is a wonderful athlete, he was All Metro first team as a football player his senior year in high school and he led the league in rushing and scoring too. People think of Michael as the basketball player, but it was Ronald Dean Preston who scored 48 points in one game and set the Metro League scoring record for basketball, Nadine said proudly. Michael offered, Well I got 27 rebounds in one game last year as a junior, who knows maybe I’ll break my brother’s scoring record this year.

Nadine spoke again, Ronnie also has a little boy by his high school sweetheart, Janet Jones. His name is Michael LaVance Preston. You wouldn’t believe it Brownie, but he looks just like me. He is real light skinned, reddish hair and blue eyes. Brownie responded, Boy, that Robert Porter had some strong genes.

Brownie turned to Michael said sincerely, Thank your dad for letting you carry me out to the cemetery. Tell him I will always be grateful to him for helping me see my mama’s grave. Michael helped his mom out first, and then assisted his uncle. All three appeared sad and visibly shaken. The trip to the cemetery had been hard on all of them, especially Brownie. His blue gray eyes were swollen and red. He had removed his glasses.

Watch it fool! Michael yelled at the larger of three teenagers skating by with a big dog following them. Why don’t you chumps go to the park and play Michael said stepping toward the group with his fists clinched. Cause we would have to leave at 7:30 for the older kids, the smallest of the group responded visibly shaken.

Yeah, but skating in formation all across the sidewalk … you might make some old person fall down. You almost ran over my uncle. You skated right in his path. Before when I was here you guys threw your ball and broke my aunt’s window out and ran away Michael exclaimed angrily.

It’s alright, Michael Nadine said. Leave them alone Brownie said. I didn’t feel anger. I feel sorry for little kids raised up in the city. Playing ball in the streets, being all crowded up, Brownie said. The young boys skated away quickly.

Nadine put her hand on Michael’s shoulder and said gently, "Michael, baby look at me, now listen to me and listen to me well. To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace." Nadine continued, Now this ain’t the time for you to be fussin’ and tryin’ to pick a fight with them kids, while your uncle and your mama is here, understand?

Michael responded, mama those words that you just said are the words to a song by the Byrds that came out a couple years ago called Turn, Turn, Turn. Nadine said, Honey, that is from the Bible, the Book of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, whoever wrote the song took that passage straight from the scripture. Brownie spoke up and said, Ecclesiastes was one of our Papa’s favorite passages, your mama is right.

Michael asked, How do you remember it now and how are you able to repeat it so easily? Nadine responded, Baby, I read the whole Bible several times before I was 7 years old, there are a lot of thangs that you don’t know about your mama."

The three said their goodbyes and Michael got back into his dad’s car. He checked under the seat to retrieve the 22 Beretta pistol his dad had given him that day for protection. He put his favorite 8 track tape back in the deck and turned it to his favorite song, Try A Little Tenderness by a new artist Otis Redding, the song reminded him of his mother. Michael then slowly drove away in his dad’s Cadillac as the music played. Oh she may be weary, an young girls dey do get wearied, wearin’ dat same ole shaggy dress.

Michael had lied to his mother and uncle about his destination, he went and picked up his best friend Lynn Bennett and after dropping his dad’s car off, they went and sat in the front row at the Garfield High School Auditorium to listen to a speech by black militant Stokley Carmichael.

When Michael left, Nadine expressed concern to Brownie about some of the changes she saw recently in Michael. She told Brownie that Michael had stopped going to church, he had stopped eating pork, no pork chops no pig feet, no bacon, nothing. He had trimmed down his bushy afro and started to wear his hair in a flat top like Heavyweight Champion Muhammad Ali and his temper had gotten really short. Brownie told Nadine that although he had never met Michael before, he thought it must be a phase, he thought Michael had ways like their father, Silas Thomas.

Nadine and Brownie went in to the small white duplex on Empire Way where they were greeted by their sister Mae Etta who everyone called, Sis and her live-in boyfriend Vonzie Johnson who everybody called, Mr. Johnson. They had a big dinner and then sat up and talked long into the night about the old days, growing up in the South. They recounted their own recollections and the collection of short stories that they were told about life in the deep dirty south after the Civil War and beyond, by their mother Jerrell Dean Thomas.

THE EYE OF THE STORM

To the right and as far as you could see was cotton and corn, that seemed to stand still this night without even a breath of air disturbing a leaf. It was quiet because both man and beast were tired after a long hot day and soon would be falling asleep on this hot, sultry southern Summer night.

The Rose Arbor Cottage in back of the big house was empty except for two people. A tall, blue-eyed white man with reddish blond shoulder length hair with a mustache and chin beard in his late 20’s, thin and pale … he appeared much older. His racking cough made his eye bulge, and even though it was non-productive it seemed to almost tear his insides out. At a glance you could see he was in the last stage of Tuberculosis T.B. or Consumption as the doctors called it back then. It was almost always fatal in those days. Some went faster than others. This handsome man seemed to linger on.

The young man was told to get plenty of fresh air, rest and food. His family, what was left of it, was afraid of him but pretended not to be. He was a nephew of the woman now living in the west wing of the big house and the whole plantation belonged to him. First, his sister Marilyn who was only ten died. Then Pop got sick. His mother took care of his dad who was sick with influenza and died. She followed him two weeks later. Young Porter the handsome blue-eyed man with consumption was off fighting for the South in the Civil War when most of his family got sick and died.

When the war was over Young Porter finally returned home. He found his parents had gone to rest and his aunt Pearlee living there with her new husband. The place was in good shape. Agnes, the cook, and her husband Ben had been born and raised on the old plantation as slaves. Agnes took over the female servants and Ben the men when Mom & Pop Porter were alive even though they had an overseer, Mr. Jamerson, who stayed drunk and never seemed to see any farther than his bottle of corn liquor and his feather bed brought from the big house.

Mr. Jamerson had 8 or 10 raggedy dishwater blonde, runny nosed kids that stayed outside or in the woods almost all the time, coming in only to eat or sleep. His straight haired, big breasted wife he kept in bed most of the time. Although she seemed to always have a baby in her belly and one in her arms, she seemed happy and content. She kept a crazy grin on her face most of the time, and Mr. Jamerson, the overseer, stayed close to home all the time.

The other person that lived in the Rose Arbor Cottage was a small, dark brown-skinned colored girl whose neat hair was braided in two long, soft braids, almost shoulder length. She was very pretty but also very quiet, and bashful. Young Porter was pleased when Agnes brought her oldest daughter, not quite 15, to nurse him. Louisa, or Lou for short, was a good girl. She had been a playmate for Marilyn Porter and Agnes had raised Lou carefully.

Most of Lou’s life was spent in the big house ’til Master Rev. Robert Porter told her to go to her ma’s cabin and stay. He wasn’t being mean, but he just couldn’t stand to see her well and alive, knowing his own daughter, his baby, was out in the cemetery,. He had prayed that God would give him another child, and God did, but for only 10 short years. Then Marilyn had died, leaving the Porters only one child alive. Lou helped her mother in the kitchen but went home nights. She could not get used to the small two rooms where her mother, stepfather and three sisters and five brothers lived. She was more than pleased to replace Marvin, who had fallen out of the apple tree and broken his leg so he could no longer care for Young Porter.

The job was easy. Nursing Mr. Young Porter was easy. She got up early and went to the kitchen at the big house and brought breakfast back. Fried ham, steaming grits, biscuits, honey, butter, cream fresh and thick. Golden eggs fried just right or scrambled. Still, Young Porter ate very little. Sometimes he never even touched the plate she served and put before him. She had a chance to eat all she wanted.

Her waist was thin her breasts were small but her little hips were firm and curvy. She heated water for his bath on the back of the stove being careful to make a fire in the early morning so as not to heat the cottage up in the heat of the day. She kept the cottage tidy and his bed clean. When he complained of aches and pains she rubbed his skinny back and legs with scented tallow. Her strong, young, warm hands … so soft and gentle. Her voice was soft yet clear. She only spoke when she was spoken to. No chattering or nerve wrenching singing … only care and comfort from this bashful child.

Young Porter had taken a turn for the better when spring came. Young Porter and Lou sat for hours in the sun near the great oak tree with him in a big chair wrapped in quilts, as the fresh air was still cool, and she, in an old sweater that he had told her to get from his room over at the big house. His mother had knitted it for him when he was around 16, and Evelyn had lined it with flannel when he complained that it itched. He was allergic to wool. He wanted to be cured so bad. He rested. He ate all he could … got plenty of fresh air … ate the beaten egg whites with sugar in them that were supposed to suppress his cough and make him spit up the phlegm.

Porter felt that he was on the way to recovery. The coughing spells came less frequently now, and he felt stronger. Lou came back with dinner in the late afternoon and carried him inside to eat. When he was all set at the table, remembering how it felt to have some one enjoy a meal with him, Young Porter spoke to Lou. Why don’t you get you a plate and set here and eat now while the food’s still warm and you can enjoy it? I’s scared to Mr. Young Porter. If’n somebody looks in and see me a sittin’ here where I don’t belong `n tells my ma she’ll skin me.

If the shutters are closed no one can look in, Young Porter said. Anyway, this is the ‘pest house’, remember? Nobody will come near here lest they have to because they are afraid of catching my consumption.

Lou brought an extra plate, served herself and ate slowly, nervous as a feral cat. Young Porter pretended not to notice when she spilled food, as her hands shook, or maybe he didn’t notice. He felt lifted having a fellow human being sitting and sharing a meal with him, forgetting or maybe not caring that she was black. Meals took on a different meaning, not just food forced into his mouth to keep him alive, but to enjoy. He felt like he was among the land of the living once more.

Days grew into months and his strength returned … slowly, but he was improving. He would read poetry, then from the Bible of Moses, David, Daniel, even Jezebel, or Shakespeare, Hamlet or whatever he felt would interest the girl who could not get enough of the wonderful world of books.

I’m gonna teach you how to read and write, Lou. It’s not hard to learn. Then you and I can take turns reading to each other, Young Porter said obviously excited. Lou was born a slave and most if not all slaves were forbidden to learn to read, the masters thought reading rendered niggers unfit for slavery. Educated slaves had been linked to insurrections before the war. The punishment for slaves who could read included, castration, hanging, being set on fire sometimes all of the above, and being mauled to death by dogs.

Lou was an apt pupil and learned fast. Mr. Porter was overjoyed. Come on for your lesson now. You can wash up those dishes later and put them in the boiling pot Porter would say. (Agnes made her put the dishes in the pot of hot lye water where she fished them out and took them back to the kitchen at the big house.) Now, L-O-U-I-S-A … that’s how you spell your first name. Let me see you do it Young Porter said softly. She took the pen and copied slowly and carefully.

Now when you finish doing this twenty times, as many times as you got fingers and toes altogether you can stop he said.

First, help me, Lou said. I am going to bed said Young Porter sounding exhausted.

When he was settled she returned to the table and began to copy her name. When she finished she put her head down on the table. On second thought, she blew out the candle, knowing that Young Porter was asleep and rested better in the dark. She usually sat in the chair with her head resting on the table and slept quick cat naps as Young Porter never slept long at night because he would have night sweats—wake up chilled, and she would wrap him in a blanket, change his night shirt and the bed and put him back to bed again. Most of the time, several times during the night, she was up with him. She put the soiled wet linen out on the porch until early morning. Then she would put all the dirty clothes in the bin built by the Bo dark tree to wait for Mattie who boiled them in the black wash pot, then rinsed and hung them on the line to dry. Mattie sang as she rubbed on the rub board. Mattie was his special wash girl and enjoyed her job tremendously.

Asleep, sitting in the chair with her head resting on her right arm, Lou dreamed she was young and carefree … running barefoot in the fields in a game of hide and seek she used to see the other children play. When she was inside, helping her mother in the kitchen …

A loud clap of thunder that seemed to jar the whole world and everything in it suddenly awakened her. The lightning flashed and lit up the countryside. She checked the doors and shutters to be sure they were closed tightly. Boom blam a lam lam lam … it thundered and lightning flashed fiercely. Shaking and scared, she remembered how her grandma used to cover up the iron bedstead in the cabin, then get them all together and huddle under quilts, sitting on the floor whenever it stormed like this. She was terrified. She stood and trembled and her heart felt like it would break or stop beating any minute. She was deathly afraid of thunder and lightning. She approached the bed with the sleeping white man in it and roughly shook it, hesitantly, but fear pushed her on.

Mr. Young Porter … Oh, God I’se scared Lou whispered. Kin I lay here on tha floor by yo’ bed sir? When Mr. Porter agreed and Lou spread out her pallet. The rain was coming down in torrents … the lightning flashing and thunder roaring. Lou sat up eyes closed she was trembling all over.

Looking down at her, Young Porter sensed she was very scared, and wishing to help quiet her fears, quietly said, There’s nothing to be scared of baby girl. Lightning don’t usually hit you lest you are out in the open fields or under a tree. Thunder can’t hurt you it’s just sound. Now gimme one of those clean, thin rags that I use for masks. I can tie it over my mouth, then you can lay on the foot of the bed. Don’t want you taking no consumption

Don’t want no rag over your mouth, Lou answered almost defiantly. You cain’t get your breath good wit it … and tha house all closed up and airless. It ain’t you I’s scared of, it’s dis storm.

Noticing Lou when the lightning lit up the room, Porter said sympathetically, Poor child, you are trembling. Here, lay here. He caught her hand, gently pulled her down beside him in bed and petted her like he would a baby, a puppy or one of the pure Holstein calves his pa had been so proud of long ago.

She lay still. The trembling ceased. Even though the storm continued to rage outside, she felt secure.

Now, a greater storm was building up inside. Young Porter was trembling now and felt like his whole being was a raging fire. Was it because he was in bed with a female after such long a time? Was it because she was a nigger and he could take her without fear of being forced into a shotgun marriage or any other consequences? There had always been plenty of nigger wenches around before he went off to war, but he had never took any of them by force or favor. It just never entered his mind.

Young Porter’s father had taken such pride in pure blood—horses, cows, even chickens, nothing on the yard except white legions. His dad never had sex with the slaves like so many other slave owners did before slaves were freed at the end of the war, nor did he allow his overseers have sex with slave women.

A few mulattos had cropped up but his dad had sold them off, because he did not approve of race mixing and he tried to keep families together. When his slaves came to him with their chosen mates, he himself had married them. Young Porter’s father was an ordained minister. Now his, Mom and Dad were both gone and here he was feeling a strong libido and a almost painful stiffness in his loins from being close to this 15 year old black girl. His blood raced and beat wild in his temples. Then there was this feeling of tenderness toward the girl in his bed. Strange, she lay quiet.

Are you asleep, Lou? he asked. No, sir, she answered in a whisper. Putting his lips close to her ear, he spoke softly. Lou, I don’t think you know how I feel. It seemed the minutes had turned to hours when she answered. Yes sir, I knows. I got that feeling, too.

He held her closer to him. She didn’t stir but he could feel her heart beating and she breathed like she had been running for miles. Oh God, I could hold you forever, he said softly. He wanted to kiss her, love and cherish her. Not just take her in animal-like lust.

Young Porter was in love. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. He knew. Yes, and Lou loved him, too. One does not show another that much kindness, warmth … unless there is love.

Tenderly he caressed her. She clung to him, making little noises as he