Broken Branch: The Patchie Creek Story

By Anne W. Mhorelund

The year was 1939 when a small community near Augusta, Georgia first heard TC utter the riveting phrase, Keep your elbows resting on the needle. TC, a lumberjack and a rich timber baron made a pack. They had stepped across each others shadows since young boys one being of enormous wealth the other having a perfect aim and strength for felling 60 pines and cypress trees. Amidst civil strife, TC convinced a small contingency of friends to follow him deep into the forest across the rugged Acorn Trail to grow their own dreams. On an early morning in May 1945 ten covered wagons had reached the Acorn trail. Having been separated by politics, religion, race and the volatile mixture of love and revenge, few could ever return as the road home was splattered with the blood and ill deeds many had left behind.

Forty-five years later, they would take an accounting. Some would call them cowards who high-tailed it. They would offer to drain two manmade lakes slowly. There was Meeliah, an island girl left along while Clay Albert tended to the lives of a rich Philadelphia family and she knew how to bake a pineapple sweet potato pie that could arouse and her jungle sting was severe. Her punishment would be unending; Clay Albert was determined to break her. One day they could not coax her out of the lake.

One Sunday three brides-to-be would go off in a huff looking for adventure, a thing called hatching. They came upon a black family. Their intent was to enjoy some freshly churned ice cream and place ribbons in the pretty little girls hair. But three days later, one of the teenage boys would be bludgeoned to death. Was it something they did, said, or wrote? Would Barbara Lynn, a bride-to-be, get to live in the cottage behind the plantation house where slave graves were recently discovered? Did Tim really love her or was he after her blood line. Hed proclaimed, There are no brown spots about me; I am White from tick to tock and my eyes Really?

While one community dismantled and escaped into the forest, another one a state away vowed to leave a forest in Dorchester County, South Carolina, beat their tools into cleats and create the greatest civilization of modern times one that would one day leave the gravity of the earth and float among the stars. They had promised their mother a homeland. But first they would tenderly assault unjust social and political structures. Some pressed into their minds that it would take 100 years, but more than one retorted, Were going to do it in one generation. The year is 2012 and counting to 2033 from 1933; a 100 years.

Although Thelma claimed to be the mother of more children than any woman known hardly six could be counted at any one time; they having gone on to the other side she said. Shed referred to them as her glories, her carrots. Were they fathom? With little to go on but the suspicious tone of a business attorney and some missing birth certificates, the author recreates this lost civilization in, The Dark Circle The Search for the lost children of the Mud. The tenderness and love between Miles and Thelma Dunston are captured as the, The Slave Girl and the Jew.

Five overlapping stories tell of their courage and toils of rebirth of these families and the triumph of the human spirit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496922236

Anne W. Mhorelund

The author was born in the low country of South Carolina. She is the mother of three and grandmother of four boys. After an absence from the region for many years, she returned to find that the beauty and serenity of life and people she recalled, their beckoning smiles, warmth of hearts, the magnolias, live oaks and southern cuisine were still captivating. Driven by a desire to touch people reaching below the surface, she attempts to capture these substances and attributes on paper splattering the true-to-life characters found in her novels, short stories and poetry with drama, and the uncompromising passion in which they lived. The author considers herself a home grown tourist of this enchanting region with its historical buildings and architecture and horse drawn wagons, leaving her spellbound upon spotting pits of rage. She is retired from Charleston County local government and lives with her daughter in a hamlet of Dorchester County near the historical cities of Charleston, and Summerville, South Carolina, known as the birth place of the sweet tea industry. Anne W. Mhorelund is the pen name for Betty McZorn.

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© 2014 Anne W. Mhorelund. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/14/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2222-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2221-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2223-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014911694

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Volume One: An Escape into the Forest -A work of Fiction

-      Five Ladies At The Table

-      The Outer Branch

-      Fool Boy Don’t Cry

-      The Acorn Trail

Volume Two: A story recalled - A fictional account of True Events The dismantling, courage and rebirth of an American family

-      Silver Womb

-      The Dark Circle

-      P o e m s

This book is

dedicated to:

Martha, Rosetta, John R., Vernon, Ahron Micah,

Quennel, Vernon Bryan, Joshua Emanuel

and to the memory of the parents of Broken Branch.

Much time is spent looking around the corner

Peering around the bend

When the path to take just scooted by

Hidden deep within

To Humanity

*      *      *

The inspiration for these words settled around me while driving slowly through one of Dorchester County’s small villages appreciating the profuse blooming of early spring gardens. I’d just passed 2nd Bend Road and 1st Bend Road was within my vision when I felt something deep and pulled to the curve and wrote these words.

PART ONE

FIVE LADIES AT THE TABLE

He was more mixed with Indian than colored. Young! However young, the time designated for his soul to rest had stood in the rear and now eased upon the trumpet there to shatter the seal within the range of time. It had searched the seasoned boards upon which he lies, not knowing the segregation that called upon his kidneys and placed a band around his blood. Where the cause is red and blue, he heard the cry of the Indian Chief calming the wind. Against the ridge of night, his feet had left no shadows, nor wandered beyond the gate guarded by kings. Now, the sand to which he would soon belong, wrenches the wheels of the wagon, obeying their commanded song.

There, darkness at his side, pointing to where its lips reached the sea, easing its beaks along chafed lips, harnessing the bent arrow, returning the sounds of thunder, calling thee.

ONE

CHAPTER

IF ONE could see as she saw, and hear as she heard, there would be little reason not to believe a dozen reasons why Deborah wished this day would come, nor doubt a half dozen regrets that it would eventually arrive. She had carried these feelings to the edge of the porch, mixed feelings they could be called though the tilt of the scale belied their uneven weight.

A droplet of blood had curled between the ridges of her lip. But it was not until the taste of brine tapped her tongue that she released the pressure and gave a sigh. This was to be a day without sighs. Her watch had stood at 6:46 A.M. when that decision was made. Now, three hours later, there, she had given a sigh for something aimless, shameless and something blameless. Well, the rest of this day would not be bothersome, she declared.

She extended her hands in front of her and turned her palms upward, savoring the rays of the sun. But moments later she would lift them in disgust; her eyes had failed to spot anyone heading her way. She stepped forward then, suddenly halted. Try as she might to befriend Winifred’s greyhound, there he stood, back bristled, legs stretched as determined as ever to sink his teeth into her vulnerable parts. She backed away, her greeting being no more cordial than his. She could call out give one of her lumberjack calls but she had lost the knack and she seriously doubted that her lungs would stand up under the bombardment.

Deborah braced her feet as she pulled her scarf away from her face. Moments before, a gust of wind had lifted it forcefully and settled it on top of her hair. Oops, she said as she tugged it away from her hair and face. To the far left she could see a lone figure making its way around the corner of Sable’s house. She let out a sigh upon noticing the person turning in the opposite direction. Her facial muscles were taut, leaving no doubt about her displeasure. She hesitated a moment, scanned the yard one last time, then retreated into the house.

Moet and Adah had shared a corner of the window, their eyes lingering at each lake while canvassing the area to catch sight of late arrivals. One reached out and touched Deborah as she walked by.

There was a heavier than usual ripple on the water; various colors mellowed by a light morning fog hung low over the lakes. The sun had cleared the tallest trees in the distance, giving a hint of what the rest of the day would be like.

Five ladies waited inside the house. They searched Deborah’s face as she rejoined them. They sighed then, rapped their fingers against the top of the table with a mix of resignation and disappointment.

They were sitting in the spacious dining area of the home of Winifred Counsey Hall. So that she could keep a watchful eye on activities on the lakes at night, when the moon casts shimmering light on the water, she had sheer draperies hugging her oversized windows. These she kept pulled back late into the evening. They provided a nice contrast to the exposed wood beams angled across the high ceilings. The ever present aroma of hard woods leaked from the iron stove winter and summer, blending with the fragrance of drying berry bushes and sage tied loosely to pegs above their heads.

The openness of the large living room, which Winifred described as stout and tenacious, required several steps when closing the distance between the living room and the kitchen or the bedrooms beyond. Well you know what I am waiting to hear next. The morning wouldn’t be right without one, Moet said her voice lifting.

Now you said, ‘Mercy Lord’ the last time and nobody else came, Deborah replied.

Winnie here is the only one with just the right tonality. Go ahead, ordered Moet.

Remember the time before that it got us one more member – but you said it twice, Winifred.

Are you all going to sit there like you are all frozen in place? Moet was flinging her arms around trying to stir up some action. The two sisters, Adah and Rahola, had taken seats sandwiching Moet. The ladies reluctantly unfolded their arms with one sorting through her tablet for a clean sheet of paper, while others took a fresh grip onto their incomplete projects. I am waiting for TC’s words. I just know…

Was that a clearing in the throat that I just heard? Yep. Deborah canvassed the four corners of the room feigning a search for an unseen person, then in her customary way, hunched her shoulders and give a burst of laughter.

Ladies we must register TC’s words. No doubt about it, Deborah said. Not his serious words as they were aplenty. Yep. Deborah, who was seated next to Winifred, nodded her head several times and said, I liked his yeps especially when he doubles them up and then drag one out at the end. Yep, yep, yeeep. Sometimes giving a sharp one at the end.

Mercy Lord, Winifred added then left her chair abruptly to answer the telephone. It was Miafess calling. She would not be arriving and appeared to be urging a cancellation. You need to be here… And why not… And where is Sable? The ladies detected her spontaneous responses and were being vocal in agreeing that there would be no more delays!

She is tied up with this baking contest or event, it seems. Would you believe it? She wanted to listen in!

The prize must be substantial, Adah asserted. You should have told her to wring her fanny dry, sprinkle her yeast and get over here. Everyone laughed.

I will hand the phone to you the next time. Winifred then added, She is making a tragic mistake not being here. We just might put a little poison on the tip of our pens.

Anyway, she’s got herself a full life baking and all. Let her get her part in for the next fifty year celebration.

You know Deborah, she could make it she’s only 46, Moet said. So she claims.

What has she been feeding them? Adah had brought along her grandbabies who were playfully occupied with their teenage cousin in the far corner of the room. Her daughter, who had taken to the malls for early shopping, was expected any minute. Both are just twisting about so, Adah continued, not really expecting an answer. She stepped quickly across the room to the twins and picked one up.

They are probably just imitating each other, said Rahola.

There, there. You poor things. One round after another. She rubbed the baby’s stomach gently then said, They are growing apart in looks a little, haven’t you noticed? I use to have to wait to see which one taps me across the face before I could say, this one is Florine. Oops. What a round.

Oh Adah, her sister said, nobody calls a burp a round but you.

What else could it be? A collection of internal gases coming in rounds. Anyway, it means just what I want it to mean.

Adah sometimes calls them intestinal massages, said Rahola. She is starting her own dictionary, you know, and she is convinced that someone is going to put her new words in there one day.

Make fun all you like. All I know is when I see a word like, well let’s see. A word with three or more meanings, ten maybe. Story. Take ‘story’. How many stories are in that building? Read me a story. Stop telling stories. There now. You think the same person decided to use story three different ways. I don’t think so. Well!

Rounds, Moet said with amusement. Mmm. An intestinal disturbance, like gases coming round in rounds.

Laugh if you like, retorted Adah.

Repeating. That’s what we call it. Repeating, added Winifred. Just one or two colored sayings they called them that we were allowed to keep, from Patchie Creek. From the old country I should say.

Enough. I am repeating. Enough! Rahola ordered.

What’s going on with them? someone whispered softly lifting one shoulder quizzically towards Adah’s daughter, Sumha who had arrived to collect her twins and was seeking to rush away and avoid her mother’s questioning eyes. It was rumored that she and her husband recently had a worse than usual tiff, this one being both loud and uncompromising.

Go help the girl, Adah, Winifred ordered sternly.

Adah advanced quickly across the floor. The ladies watched the two women playfully get the babies into the car. Kiss, kiss, Maurine, Florine. Kiss, kiss. The teenager followed them outside. Brother Rodney had his shoulders curled over a comic book and gave his typical, Uh huh response as Adah asked, So young man, one more week of school? What are you going to do with so much time? His usual shrug of the shoulders was accepted.

Sumha, stop and see if you can find out what be that man’s business at the edge of the woods. Use your British accent he may think he has to respond. She nodded her head and checked the toddlers’ safety harnesses.

Now we can’t have two people in the family not speaking. Say something.

OK mom, she responded truculently but said nothing further.

OK. I suppose ‘OK’ is something. I suppose it is. Mmm. Adah turned away and tiptoed over the impressions of tire tracks left in the moist earth, careful not to break their perfect mold.

By the time the car pulled out of the yard, Adah had returned to the table. She swiveled in her chair watching her daughter maneuver the car down the drive. Veins protruding, her fingers locked around the arm of her chair in a firm grip causing the chair to make loud contact with the floor. It caught the attention of everyone. She sat silently. Winifred waved her coffee cup to break Adah’s concentration sending her a smile tacked behind her question which she repeated. Well? she said simply her question hanging in the air. Adah would rush to the door upon seeing her daughter drive quickly by the stranger on the edge of the woods.

Adah lifted the palms of her hands. Well?

I said, well are you with us honey? Well, others can come and go but we need to see this through.

Adah heaved her chest giving a deep sigh, then, nodded her head slowly.

Now we can get back to some business. So much ado about… But she stopped herself, trying to conceal her annoyance upon seeing that Adah was seated at last.

You are just jealous, responded Adah, looking around at the guilty party. Adah was the mother of four adult daughters with Sumha being the youngest. She had rushed to marry this Towson fellow much too soon for mother.

My niece was a church going girl before she got tangled up with him, Rahola said. Even said Amen occasionally. Marriage. Huh! They must have been mimicking some show because I heard their tiffing styles got quite theatrical. Oh, look! I knew we would lose her as soon as the twins left, she said upon seeing the teenager heading out of the yard. What’s with teenagers and dishes that they don’t like each other much? Irritated, she rose to pick up a few dishes scattered about.

The ladies were beginning their Saturday morning club session, that being the meeting of The Emerald Ridge Tid Bit Club and the Thimble and Thread Circle. In the early days, many clubs and associations kept the citizens informed and in touch. The Tid Bit Club and the Thimble and Thread Circle were two of five remaining clubs. Membership ranged from five to twelve active members in the Thimble and Thread Circle to ten in the Tid Bit Club. You could count on the same five ladies in regular attendance.

The Tid Bit club was the best attended of the two clubs. They had planned for this session to be devoted to considering current events and the social calendar; however, a special project was taking shape and would overshadow their routine. A few ladies would economize on time by selecting suitable swatches from their fabric remnants and lay out cutting patterns for throw pillows and table cloths while discussions took place. Except for Mrs. Helen, whose hands were somewhat restricted by arthritis, all preferred to make intricate hand stitches. Moet, as usual, would create a distraction with one of her doll garments.

The overall mission of the Tid Bit Club was to find solutions to small problems, to filter and disseminate information that would support and strengthen the community and the family unit. Its official motto was Teach, Influence and Defend a BIT. TID BIT.

The minutes would show five official club members present on this Saturday morning in May 1990: Adah Richardson, Deborah Coaver, Moet Mockley, Rahola Gordan and Winifred Counsey Hall. It was usually scheduled for 10:15 A.M., however, the clock was now easing toward 11:00 A.M.

With the fiftieth anniversary of the community approaching, a grand project loomed ahead for members with active memories of the trip across the trail. These ladies would take turns promoting a family and events for a collection of writings.

One lady reminded those gathered at the table of this plan.

Yes, let’s stick with the mission. Whoever started throwing in all those other things should be shot dead, wouldn’t you say, hissed Winifred’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Helen Hall, while struggling to leave the table for her morning cat nap.

I believe that she could do it, Adah said in an undertone. The ladies laughed at the irony of this since the old woman’s hands were arthritic and could hardly couple a spoon or lift the strong cup of coffee she so loved.

Well, we need to stir up our memories, and dust off our notes, Deborah insisted.

We need to trim our list also, someone added. We can’t do a write up on everyone – just a line maybe.

But then we will leave out the unusual people, well interesting, well you know, Moet replied.

Interesting is a better word, but then that would leave out most. Well, someone is going to be offended. So let’s stick with the settlers whoever they may be, Rahola, a non-settler commented.

Well Rahola, you know it won’t be me and you, Adah commented. I came along not quite a year after the settlers arrived. And Daddy didn’t get that happy again until five years later when you came along. The spacing became better after that.

Moet and Winfred gave a chuckle. Mrs. Helen added her own smirk. Sweetheart, we will write something on you two, Deborah said warmly.

If you really want to ask someone, Moet drawled dramatically. I do have the list of original settlers.

The Mockleys are on top, I bet. Deborah resisted the temptation to place her hands on her hips as she spat the words out. That would look too ethnic, she thought, too much like a mammy.

And why not? Moet said, tossing the paper to the center of the table.

Who let all these other people come here in the first place, Miss Winifred asked after glancing at the list. Not you two, I couldn’t live without either of you.

Something called freedom. Freedom! That’s what brought them here. What we came here looking for.

People ain’t going nowhere for freedom anymore now, Mother Hall. Those times are ancient.

Yes! Now they expect freedom to be delivered to their doors – or the community center providing anybody is looking for it. Rahola was referencing her activities at the local community center.

South Africa I hear needs a bit, one lady snapped to no one in particular.

You can watch people fighting for freedom on television now – less personal.

Oh stop, you are not funny Adah – neither one of you. Besides it may not be personal for you but it’s personal for somebody. Moet said, not amused by the humor. Especially, if body parts get missing.

A stupid remark on my part, Adah concluded.

Winifred continued, I just know for a fact, a fact mind you, if we hadn’t left ahead of everything changing around – well who knows? They may have been waiting for us to leave. It took less than twenty years and most of what we left for was set straight. Like TC said, America didn’t turn around and close down this country hightailing it back to England when things got better back home. They had kissed England goodbye. We’ve got some history to tell and celebrate out of the deal anyway.

Deborah chuckled, then said, The history of Mr. Robert, husband of Miss Sallie Crawford’s daughter, is well worth mentioning. I think it all started when Miss Sallie’s daughter fell for this Robert. Remember when she brought him here to the lake?

I hear tell that she did just like all her sisters. Brought the fellow home proper like she was supposed to. ’Course she knew not to try it any other way.

Uh-huh. That’s true Winifred, said Miss Rahola, remember that old wait until he gets her skirt up trick the scouts liked to pull.

Now dear sister, they wouldn’t put our girls in such danger. That was reserved for girls from the other side. The hot ones, if you know what I mean.

I don’t see how you can tell them apart, really, countered Winifred.

Anyway, Rahola continued, I hear tell that Miss Sallie choked on her smoked sausage for real when she saw how dark his skin was. I think her daughter was more up in the air about that than anything else around. She found it fascinating in fact. Ha! She swore his skin turned a little blue when she stroked it. Don’t you recall Adah?

Well, old Mr. Crawford was gracious enough I hear tell, Adah responded, but there was that ‘we thought she knew better’ floating around the room and nobody needed to say it or try to deny it.

He threw some extra questions in there at the young fellow, I hear. Deborah laughed, then said, Even started talking about her being sooo delicate and needing to be treated sooo gentle like and with respect. Had Mr. Robert thinking she was sick or something.

That would have stopped the ceremony for good, Winifred said. Huh, no man will start out with a sick wife. Delicate my chewing tobacco!

Well I know for sure that men like them delicate but a little toughness just under the surface. Moet made a gesture and began tugging at her flesh. It mustn’t show now. She chucked loudly.

We may be somewhat of a different sort, Winifred said, but you can’t exactly call us delicate. We did not stay home dusting our china when we settled this area. Our hands got as crusty as the men but their loving didn’t suffer.

Oh, yes, Deborah agreed. There were no happier men than the settlers.

And how would you know? You weren’t even married, said Rahola. Weren’t things just left alone back then or did you folks do more than you are admitting.

Don’t you know a happy man when you see one? Deborah responded, directing her question to Moet. "You did have one, one time. And Rahola, how many times? None maybe."

Oh, you think so, she responded with a shyness to her voice.

Ladies we can’t let half the day go by without getting down to our real business, Rahola insisted.

Miss Winifred began to firm up for a fight for her agenda item, knowing that the ladies hardly had the desire to belabor the subject. Now don’t forget, she said a little breathy, we were all going to bring back some ideas about food presentation also, were we not? Now don’t interrupt. We are going to eliminate dingy looking food in this community. I don’t want to see anymore dingy food at the church supper, or chicken that looks like it’s been white washed, and no more beef on our tables that looks as though it has been dipped in tar.

Oh, food will be food, Miss Winnie, with all due respect. Memory not forsaking, young as I was, I carried my load too, said Moet coldly.

Mrs. Helen said slowly, Mr. Crawford picked up a lot of his ways from being with the men from the other side. They are always expressing concern about how delicate their women are and the need to protect them. That’s where he got that kind of thinking from, I am sure of it.

Oh yes. How he crawls into the Village when he wants to show his wild side and comes back speaking out of his head. Well this mission is about letting people know who we truly are – settlers, pilgrims who settled this wilderness. Pilgrims, Winifred concluded.

Settlers will do, Mrs. Helen said her voice being rather shaky. Winifred covered one of Mrs. Helen’s hands with her own, the exchange between them showing their strong affection for each other.

TWO

CHAPTER

SETTLERS THEY were with sufficient puncture wounds to pride, dignity and body to drive them into the wilderness where the trees and wilderness would conceal the good life they would fashion for themselves, where soon the notion of differences would begin to fade, blending, stopping short, however of erasing the individuality that no man can take from another. The echoes around the lake had vibrated this message. It had pelted their skins. All who shared breath or touched hands knew and transferred its contents. Later, two additional lakes which focused their resolved to live in harmony would echo their message. At the peak of the lavender mountains in the distance is where all disharmonies were laid to rest. All the youngsters knew that their negative attitudes must follow the hidden trail to those peaks.

What more could one do except celebrate? There was the first six months’ celebration, first year, fifth, tenth, twentieth then the twenty-fifth afterwhich, twenty-five long years would pass until the big one, the fiftieth.

Thomas Arthur Crimson Sr., the ladies’ beloved TC would of necessity be at the front of all words on paper or those expressed vocally about the founding of Emerald Ridge. Once aroused, no one could blow out his fire. However, he would denounce the idea that he was the leader, calling them all leaders. A few believed that he was driven by a special love. Before his death, someone staking no claim placed a plaque on his desk which he displayed proudly.

We must register the words inscribed on his plaque. You have seen it, well really, has anyone seen it lately?

I am sure I have a copy, but where, where? Winifred made a mental search before lifting her body heavily from her chair. She headed for a rear bedroom, pausing to poke through drawers and cabinets along the way.

Realizing that Winifred knew exactly where it was, Moet observed these theatrics and turned away. Her silent disgust fooled no one; it rattled as loudly as the single engine airplane making several swoops over the lake.

Here, she announced emerging. I would read it, but my voice gets a little shaky each time I do. Someone, please, she said, handing an aged sheet of paper across the table. Rahola would elect to read it aloud.

Perched at the Edge

Long before the seeds began to grow,

There gathered upon a people aglow

Propelled if ever the direction fell

Upon their knees

An issue of matters dwelled.

Gathering sunlight from hence,

Across un-calm seas, and the waters’ swells.

It was first issued to a people

For whom the breastplate fitted

Wherever the sunlight landed and the

Clouds frowned,

Your world beneath its glory outfitted.

With authority placed upon your arms

Upon the gift of love given,

Proceed, softly dwell,

No less the cause, but do no harm.

Be swift, gather all things before

The sun rise warm,

Before the birds’ spreads unfold,

Gathering as such, brown seeds sown,

Capturing as such, weeping eyes of red seeds mourned

Kidney flushed of white seeds, their issues to march on

Long before the sun rise warm.

There was the day

When the waters caught the shadows at the edge

Reflecting faces where no words flowed.

While leader of leaders listened,

And leaders of leaders read and glowed.

With authority placed upon his arms,

Upon the gifts of love given, proceed,

Dwell, no less the cause, undue the wrong.

Your friend, Hudson

All but one lady resisted the temptation to applaud. The ladies continued their conversation.

BRPCS

Goodness, we were thrown about like sacks of corn on the trip to this settlement. Delicate, ha! Someone should begin to take notes, Miss Winifred ordered. Maybe something will stir more than our memories, if you know what I mean.

No, said Deborah, while coaxing the other ladies to shake their heads, ‘no’ in agreement.

You do Deborah, all sixty-three years of you do. Anyway, it’s obvious, she said in a hushed voice.

And what is so obvious, Winnie?

Well, it’s obvious they handle the girls too rough. That’s what causes it.

Causes what?

Causes the body trouble, you know, the tenderness and pain in the belly. Looking down at those beautiful faces they soon forget they have a human being under them and start going at them like they are stomping on a snake.

Just hush with that silliness, Deborah said while giggling at the illustration. Those ladies don’t seem a bit hurt up much to me. Plus, some of the ladies aren’t all that beautiful anyway.

Mrs. Winfred Counsey Hall at seventy-seven was the oldest member of the club. She was accustomed to a certain reverence shown her status and was seldom challenged. She choked out a quick cover up and said, I hear tell that he cut short on his speech to the young Robert about ‘don’t mess with what you don’t plan on keeping’ and just said, don’t mess with it. She was satisfied that this got them all to giggling and back in her corner.

Rahola said, So is that something we should register in our book under Crawford, Mess or Stomping.

Now don’t you ladies tell too many lies around this table on poor old Crawford. The good Lord will remove His grace from over this house if you keep that up.

Anyway, he will go under unusual or just someone to scratch your head over. Adah hesitated for a moment then said, I wonder if Heather ever gets… no.

Stomped you mean. No, not the sort, Rahola concluded. I believe that it would be delicate from start to finish. Modest. Add modest please. Delicate and modest. Ha, ha, ha. Some may even say moderate – hardly a move. You know she has not been around lately.

We’ve got a senior citizen in here. Mind your speech. These modern ways are sending some seniors to an early death. You don’t dare fall asleep with your television on. You need a strong heart and lungs for these times.

You know you can turn it off if there is something on that you are not enjoying, Miss senior citizen. Moet had directed her response to Deborah who was age eighteen at the time they arrived at the settlement. Deborah adjusted her head band to cover her exposed gray hair in an attempt to shift the attention away from her. The ladies were quiet for some time while Adah assisted Mrs. Helen to bed handling her with much delicacy. Mrs. Helen managed a firm hold on the door knob insisting as always on letting herself in and out of her bedroom. A principle of sought it seems. Exiting, she left a sentence incomplete regarding her status as a senior and not to vote without her. For the past twenty years, she had made her home with, first her son and Winifred, then with Winifred after he died about eight years ago. Approaching 90, more and more Winifred was feeling the weight of her care.

BRPCS

The day was unusually warm for early May. The usual breeze from the lakes seemed to be somewhat hesitant this day. It seemed that the wind may have forgotten to make its usual swoop around the lake to deliver its welcomed cool breeze. It was difficult to pull your eyes away from the wildflowers and flowering bushes that were just beginning its showiest period; bursting with colors strategically planted and nurtured over the years.

Look, someone is taking pictures again, Adah said as she neared the window hoping to find a cool gust of wind. It appeared to be the same male in the distance focusing his attention on something slightly out of view. Her assumption that he was not one of the locals was reasonable as most locals had long captured all of interest on their cameras.

Nobody respects the sign anymore. The sign that read, private was more often on its side than erect. Adah ran her hands playfully through the prism of light that was creating a pattern on the window sill as she backed away and returned to the group.

Winifred’s spring dress draped loosely over her shoulders exposing a scar she sustained on the way to the settlement. Quick action and her nursing skills had prevented serious medical complications. Even after 45 years, she still rubs it occasionally more from habit than tenderness.

She picked up the conversation, Well, Mr. Robert didn’t bring down this community none and he didn’t let Crawford forget it though. He would ask him plain out if he still thought he was a beast.

Ha, ha. I wonder when we stopped thinking who don’t belong here, Moet asked.

Whenever it was that TC gave the signal.

When could that have been? From the day we sat foot on this soil, in one way or another, TC kept urging us not to let up; just keep your elbows resting on the needle, he would say. We must remind Heather of his words, Deborah said. Everyone should have a motto next to their name, in my opinion.

How old were you on the trip? Rahola asked Moet.

Seven, and Bobby was nine or eight. Nine I believe, no. Well, the rest, oh goodness. I didn’t want to come.

THREE

CHAPTER

Flickering Lights

IT WAS so hard to leave everything behind, although the Emerald Ridge settlement had more than lived up to its promise. Over the years they had heard that a new wave of people had flocked over Patchie Creek, Georgia circled it and settled in, some leaving long impressions, as it was understood. My, my! Did the breads and aromas of the great Atlanta ever reached that far, with its flickering lights serving as beacons to all who searched for life. Did it point to the left or to the right? Did it circled slowly or circled fast, so none would recall her past, leaving her a source of scorn for others to mourn. Yes, they were more than a little curious about the new occupants, and they had held their curiosity until today.

Shamelessly, they had not left any best wishes for those who stayed and had held a place for late defectors for many years. They would indeed be embraced and loved as lost sons and daughters. But a time for cutting off would come. Yes, some were genuinely sorry that Patchie Creek survived and prospered without them. Without apology. Patchie Creek would betray her new citizens one day, they warned. The wind and sand would gather strength and set the glitter free.

For Sure Heather will need some pointing to get to the right sources since we have been gone so long, said one of the ladies.

The news had reached them that Beth’s daughter was ailing in an unusual way. No it would be her granddaughter they must remember – or could it be a great, great… Time had marched on they reminded each other.

Well what I recall of her granddaughter – don’t you recall. Someone had hastened to deliver the message that she had not survived the delivery of that precious child. Couldn’t wait a minutes. There are those who clamor to be the first to bear bad news.

Ha. I would have liked to see his face.

His face. Its face.

They said that the mid-wife was gitting ready to call for the family because she knew a doctor wouldn’t get out there in time to save her. Well Mr. Midwife stuck his head in to get himself a last look before she expired. He started whispering to his wife loud enough for her to hear and said ‘I guess I should go get the hacksaw, it gotta come out now or later.’

Ha, Ha. Men, they know how to handle such matters with such delicacy.

It got the child delivered much better than his wife’s orders to push.

What silliness fell upon this group the minute you thought my eyes were closed. I heard you. Yes we will give Heather this mission for our glorification. Now all say yes, Mrs. Helen ordered from the edge of her bed.

FOUR

CHAPTER

Daughter of Other Lands Somewhere Over the Atlantic July 1990

IT HAD been two years since Heather traveled to the states. She knew that the trip would be long and harrowing but a briefcase stuffed with papers, plots and plans would assure that the time would not be wasted she vowed. Never one to squander a moment, she had put her mind to rest, determined to devote some of that time to making some puzzles fit. She needed a clear strategy for solving some unsettled pieces of life and setting them straight. For once, this trip would not be all about family and friends. She had triumphed in a business deal and regained a large section of her family’s ancestral land around the lakes. Funny what can be accomplished when the feet stay fastened to the ground a bit.

For old times’ sake, she had asked for her favorite aisle seat where she could get an angled view of the horizon. She wiggled herself a good spot, and like a comfortable old chair, or a soft pair shoes that cradle the feet just so, the cushion gathered around her rump and fitted comfortably. The flight attendants were giving instructions and smiling professionally. Heather braced her head and arms on the rests but she would delay her sigh, as she knew she would have to endure several bumps and starts before the landing gears retreated into their cavities and the plane tilted its nose towards heaven. She devoted twenty minutes to take-off jitters, then her fingers relaxed with the rest of her body following suit. After watching the clouds dart by for an hour or so, she found them tranquilizing and felt her head begin to drift. She stretched out in her seat and allowed herself awareness of nothing except for the purring of the airplane. Her head dropped and her eyes popped opened; she had not expected to doze so early into the flight she thought as her eyes popped open. She took stock of where she was and determined that her belongings had not been bothered in her unguarded moment. Or, was it an hour? She rolled her watch over to be certain and checked her carry on items. She had found that traveling alone by any mode was not the safest challenge for a lady to take on. The vibration of the plane then the pilot’s soothing voice made her wonder if it were a mama’s trick to take people’s minds off of impending danger. But, no one was looking towards each other assuredly, and so she relaxed.

She was thinking how good it would be to slumber a day or two, to stay out of sight, while keeping her family within eye range. But, the town was still small enough that everyone gets notified when a long lost son or daughter returns home. In a way she was hoping that part of the old customs still held and that Randall would immediately hear of her arrival and would want to see her. Well, do I want to see him or not? Several heads turned in her direction telling her that she had uttered the words aloud. A moment of embarrassment followed. I could have notified him before my departure and eliminated the merry-go-round, she continued to admonish herself silently.

Randall. His name brought her to shivers. Who is he so to have placed his thumb on my heart, on my pulse for all these years, she questioned. She sat upright hoping that her feelings had not escaped her lips again. For what she wanted to say should not be heard. She rested her head back and tried to fight off thoughts of him that pressed in from all sides. She was only successful for a few seconds.

My Lover! She tossed the words about. She did not expect passion to wash over her. Was he simply her lover, she questioned? No, she answered quickly. There were plenty of the lover types within easy reach, yet she had not sought any comfort in their arms. No, she could not think of him as her lover. To her the word depicts an area of life that needed frequent tending, much like a hired cook to feed the family, a chauffeur to drive the family, a plumber to, well. No, he was not her lover in that sense. Yet, there was a hunger and a thirst for him first fed by youthful adventure and now driven by a decisively mature denial. But upon closer examination, was it truly maturity that caused her to back away from the opportunity to say, Let’s end this forever, as had he neither being able to let the words that said goodbye slip from their tongues. It needed to be said, but in the end, they had both agreed that five years are not shooed away that easily.

What was so impossible an obstacle. When she felt under compulsion to explain, the reasons did not seem important when recited. He wanted her to return to the states, to be within arms’ reach when he needed her. Reasonable her best friend had said. He had traveled to England to punctuate a serious note. Return now or… She now snickers at the ultimatum he tried to lay on her a little more than a year ago. You can’t be serious, you can’t be, Heather said as her voice trailed off. With the warmth between them, his words fell flat like a pancake then, crumbed, filling the narrow space between them. She had backed away crisscrossing her legs as she turned in the other direction.

The scene had been played out before her eyes many times in which she could see the drama on screen unfolding, but could never feel the emotional discord. The curtain begins to fall as something lifts her feet and they begin to move slowly towards each other silently. For a moment, she felt trapped by the emotions that rushed from her heart centering in her eyes, and on the edge of her parted lips. The most this drama engendered was a cooling off period, nothing final.

For her, the temperature had not gotten any lower during their absence. She felt a strong rush of passion even as the airplane jetted across the sky. It erupted and shook her. She suspected that he may have cooled a degree too much, but she knew that in time, that also would erupt and the fire would re-ignite. She was determined to cling to the latter hope. But, in a short while, she would know which.

She closed her eyes for a second or two and tried to imagine herself in the arms of another man.

Several African American men were scattered about the airplane. Looking at the back of their heads had given her no joy, but one was facing her now as he returned to his seat. Her eyes jetted straight out in front of her. Was he worth an imaginary interlude. The image of Randall hovering over her said, No. But, what’s a little harmless look. The handsome dark fellow squared his chin upon feeling her eyes on him. Lucky girl, Heather thought, as he turned his eyes under refusing to make eye contact with her. Ouch! He’s disciplining his wandering eyes even at 25,000 feet in the air. His great gal must be a doctor or something higher. Huh, I bet I could match her salary, Heather bragged in her mind. Oh, here comes another one. Handsome dark fellow, wavy hair, chin in the air.

In her younger days, she would stare them into their seats, exposing the tip of her pearly white teeth. Stop that girl! She was astonished at how quickly she could lapse into one of her, ‘Oh Poor Me’ moods when she was fully aware that, not a soul she knew would spin around once to extend an arm in pity for her. Not unless somebody in the family died.

She could not even imagine a time when she and Randall would not belong to each other. He had always been there for her. When her father died suddenly three years earlier, he had rushed to her side and cradled her on the long trip across the sea. At that moment, she felt as married to him as any bride who had tossed her dreams to other hopeful, outstretched hands. A hyphenated last name floated before her eyes.

She was drawn to him as dust is drawn to a vacuum cleaner, any brand. What is it with you and him, this vacuum cleaner affect, her girlfriend had asked. She had no good answers. She just had to get a handle on her feelings, she thought, slamming her feet against the footrest in anger.

The airplane purred peacefully as Heather continued to drape herself in warm thoughts of him. She recalled the last time she spoke to him by telephone. He had again expressed a need to redefine matters. She had said um-huh. He had decided that they would go from being intimate friends to pals. She said um-huh again, then wondered if the need to be so definite meant that he had another attraction in his life. She listened for a giveaway in his voice but detected none. She could have known then, she supposed. Not asking meant she did not have to hear a truth that she could not bear, preferring instead the emotional cowardiceness of not knowing.

Until the present, she had always looked forward to her trips to America. Her body would tingle and awaken knowing Randall would be at the other end often slightly off to the right of the runway at Gate eight; where, he would pace until she rushed through the gate with such haste, that others felt swept along. She had reminded herself that it was he who preferred to move things into a different direction. It was he who wanted to be ‘just pals’. It’s not my fault she consoled herself, feeling rather childish, but she was terrified that Randall would not accept all of the blame.

By the time she reached the hotel and plopped her suitcases on the bed, it had been ten hours since she left home Tuesday morning. Exhaustion prevented her from picking up the phone to announce her arrival. Since no one was expecting her, she would use the time to sleep, clear up her thoughts, and further sort out her feelings about Randall. Before long, she would be pinned down with food and wet kisses beyond endurance and there would be no time for sorting. She spent a few minutes tossing clothes from her body to wherever they landed. She ruffled her hair and pulled her hands away appalled at the residue.

By 9:00 P.M. she was squeezing the last of the shampoo from her hair and patting it dry. She twisted and pinned the ends to achieve the no fuss hair style she preferred. She looked at the telephone several times, but refused to rob herself of this uninterrupted time.

It took a while for her brains to fully detect that she was off duty. She flipped the light switch, determined to sleep but the image of Randall was all around her in the dark. She pretended to hold him, offering him a place of comfort until her eyes clamped shut. Sometime between 10:30 P.M. and 8:00 A.M., she willed herself to sleep.

It did not appear that any time had passed since her head hit the pillow and the early morning sunlight created defused lighting behind the draperies. She confirmed by the hotel clock that it was past 8:00 A.M. and she should have had her second cup of coffee by now. She knew her sister would be understanding and would give her the rest of the morning to rest, she thought gratefully as she lowered the telephone onto the cradle. She lined her gifts on the bed to make sure she had not left anyone out.

FIVE

CHAPTER

AS HEATHER neared her native community, she braced herself for the usual home smothering that was sure to come. Her complaints about it had always been totally insincere. She knew her folks would not be satisfied to let her return to Europe without five extra pounds clinging to her hips. The ride to the lake would take a little over two hours and a half. She had made several trips through the cloverleaf interchange, and hurled some choice words out the window before finally getting off on the right exit. Within an hour, the cityscape was behind her and she found herself engulfed with pine scented air, mingled with wild flowers. Cattle grazed in the distance, painting a serene setting as the landscape became rural.

Once they had learned of her arrival, the family rushed to prepare her favorite cottage the one east of Little Emerald Lake. From there she could see portions of all three lakes from her window. She thought little of this as a youngster, but now she realized their serene beauty, value, and place in her life even more so now that she had put the wheels into motion to write the history of the original settlers who came to Emerald Ridge nearly fifty years ago.

BRPCS

There was nothing to be seen from the main road that gave a clue that this community nestled quietly beyond the forest rising into the sky. She was ten minutes into the final phase of the trip when Glistening Mountain etched its way into view. Several cloud formations hung in its path, partially obscuring its gray and lavender tip. The leased vehicle handled beautifully and hardly bobbed over the three miles of rugged road leading to the lakes. The five mile stretch of railroad tracks built by the settlers still stood. She smiled as a rut grabbed a wheel and shook it slightly as she passed over the tracks.

The usual rush of excitement came over her as the lakes came into view. She let up her feet from the gas pedal, slowed the vehicle, and came to a complete stop. She disembarked and began to feel the welcome break from tall buildings and mass transportation. The natural beauty of the forest was arresting and would challenge any custom made gardens and hanging bridges. Like a child clinging to its mother, flowering vines snuggled against the trees, generously infusing the forest with pleasing aromas and an array of colors.

Just ahead was a road off to the left. That was Elmira Road. She slowly let go the sight before her, started up the vehicle and headed that way. It was not worth getting her God Mother up in arms by having her learn that she had delayed her usual visit with her. A woman nearing seventy automatically expects for certain allowances according to custom. Her house was built five years after the original settlers arrived and was situated slightly outside the settlement. It no doubt was triggered by a twinge of resentment at those who moved to the settlement later. Nearly as old as the settlement itself, the house still had a pampered look and stood as a tower beckoning to be acknowledged by travelers making their way into town. Several rocking chairs sat on the covered porch, it being home to some of her collectibles. Heather felt the flash of joy that flooded the old woman when she pulled into the yard. An avid gardener, she rose from her flower beds with ease and moved towards Heather with outstretched arms. The most loyal of her three terriers escorted her and waited his turn to greet Heather. The other two, reserved by nature, shyly massaged their paws and hovered near the ground. These two are getting on in age, but they are very family oriented, her God Mother commented. What a blessed day it is. She continued hugging Heather snugly.

Ma Mae, it is indeed a blessed day.

Are you just arriving child? A cold drink, maybe?

I cannot refuse, Heather responded with a nod of her head easing herself down into her favorite chair. The dryness in her throat was getting the best of her. She eagerly accepted a drink of cold well water.

Give me a moment to freshen up and we will both have a drink. Are you hungry? The frig is there. She disappeared through a rear door of her home and emerged a few minutes later.

I don’t hear Pa Hart stirring about. I suppose he is cutting down a tree?

Yeah. He’s felling a tree as usual. We can’t keep him out of the forest. Ma Mae was midway the door leading to the kitchen when she responded. She had made a quick change and was tugging at the belt to the blue shirt dress. The rugged life around the forest had kept her fit, which showed in the swiftness with which she moved. She pulled a head band over her hair covering her graying temples and continued to speak. He lost his way a few weeks ago. Put a fright into everyone. A good seven hours before we found him.

You need not fix up for me. Sit! You are in constant motion. Then, Ma Mae’s words reached her. He got lost did you say? My, how could he? The lakes are visible from every angle. Heather’s voice wavered, and registered alarm thoroughly aware of the worse possibility had he not been found in time.

You would think so. Difficult to understand. You won’t rush away so quickly this time. You must spend a night or two with me. I’ve a lot to spill for the project.

Well, I see the news has traveled. It will not be that sort of writing, Ma Mae.

Now Heather, I certainly won’t be looking to read something about who begat whom and who is the son of whom and who married who. Why, don’t you think we would appreciate a little spicy, lively reading dear daughter?

Spicy? Coated with smut you mean.

Definitely. Child, listen. If someone got their hands caught on the wrong thing and couldn’t let hold of it, I think it would be amusing.

Well, you must excuse me for misjudging you conservative, isolated souls. Now if my memory serves me, how often have the young ones met with a deep scowl from you for nibbling on such garbage?

Ma Mae laughed for a second realizing her guilt. Ha! My dear, age brings with it certain privileges and television has weakened much resistance. How the ratings would suffer if they showed a loving husband and wife sleeping in separate beds and pecking each other on the cheeks. Heather, you must let us in on your secret about how you keep a steaming romance going while so far away.

Really, Ma Mae. Nothing of the sort.

No steam huh? Girl, you missed a wonderful wedding – Adelaide did it finally. Oh my, I must remember not to call her that to her face. Adel, she prefers.

"The young man, I understand is a young man."

"He’s well over twenty-one.

Something has taken hold out here. There are other young ladies rocking the cradle back and forth. Some of the young husbands are failing to respect their elders though. But, she grinned, you are not one to speak boldly Heather.

It doesn’t seem that way when I am with him. Randall is so mature. I have never once had the slightest urge to place a bib on him. But my, Adel, she is sprouting.

The most unusual thing happened shortly before her wedding. Wedding! Come to think of it, is there not a date to set… ?

Now, let’s keep to the subject. Adel.

Ma Mae’s eyes lingered on her, not altogether being willing to be shooed away from the subject so quickly. Studying Heather for a moment with her eyes leveled, she spoke, Adel works next town over you know. Moved closer to work. Living with her cousin. I’m not sure that I understand it enough to explain, truthfully speaking. But it seems that… that. What in the world could have happened to that girl, really?

"My goodness! What could be so perplexing Ma Mae? She married a young man, and, he is a young man and… ?"

Goodness no if you’re asking can he vote! Ma Mae chuckled. Anyway, I heard the young ones like to be called ‘daddy’ when things get going at night – that final moment you know. And, not just two or three times. She cut her eyes at Heather knowingly.

Now, now Ma Mae. Heather could not help but grin. She felt a rush of love for her Ma Mae. I don’t accept any daddy, mommy passion soaked words, she continued. Makes me feel cautious and guilty.

Well, you got to hear the rest. She decided to have her mouth look fitting for her wedding, right. If ever you want to smile with your lips parted, it is on your wedding day. Anyway, something went wrong though. Well, we got a call from her cousin – now you know there are times when Adel is half a degree to the left, then she snaps right back into place. You have seen her.

I will pass on that one.

It was told by her cousin that up to a week before her wedding, she was… Oh, Heather… she was going to work each day with two of her front teeth filed down as sharp as the lead of a pencil.

What? You must be kidding!

Yeah! Unbelievable! Her cousin from her mother’s side said, I don’t know what’s happened, but she is over here looking like she would go for your neck.

Sorry, I am taking a while to visualize this. She had no front teeth before her wedding.

No! Yeah! but thinny thin ones.

Did she run out of cash? I could have advanced her if she was short.

We worry about you Heather being so far away. People must know that you are from the lakes and on your own without protection, sweetheart.

Ma Mae, those days are gone by, like a feather on a windy day. Plus, they have not heard of the lakes where I am.

Well, it seems the dentist was not the professional type. She described him as a large, wrestler type who started acting strange, shaking and filing, shaking and filing, then handed her the mirror so she could see how thin the teeth were. His assistant finally ran for help.

Is this a real story, or are you trying to sensationalize the book.

Book? Will it actually be a book with a cover showing the lakes and me, and… ?

You are truly advocating, Ma Mae, Heather interrupted.

Poor Adel, I can see her so puzzled when he cleaned her up and said they were out of dental supplies and to come back the following week.

Well a funny story, but I don’t believe that, ‘The Vampire of Emerald Lake’ will fit our theme.

Many found it funny – then puzzling – unusual. We go for the unusual around here, right?

She should have driven herself to the hospital or to the police station. What a puzzle.

Yeah, at the very least. But, I don’t know who or what they would have arrested. I don’t believe that they would arrest a dentist for not finishing his work.

"I must go. Please don’t telephone anyone about my arrival. Naut right away. Only Penelope knows and perhaps… Well, it would be nice to surprise as many people as

Reviews for Broken Branch

[ck2935 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I have to be honest, parts of ths book are just over my head, but most of it I get and provides insigiht into how Congress has evolved and changed since the founding of out country. Basically I like how the book shows that Congress as an insstitution is failing and relinquishing it's Constitutional obligations. If anyone wants to know how and why government is failing, this is a great start.

[madcatnip72 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Sadly, the book is written in such a dry style that I couldn't get into it. It was difficult to parse out exactly what were the specific issues that the authors thought were plaguing Congress and how to fix them.