Flat Creek

By Mary Jane Russell

It's the 1950s. Dorothy and Elaine Brent are sisters with very little in common. Dorothy follows the law as a profession; Elaine follows her heart with a troubled Vietnam vet. During the next four decades, their lives follow different paths but are always entwined in the legacy of being born as Brents in central Virginia. Differences that place them on a collision course about the land and family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Jane Russell
• Release date: Oct 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215262269

Mary Jane Russell

Mary Jane Russell was born to William Withers Russell and Alma Keith Harvey Russell. She grew up on the Flat Creek farm in Campbell County, VA that had been in the Russell family for five previous generations.She was employed by the City of Lynchburg, VA for thirty-one years during which she accomplished a series of firsts—first female draftsman, staff engineer, project manager, and first female director of economic development.Since retirement, she’s written and had published four novels by Intaglio Publications, Walker, LA, self-published two print nonfiction books, and published nine novels with Smashwords.She lives at Smith Mountain Lake in Hardy, VA with her partner, surrounded by books, cats, dogs.

Book preview

Carol Brent wondered if anyone else would ever worry about Dorothy as did Rob. She stroked the bump of her abdomen and knew their second baby would be vastly different from their first. If nothing else, child number two would not attempt an early appearance because of four elderly spinster sisters.

Carol attempted looking at her feet. She couldn’t remember if she wore socks or slippers. Not that it matters. Her feet were warm on a chilly October morning when they had yet to fire the furnace and by what made no difference. She sighed, only one more month to go. This baby was positioned the same as Dot had been but moved constantly. Carol smiled. A tomboy this time, I think.

What? Rob paced the kitchen, bouncing lightly with each step as he tried to comfort his daughter. He looked down at the pale blond hair and big blue eyes and felt his chest constrict. How could she have been a part of his life for only two years?

Nothing. Carol added ground coffee to the basket of the percolator and plugged in the pot.

Rob looked from Dot to Carol. His mind was able to break down the most complex of construction projects into directives for his crew, but at the hint of illness with the women in his life all concentration and sensible thought vanished. I should’ve known better than to have a child as sick as my mother was most of her life.

Carol blew air between her lips. Look at how healthy the two of us are. Why wouldn’t we have healthy children? I can manage this. Go back to bed.

Absolutely not.

Dot looked at Rob and began another round of coughing that sounded like sharp barks when she tried to speak. Her breathing accelerated as she fought for air to make it all the way to her lungs. Rob felt the extra movement of her sides. She squeaked with every breath.

Can't you do that any faster? He stared across the room at his wife.

Carol jiggled the Dutch oven half filled with water and held the jar of Vicks Vapor Rub in one hand and a towel to make a tent in the other. I can't force water to boil.

She can’t breathe. God damn it, it's 1951 and the doctors can't tell us any better to do for croup than this. He hurried across the room and flung the back door open. Rob stepped out into the crisp October night. Maybe fresh air would help the child. He had to do something.

Da. Dot managed the word that wrapped around his heart.

Rob looked into her face again and saw a glimmer of the child's usual disposition.

Cold, Da. Dot blinked.

He hugged her body against his. Dorothy had to be a throwback to Carol's family. Rob had seen or heard of no blondes in his. Carol's light brown hair could’ve been blond as a child. He tried to remember if she’d ever told him.

Dot bore no resemblance to her father's coal black hair, hazel eyes, and deeply tanned and freckled skin. Resemblance was no matter to Rob. He’d quickly tired of hearing how much he looked like his mother when he was growing up. Dorothy had what was most important—a firm place in his heart—for he loved the child more than he valued his own life.

Cold, Da. Dot touched her father's cheek and snuggled against him with her favorite blanket held tightly in her tiny hands.

Rob returned to the kitchen. Water boiled on the stove and the open jar of Vicks was in the center of the pot, filling the kitchen with a strong menthol smell.

Bring her over, sweetheart. Carol held the towel open near the edge of the pot. She guided her daughter into position to concentrate the effects of the steam yet not burn her.

Rob looked at his wife. His chin trembled slightly. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you.

I know, sweetie. I don't pay any attention to it. She put her arm around her husband of six years and leaned against his shoulder as she held onto the towel.

Rob closed his eyes. How many more sleepless nights before Dot grew out of this as the doctor reassured them she would? What if her lungs worsened instead? Or there was permanent damage?

He’d had no idea what raising a small child involved. Rob was the only child of his parents and had grown up isolated from any other families. He’d thought that a new baby would be brought home for Carol to manage while he worked. Instead, he learned that there was nowhere in the house to sleep if Dot was crying. His days were divided between work and driving Carol and Dot to doctor appointments. He had to hear for himself what was going on with his child.

She's breathing easier. His hand was around her midsection as her bottom rested on his forearm.

She's stopped whistling. Carol squeezed his arm.

Thank you, God. Rob was sincere. He fell asleep every night praying for his wife and children.

Amen. Carol turned off the stove burner. They held positions until the steam dissipated completely.

Are you all right? Do you need to take the load off? I can put her to bed and straighten the kitchen. He’d already convinced himself that sleep was a waste of his time.

I’m fine. Even if she wasn’t, Carol wouldn’t tell him.

Dorothy yawned widely and rubbed her eyes.

She should be able to sleep now. Carol dried her daughter's face with the towel.

They walked together to the bedroom opposite their own on the far front corner of the house. They passed the third bedroom of the house that was used by Carol for a sewing room. Evie had promised time next week to help her turn the room into a nursery. Carol had decided on pale yellow for her second child’s color scheme. Her sewing would take over the dining room again. She preferred being close to the kitchen anyway.

The house was almost two thousand square feet as well as their pride and joy. On it, Rob had honed his carpentry skills learned before the war. Skills that were put on hold as he served as a ball-turret gunner on a B-17 Flying Fortress over German-occupied Europe. He and Carol originally lived in four rooms—kitchen, dining, living, and den used as the bedroom—until he doubled the house adding proper bedrooms just after Dorothy was born. They laughed about the unplanned fireplace in the master bedroom, added after they became used to the one now in the den. It was a ranch house with solid wood doors, crown molding in every room, and hardwood kitchen cabinets. The exterior was brick with dental block molding along the soffit. Rob had conceded the need of hiring a mason to lay the brick, particularly to make sure the fireplaces were built correctly. The basement of the house was his shop though Carol still insisted on his oak drafting table in the living room so that she’d see him other than when he crawled into bed at night exhausted.

Rob stopped beside Dot's crib and stared at the mattress. No. She’s endured enough for one night.

Carol picked up the high-topped shoes fastened to a steel rod. She sighed. Don't make me be the bad guy in this.

No. Let the child have a few comfortable hours of sleep. She’s already worn that thing part of the night. Rob cradled Dorothy closer.

Carol held up the brace and started toward Dot's feet. Do you want her to be knock-kneed all of her life? Do you want her to continue to fall down every time she takes more than a few steps? How many more times do you want her to split her chin open?

Rob did not lessen his grip of his daughter. She’s had enough for one night.

Honey, she’s exhausted. Chances are she won't even try to move in her sleep. This’ll be the best time for her to wear the brace. Trust me. I'll take it off as soon as she wakes up in the morning. Carol eased the child from his arms and onto her back in the crib. Her head rested on the small pillow Carol had made to help her breathe despite her congested lungs. Carol slid her daughter's feet into the shoes and covered her with a blanket. Dot didn’t awaken. Her small body visibly relaxed once in her own bed.

Rob stared at the brace, hating the apparatus. He still felt horror when he looked at the tiny shoes fixed twelve inches apart. He tried not to imagine what it felt like to have your feet laced tightly into shoes on a rod. How could anyone sleep in that? Typically, Dot awakened every two or three hours during the night and called out to them to be turned. None of them had a full night's sleep in months. He usually found it all but impossible to go back to sleep once awakened after an hour or so—a habit exacerbated by his time in the service. He’d like to visit the doctor in the middle of the night and truss him up in a brace.

What had they done wrong by Dot for her to have so many problems so early in her life? She couldn’t breathe freely through the night. She couldn’t walk without hurting herself. It frightened him how pale the child's complexion was and how dark the circles around her eyes stayed. It had to be his fault, something he’d been too ignorant or too poor to do for her. It’d been one type of infection or cold or bronchitis or malformation after the other ever since the child was born. Yet they had decided on having another so the children would be close in age. Rob didn’t want Dot growing up alone as he had.

Come on, honey, before you wake her. Carol pulled him out of the room and left the door barely open. Can you go back to sleep?

Rob glanced at his watch—four a.m. He shook his head. You made coffee. Go back to bed. I'll listen out for her as I go over a set of bid plans. He kissed his wife and gave her a gentle push toward their bedroom. His hand lingered as he felt the baby kick. She has strong legs. No regrets, for real?

Absolutely not. We’re together for this very reason. Dorothy will be all right, honey. Tough time now means healthy later. Carol smiled at him, having no doubts.

Rob knew better.

Chapter 2

Elliott Brent raised a hand in greeting before leaving his automobile. Eliza motioned him to join her on the porch and lifted a pitcher of iced tea as further enticement. Even though they were well into October, the heat of summer lingered during the afternoon before temperatures plummeted twenty degrees at night.

Elliott pulled himself out of the Buick Roadmaster by the door frame and paused to stretch his back. He really should walk more. He felt as though he’d gained another ten pounds during the past summer’s cooling indulgences of sweet tea, beer, and ice cream.

He studied the oaks surrounding Eliza’s house, marveling at the brilliant yellows and oranges that had transformed the green leaves. The woods throughout the Brent acres were a patchwork of fall colors. Elliott sighed contentedly. Maybe he’d found some measure of peace again.

Come along, brother, before all the ice melts and I have to go chip more off the block. Eliza held up a tall glass. You’re looking for Madora, aren’t you?

Elliott nodded. These days, feeling satisfied also made him feel guilty. I can’t believe she passed. I thought she’d wander the woods after all the rest of us were long gone. He spoke of the youngest of the four Brent spinster sisters who were their first cousins. Madora had died peacefully in her sleep a month ago, slipping away as quietly as she had lived.

Take your time. Eliza scanned the surrounding woods. I do the same, looking for her and wondering what small treasure is hidden in her apron pocket. I believe she’s out there.

Elliott rolled up his shirt sleeves as he climbed the steps to the front porch. I’m amazed you’re sitting still this early in the afternoon.

Eliza frowned. Are we old? Do you ever stop and think that we’re all in our fifties now? I used to believe that was akin to one foot in the grave. Look at the gray in my hair. I don’t know which is mousier, the grey or the dull brown. I know you don’t want to hear about the irony of erratic monthly flows and daily sweats. Eliza patted the bun pinned tightly on the back of her head. She looked at Elliott. It’s not fair that your gray barely shows at the temples. Are you sure your barber doesn’t help with that?

Elliott chuckled and sat in the rocker closest to the steps. Eliza was perched on the narrow bench between rockers with her back pressed against the clapboard siding of the house.

I happen to think it’s unfair that you’re as skinny as when eighteen and I’m half again as big as when in law school. Elliott stared across the county road to the farm on the next hilltop. Look at brother. He’s no bigger than when in his twenties.

I can see his solid white hair from here, even with that old broad brimmed hat on his head. Eliza squinted. We’re definitely getting old. She leaned slightly forward. Good heavens. Nate actually thinks he’s going to tell Clyde Burnette how to farm. Look at him pointing and stomping his foot.

Elliott laughed. That’s rather like sewing buttons on ice cream.

Eliza choked on her swallow of tea.

Elliott handed her his handkerchief. I leave the Burnette family to their own devices until one of them lands in the court system. They’re a godsend to us and the Girls, keeping our land clear and productive. I don’t care how much they drink and carouse on the weekends.

Eliza patted her face. Not to mention taking that load off Rob. He has enough to manage with his business and Dot.

Elliott nodded. He no longer bids on jobs that require him away from home overnight. His wife and daughter come first. Not to mention the impending new addition to his family.

Eliza placed her hand on Elliott’s arm. It’s been a rough year for you without Blanche.

Believe me that I have a new appreciation of your decades of widowhood. At least I have Edge. Elliott sighed. Blanche had not gone quietly into the night. Even on her deathbed in the hospital with her insides consumed by cancer she’d lashed out at him, blaming him for the child she was convinced was her downfall. She’d never taken notice of their son and it showed. The boy’s emotions are too extreme. I fear he overheard too much of his mother’s vindictiveness in the hospital. I’m seriously thinking of sending him to preparatory school. He’s not studying and won’t be ready for college. I just don’t have the time or routine down with him that I should. Who knows how many days he actually stays at school for the entire day? I’m losing him.

Eliza sighed. Blanche was a horrible mother. She held up her hand to silence her brother’s protests. I’m stating a fact. She wanted nothing to do with her own baby, yet the boy remains loyal to her and always will.

Elliott’s shoulders sagged. It didn’t help that the judge died six months after his daughter. Elliott’s father-in-law had given him a start in his law practice and never forgave Elliott for going out on his own.

Eliza nodded. Or that our mother was already gone and Blanche’s mother moved to Richmond to be with her sister.

I’m all the boy has. Elliott removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

Eliza grasped her brother’s hand. We’re all the boy has.

Two old fogies. Elliott finally smiled.

Blanche had been five years Elliott’s senior. She was the coveted daughter of a circuit court judge. Elliott married her for a foothold in her father’s law practice. After years of infertility, Blanche had carried a child to term and almost died during delivery. Elliott had fleetingly wondered if the child was his before deciding it didn’t matter. Like Blanche, Edge blamed his father for everything. At fifteen, the boy was old enough to understand but young enough to twist culpability.

What about Mamie? Eliza refilled their glasses.

What about Mamie? Elliott kept his voice neutral.

Eliza tilted her head and looked over her glasses at her brother. I know nothing ever happened between you two, but now it might. Are you thinking about her that way?

Elliott sipped his drink. I’d lose my son forever if I was involved with any other woman.

Eliza stretched her back against the siding until she felt a satisfying crack. She placed her hand on his arm again. You need to find happiness after all those years of suffering in silence with Blanche. She raised her hand. I know. You proposed with a career in mind, and you were a dutiful husband. How about being a happy one?

I’ve always enjoyed my friendship with Mamie. Elliott cleared his throat. I found my happiness years ago in the law. Besides, I’m too old for such foolishness. I’m not like him. Elliott pointed to Nate keeping pace with the battered flatbed truck. Being fifty-five doesn’t slow him down a bit.

Nate beat on the door of the truck with his fist and gestured broadly until the truck stopped and Clyde Burnett stepped out to face him.

Eliza squinted as she watched the exchange. I know who I put my money on having his way. Maybe I’ll bake a cake for the Burnettes this afternoon. Bless their hearts for putting up with us.

That expression is the southern fix-all. Elliott emptied his glass.

Eliza looked about. Brent land surrounded her as far as she could see. How long will the farms stay like this? She shook her head, not wanting an answer. I want you to know how much I appreciate the lifelong right to this house. Pa thought Hugh would provide for me when he split the place between you and Nate. Eliza had made good use of the ten acres around the house on Elliott’s tenant farm. She raised vegetables and chickens and harvested pine seedlings to supplement the meager widow’s pension. The balance of Elliott’s share of the original Brent land grant was either in timber or revenue producing crops thanks to the Burnettes. The house suited her. It was small—approximately thirty-two feet square—with an open front porch leading into the parlor. The parlor opened into her bedroom and the kitchen with a second bedroom off the kitchen that would’ve been her child's if she’d been so blessed. A small back porch bridged the kitchen and outdoors and enclosed the well. The outhouse was conveniently located just outside the back door. Eliza saw no need for pipes and plumbing in her home, improving the building for her chickens rather than the one for herself. She had to admit that she enjoyed the telephone installed a few years ago.

You’ve dreamed of Hugh again, haven’t you? Elliott refilled their glasses. Eliza’s husband had been killed during the first so-called World War.

I don’t sleep as well without Beau. I catch myself reaching down to the rug beside the bed in the night, thinking he’s still there. Eliza sighed for her Great Pyrenees that Rob had traded a shotgun for as a puppy. That damn Hugh’s always young when I see him.

What’d you dream? Elliott leaned back in the rocker and closed his eyes.

"I was trying to find my