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The Ladies on The Lane - Prologue
Hello All! This is the first time I've posted here. (gulp) Here goes...this is the prologue for a story I'm working on set in the American south during the 1940's. I will warn you right off the bat about a few things, first of all this snippet does include some violence (even though it's not graphic) and secondly there is the use of dialect (southern accent that I hope I did ok with and didn't over or underdo) so it might be difficult for some readers not used to the pronunciations. Okay, with that being said I welcome any and all comments. I have an outline worked out for this and am wondering if I should go on with it. Let me know what you think. Probably lots of mistakes in it, it hasn't been edited. Thanks so much for your time when there are so many other things on this board to consider.
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Sometimes when I walk home from school I’m afraid the men who got my momma will get me. Aunt Tildy says that’s what the knife in my dress pocket is for. To use on anyone if they ever try to do that to me. But Aunt Tildy also said the drifters who did that to momma are long moved on by now. I’m sure they are, but still I’m glad I’ve got the knife. Just in case.
It was me who made them stop. Me yellin’ for daddy. It’s strange to think about momma losing her voice forever just at the same moment I was using mine for all it was worth. All I could hear at first was the movin'. The movement in the trees and the bushes. That's when I saw the men, all crouched around the base of that tree, spilling out half into the dirt road, and momma’s purse with it’s nice woven strap all broke in two. I’d followed her to tell her not to forget to get me licorice, the red kind - I hate the black and if I didn’t tell her she’d get the black ‘cuz that’s the kind daddy likes.
I could see her foot stickin out of the ditch. We’d just painted our toes to match her and I. She let me pick the color - peach coral. I could hear the men laughing and saying things to one another in sharp burst. I couldn’t hear what it was. One of ‘em shoved another’out of the way to get nearer the ditch and he toppled off his heels and landed square in the gravel. He saw me then and looked me right in the face. I can’t really get that out of my mind. If I’d a moved just a little bit faster…but I didn’t. I just hollered at the top of my lungs for daddy.
They cut my momma’s throat. That’s why she didn’t yell. When she laid up in the bedroom after Doc Rice said she’d live I used to sneek up there and stare at the bandage around her neck from the hallway. Watch the red stain spread until Aunt Tily came in and chased me off. Then she’d shut the door. When it opened a the linen would be white as angels wings again. It took a long time for Momma to be well enough to come to the kitchen table for breakfast but when she did it was like Christmas morning. I tried to talk to her in slow, careful words. “Goooood Mooorrnin’ Mom - ma.”
Aunt Tildy whacked me on the back of the head , “Lord child! You don’t have to talk to her thata way - she’s mute - not simple! That’s your momma there, talk to her just like always. She’s still the same woman!”
Momma looked at me sadly through the one eye that wasn’t completely swolled shut and gently patted my hand. I knew my momma wasn’t simple but I sure didn’t think Aunt Tildy was right about her being the same.
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Little Girl Blue
"All the great ones have tortured souls."
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Again, thanks for your time.
