Hot Pink Pants

By Cherry Lee

Priscilla Jane heard the prison gates close behind her as she slowly walked away. Seeing a bench at a bus stop, she sat down. It had been so long since she had the freedom to choose where she would go and what she would do that her mind was a blur. Finally, she reached in her coat pocket and took stock of what she had and what she could do with the handkerchief that Granmom had given to her, the few dollars from the warden, and a letter from her brother, Ramus. She read the words, "Baby sister, if you ever need help, you can count on me." Those words ran through her brain like manna from heaven. Hope crept into her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781640284883

Book preview

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Cherry Lee

Hot Pink Pants

ISBN 978-1-64028-487-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64028-488-3 (Digital)

Copyright © 2017 by Cherry Lee

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

296 Chestnut Street

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

The Full Measure

Sin’s full measure takes its toll,

On my body and my soul.

Shackled by addictions and pride

Headed for hell in a downhill slide

Unable to find a way to quit,

Compelled by lust; just one more, just one more hit.

Is there no hope, no beam of light?

God provided a lady cop to show me His might.

Chapter 1

Contention

There was an uneasiness in the shotgun house located on the lush farmlands of the Keller estate in north central Mississippi. The muggy heat of August bearing down on all of humanity made it clear that the dog days of summer were not leaving with a whimper. Four rambunctious children were all clambering for the attention of their momma as they sat at the table, watching as she finished stirring the grits and red-eye gravy. In four months, there would be another child demanding Momma’s time and energy. Already the baby inside her body was sapping her energy and making her back and legs ache. How would she cope with another child when her time and patience were stretched to the breaking point? She was almost finished serving the grits and red-eye gravy that would fill the four hungry stomachs, and then she sat down to help feed her toddler. In her mind, she was hoping to have a few minutes of quiet when they went outside where the older ones would do their chores and the younger ones would occupy themselves with toys made from mud, flowers, leaves, or sticks. Corrine was a responsible big sister and would watch over the toddler and her younger brother. When they were finished eating, she wiped hands and faces and shooed them outside.

Coralene heard her eldest son yelp with pain just before the door opened with a push that slammed it against the inside wall, making the house tremble. Shad Willis, her husband, filled the doorway. He was clearly hungover and in a bad mood. Shad was demanding breakfast as he turned a cane chair around from the table and straddled it. Don’t want no grits. I needs real food. Cut up some of ’at salt pork and fry some eggs. Coralene scrambled to do his bidding so as to avoid a backhand on her backside. She would feed Shad and hope that he would then sleep until the meanness that possessed him when he was drunk was gone. Sure enough, Shad’s full stomach brought on the sleep that would assure calm for his family.

The month of September brought cooler weather and a flood of work as the harvesting of the crops was in full swing. Everybody who was old enough to walk and pull ears of corn from the tall stalks, no longer green and lush but now dusty brown, were busy. Even Shad had put aside partaking of his rye whisky to put all of his energy into earning money to provide for his growing family. Sometimes it galled him that he had to provide for youngins that weren’t his. Being a stepdad did not sit well with him. He had once thought of Coralene as a real prize, but now with another youngun in her belly, she was just another nagging woman.

When the corn harvest was done, the cotton was white in the fields and begging to be picked. It seemed summer was making a comeback before being replaced by the cool breezes of fall. Time was not to be wasted in getting the fluffy white fibers snatched from their prickly shells and into a pick sack. The fingers that pulled them were left scratched and bleeding until they could become toughened and callused. Even so, there was a gaming atmosphere in the fields as families vied to see who could pick the most cotton in a day. Noon meals consisted of biscuits or corn pone and whatever was available to fill them—bacon, ham, bologna, or fried taters. All made for some good eating as everybody rested in the shade of the wooded areas that surrounded the fields.

Nobody was left at home unless they were near death. Pallets were placed at the end of the rows of cotton for the little ones when they grew too weary to pad along behind the pickers or to ride atop the pick sack of a relative. Usually, a brother, sister, or cousin was left to watch over the napping babies and keep flies and gnats fanned away from them. During rest times, the children were busy building toad-frog houses. A small trench was hollowed out and a foot placed in it, and then the moist dirt was piled atop the foot and packed against it. If all went well, the foot was removed, and the roof of the house remained. If the dirt was not packed well or the foot removed too quickly, then the process began again. Who