“Leaving Henry” is set against the hauntingly beautiful backdrop of rural Tennessee in the 1930s, where the sun-drenched fields whisper tales of hardship and resilience. Ella Ridley, a spirited African-American girl, perceives from a tender age that the oppressive South stifles her dreams and aspirations. With every flicker of hope, Ella envisions a world beyond the dusty roads and faded dreams that surround her. Though she grapples with the harsh realities of poverty and countless setbacks, her indomitable spirit remains unshaken, propelling her toward a future where she can truly be free! This is my mother’s story. She spent the first 13 years of her life focused on leaving the South in search of a better life. Now at 98 years old, my mother is thrilled to share her story! Buy on Amazon.com by clicking on the link below.
When I woke up on Thanksgiving morning, the delicate smell of sweet potato pie greeted me, with rich nutmeg and cinnamon spices that made my mouth water. It was Momma’s tradition to make sweet potato pie on Thanksgiving. She added ingredients that nobody knew about, calling it her secret recipe. She passed that secret recipe to me shortly before her death, and I still have it to this very day.
My sisters were already up, so I lay there for a while listening to the hustle and bustle in the next room. Momma had decided to invite company to dinner, and much to my surprise, she invited Susie Pie and her mother. She even asked Wildcat Fruit to join us. As I lay there anticipating the day, I heard banging on the front door. When Pappy answered, I heard Wildcat’s gravelly voice.
“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!” he shouted. The noise level seemed to rise whenever he visited. “I brought you a barrel of wood. It’s outside on the porch. It sure smells good in here, Betty Mae. What time is dinner?”
“Three o’clock, and don’t be late.”
“I won’t!” His hearty laughter made the cabin walls vibrate.
“How’s everything in Alabama?” Momma asked.
“My nephew has a good lawyer, and we hope he’ll be found innocent.”
“When is the trial?” Pappy asked.
“Sometime in the summer. I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks for the wood, man. We certainly need it.”
“No problem. Well, I’ll be back at three. Have a nice morning.” He left, and the whole cabin seemed quieter.
I hurried out of bed, washed, dressed, and tidied my braids, then joined the family in the kitchen. Everyone was busy doing tasks and talking to each other. I silently slipped onto a bench at the table and tapped my tin mug with a fork.
“Good morning, everybody!” I yelled over the noisy chatter.
Momma put a basket of hot biscuits on the table. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Are you ready for breakfast?”
I grabbed a biscuit. “Yes, mam.”
She brought me two sausages, jelly, and a boiled egg. “This should hold you until dinner.”
Everyone ran past me and grabbed their coats and hats from the closet.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Outside,” Clarence replied. They threw on their coats and hats and left out the front door. I hurried up and ate, put my dishes in the sink, slipped on my coat and hat, and ran outside with Old Dick.
Red and orange leaves quilted the yard like a blanket. Copper-brown leaves swirled and danced in the air. Fistful by fistful, we crunched the leaves into a big, hilly pile, and circled the mound.
I straddled my legs. “I’ll go first!”
“No, I want to go first!” Clarence shouted. He charged forward, and his body flew through the air. He landed on the leaves with his arms and legs flailing, laughing his head off. I ran and sailed into the pile of leaves after him, squealing my heart out.
“Here I come!” Lucian shouted in his baby voice as he hoisted his body and landed on the pile of leaves.
“Stop showing off!” Escelle cackled as she kicked the leaves everywhere. Old Dick rolled in the leaves, barking.
“Look, who’s showing off now!” I giggled.
We played in the leaves until Momma came outside around two o’clock and held the door open. She looked pretty in her orange dress and apron, and her hair was swept up in a bun.
“Time to come in and freshen up, chillum!” she shouted. “Our company will be here soon.”
The boys raced past Momma into the house, with my sisters and I racing behind. Unique aromas came from the kitchen, and a plate with sliced ham was on the edge of the kitchen counter. Old Dick ran to the counter, sniffing.
“Get away from there!” Momma shoved Old Dick away. “Chillum, wash your faces and those grubby hands!”
We ran into the bedroom, took turns washing our hands and faces, and returned to the kitchen. The whole place looked festive with Momma’s fancy white tablecloth on the table and a pumpkin centerpiece with pine branches. Colorful leafy wreaths with acorns hung on the windows and doors, and a minty evergreen scent lingered in the air. Momma stirred a pot of green beans on the stove while Grandmother Ella set the table. Grandmother Clem slept in the rocking chair by the fire, dressed in her royal blue dress. On the floor next to her was a small jar of slimy brown liquid. Grandmother Clem was never without her snuff.
“What’s wrong with Grandmother Clem?” I asked.
“She’s just tired,” Momma explained.
“Too much of that homebrew.” Pappy strolled in with a large iron pot and put it on the stove. “Two chickens ready for the trimmings,” he grinned, eyeing me.
Momma placed the chickens on a huge tin platter and spooned baked cornbread dressing around them. The chickens’ roasted smell and the memory of Pappy killing them made me queasy. Just then, Susie Pie and her mother arrived, and I ran to greet my friend. We hugged each other tight, giggling.
“I’m glad you came!”
“Me, too!”
“Are you hungry?”
“Sure am! I can’t wait to eat!”
I led Susie Pie to the pallet in the living room, and we both flopped on it. She wore a red dress and shiny black shoes with a strap over the instep.
“I like your shoes. They’re so shiny.”
Susie Pie reached down and tugged on her shoe strap. “My Momma bought them last week because I grew out of the ones I had. I’m only supposed to wear them for special occasions.”
“Nice.” I blushed, folding my legs under me. I didn’t want her to see my worn, holey, too-tight shoes. Susie Pie’s mother stood quietly by the door holding her black handbag close to her chest. There seemed to be loss and sadness in her sienna eyes. When Missus Pebbles finally pulled off her coat, she looked stunning in her dark navy full-skirt dress and black heels. She pulled off her wool hat and gloves and raked her fingers through her short, curly brown hair.
“Let me take your coat,” Momma offered.
“Thank you, Betty Mae,” she replied softly. She stuffed her gloves in her handbag, looked around, and made herself comfortable on the couch. “It sure smells delicious in here.”
“Just wait until you taste Mae’s cooking,” Pappy boasted.
“I’m looking forward to it,” she demurely smiled.
Wildcat arrived next, roaring, “Happy Thanksgiving!” as he came through the front door. The back door rattled, and Pappy rushed to open it. Grandfather came in looking nice in his freshly starched white shirt, black suspenders, and matching slacks and boots. He repeatedly snapped his suspenders, which got on Grandmother Ella’s nerves.
Everyone sat in the living room chatting and laughing. Wildcat and Missus Pebbles engaged in a lively conversation and seemed enamored with each other. Missus Pebbles patted Wildcat’s knee, batting her short lashes. My eyes widened in horror, and I elbowed Susie Pie.
“Eeww! I think your momma likes Wildcat Fruit!”
“Uh, uh.” Susie Pie frowned, shaking her head. “No, she doesn’t.”
“Yes, she does. Look at her.”
Susie Pie looked up, then slapped one hand over her mouth. “I don’t believe it!”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Tell her he’s mean as the devil.”
“I hope you can convince her,” I sighed.
“Don’t worry. I will!”
Momma arranged the rest of the food on the table, poured sweet, iced tea into the tin cups, set the empty pitcher on the counter, and announced dinner was ready.
The adults gathered around the table and quickly took their seats. Momma sat at the opposite end of the table from Pappy. Lucian sat beside Momma in his highchair, Grandmother Ella and Grandmother Clem sat together on one side of the table, while Grandfather and Wildcat sat across from them. Missus Pebbles smoothed her dress and sat next to Wildcat. The kids gathered around the coffee table, Escelle first, then Irene, Clarence, Susie Pie and me. I unfolded my napkin and carefully arranged it on my lap, and Susie Pie did the same.
Pappy called for everyone’s attention, cleared his throat, and said grace as the noise settled. Then, we all began filling our plates. I got my share of collard greens, ham, cranberry sauce, fried corn, and a fresh hot roll, avoiding the chicken and dressing altogether.
“Aren’t you going to eat some chicken, Red-Headed Gray-Eyed Cat?” Pappy asked, arching an eyebrow.
Raw anger boiled inside me, and I slapped my hand on the coffee table. “I’m not going to eat those chickens after you killed—”
“Watch yourself, Red-Headed Gray-Eyed Cat.” Pappy’s midnight eyes blazed. “Don’t let these good folks see you get your fanny whupped.”
I glanced at the table and saw everyone gazing at their plates. Except Momma, who glared at Pappy. I tried not to burst into tears, but they came anyway. Susie Pie patted my hand as I wiped my cheek with my other hand.
“Earl, you will do no such thing to that girl. You hear me?” Grandmother Ella curled her lips. “Leave her alone.”
Grandfather also backed me. “If she doesn’t like chicken, let her be.”
“I’m confused. What happened?” Missus Pebbles dared to ask with wide eyes.
“Little Ella saw her father killing the chickens yesterday,” Momma sighed, clearing her throat. “I’m afraid it traumatized her.”
“Oh, dear!” Missus Pebbles put her fork down. “No child that young should’ve watched that.”
“She came out there on her own.” Pappy reared back with a hint of guilt in his eyes. “I certainly didn’t make her.”
Grandmother Clem banged her fork on her tin cup. “Can we eat and enjoy the holiday, please?”
“I’m with Clem.” Grandmother Ella nodded as she rearranged her napkin on her lap.
“Fine, it’s not like I was trying to ruin anyone’s holiday, Mama!” Pappy grabbed a chicken wing from his plate and bit into it. Everyone started eating, and soon, lively chatter followed as if nothing had happened.
Susie Pie leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I’m with you. I’m not going to eat that chicken either,” she grinned.
“Thank you.” I smiled, appreciative of her support.
We ate until our bellies were stuffed and danced to Ma Rainey’s music for the rest of the afternoon. Old Dick chewed on chicken bones, and Whiskers lapped up milk. The grown-ups played cards, drank homemade brew, and took turns telling each other tall tales. It turned out to be a lovely Thanksgiving holiday.
Hello Everyone! My latest novel, Leaving Henry will be available on Amazon.com any day now. It’s been a long road writing my mother’s amazing story, and I can’t wait to share it with all of you. Below is an excerpt from chapter one! Enjoy and don’t forget to purchase your copy on Amazon next month!
CHAPTER ONE
I woke up on my fifth birthday wet and smelling like pee. Annoyed by the smell, I lay there contemplating whether to remain in my wet, toasty bed or get up and deal with the icy cold temperature in the cabin. Fall had arrived in Henry, and cold air seeped through the walls. In our family’s cramped two-room cabin, I shared the bedroom with my brothers, Clarence and Lucian, and sisters, Escelle and Irene. Being younger, my sisters made me sleep between them, and Escelle, with her leaky bladder, peed on me almost every night. My brothers slept on cots on one side of the room, and my sisters and I slept in a queen-sized bed next to a square window with droopy brown curtains.
I was the last one up, and loud laughter coming from the main room told me where everyone else was. Shivering with the urge to pee, I threw off the covers, ran to the chamber pot by the door, and sat. While relieving myself, my eyes darted to the cloudy oval mirror above the wood bench. I finished my business and shimmied out of my wet gown, leaving it on the floor.
Naked as a jaybird, I ran on my tiptoes, climbed on the wood bench, and gazed into the mirror. My fuzzy red braids hung over my shoulders. Because I had hazel eyes that sometimes turned gray when I wore blue, and long, thick red hair, Pappy called me Red-Headed Gray-Eyed Cat. I didn’t like the name and didn’t know why he called me that. After all, Escelle and Lucian had hazel eyes, and he didn’t call them names.
Chilly, I hopped off the bench, ran to the open pinewood closet in the corner, grabbed a raggedy cotton blanket, and wrapped it around me. I peeked out the bedroom door into the main room. My parents’ bed with black curtains was against the wall, which left little space to walk. Most nights while lying in bed, I heard loud squeaking, Pappy hollering, and Momma moaning. I wondered why they made so much noise, but I didn’t dare ask. Somehow, I knew better.
Past the bed I could see into the kitchen area with a counter, shelves, icebox, and potbellied stove, and the dining table in front of it. To the right of the kitchen was the fireplace with Momma’s rocking chair. On the front wall of the house under the window with orange curtains was the couch with a coffee table in front of it. On the left side of the couch was a side table with the radio on it, and to the right between the couch and the front door was the old windup Victrola record player with a box of seventy-eights underneath. On the same wall as our bedroom door was the closet and Momma’s pump organ, which she played on Sundays and special occasions.
In the middle of the room, my brothers were splashing soapy water in a big tin tub. Having already bathed and dressed, my sisters busied themselves with breakfast. The whole family took baths on Saturdays. It was the only day we all felt fresh and clean. Pappy brought water from the well in big black pots, and Momma heated it on the stove. Momma and Pappy took baths early before we all got up, then the kids took turns bathing using the same soapy water. For the rest of the week, I stunk like a skunk and took whore baths, washing my face, hands, and fanny with a pan of heated water.
I walked into the main room, wrapped in my blanket, eager to bathe as soon as the boys were finished.
“Red-Headed Gray-Eyed Cat! Put some clothes on and take out that stinky chamber pot!” Pappy’s booming, brash voice jolted me off my feet. He was already dressed in his red checkered shirt and blue overalls, ready for work. I ran into the bedroom and hopped into the wet bed, trembling like a leaf. My father followed me.
“Did you hear me?” He spotted my wet gown crumpled on the floor. “Is that yours?” he ranted, pointing at it.
“Yes, sir,” I sniffled.
“How often do I have to tell you not to leave your dirty clothes on the floor? Get that gown and put it in the hamper now!”
“Yes, sir!”
I grabbed my gown, ran to the hamper by the door, and dropped it in. Pappy’s scolding brought Momma into the room, and her almost-six-foot frame towered over him. Two inches taller than Pappy, her stiff brown hair had a brown barrette holding her bangs in place. She stared at my father with daggers in her light brown eyes.
“Earl, why are you yelling at my baby like that on her birthday? She’s only five. Stop screaming at her!”
Pappy frowned and folded his arms. Momma stretched her arms out to me and kneeled.
“Come here, baby. Let Momma give you a birthday hug.”
I ran to Momma and hugged her neck. Her wild, coarse hair tickled my nose. She held me so tight I thought I might suffocate.
“You smell like pee,” she laughed. “The birthday girl needs a bath.”
“Escelle peed on me,” I whispered in her ear.
“It’s all right, honey.” She patted my back. “Let’s pray your sister outgrows that nasty habit one day.” She kissed my forehead, turned me around, and gently shoved me toward the door. “Go take your bath. Don’t take what your Pappy says to heart,” she added. “When it comes right down to it, he loves you.”
To me, it didn’t seem that way. His midnight eyes burned at me. I never understood why he was meaner than a snake, especially toward me.
He turned to Momma. “She has to take out that stinky night pot right now.”
“Not today she won’t.” Momma stared him down. “It’s Little Ella’s birthday, and she should be treated special. Escelle can do it. Take the boys outside so Little Ella can bathe.”
After I heard the front door slam, I tightened the blanket around myself and scooted out to the kitchen, dropped my raggedy blanket, and slowly immersed myself in the tepid water. I grabbed the soap, lathered, and scrubbed my hair, face, and body, determined to wash away the weeklong stink and dirt. I scrubbed my skin until it turned red. After I finished, I felt lighter and cleaner.
I snatched a towel from the chair by the tub and wrapped it around myself as I stepped out. I ran to the bedroom, dried myself, and slipped on my holey panties, white undershirt, blue overalls, and green sweater. Green, my favorite color, reminded me of spring. Then I slipped on my holey cotton socks and boots. The shoes were too tight and made my feet hurt, but I never complained because I knew I would get a new pair at Christmas.
By the time I went back out to the living room, Pappy had emptied and stored the tub. I sat on the floor next to Momma’s rocking chair with my dog, Old Dick, listening to the fire hiss and enjoying its warmth. I gazed at Old Dick’s hairy face, flames reflecting in his big, brown eyes, and raked my fingers through his thick golden hair. He got his name because of his gray eyebrows and his white whiskers. Pappy got him from Wildcat Fruit, the dog breeder who lived two miles up the road from us. Old Dick had been the runt of a litter and needed a home. To everyone’s surprise, he grew into a big, strong dog. I loved Old Dick. He was my buddy and protector.
Momma called me over to the couch to work on my hair, pulling and combing it.
“Ow, that hurts!” I cried out, pulling away.
Momma jerked me back and spoke in a stern voice. “Gurl, keep still so I can braid this mess.”
The back door opened and slammed, and Escelle ran by with the chamber pot. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there,” she muttered.
Momma glared at Escelle. “Young lady, what did you say?”
“Nothing, Momma.” She lowered her head and hurriedly left the room.
Momma styled my hair into two long braids and gave me a hand mirror. “Like it?” she asked.
I stared at the mirror. “Yes, mam, I do.”
“Well, good. Guess what I’m fixing for breakfast?” she smiled.
“What?”
“Fried apples and biscuits. Your favorite.”
I wiggled my legs with anticipation and gave a toothy grin. “Can I help make the biscuits?”
“You certainly can.”
I loved the smell of breakfast cooking on the potbellied stove. Momma usually cooked a big breakfast on the weekends. The thought of crispy fried bacon, scrambled eggs, fried apples, and biscuits made my mouth water. Momma carefully arranged thick slices of bacon in the iron skillet, then peeled and sliced the apples and dropped them in another skillet with butter. Soon, the smell of sizzling pork mixed with cinnamon and nutmeg burst into the air.
I stood on a stool to reach the cabinet, took out a large mixing bowl and the flour, lard, salt, baking powder, and milk, and put them on the counter. Then Momma asked me to set the table.
Pappy made our rectangular kitchen table not long ago. It was large enough to seat the entire family, with a chair at each end, a bench on each side, and Lucian’s highchair next to Momma’s seat. I set the table, making sure Pappy had his favorite tin mug. He always sat at the end of the table facing the front door, a safety habit he said he got during the war.
It wasn’t long before he strolled in from outside, propped his shotgun against the table, and flung his coat onto the back of his chair. He sat, tossing his hat on the table, and Momma poured him a cup of coffee.
Pappy was a hard-working sharecropper who worked our family’s land and Mister Johnson’s, a white farmer who lived three miles from us. Pappy kept a five percent share of the crops, and Mister Johnson got the rest. Pappy bought his tools and supplies on credit at People’s Drugstore and used his mule to till the land. After harvest, Pappy paid off his debt with half of his share, using the rest to care for the family. I looked up, and Pappy was smiling at me.
“Hey, birthday girl, what are you doing over there?” he asked.
“Helping Momma make biscuits,” I smiled, relieved he was no longer angry at me.
“That’s good. Every girl should know how to cook. One day, you’ll have a family of your own.”
I secretly disagreed. Marriage and a family would someday be in my future, but my dream was to leave Henry. I wanted a better life.
I kneaded the biscuit dough until my fingers ached, then Momma came over and shaped the dough into twenty biscuits while I arranged them on the cookie sheet. Momma slid them into the fiery oven and closed the door.
By the time the biscuits were done, everyone had gathered at the table, hungry and eager to devour the morning meal. Momma put the biscuits in a basket on the table with a bowl of fried apples. She brought out the rest of the food, Pappy recited the grace, and we all dug in. Pappy finished his meal before the rest of us, rose from the table, and put on his coat and hat.
“I have work to do. I’ll see you later,” he said.
“Bye, Pappy!” everyone shouted as he grabbed his gun, opened the door, and walked out.
After everyone finished eating, Escelle cleaned off the table while Momma washed dishes at the sink. My brothers chased each other, playing hide-and-seek. I ran to my room and cleaned my teeth with Arm & Hammer’s baking soda and a twig toothbrush. Momma tore twigs off the black gum tree in the back, and we chewed on the ends until the wood softened into a brush. She kept four twig toothbrushes in a box in the bedroom for us to use in the winter. In the summertime, she kept them on the porch with a pan of fresh water so we could brush our teeth and wash our hands and faces after playing outside.
After I cleaned my teeth, I wanted to see Grandmother Ella. I snuck to the closet, slipped on my green coat and wool hat, and ran to the back door.
“Young lady, where are you going?” Momma shouted.
“I want to visit Grandmother Ella. She promised to make me cookies for my birthday.”
Momma rolled her bottom lip. “Well, since it’s your birthday, I guess it’s all right.”
“Thank you, Momma!” I blew her a kiss.
“Don’t stay too long. The animals need to be fed.”
“Yes, mam!” I opened the door, and Old Dick ran out. “Bye, Momma!”
“Bye! Hurry home, I got a surprise for you!”
“Whoopee! I can’t wait!”
I stepped outside, shut the door, and rubbed my shoulders to warm myself. The brisk, sharp smell of fall hovered in the air, stinging my nose and lips. I could see my grandparents’ white two-story house with the black door on the hill above the barren cotton patches. When he died, Grandfather Grier’s white father left him the land we all lived on. When he and Grandmother Ella married, he built their house on the hill. Her eight children were adults by then and had moved away, so only she and Grandfather lived in their house. When Pappy met and married Momma, Grandfather Grier allowed him to build our cabin and one for his mother, Grandmother Clem. I asked Momma why we lived in a small, shabby cabin instead of a lovely home like my grandparents. She told me Pappy couldn’t afford to build a bigger house, and he was never one to accept handouts from her father or anyone else. A proud man, Pappy insisted on providing for his family on his own.
Although I loved both grandmothers, I loved visiting Grandmother Ella the most. Her big white house always smelled like chocolate and lilac perfume, and she had the warmest smile and sweetest disposition. Tall, plump, and fair-skinned, she had blue eyes and snowy white hair pinned into a giant fuzzy bun. Sometimes she and I sat by the fire in her old rickety rocking chair, me in her lap. I loved to rest my head on her warm bosom and listen to old stories flowing from her ruby-red lips. Not only did I hear Bible stories, but she told me about my great-grandfather Walter Clark. Half Chickasaw, he pitched a tent under a chestnut tree, and when he needed help, he sang to the great white dog in the sky. I asked Grandmother about the great white dog, and she told me he was God in disguise. For the rest of my life, I never forgot that story.
Walking across our yard, I noticed a purple finch sitting on a branch in the weeping willow. I wondered if it was lost, because most birds had flown south for the winter. I stopped and threw my head back, admiring the pretty little red bird, then continued walking. Old Dick stopped along the way, sniffing, marking his territory, and covering his waste.
Crossing the cotton patch, the prickly, barren stems snagged my coat. Pappy and Grandfather made their living growing cotton and other crops and raising farm animals. Maple trees separated Pappy’s fields from Grandfather’s, and red and yellow leaves covered the ground. Growing cotton was hard work, but it kept food on the table.
As we arrived at my grandparents’ house, the sun’s rays bounced off the roof, and the lilac curtains my grandmother made covered all four front windows. Ivy plants hung on the wooden porch railings and along the roof. I sprinted up the porch steps and pounded on the door. The door swung open, and Grandfather’s tall figure loomed in the doorway. He had straight black hair streaked with gray, and squinty green eyes on a weather-worn square face. His rumbling baritone voice shook my insides when he spoke.
“Well, here’s the birthday girl!” He grinned, showing big teeth stained from smoking cigars and pipes over the years.
I bounced on my feet, shivering. “It’s cold out here!”
“Well, come in here, little girl, before you freeze.”
I hurried in, and he shut the door. He stooped over, and I hugged his thick, warm neck. He hugged me and kissed my forehead with a sparkle in his eye.
“How old are you, Little Ella?”
“I’m five years old.” I blushed, twisting.
“You’re growing like a weed, little girl,” he chuckled.
As expected, the house smelled delicious, and the living room was cozy and warm. Kindling crackled and popped in the rocky fireplace where two wooden rocking chairs sat. On my right was a burgundy couch on a frayed Persian rug. To my left sat a black console in front of the window. A delicious chocolate scent lured me to the kitchen. I pulled off my coat and hat and hung them on the rack near the door. Walking through the dining room, I passed the large round cherrywood table and chairs with red velvet seats. The buffet, filled with my great-grandmother’s fine white China, sat snugly against the wall.
As I moved down the hall, I stopped and gazed at the black-and-white photograph of my great-grandfather, Walter Clark. His faded picture was one of the few left in the family. Other photos had been lost over the years, and our family was too busy surviving to pose for new ones. Grandfather Clark had worn a suit the day he was photographed, and his stern, dark-brown eyes had a hint of fiery rage. His handsome chocolate face was minus a smile. One day, I asked my grandmother why he looked so angry. She told me Grandfather Clark lived a short, hard life, spending most of his time in slavery, and his stern face reflected life in the South.
I arrived in the kitchen and found Grandmother sliding fresh chocolate walnut cookies onto a large white platter. She greeted me with her warm and welcoming smile.
“Happy birthday! How’s my Little Ella?” she asked in her honeyed voice.
“Fine. May I have a cookie?”
Grandmother laughed. “Child, didn’t your momma feed you this morning?”
“Yes, mam, but those cookies smell so good.” I blinked my long lashes. “Besides, it’s my birthday!”
“All right,” she laughed. “Just one. Please, don’t tell your Momma.”
“I won’t.” I grabbed a cookie and gobbled it down.
Thank you for reading. Look for Leaving Henry on Amazon after Labor Day!
Bug Ridley loved her garden. At ninety-one, she was still planting flowers around her two-story split leveled home in Steilacoom, Washington. Bug’s green thumb brought magic to her colorful garden. There were roses, daffodils, pansies, and marigolds planted along the periphery of her home. She could grow anything.
One crisp, sunny morning, she decided to go early to the grocery store. Buddle up in a light green jacket with her favorite floppy hat on top of fiery red curls, she used her cane to navigate the flight of stairs leading to the garage. She opened the garage door and slid inside her blue “Back to the Future” Oldsmobile. As she cleared the garage and backed out, she noticed a plant about six inches tall in the garden.
Not your typical plant, the leaves had a silver-gray color, and it appeared to be sprouting tiny white flowers. The mysterious plant sways ever so lightly in the crisp sixty-nine degreed weather. Intrigued, Bug turned off the ignition and got out.
Using her cane, Bug strolled over to the plant. For a moment, she stood there looking at it, admiring it. She poked it gently with her cane, reluctant to touch it. She wasn’t quite sure if the plant was safe to touch. After all, she didn’t plant it. ”Whatever this is…it’s a beautiful little thing,” she muttered to herself. Giving no thought into how the plant came to be in her garden, Bug strolled back to her car and opened the door. She eased in the driver’s seat and secured her seatbelt. Then she turned on the ignition and drove off.
Later in the afternoon, Chris, one of her daughters, came home from work. Like a creature of habit, Chris parked her Toyota Prius on the left side of the driveway. When she eased out of her car and noticed the plant in her mother’s garden, she immediately determined it was a weed. Making a mental note to bring it to her mother’s attention, Chris locked her car and went inside the house.
Chris found her mother sitting in her favorite recliner, watching a Lifetime movie on television. “Mom,” she loudly called out. Chris knew Bug had hearing problems. “A weed is growing in your garden. Do you want me to pull it out?” Chris also was aware of Bug’s overprotectiveness of her garden, and she thought it better to ask permission before pulling the weed out. She had no interest in making her mother angry.
Bug leaned forward and turned up her hearing aid. Her big hazel-green eyes bore into her daughter. “What are you babbling about over there?”
“There’s a weed out there in the garden…” Chris trailed off. By the looks of her mother’s scarlet face, she knew the conversation was going to be challenging. “Leave my plant alone! It’s not bothering anybody out there!” Bug quipped. Chris groaned, rolling her hazel-green eyes, a trait she inherited from Bug. “Mom, it’s not a plant! It’s a weed!” She insisted.
Bug fell back in her recliner and armed herself with the TV remote. She turned up the volume gritting her teeth. “I repeat, leave my plant alone.”
Chris stiffened then she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. She pulled her brown braids into a rubber band and shook her head in defeat. Chris decided to leave the matter alone. She hated being at odds with her mother. Bug had gotten stubborn in her old age and Chris knew how futile it could be to argue with Bug. So, she gave up and went to her room.
When Chris came home the next evening, the color drained from her face. The weed captured her attention in the worst kind of way setting off a creepy chill within her. It had grown two feet tall since she last laid eyes on it, and the weed’s silver-gray leaves crept into the driveway. Stunned, Chris recognized the creepy plant must go but convincing her obstinate mother of this would be a difficult task. She ran inside the house and tried talking to Bug again, but she soon realized she was getting nowhere. Instead, Bug became onery and yelled at her. “Stop pestering me! It’s my garden, and I want it to stay there.”
Frustrated and beside herself, Chris decided to call her sister, Cheryl. She needed support in a big way, and her sister had the gift of persuasion. Grabbing her cell phone, Chris hurriedly dialed Cheryl’s number. She heard Cheryl’s voice no sooner than she completed the call. “Sis, what’s up?” Cheryl answered on the first ring as if expecting her call.
“Girl, you didn’t give the telephone a chance to ring good,” Chris chuckled.
“Oh, I thought it was the office calling me…so, what’s going on?”
“It’s Mom…”
“Did something happen?” Cheryl asked with her voice shooting up two octaves.
“No, no, no, nothing serious,” Chris quickly reassured her. She heard Cheryl sigh with relief. “Then what is it?”
“There’s a big ass weed growing in Mom’s garden. She refuses to remove it because she thinks it’s a plant.”
Cheryl belched out a series of loud giggles. “You called me for this?” She asked after regaining her composure.
“Yes, sister, I did. You should see it. It looks creepy.”
“How big is it?”
“At least three feet,” Chris embellished, hoping to sound the alarm. “And it’s getting bigger and bigger by the minute!”
“Come on, sis. Stop exaggerating and get real!”
“No, I mean it! This thing is creepy! It has grown three feet overnight! Like it’s got a growth hormone in it or something!”
“How do you know?”
“I just know!”
Cheryl laughed again. “Girl just pulled the thing up! What’s the problem?”
Chris held the phone away from her ear and stared at it like a big starry-eyed raccoon. Then she pressed the receiver to her ear and with a strain voice, she said. “No way, I’m not touching that weed! Besides, Mom told me to leave it alone.”
“So, what do you want me to do about it?”
“Talked some sense into her. That thing has to go!”
“Okay, Sis,” Cheryl giggled. “I’ll do my best.”
“Please do.” And with that, Chris disconnected the call. Exhausted, she took a quick shower and crawled into bed. Within thirty minutes, she was fast asleep.
The next morning, around dawn, a loud rumbling noise came from the yard across the street, jolting Chris awake. She sat straight up, hyperventilating and sweat beaded on her forehead. She rolled out of bed and peered out the window. Big Boy was in his truck racing the engine. Her eyes drifted to the garden and she gasped with sheer exasperation almost peeing on herself. “Oh, I can’t stay here! I got to move! That damn weed has taken over!”
The weed was bushy and taller than the day before, and another one just like it was growing from behind. Chris fell on the bed and immediately texted her sister. “Cheryl, Help! Come quick! The weed snatchers have invaded Mom’s garden!”
Her phone ranged two minutes later, and when Chris answered, she heard Cheryl cackling in hysterics on the line. “Girl, have you lost your cotton-picking mind? What are you talking about?” She managed to ask after getting her words together.
“Look that thing has grown another two feet, and now it’s brother or wife is growing behind it,” Chris whispered.
“Did you say there are two now, are you serious?” Cheryl asked with angst in her voice.
“Yep, there’s two, and they’re big as shit!”
“I’m coming right over.” Cheryl hung up before Chris could say another word. After Chris showered and dressed, she went outside on the porch and checked out the weeds. She stared at the plants for a while, and she swore the white buds look like teeth, itching to gobble her up. An icy chill shot up her spine and Chris jumped up. She started pacing, and she wondered why Cheryl was taking so long. Her sister lived in Puyallup and she had a forty-minute drive, but for the moment, she didn’t care. Chris needed her right now. Hell, she was scared.
Antsy with a desire to calm her nerves, Chris left the porch and walked behind the house. She screamed, slapping her hand over her mouth. Across the yard, growing through her mother’s fence was another one of those menacing weeds. It was just as bushy and creepy, and the weed’s silver-gray leaf-like tentacles crept along the lawn heading to the house. When Chris saw this, she had enough. She ran to the porch and stayed there until Cheryl showed up.
Cheryl’s black Baby Cadillac flew in the driveway with tires screeching. She parked and got out, ready for battle in her burgundy-gray sweatsuit. Her hair was wild with big brown curls, and she briefly looked across the driveway. With her hands on her hips, she calmly said, “You’re right; this weed has become a monster!”
Chris ran to her side. “There’s one in the back growing through the fence.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, dear. I’m not.” Cheryl stepped back, and her hazel-green eyes, a trait she also inherited from Bug, scanned the area again. “Do you know where these suckers are coming from?”
“No, I wish I knew,” Chris said, looking worried. Then she pointed out, “No one else in the neighborhood has these weeds as far as I can tell.”
Cheryl tilted her head and placed a finger on her chin. “Mmmmm…What about the abandoned house next door? It’s been weeks since Mister Purdy got evicted.”
“What’s your point?” Chris asked with big eyes.
“Maybe we should check it out.” Cheryl took off before Chris could blurt out an answer. She strolled into the yard of the abandoned home with Chris on her heels. With her stomach in knots, Chris was amazed by her sister’s tenacity and inquisitiveness. “Sis, you’re crazy!”
“Probably,” Cheryl replied as she stopped in the middle of the yard.
The two women stood there, staring at the empty house. The outside paint looked like it might have been a shade of dark brown at one time but had since faded into a dingy pale color. The lawn was overgrown and filled with little dandelion weeds. On the right side of the house was a badly worn wooden fence. “I’m going over here to look in the backyard,” Cheryl said, running off.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Chris hollered after her. But Cheryl ignored her. Instead, she stood on her tiptoes and peered over the fence. Braving it, Cheryl sucked in a deep breath and clicked open the latch. She plunged ahead inside, and her mouth flew open. The entire yard covered with weeds looked like the ones in her mother’s yard. They stood at least twenty feet tall, and one weed’s branches wrapped around the balcony. The leaves covered the sliding glass door. “Chris, you got to see this! Come back here!” Cheryl shouted.
“Uh, no…I don’t think so. I’m going to stay right here!” Chris wasn’t about to venture into that yard. It was safer where she stood. Finally, Cheryl emerged from the back yard, shaking her head. “Girl, those weeds are huge, and they’re everywhere. I think they tend to spread. I believe that’s why Mom is having a problem.”
Chris snatched her cell phone from her back pocket. “Let’s google it,” she suggested. Cheryl came over and stood over her while Chris looked up the weed on the internet. The image of the plant came up on her screen, and Chris eagerly showed it to Cheryl. “This is it!” Chris said, getting excited.
“What sort of weed is it?”
“An English Ivy,” Chris replied. She groaned as she read over the description. “What does it say?” Cheryl asked.
“This weed is an invasive species with the potential to wreak havoc on vegetation. They can grow up to forty feet, and they are banned.” Chris relayed.
“Get out of here!”
“Girlfriend, I know. This thing reminds me of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, an evil predator!”
Cheryl snickered. “I don’t know about an evil predator, but I’ll think we need to pressure Mom to get rid of this weed before it takes over her yard.”
“And her house!” Chris added.
They walked back to the house and found Bug in her pajamas sitting with her legs crossed at the dining room table. She was drinking a cup of Starbucks Coffee, and her face automatically turned scarlet. “I saw you two sneaking around outside being nosy. So, did you find what you’re looking for?” She asked, beating them to the punch.
“Mom, the house next door has those weeds all over the yard and balcony. Some of them are twenty feet tall,” Cheryl excitedly explained.
Bug looked Cheryl squared in the eye and dismissively waved her hand. “Mister Purdy must have planted them before he was kicked out.”
“Mom, you can’t be serious!” Chris grumbled out loud, rolling her eyes. “Those weeds are invasive, and the birds help spread them by dropping seeds on the ground. Washington State’s Forestry Department has banned them. There’s a number to call for someone to come by and get rid of them. Do you know, these weeds can crawl up your house, and get in the gutters and block the windows?”
“Well, if they do, I hope they crawl in your window and grab you, so you can stop pestering the hell out of me!” Bug deadpanned with a gleam in her eye.
Cheryl giggled hard from the pit of her stomach. Chris hung her head in disgust. “Mom, I’m serious, that’s not funny,” she pouted.
Bug stood on her feet and huffed. “My goodness, give me the damn phone number? If I call those people today, will you leave me alone?”
Finally, her mother saw the light, and Chris was delighted sighing with relief. She wiped the sweat from her brow, and said. “Mother, you got a deal! Thank the Lord!” Until Next Time, Thank You For Reading. Comments Welcome. My novel, Whiskey And Merlot A Love Story is available on Amazon. Click on the link below and take advantage of the disocunted retail price.
This story is dedicated to my sister, Cheryl. Enjoy!
One hot, sunny July fourth afternoon in the year of two thousand and ten, Elaine just left Seattle in her brand new black Cadillac Seville. She cruised down Interstate 90, weaving in and out of heavy traffic on her way to see her new man Greg. She met him online a few months earlier, and he had invited her to Spokane for the holiday weekend. She was to meet his daughter, Lisa who lived in Spokane, and the drive there would take her four hours.
Although, Elaine looked calm, her stomach rattled like an old washing machine. Even after she gulped down a banana pineapple smoothie, her stomach churned in knots. Annoyed, Elaine sighed as she glanced at her rolex watch. Time seemed to tick by slow, it was only two o’clock. Greg wasn’t expecting her until seven so she leaned back in her seat and settled in for the boring drive.
Interstate 90 stretched for hundreds of miles. On each side of the highway, cattle grazed lazily in the hot grassy fields. Elaine took off her Raybun sunglasses and rubbed her hazel-green eyes. She yawned, stretching her mouth wide feeling tired from the long drive. She kept her eye on the road as she reached over, turned on the radio, and repeatedly tapped the tune button on the dashboard stereo. Finally she found her gospel station, and Kirk Franklin’s hit song, “Smile” boomed from the car speakers. Emotionally moved, Elaine bopped her head like a ping pong ball to the rhymthic beat then the song went off and the disc jockey came on.
Elaine squirmed in her seat, and sweat trickled down her face. She reached up with one hand and swiped the straw hat she was wearing off her head. With long cinnamon brown fingers, she raked through her curly red auburn hair, and with the other hand she steadied the car keeping it straight on the road. Elaine was full figured, attractive with expressive hazel-green eyes. Despite her plumb figure, she wore dresses, and big hats with style.
However, her friend, Greg was completely opposite. His idea of style was casual. He often wore loafers with faded jeans, and he would throw on his favorite corduroy sports jacket over a plain white shirt. Hardly Elaine’s idea of a stylish, well-dressed man. She was spoiled. Her deceased husband, a pastor, used to wear silk doubled breasted suits to work or church. Needless to say, she missed his impeccable style.
Before long, Elaine saw the sign to Spokane, Washington. She had fifty miles to go, and again, she glanced at her watch. It was now six o’clock in the evening, and the sun was morphing into an orange ball of fire. Dusk was settling on the horizon so Elaine pulled over. She parked on the side of the road and turned on her GPS. She typed in Lisa’s address then she pulled out onto the highway.
Thirty minutes later, she was on Chicken Coup Road. Beautiful red brick homes on manicured lawns decorated the newly paved street. Elaine searched for Lisa’s house looking for the number 455. As the paved street narrowed into a dusky dead end, Elaine’s face contorted into a gremlin-like frown. Straight ahead she noticed a barb wired fence wrapped loosely around an old wood shabby house. The house tilted to the side was propped up on cement blocks. Elaine parked her Cadillac and turned off the ignition. She blinked her hazel-green eyes in amazement and shook her head.
“Surely this isn’t it,” as she tried to convince herself. “This can’t be it. I better call Lisa. Maybe I passed the house by mistake.”
Elaine snatched her cell phone out of her Coach Handbag and dialed Lisa’s number. The phone rang for several seconds and the ringing vibrated like a buzzing bee. Finally a woman anwsered. “Hello, this is Lisa.”
Lisa sounded warm and inviting, and Elaine breathe a sigh of relief. “Hi Lisa, this is Elaine. I’m on your street, but I can’t find your house. Where are you?”
“At the end of the road,” Lisa chuckled.
“You mean the brown wood house with the barb wire fence?”
“That’s right,” Lisa clarified. Elaine’s heart sank. She couldn’t believe it. She drew in a deep breath and used her musical voice to tried to sound cheerful. “I’m right out front. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Great, I can’t wait to see you!”
“Likewise.” Elaine hung up and started up her car. She drove up the dusky road to Lisa’s home. On her right, five rusty cars in need of repair were parked alongside the road. There were two red Toyotas, two copper brown mustangs, and a four-door silver gray Honda. Little brown and black chickens raced hither and yond up and down the road. Elaine noticed chickens scurrying back and forth on the porch.
Elaine scowled and shook her head. “This place is full of chickens! I can’t do chickens!”
Elaine parked her vehicle, shoved the door open, and gradually eased out. With her handbag on her shoulder, she smoothed out her white cotton dress. She reached in her car and grabbed her suitcase. She dropped it on the ground breathing heavily. She slammed the car door and locked it. Then grabbed her suitcase and started toward the house. Her eyes watered from the smelly white chicken poop splashed on the ground before her. She gagged, almost fainting from the putrid, rotten smell.
Suddenly Greg emerged from the house. Chickens scattered everywhere trying to get out of his way. He ran down the stairs. When Elaine laid eyes on him, she cringed at the sight of him. He wore a plaid red short-sleeved shirt tucked in dirty brown dungarees and his bulky orange rubber boots were caked with dried mud. Strands of salt and peppered hair peeked from underneath his Mariner’s baseball cap, and his piercing blue eyes looked like large buttons on his dusky face.
Excited to see Elaine, Greg broke out into a wide grin. He snatched her suitcase out of her hand and dropped it on the ground. He wrapped his thick arms around her shoulders, squeezing her tight. “You’re so dirty!” She cried out, wrinkling up her nose. She pushed him away. He smelled like an old musky towel.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “I was doing repairs around the house. I know I smell bad.”
“That’s an understatement,” Elaine flippantly mumbled under her breath. Ignoring her comment, Greg grabbed her hand.”Come on, let’s go inside,” he said.
“Okay,” Elaine replied looking wide-eyed. As they walked up the stairs, the wood creaked and moaned. Once they reached the door, two howling dogs greeted them. One was a white toy poodle and the other a brown lab retriever. The canines took turns out doing each other with their loud howling. Irritated by the noise, Elaine slapped her hands on her plumb hips and violently cursed. “You two bitches shut the hell up, right now!”
The dogs immediately stopped howling. Startled, they took off down the stairs, whimpering to themselves, as they disappeared across the yard behind the chicken coup. Greg roared with laughter. “Elaine, I think you hurt their little feelings.”
“They were making too much damn noise! I couldn’t hear myself think,” Elaine giggled getting tickled. Greg laughed and opened the door. He motioned for Elaine to follow him in. She did so with great caution taking one step and then peeking shyly around the door. Greg grinned wide looking like a Cheshire Cat. “Don’t worry, it’s safe,” he assured her waving her in.
Elaine walked inside and to her dismay, three black cats ran up to her. They whined and cried which grated on Elaine’s nerves. Her nostrils itched and she sneezed. One cat edged closer and rubbed his head against her bare leg. Elaine’s eyes begin to itch and tear up. She sneezed repeatedly, scaring off the cat. The cat screeched and leaped in the air. It landed in a nearby chair, and stared at her with glaring yellow eyes. “Creepy,” she mused. Elaine looked at Greg. “I’m allergic to cats. I can’t be around them,” she informed him.
“Oh dear, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ll get rid of them.”
“Thank you,” Elaine coughed. He scooped up the cats and disappeared down the hall. Elaine sneezed repeatedly and her eyes itched like hell. She rubbed them hard until they turned tomato red. Now fighting an allergic reaction, Elaine grabbed her Benadryl from her handbag. She twisted off the cap and popped four pills into her mouth. Then she grabbed her inhaler, screwed off the cap and took three puffs.
A few minutes later, she was feeling better. Elaine found a chair in a corner in the hallway and sat. While she rested, Greg’s daughter, Lisa showed up in the hall. She was barefooted with her red hair tangled into a messy mop, and she looked trampy in her see-through yellow top and ripped jean shorts. When she smiled, her grill was missing two front teeth, and her voice was dry and raspy from smoking. “So you’re the special lady in my dad’s life. Glad to finally meet you.”
“I’m happy to meet you too,” Elaine sneezed. ” Thanks for inviting me to your home.”
“You’re quite welcome. Are you all right?”
Elaine dismissively waved her off. “Oh, it’s allergies. “I’m allergic to cats.”
“Oh too bad,” Lisa pouted, poking out her bottom lip. She ran across the hall to the closet, and swung the door open. She grabbed a box of tissue, tossing it to Elaine. “Here take one.”
Barely catching the box before it landed on the floor, Elaine grabbed a tissue, and blew her nose like a fog horn. Lisa’s violet eyes stared back at her with amusement, and Elaine felt her cheeks getting warm. She quickly apologized. “I’m so embarrassed! Please excuse me. My behavior is horrible.”
Lisa cracked up laughing. “No worries. I hope you feel better soon.”
“I will.” Elaine said with a flushed face.
Greg stood in the hall, giving Lisa an icy glare.”You should’ve dressed better! You looked sloppy!”
Lisa rolled her eyes heavenward and whirled around. With her back to her father, she sashayed down the hall. “Elaine, come with me,” she hollered back. “Let me show you where you’re staying.”
Elaine hesitated. She eyeballed Greg looking to him for permission to follow Lisa. He looked perturbed as he watched Lisa walked away from him. He threw one hand up and gestured.”Go ahead. I’ll deal with her later,” he said.
Elaine didn’t say a word. Instead she inhaled deeply and reached for her suitcase. She went after Lisa and caught up with her in the living room. Eaine checked the place out. It was spotless. A pleasant surprise that Elaine didn’t expect. However, Lisa’s decorating taste left alot to be desire. Elaine didn’t care for her country-styled taste or out-dated gray furniture. As they moved throughout the house, Elaine secretly admired Lisa’s chestnut hardwood floors.
When the two women arrived in the guest room, Lisa hurled her petite body through the wood door. Once inside, she waved for Elaine to follow her in. The room, smelling like fresh lemons, was roomy and quaint. The room was painted in a bright fluorescent pink, and oil paintings of farm animals hung on the walls. Against the far wall, sat a queen sized maghoney wood framed bed draped in a red comforter with fluffy black pillows scattered on top.
Elaine dropped her suitcase in the middle of the floor and sat on the bed. She squinted from the bright pink paint while rubbing her hands over the cushiony comforter. Taking note of the soft texture, she mumbled. “This is so nice, thank you.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Lisa warmly smiled. “In the bathroom, you’ll find towels in the vanity closet.”
“Thank you,” Elaine said as she continued to checked out the room. Elaine gasped, stiffening up when she noticed a dead beetle on its back in the far corner. She wondered if Lisa had a problem with bugs. “Any issues with bugs?” Elaine innocently asked.
“No, not really,” Lisa said looking down at the floor.
Elaine sighed deeply and Lisa studied Elaine’s face. She folded her arms, and scoffed. “If you happen to see bugs, the spray is in the closet.”
“Thanks,” Elaine said taking note of her scornful tone. Lisa turned and went for the door. “Why don’t you freshen yourself up for dinner. We’re eating at eight and fireworks begin at nine,” she said.
“Will do.” Elaine sternly replied, feeling irritated. She didn’t like being told what to do. Lisa left the room, slamming the door behind her. Elaine made a face and slid off the bed. She gave the room a quick once over. She lifted the comforter and looked underneath the bed. Except for a few dust balls, she didn’t see any bugs. Then she ran to the bathroom and inspected the bathtub along with the shower. Satisfied she didn’t see any dead little creatures lurking around, she blew out her cheeks in a sigh of relief.
She went back to the room and tossed her suitcase on the bed. She flopped down with her plumb bottom sinking down into the mattress, and she began unpacking her suitcase. Then out of the blue she heard, pop, pop, pop and she scrambled off the bed, ducking to the floor. Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest as she sat crouched on her knees beside the bed. Scared out of her wits, she was afraid to move. A moment later, she heard Greg shouting outside her window. “You critters get the hell out of my yard with those firecrackers! You come here in again, I’m calling the police!”
There was loud husky laughter and stomping of feet. Then a few seconds later, there was complete silence. Realizing she wasn’t in any danger, Elaine took a deep breath and stood up. “This place is crazy! What have I gotten myself into?” she grumbled shaking her head. Then she unzipped her suitcase and sat on the bed. “I might as well make the best of this. It’s going to be a very long weekend.” Thank you For Reading And Have A Happy Fourth Of July!
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