HAIRT BEFORE DAWN: a novel of perseverance

By Grace E Howell

Nothing--not blindness, not shunning or fire demons, not even the evil Mr. Dayton--can stop Hairt when she follows the spirit of her birth mother and sets out to prove her worth.

HAIRT BEFORE DAWN is

• a fascinating coming of age novel,
•   a magical tale of haunting music and a hovering spirit,

• Language: English
• Publisher: GEHMEM
• Release date: Mar 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9780578977201

Grace E Howell

Grace E. Howell, a former teacher and librarian, has been an avid reader since she first learned to read. To share with others her joy in reading, she soon began writing stories, poems, and plays. Now she writes and teaches Bible studies and reads for Memphis Library WYPL 89.3 FM while she works on her next novel. When she needs a break from the people in her head, you may find her tending and enjoying her gardens. Grace lives with her husband in Memphis, Tennessee.

Book preview

EVENING . . .

evokes a yearning for what was or what could be.

1

1904

Like a copperhead coiled in the path, a pair of male voices stopped me dead still on my way to the barn. I reached for Mutt and conquered my urge to run as two shadowy figures sauntered through the twilight to the old tree stump.

Yeah, that’s dumb Hairt. She ain’t got a lick a sense.

Mutt growled, and I cringed at the mortifying words. Then rage flashed through me and my hands curled into fists.

Better not let Ruben hear you say that. The boys cackled out like I couldn’t hear a thing they said.

It wouldn’t do a bit of good to yell or send Mutt after them, so I breathed in the scent of honeysuckle, unclenched my fists, and walked on as the mockingbird in the sweet gum tree began his evening repertoire again.

Soothing smells of hay, dry wood, and animals drew me into my sanctuary. A cowbell jangled as I ran my hand along the worn, wooden rail of a stall. In my gray, before-dawn, after-sunset world, the colors I loved were only a memory. I had to rely more and more on touch and sound.

Ruben, the oldest of my three brothers, whistled as he finished with the horses and mules. His blonde hair was a bright spot in the dim light of the barn. I wouldn’t tell him about the boys. No sense in getting him riled up.

Ruben was sixteen, a year older than I was, and Pa let him quit school last year because he wasn’t learning anything but how to play hooky without getting caught. I had always dreamed of going to school like my sisters and brothers, but I’d been Pa’s helper in the tobacco fields since I was nine.

See you later, Hairt, Ruben said. I’m going with Arlo and Jed to the dance over in Slayden. That explained those laughing hyenas lurking out there by the stump. Our sisters, Mary and Mearl, were going to the dance too, but I never considered it. Never had I left the farm since that one day I went to school.

Trying to forget that Ruben’s pals had only said what everybody else thought, I loaded the cow troughs with hay and reached for the brush. Fumble-fingered and clumsy, I knocked it off the shelf and had to grope through dry straw litter on the dirt floor until Mutt dropped it on my hand.

While grooming the cows, I softly sang my song, the one I’d always known. It seemed to calm the cows and me too. After a last swipe of the brush to Nell’s back, I combed her tail switch. The four cows on our farm in Little Creek Hollow roamed the pasture where their tails picked up dirt, seeds, and filth of all kinds. The thought of a slap in the face from a dung-hardened tail switch while I was milking was more than I could stand. So every evening as the cows munched their bit of grain, before washing their udders, I cleaned their tails. Nell’s tail twisted and turned like an agitated snake as I held on and combed until the hairs hung smooth and clean.

When I moved my stool to Kerry’s side, Mutt quiet as a shadow moved with me to sit near the battered tin pan where barn cats gathered for their bit of warm milk. Resting my forehead against Kerry’s firm flank, I listened to milk spurt into milk. Everybody but the family thought I was too dumb to breathe. Mary, the oldest of us five girls, did too. She had snatched the broom from me saying, Too dumb for anything, can’t even sweep the floor!

Milking done, I headed for the barn door with a bucketful in each hand. Pete and Molly, our big sorrels, were charcoal blurs in the horse stalls near the door. I didn’t notice the cat until its furry body hit my ankle. The next thing I knew, I was sprawled in a puddle of milk a swarm of cats were lapping up.

By some miracle, both buckets were still upright, my elbow in one and my face dripping with milk pressed against the other. A kitten licking my nose hit me funny, and I squawked so loud the cats backed off in alarm.

There I lay, snickering in a puddle of milk. Maybe I was as dumb as people thought.

2

SCARED RABBIT

The morning air was crisp and still, with the smell of damp earth and honeysuckle, when Mearl and I carried buckets of milk to the kitchen. A rain shower during the night had left the soil just right for planting.

When you get the milk strained and in the cans, take it down to the cellar to cool, Mama said as she floured mounds of chicken to fry later for dinner. No need to put it in the spring. We’ll use most of it for the crew.

Mama’s words and all that floured chicken on the work table reminded me the farm would soon be full of people. Few of the neighbors had been around since school started last fall, except for Owen Satterfield, the tall, gangly boy courtin’ Mary—we all called her Sister. Sister gave me strict orders to stay out of sight when Owen came to call, and I was glad to oblige. The one time I did run into him when he first started coming around, he stopped and stared at me like I was chief exhibit at the county fair. I had bolted for the barn. Owen never said a word, and neither did I.

The oven’s hot breath warmed the kitchen as Sister pulled out a pan of biscuits and set it on our long, oak table, leaving her potholders half under the pan. Mama, do I have to draw seedlings?

My word, Mary! Of course you do. Mama sighed and brushed back a strand of her light brown hair with her wrist. Plants don’t come out of the ground by themselves.

Sister huffed back to a skillet of gravy and stirred so fiercely a drop or two splashed out and sizzled white on the black, iron stove. Owen will be here.

Mearl was filling glasses with milk while I laid forks and knives on the table. Is Owen coming to work with us? I said.

You stay out of this, Sister snapped.

Mama sighed again as her head slowly turned from side to side. Now, Mary, there’s no sense in getting your dander up. You’ll have plenty of time to see Owen when we stop to eat. You surely don’t think you two are going to sit around courtin’ while the rest of us work tobacco.

Hairt and Mearl get to do anything they want. Sister sounded like a whiny youngun instead of a grown girl with a beau.

Not another word, Mama said. You know very well Hairt and Mearl have been out with the cows and chickens since before dawn. Now get your pa’s breakfast on the table.

A warm sun had dried the last drops of rain by the time three of my sisters, Mearl, Esther, and Ida, stood by the seedbeds with me. Each of us held a four-legged stool and a good-sized basket. Mary had stayed in the house to help Mama with dinner for the crew and to keep an eye on two-year-old Benjamin.

Tending seedbeds was my job, and after days on end of feeling among the seedlings for weeds to pull, I almost hated to spoil their lush growth. When the frosty nights were over, Ruben and I had rolled back the canvas covering the beds for the last time. The tobacco was now about six inches high with stems almost as big around as my least finger.

Esther, you and Ida can begin on that end, I said, and Mearl and I’ll start here. Mama and Sister will help Pa and Ruben with the other bed.

To Miss Mary’s distress. Mearl grinned.

Well, Owen’s coming to call, and Sister wants to look good. Esther thought Sister set the moon.

Don’t we all? Mearl smoothed her pale blonde hair back and tied it with a piece of yarn. Every one of my sisters had that light hair and hazel eyes to go with it. Ida’s hair was palest, almost as light as Pa’s.

All but Hairt. Esther turned to me. With that carroty hair and all those curls, she’s the best looking one of us.

Don’t call Hairt’s hair carroty. Mearl gave her a frown. Miss Sandridge says it’s titian red.

Wish I had curls like Hairt. Boys like girls with curls. Esther reached over and stretched out one of my curls to let it spring back into place.

Stop talking about me! I’d always been different from the other Lindstrom girls. I was skinny as an old mule while they were just plump enough to be cuddly. When we were little, Mearl’s and Mary’s hair lay smooth around their faces, and they stood still, smiling while Mama combed it. With my coppery hair full of tangles every morning, I ran and hid under the bed when she came after me with a comb. I jammed on the sunbonnet Mama made me wear. You know what to do. Pull only the best plants.

Yes, ma’am. Ida grinned, curtsied, and hippity-hopped to the end of the seedbed. That girl was never still for a minute, except when she was curled up with a book.

When Pa’s bell rang, we were through drawing plants, and the sawhorse table under the oak trees was loaded with Mama’s fried chicken, Sister’s biscuits, and sweet potatoes, string beans and tomatoes canned from last year’s garden. Tom Ritter and his three sons were there to help with the pegging out, along with some other men and boys. Naturally they helped with the eating, too.

Mearl and I spread our quilt under the maple tree, away from everybody else. I didn’t know those fellers except for the Ritters who had the place next to us. After we were stuffed and Mutt had his bits of chicken skin, we started toward the front porch where Sister and Owen Satterfield sat in the swing.

There was no mistaking the message in Sister’s waving hand. She was shooing us off like a pair of horseflies. Mutt took a couple of steps toward the porch, and Sister said, Take that hulking dog and get outta here.

Mearl gave Owen a flirty toss of her head. Hey, Owen.

Sister was fuming as we headed back to the quilt. There sat two boys on our quilt, big as you please, drinking tea out of quart jars. I stopped short and turned toward the back of the house, but Mearl grabbed my hand. No! You are not going to run off to the barn. It’s just Sam and Bill Ritter.

A dab of dread began in the pit of my stomach and spread all through me as she towed me along with her to the quilt.

Well, Mearl, who’s this lovely lady? The older boy was grinning as wide as the whole outdoors.

I was anything but lovely with my hair spronging in all directions and my wrinkled dress muddy around the hem. I wanted to streak for cover like a scared rabbit.

Hold your head up. Smile, Mearl hissed in my ear. Bill, you know Hairt, she said in an extra friendly tone as she pulled me down beside her on the quilt. Mutt sprawled next to me.

Course I know Hairt, Bill said. Purty as a peach ready for picking.

Every muscle in my body tensed for flight, and my face was probably redder than any peach. Wondering what Bill really thought of me, I pulled up my sunbonnet and hid under it, listening to Mearl banter with the boys.

You going to the tent meeting Saturday? Sam said.

I don’t know. Mearl giggled. Hadn’t thought about it. As if she hadn’t been blabbing about it for days.

Well, start thinking. He tugged at the sunbonnet hanging down her back and flipped it over her shoulder. I’ll meet you there.

When Pa’s cowbell called us back to the fields, Bill with his dark hair flopping over one eye leaned toward me. I breathed in the spicy scent of his pomade and fought my urge to run.

I’ll see you at the tent meeting, Hairt. He gave my hand a quick touch and was gone to the other side of the tobacco patch.

My heart was beating so I could scarcely breathe. The rest of the day while we pegged out tobacco, I thought about Bill Ritter. I couldn’t see well enough to get the soil tight around a plant without injuring it, so Mearl and I worked together. I’d poke my peg into damp earth and drop a plant in the hole. Then Mearl closed the hole with her peg. The whole time I was hearing Bill’s gentle, smooth voice, just deep enough to be manly.

Bill’s a nice fella, don’t you think? Mearl always seemed to know what I had on my mind.

I wouldn’t know. I don’t know him.

Because you hide in our room or run to the barn every time he comes in with Ruben. Hairt, you have to stop hiding and be sociable. How you ever going to get a beau if you don’t talk to anybody?

I couldn’t imagine actually talking to Bill Ritter. I don’t need a beau. And who’d want to court an almost blind girl? I can’t even peg tobacco without you.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Hairt. You can do a lot of things. Sometimes I forget you can’t see everything. Mearl jammed her wooden peg viciously into the ground, and we stopped talking.

I could still feel Bill’s touch on my hand. I never left the farm, but I’d make myself go to that tent meeting.

3

COVETING

"H airt!" Mearl’s loud cry woke me from a sound sleep, and I struggled to get free of the bed sheet.

Mearl in her nightgown was halfway to the door of our room, covered with sweat and gasping for breath. Tight to her chest she clutched the wadded dress she took off at bedtime and stood frozen, eyes wide with fear. Help! Help! Hairt, help me!

I put my arm around her and spoke softly. It’s all right, Mearl. It’s just a dream.

Fire! Help!

It’s a dream, Mearl. There is no fire. I turned her back toward our bed. It’s all right. No fire.

Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed. She let me take the crumpled dress and lead her back to bed. I smoothed her hair and kept my hand on her arm until she was still and quiet, sleeping.

Across the room Ida sat in her half bed watching, her towhead barely visible in faint moonlight near the window shade. It was not the first time Ida had seen me soothe Mearl and get her back to sleep. As long as I could remember, Mearl would wake in the night, shaking with fear and drenched with sweat. She’d walk about the room with her eyes wide open, seeing a fire that wasn’t there. Sometimes she thought she was carrying a baby.

Both of us were afraid of fire. Every fall while Pa entertained the other kids with a bonfire he built to burn trash, Mearl and I stayed in the house away from the dreadful sight.

I tried to sit still while Mearl attacked my mop with her comb nearly yanking my brains out. Let’s see what we can do with your hair.

I didn’t usually bother about my hair, just wet it a little, gave it a few swipes with the comb, and pushed it back with my hands. Nobody ever saw me anyway, and if they did, my hair was under that sunbonnet.

Mearl pulled, twisted, and pinned until I thought I would scream. Just leave me be! We’re not going to a dance.

I know it’s only a revival, but it’s like your coming out party. Hairt, nobody’s seen you in years. They probably won’t even know who you are.

They’ll look at me and talk about me. Maybe I won’t go. I’ll stay home.

No, you won’t. Mearl gave my hair one last pat. You’re pretty, Hairt. Here, tuck my lace handkerchief in your sash.

Hands on hips, Sister stood in the hall wearing her best dress and staring at me. Where do you think you’re going?

She’s going to the tent meeting. Don’t she look nice? Mearl straightened my collar and smoothed it down.

I’m glad I’m going with Owen. Sister wheeled around and flounced back into the room she shared with Esther.

I shrank into myself and wished for the soothing peace of the barn. In the kitchen, Mama took one look at me and started in. My word! Hairt, stand up straight. Don’t let your mouth hang open, and be sure to smile at anybody that comes up to you.

People for miles around would be at the tent meeting. We didn’t often have one, and most everybody wanted to hear Brother Shoemaker. Mama, do you think I should go? My shaky voice sounded loud in my ears.

No, you ought to stay right here with me and your baby brother, but your Pa says you need to be around people. Mama shrugged like she knew I’d be better off at home. Mearl, you take care of Hairt. Like I couldn’t take care of myself.

I hated to think of all those eyes and the whispering behind cardboard fans like the ones Mearl and Ida brought home from the little brown church over on the hill. But Bill Ritter would be there.

With his hair all slicked back, Pa walked into the kitchen wearing his good white shirt. Harriette, I’m glad you’re going. It’s about time you get out and let folks know what a fine girl you are.

I wasn’t such a fine girl. I couldn’t do much of anything except work tobacco and milk cows. I sure didn’t know how to talk to all those people, but I climbed into the wagon with my sisters. The wagon bed was full with the four of us and the fresh-ironed skirts we were trying not to muss. Ruben and seven-year-old Asher sat on the seat with Pa.

Thoughts of Bill Ritter edged past my dread of being in a crowd. I tried to think of something to say when I saw him, but my mind was as empty as a dried-up well.

Sunset and milking were still a way off when we got to Parham’s pasture, and Pa began unhooking Pete and Molly. The mules usually pulled our wagons, but this was a special occasion, and Pa wanted his riding horses to remember they were a team.

Esther and Ida took off for the tent like ants drawn to a drop of jelly. I felt as vulnerable as a week-old chick under a sky full of hawks, so I stuck close to Mearl as we headed toward a mob of people jabbering away.

Hey, Mearl, Sam’s been looking for you. Sylvia Ritter tossed her fat braid of long black hair over her shoulder and held out her hands to us. Nice to see you, Hairt.

With her soft hand in mine, I wished I’d rubbed a little grease on my calluses every night like Mama wanted me to. Sylvia was always nice to me when she came to visit Mearl, but it was her brother Bill on my mind.

That Sam. Mearl giggled and looked over at the passel of boys by the side of the tent.

When the roll is called up yonder . . . . Music from a juice-harp, a harmonica, and a fiddle drew me like a magnet. I grew up hearing Mama’s sweet voice singing that same song as she went about her work, and now I sang it as much as she did.

Look at that! They brought dumb Hairt! A girl’s high-pitched voice gave me a shudder and a sharp pain in my stomach. I stepped behind Mearl and drew into myself.

She don’t look dumb, a young boy shrilled before his mother grabbed his hand and jerked him away.

Heat flooded my face as heads turned toward me. Mearl pulled me closer, and we kept walking. Don’t give ’em any mind, she said in my ear. They don’t know a thing about you.

They’re the dumb ones. Sylvia took my other arm.

Let’s get seats at the back, Mearl said, so we can get out easy if we want to.

Sitting next to Mearl and Sylvia on the end of a hay bale behind the last row of chairs, I tried to forget the slurs. Strains of Amazing Grace lessened the pain, and it didn’t matter that I could hardly see the stage. The one thing familiar to me was the music, and I was soaking it in.

Noisy excitement swirled around us as the tent filled with people saying hey to folks they hadn’t seen for a while. A man in a black suit took the stage and asked everybody to sing with him while we waited for Brother Shoemaker.

What a fellowship, what a joy divine . . . His clear, high voice quieted the crowd. Amazed at the volume and the lovely sound pouring from that black blob on the stage, I joined in singing until the music and the words wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

When Bill Ritter’s voice broke through the music, a thrill fluttered in my middle, and I turned to see him walk by with a girl clinging to his arm. The truth hit me like a splash of cold water. Bill didn’t give a turd about me. Numb with shame, I watched him and the girl take the only empty seats in the last row of chairs, right in front of us.

Bill turned and said, Evening, Hairt, Mearl. You know Mary Beth.

They were so close I could smell Bill’s pomade. The girl reeked of vanilla. Mama said to smile so I stretched my lips into what might have passed for a smile. When they turned back to the front, I tried to go on singing, but a swelling in my throat choked off the words.

Mary Beth leaned close to Bill and said, I haven’t seen dumb Hairt in years.

I wanted to crawl into the straw I sat on and hide like a stink bug.

His lips almost in the girl’s ear, Bill whispered, Shh! She’ll hear you. Hairt can’t see much, but she’s not dumb at all. I feel sorry for her.

Mearl and Sylvia were singing so loud they never heard a thing. I sat there, still as a pile of dung.

Brother Shoemaker with his jet-black hair and white suit swept past me down the aisle like a big white bird, exciting the crowd and leaving behind an odor of burnt chicken feathers. I tried to put what that girl said out of my mind and concentrate on Brother Shoemaker. His voice rose and fell as he preached.

Sinners, that’s what you are! With your lust and your selfish greed. You want what’s not yours to have. Brother Shoemaker’s words shook me like a clap of thunder. He was talking to me!

I hunkered down behind Bill Ritter and peeked through my fingers at Mearl. She and Sylvia had their heads together, giggling. Didn’t they hear the preacher? Maybe they didn’t lust and yearn for things, but I did. I wanted what Mearl had. And Sylvia. I wanted to go to school and be worth something.

The wrath of God is upon you! Your jealousy and your envy will not go unpunished! He was talking to me. His words roared through my head accusing, accusing. Thou shall not covet! His booming voice filled the tent and set me atremble.

I never meant to covet. I just wanted to be like other girls and not be laughed at. The smothering smell of pomade and vanilla closed in, choking me with guilt.

Keep on the way you are, and the Lord will strike you down!

All those years I listened to Pa reading the Bible I never thought I was a sinner liable to be struck down. Now I knew.

I had to get away, hide from Brother Shoemaker, from Bill Ritter, from God. I stumbled out of the stifling tent into sunshine and fresh air and ran toward a dark blur of trees across the pasture. I was deep in the shade of big-leaved sycamore trees before I knew I was not alone.

4

ATTACKED

"W ell, looky here, a deep, raspy voice said as a pair of hairy arms wrapped around me. I do believe it’s dumb Hairt."

I squirmed, twisted, and fought like a bobcat against the lanky man holding me tight to his chest, his whole body pressed against mine. His bony chin bore into my temple as another man reeking of sour whiskey shoved a bottle into my face and bruised my lips. Have a drink, honey.

Leave her alone, Ralph. I saw her first, the hairy one growled. Bristly whiskers raked the side of my face when he kissed my cheek. Calm down, baby, and I’ll be real nice to you.

I couldn’t stand the heat of his skinny body pressed to mine and his wiry arms holding me tight. His hand slid toward my bosom, and I stomped as hard as I could on his foot, stuck my foot behind his, and gave him a hard push. Ruben taught me that.

Whoa! She likes to play rough, a third man said as the hairy one fell to the ground. Here, Dud, here she is.

A big hand gave me a shove, and I found myself on the ground wrestling with the hairy Dud. Panic fed my work-hardened muscles and almost made me a match for him. When he grabbed my wrist, I bit his hairy arm, holding on like an alligator snapping turtle until he socked me in the jaw. Pain ripped through my head, and I wilted.

That’s no way to treat a pretty little thing. Here, baby, come to me. The third man pulled me to him, and I was swallowed up by the sickening stench of body odor. He smelled worse than a polecat.

Come ‘ere, you little devil, we just want to have some fun with you. Ralph’s bottle hit a tree when he tossed it aside and reached for me.

No, you don’t. It’s my turn, the polecat said. I know how to treat a lady. He grabbed a handful of my hair, jerked my head back, and bent over, nearly gagging me with his foul breath.

My knee was headed toward his crotch when Ruben came crashing through the trees followed by Bill Ritter. Let her go! Ruben’s haymaker caught the polecat’s unshaven jaw, and he released my hair and staggered into a tree.

Without a word, Bill slugged the liquor-laden Ralph. Dud scrambled to his feet and started to take off, but Ruben grabbed him and gave him a punch that sent him reeling.

Ow! he bellowed. You knocked my tooth out!

I’ll do more than knock out a tooth if you ever touch my sister again. You hear me, Sloan? Ruben hauled Dud toward him and socked him again.

We wasn’t gonna hurt her none, he whined.

If you bums know what’s good for you, Bill said, "you’ll beat it before I