When the Tide Ebbs: An epic 1930's love story (A Grave Encounter) (26 page)

Unwed

Book II – Southern Secrets

Veezie Harrington, a backwoodsy young woman with a seedy past, experiences difficulty fitting in to her new way of life after she inherits a wealthy estate in Alabama during the 1930’s. When she falls in love with handsome Shep Jackson, the local pastor, she sets a goal to overcome her redneck ways and become a real lady, worthy of the love of such a fine Christian man. Is the bar too high?

Reverend Shepherd Jackson, a forty-year-old widower, causes an uproar in the church when he falls in love with the ill-bred Veezie, who is half his age. Will he risk his God-given call for the love of a fallen woman?

Chapter One

May 07, 1937

A shrill cry, sounding more like a bat screeching than a newborn baby, caused Veezie Harrington’s arched back to fall flat onto the plump feather mattress. Sweat drenched the satin pillowcase beneath her head.

The doctor blew out a heavy breath, as if he’d been the one doing all the work.

She reached down and rubbed her belly. Every inch of her body ached from twelve long hours of pain, but it was over.
Over?
Was she loco? It’d never be over. The real pain had just begun.

Beulah, the Harrington maid, stood next to a dry sink beside the fancy-carved poster bed. Her calloused brown hands wrung a wet rag over a porcelain bowl. When she turned, her mouth flew open and an eerie-sounding groan tumbled out.

Veezie’s throat tightened as she focused on Beulah’s pinched face. She dared not ask questions for fear her curiosity might suggest the idiotic notion she was changing her mind about the fate of the child. A thousand times a thousand she wished to renege, but for the sake of her baby, she had to stick to the original plan. Boy? Or girl? Did it matter? She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to see it. It’d be easier that way.

The soaked cloth in the maid’s hands fell to the floor when she slapped her hand up to her head rag, allowing water to trail from her wrist to her elbow. Her lip quivered. “Oh my stars, doc, po’ little creature ain’t no bigger’n a wharf rat. I ain’t never seen no baby what had—”

He cut her off. “I’ve delivered a lot of babies, Beulah, and without a doubt, she’s the most beautiful newborn I’ve ever seen. You have a little girl, Veezie. Look at her.”

She jerked her head in the opposite direction. “No. Take her away.” She’d known Flint McCall since the first day he arrived to practice medicine in the Goose Hollow community, about twenty miles from Pivan Falls. She supposed she knew him better than most folks and the raspy sound in his voice told her something peculiar was going on. Why didn’t he let Beulah finish her sentence?
What’s wrong with my baby?

“Look at her, Veezie.” His voice quaked. “She’s perfect. Like a flawless diamond. Take her in your arms and hold her.”

When Flint made an attempt to lower the tiny creature, Veezie clinched her eyes shut. Why was he taunting her this way? Didn’t he know how she ached inside? How she longed to keep her baby? Well, she wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t. “Leave me be, Flint.”

“Veezie, I’m not asking. I’m telling you to turn around and hold out your arms. Now! Your baby needs you.”

Her hands knotted into tight fists at the roughness in his voice. She opened her eyes and glaring into his troubled-looking face, she whimpered, “
My
baby?
Mine
? I ain’t got no baby. Take her home to your wife, Flint. That was the plan. Remember?”

Beulah wiped Veezie’s sweaty brow with a cold, damp cloth and pushed a wisp of hair back of her ear. ‘There, there, sugar. You just got the blues settin’ in. Why don’t you do like the doc says?”

Veezie’s throat couldn’t have ached more if she’d swallowed a bullfrog. If Flint only knew how she longed to hold her baby in her arms and to count all the little fingers and toes. But how could he understand? He was a man. The tears she’d shed since that first kick inside her belly could fill a gallon drum. She dared not look for fear she’d never be able to go through with her plan.

Flint’s brow furrowed. “Veezie, I’m sorry I couldn’t administer the ether, but it would’ve been too risky for the baby. You went through a lengthy, painful delivery. You’re hurting and you’re tired. I get it. But this is not about you and your feelings at this point. The baby came early and there’s a frightening chance she won’t make it. You can have all the poor-pitiful-me parties you want after today, but at the moment you have a responsibility to this little girl you brought into the world.
”
His voice trembled. “She may not make it, even if you hold her . . . but I’m pretty sure she won’t if you don’t.”

The tiny bundle cuddled against his broad chest could’ve fit in a cigar box. If she took one look at her baby’s face, she’d never be able to let her go.
Don’t you worry, baby girl. He ain’t gonna let you die. He’s a doctor. Besides, he wants you for his own.

Flint leaned over the bed. “Veezie, you’re going to hold this baby if I have to tie your arms around her, so you might as well reach for her now.”

She glared at the way his throbbing temples pumped in and out when he gritted his teeth. The cold eyes and unfamiliar gruffness in Flint’s voice reminded her of the scene from the picture show,
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
when Jekyll claimed all human beings are made up of both good and evil. With Flint’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his shirt tail hanging out and his trousers crumpled, there seemed to be two people living inside one body. There was nothing about the rumpled, hateful-talking doctor that hinted of the neat, gentle friend she knew as Flint McCall.

With a toss of his head, he slung a shank of brown hair away from his bloodshot eyes. “You idiotic, bull-headed woman,” he bellowed. “I won’t allow you to lie here and let this precious baby die, simply because you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Get over it, Veezie.”

Beulah crossed her arms over her plump bosom. “Begging yo’ pardon, doc, but that kinda talk ain’t getting us nowhere. There’s a heap o’ truth in the ol’ saying, ‘honey draws more flies than vinegar.’ Reckon we ought to send for the preacher? I ’spect Brother Shep Jackson can pray a body into doing most anything. Seems to have a knack for it. Understands troubles, he does.” She shook her head gently. “God bless him, he’s had his share. Want George to hitch up the wagon and go fetch him?”

Veezie burst into sobs. “A
preacher
? You crazy? Y’all might as well announce it in the newspaper that Veezie Harrington gave birth to a little—” She bit her lip. Couldn’t say it. “No! I don’t want nobody to know. Nobody, ya hear?” She pulled the covers over her face and rubbed the soft satin comforter between her fingers, comparing it to the moth-eaten woolen army blanket she’d slept under for twenty-one years. Yet, she’d gladly give up all the silks and satins and go back to the way it was, if only. . . But there was no going back.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kay Chandler is a multi-award-winning author of Southern Fiction with a speaking ministry called LIFE ROCKS. An enthusiastic motivator, she shares true life experiences, seasoned with humor, to illustrate that life rocks when God’s in the center. If you’d like to have Kay speak at your church, civic group or book club, she can be reached by email at
[email protected]
. Her Facebook account is Kay McCall Chandler. Kay and her husband, Bill, have retired and moved back to their little hometown in lower Alabama.