A Man Named Purse

By Marlon S Hayes and Venessa R Cerasale

From Tennessee to Arkansas to Texas, Purse goes from a boy looking for hope and dreaming of a better life, to a man wondering if redemption is still possible. He believes that if he teaches his sons to do the right thing, then maybe his sins might fade away... unless he does something even worse, a thing from which there is no returning. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Renewed Sanity Productions
• Release date: Apr 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869092434

Marlon S Hayes

Marlon S. Hayes is an author from Chicago, Illinois, who is happily married to 'What's-her-name,' and has two daughters and a grandson. His hobbies are cooking, barbecuing (proud owner of five grills), reading, watching old movies, listening to music, and traveling. He's pleased to say he's visited all fifty states and intends to try for fifty countries as well. His current count is sixteen.He can be contacted at [e-mail] and followed on Facebook at Marlon's Writings, Voices marlonshayes.com, and Delicious Escape Publications.

Book preview

Chapter One

Squalor and Destiny

Regarding naming a child, there should be laws and regulations to keep them from being given a ridiculous name that would hinder and embarrass the child (so Percival Lord Phillips thought). His mother, Sarah, had given Percival the pompous moniker after she’d heard it spoken somewhere. Unfortunately, she seemed to disregard the fact that she and her family lived in the Smoky Mountains of Eastern Tennessee, a region not known for being fancy or upscale.

Sarah’s husband, August, had grunted at the name, not caring what she named the child. His only hope for the sadly named child was for him to grow up and be useful in their struggle for survival. This son was their third, and August knew there would be at least five more boys if he had his way. They didn’t have a large farm or plantation to manage. Instead, having many kids made a man’s life easier once they were old enough to pull their weight. In his mind, children were akin to livestock, and that’s how August treated them. He fed, watered, and clothed them until they could be helpful to him.

As Percival grew up in this hardscrabble environment, his siblings thankfully called him by a shortened version of his given name, and their slow drawls made the nickname of ‘Perce’ sound like ‘Purse.’ From then on, he would be addressed as Purse, which he preferred. However, he hated his full name and could never understand why his simple mother had created it.

His father overshot his goals of siring eight children by Sarah and finally ended up with nine. A prosperous farm (or one with financial possibilities) would have welcomed that number of children. Instead, they were raised in squalor by an indifferent father and a timid mother. August Phillips was called ‘Gus’ by his drinking companions, most of whom were either relatives or men in similar living conditions. They, too, had many mouths to feed and owned land which didn’t amount to much. Their so-called farms were nothing more than a place to raise children, chickens, and not much else (unless despair counted as something).

Sarah’s having’ another one seemed to be a yearly repeated phrase heard by Purse until he was about eleven. His brother Travis was almost a year younger than him, and they were thick as thieves. The two of them formed a cadre in a tribe of which neither wanted to be a part nor associated. Their mother was a skinny woman who looked as if she couldn’t possibly have birthed nine children, and Purse couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen her smile or laugh. It wasn’t easy for her to show love to her children.

Purse spent as much time as he could away from the dismal home filled with squalling children and unhappy parents. He and Travis found plenty of things to do whenever they got a break from their father’s demands, which never seemed to cease unless he was drunk. August seemed to spend most of his time trying to discover what might lie at the bottom of each jug which found its way into his grasp. His drinking habit allowed his older children to stay away from him, which was the only good result of his love of moonshine.

As with most kids growing up in the Smoky Mountains, plenty of things occupied their time. They fished, hunted, climbed trees, and embarked upon pretend adventures. One act their parents did not enforce upon them was going to the one-room schoolhouse a few miles away for weekly learning. Their father didn’t place much stock in school, and their mother wasn’t one to fight August on any issue. Sarah let August have his way rather than push her wants and feelings upon him.  Her love for peace circumvented her desire for compatibility.  Sometimes Purse and his siblings went to school independently due to curiosity, and the teacher treated them like everyday students. No matter how long since their last attendance, the teacher seemed to know exactly where they had left off. Purse and Travis learned to read, write, and do basic math, but neither placed much importance on it.

As the years went by, the only changes to the world Purse lived in were that his older sisters got married and moved away as soon as possible. Their little farm produced barely enough food to live on, and Purse still did everything he could to escape it. He had just turned sixteen, and he was ready to leave for good. The only things holding him back were his relationship with his brother Travis and his tender feelings for Sally McCrory, a fourteen-year-old girl who lived on a farm near where Purse and his family lived.

Sally was a pretty, round-faced girl whose smile and stolen kisses made Purse’s insides quiver, making him want more. But he shied away from the subject every time she brought up marriage. Purse didn’t know any happily married couples, and the thought of being stuck in those mountains forever made him depressed. He wanted to see what else the world had to offer. Being a teenager, he felt the whole world was open to him, and he didn’t want to be saddled with one person for the rest of his life.

Yet, he was coming to a crossroads where Sally was concerned because their heavy petting session recently had rapidly gone down a road he wasn’t mentally ready for, but lust and heat had defeated his sound senses. He and Sally gave each other their virginity, and that was a promise of an impending marriage to her mind. She’d even said as much as they lay together, basking in the glow of their intimate session.

When will you ask my daddy for my hand? she asked. We’ll have a cabin somewhere nearby, and I think it’ll be beautiful. I love you, Purse.

Despite the dreadful images evoked by her words, Purse kissed her softly on the forehead, but he never replied to her declaration of love. Later, he walked with her to the edge of her father’s property and hugged her before watching her walk toward the cabin. Purse sat down on a nearby log and stared at the darkening sky, trying to figure out a path for himself. He would have to marry Sally or run away due to her father’s insistence on matrimony. Even though Purse could not see himself becoming like his father, he could envision it happening if he stayed in the Smoky Mountains. Thoughts of becoming his father, marrying young, siring many children, and unhappily turning to alcohol consumed him.  He wiped his tears as deep emotion filled his heart. He covered his face with his hands.  He felt impending doom and could do nothing to stop it.

When he returned home, his father was on a mean streak fueled by moonshine and plain old evil. Everyone in the house was on edge. From Purse down to the youngest child, they all tried to stay out of August’s way. Purse and Travis slept outside that night under the stars. They whispered their thoughts to each other, but Purse could not tell his brother about Sally and his mistake. He felt his worst imaginings would come true if he gave voice to them. Travis eventually fell asleep, but Purse lay awake and thought about his life.

His two older sisters had gotten married as soon as they were old enough and didn’t come around much anymore. He couldn’t blame them. He was sixteen and trying to figure out how the hell to get out of Tennessee before his father killed him, or he killed his father, or he ended up married to Sally and surrounded by squalling kids of his own. In their cabin, every person was for themselves, and the ties that should have bound them together did not exist. Purse could watch his mother get slapped in the face without feeling the need to protect her or intervene. The same could be said if it were one of his little brothers or sisters. It was survival of the fittest, and Purse spent as much time as he could away from the cabin. He stole from the traps of others and anything that owners didn’t nail down. If he couldn’t use it, eat it, sell it, or swap it, he put it in his little treasure trove inside of a small cave he’d found. There wasn’t much there, but there was a harmonica, and it was his most treasured possession.

The following day started badly. August must have started drinking at dawn because he was drunk and surly by breakfast. The cabin emptied quickly and quietly. Even his mother had found someplace else to go with the littlest kids. Purse’s brother Travis had been with him when they left, but they’d separated because Trav was chasing a girl that lived down the mountain. Since pretty girls had entered their consciousness, the brothers did not spend as much time together as they once had. They were growing up and growing apart. Nevertheless, they’d made plans to meet later to check traps and see if they could hunt some small game with rocks.

Purse thought about going near Sally’s, but he knew she’d want to talk about babies and marriage, and it all sounded like a trap to him. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, and he couldn’t stay here, no matter how much he liked her. It was a hopeless situation.

Purse walked through the woods, bypassing other cabins and hollers, until he approached one of his favorite streams. He heard a horse snorting and hid behind a tree to get a better look.

A beautiful gray gelding was tied to a nearby tree, while a well-dressed man snored on a bedroll nearby, with the saddle and blanket as his pillow.  Purse knew cowboys often slept on their saddles to protect them from thieves. The stream ran high and minimized the noise of the man's snoring. Purse crept closer, noticing the man’s gun belt on the ground and his pearl-handled pistol in the holster. Everything about the man seemed classy and expensive, and Purse knew he would probably never have such a fine horse or a pearl-handled pistol unless he took them from someone else. He thought about his future.  If Purse was being realistic with himself, his future looked bleak. It did not take him very long to decide on his course. He felt an opportunity had presented itself just now which would get him away from the mountains.

He approached the gelding slowly and kept eye contact. Purse rubbed the gelding’s shiny coat while cooing softly to him to gain his trust. Purse knew he couldn’t just jump on the horse’s back and ride off without waking the horse’s owner. Horse thieves were hanged without question. Looking around, Purse noticed a round, smooth rock that seemed to be calling to him. Purse bent, picked it up, and took his destiny in his hands. He exhaled and raised the rock over his head. Later, he’d always tell himself that he had no choice in the matter, and if anyone had asked him, he’d have said the man forced his hand.

The first blow caused the man to grunt, and the following two blows assured Purse that the man was dead. Purse had felt the wetness of the blood hit his face, and once the man was motionless, he ran to the stream and vomited. He stuck his face in the cool, running water and hoped it would clean his face. As for his soul, it would never be spotless again. Killing animals was something he’d done all of his life, but this was well beyond that. The act of murder had cursed him.

The man’s face was a bloody mess, and Purse could not look at it without nausea threatening his stomach. He closed his eyes, inspected the man’s pockets with his hands, and removed a silver watch on a chain. Next, he removed the man’s leather boots and slipped them onto his bare feet. He only wore shoes in the winter, and he’d been barefoot for the last two months. He rolled the man into the stream, hoping the current would take the body further from the site of the murder. Instead, he watched the body begin to sink, and Purse turned away from the sight, ready to escape the crime scene. His gorge rose, and vomit flew uncontrollably from his body. He was forced to his knees and crouched there, gagging and spitting until everything inside of him lay puddled on the ground.

The late afternoon sun streamed into the clearing, and he knew the night would not be long. He could either hunker down in the clearing by the stream with the dead man or climb on the back of the horse and make his way out west.  A new beginning and life awaited him west of the Smoky Mountains, where being August Phillip’s son meant nothing to anybody. And, thanks to a stranger, his new life was off to a good (albeit bloody) start. Every good thing started with an explosion, whether it was the birth of a child, a nation, or a universe. He rose from his knees and untied the horse. The well-trained horse stood still, chewing grass while Purse saddled him with the tack the dead man had been leaning on before his death. Purse climbed into the saddle and grabbed the reins.  He gave the horse a quick shoulder pet, then gave its flank a little kick while gently flicking the reins on its haunches, and led the horse away from the crime scene.

By the time the moon rose, Purse was riding west, farther away than he ever had from what had been his home. He’d visited his cave, gathered his little treasures, and stuffed them into the man’s saddlebags. He could ride a horse but wasn’t an expert at it by any stretch of the imagination. Even though they were cantering along at a slower and smoother clip than a trot, he already felt the pain in his butt and thighs. He knew search parties would find the man’s body at some point.  Someone would soon miss a man with expensive tack, a well-groomed horse, and an expensive pistol. Back home in his father’s cabin, his family would notice his absence. He wished for a moment that his brother Travis had been with him, but he felt resigned that he would probably never see Trav or any other clan member for the rest of his days. Sally would be okay. He knew how children were made. The deed was done, and no matter how it had happened, he was free of the existence he’d known and dreaded.

He’d been so hurried to leave that he hadn’t looked through the man’s saddlebags. He wore the dead man’s gun belt, knife, and boots, but he hadn’t thought of food or whether the man might have some money, which Purse had never had in