Haskell

For the last year or so, much of my extremely limited downtime has been set aside for writing. As some may know, I have two novels under my belt- one that was set to be published, but I received the rights back after the publishing house crumbled. The second has been finished and set to the side to make room for my third. The great Mississippi writer, William Faulkner once said, “If a story is in you, it has to come out.” Boy, was he right.

I haven’t been able to shop around my first two novels for a new home because I have been busy wrapping up this third one. I just had to get it out. Currently, I am in the editing phase, then will turn it over to one of the most amazing humans that I get to call my literary agent. After that, it is off to the races!

I thought it would be nice to show a hint of what I am writing. Below you will find the prologue to my novel, Haskell. Though Haskell is based off a real person (my great uncle I only recently found out about), it is a work of fiction. You see, we never knew Haskell’s true story, and those who once did are long gone. I decided it was time to give him a story, so that once and for all, he won’t only have an ending.

*For Haskell- We never knew your story …only its ending. I hope this one will do.

Prologue

“Who’s out there?” I ask my grandmother. She walks over to the sliding glass door that overlooks the field behind her one-story, brick house. She squints her gray- blue eyes, making the wrinkles around the corners even deeper while peering through the glass. Outside, warm- season grasses sway ever so slightly in the thick, laughable, Mississippi breeze. Granny Belle runs her fingers through her tight, gray curls. I notice the few strands of auburn still left in the mix and for just a second catch a picture of the young woman she used to be.

“There’s no one out there, Anna…just you’re imagination.”

I stare harder- longer. I could have sworn someone was out there. “By the pond, Granny.”

“No, honey. No one is out there…at least not today. I’m going to go make you some lunch.”

My grandmother walks the few steps into the kitchen. I thumb the strands of golden, shag carpet between my fingers as I stare harder over the pasture behind the house. The clock above the fireplace hums its steady beat against the intro music of Granny Belle’s stories. The wafts of ramen noodles creep in from the adjacent room. My small belly growls. I know someone is out there. I can feel someone out there.

At ten years old I’m unsure if it is a comforting feeling or a frightening feeling, however it is a knowing. It is a fact only I understand to be true but can’t explain why. Someone is out there- not near the grand pecan tree whose branches stand guard over the metal swing set my uncle assembled years earlier. They aren’t near the stray cat coming from the wooded area on the edge of the hill. Its calico markings stand bright against the uncut blades of wheat as it hunts whatever small animal is scurrying through the ground. I watch as the cat takes its slow steps closer to where I sit as an innocent observer.

My eyes dart to the pond- my favorite spot to sit with its quiet stillness only interrupted by the occasional croak of a frog. It’s the only shaded area to get relief from the relentless Tyler, Mississippi heat- especially in the summer. The pine trees surrounding the right side of the edge is where I’ll go today with cousins. It’s the shadiest, after all. I can’t wait to get down there with a bucket full of crickets and one of the long cane poles in Granny’s carport closet- next to the one where the black, stray cat had its kittens. I hope I get the pole with the pink bobber. It has the best luck. I scan the edge of the water carefully, going from one side to the next. Someone is there. I can feel it in my bones but can’t make out a silhouette. It’s not making sense.

A fear washes over me that someone is in my beloved spot- where I catch the bream and bass with my older cousins. “What if we aren’t safe down there?” I briefly ask the question to myself. I scan the dark, black water’s edge again then as soon as the feeling of fear greeted me, it left. Gone- I know whoever was there has gone as well.

“You hungry?” Granny Belle asks as she sets up the TV tray in front of her most comfortable chair- a deep orange, velvet rocker that swivels completely around. My cousins and I will see who can stand spinning the longest at some point today. I jump from my spot on the shag carpet and nuzzle into the chair beside the sliding glass door. I grab the faux wooden TV tray and pull it as close as possible to me. Its shiny, metal legs catch on the shag flooring as I pull even harder. Granny Belle places a warm bowl of chicken ramen in front of me as the steam wafts up on my face. I love these noodles, even though I know she’s sad I don’t want her homemade chicken and dumplings. I silently wonder if the temperature of the brothy liquid in front of me is hotter than the water in the pond.

I take the spoon and bring it toward my mouth, only to realize the liquid is still too hot. I watch Granny Belle as she turns the cold, silver knob on the television to a different channel. She stops as a familiar voice belts out through the speakers, “like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.” I sit back and listen to the music I so often hear in the summers. Even as a freckled face ten-year-old, I am deeply invested in the stories of the characters living in the far away land of Salem.

“Granny, why don’t you live in the big house anymore? Mama says you were born there, and so was she. Why are you in this house now?” I refer to the old house, rather than the big house. The old house sits directly to the right of my grandmother’s home. It seems large to me because of its elevated, wraparound porch, tall windows decorated with shutters a slightly darker hue, and the circular gravel driveway out front. Its rocking chairs continuously sway back and forth to the rhythm of small-town life. The big house has always been there- now with my cousins and aunt and uncle living in it… the oldest son of Granny Belle.

Granny turns to me with no emotion. It is an expression from her I’ll never forget. “Anna, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”

Confused, I take my first slurpy sip of artificially flavored chicken noodles. “What’s that mean?”

Salem’s most beloved characters act out a scene behind Granny Belle. My eyes dart back and forth between her stone face and Marlena Evans’s smile coming through the screen behind my grandmother.

“When you've lived through the things I have, sooner or later you have to get comfortable knowing that nothing is forever, no matter how tightly we cling to it. Sooner or later, you'll learn that too. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away."

“Granny Belle, are you okay?”

Granny Belle slips out of the daze she quickly fell into. “I think my suga is gettin low. Better go get some juice. Now eat up, so you can go with your cousins down yonder this afternoon.” She returns to the kitchen as I hear her feet transition from the carpet to the yellow and green linoleum floor. The loud clock continues to hum its steady beat in the background of my thoughts as I replay the words my grandmother spoke to me. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away…” I whisper to myself.

I finish my bowl of noodles and start to slurp the last bits of broth. “Anna, that’s not very ladylike!” I hear my grandmother say through the server window. I roll my eyes and push the TV tray away – a splash of broth spills on the table and drips down onto the floor below. I grab the napkin Granny Belle gave me and hurry to clean it before she sees the mess.

I walk behind the orange, velvet chair and review the family pictures in frames strategically scattered throughout the built-in shelf on the adjacent wall. I glance up at both familiar and unfamiliar faces- black and white pictures and ones filled with color. I am clueless to what these strangers’ life was like and just exactly who they each were to me.

“You know to bring your bowl in when you’re finished,” Granny says as she brushes past the cotton sleeve of my shirt.

“Sorry, Granny.” She cuts her eyes to me in a corrective way.

“I mean, yes ma’am,” I quickly say in response to her look.

“I’ll let it go this one time. What you lookin at over here?” Granny stops behind me.

“These pictures. I was just wondering who everyone is.”

Granny is beside me, holding the empty bowl in one hand, the dirtied napkin in another. “Well, those are my parents right there.” She points to an elegant portrait of a finely dressed couple. They sit facing each other- he in a three-piece suit with spectacles sitting above a manicured mustache, she with her dark hair pulled back in a bun that is accented with delicate flowers. Her gown is donned with intricate bows and detailed lace. Her petite hands are covered with white satin gloves.

“They look fancy.”

Granny smiles. “They were fancy…at least for back then.”

“That’s Uncle Chuck!” I point to a nearby frame.

“Yes, that’s Charles when he graduated.”

“Oh…that’s why he looks like he’s in a costume.” Granny Belle laughs. Her eyes twinkle as she gazes back at her oldest son.

“What about those people?” I point to an older, faded and weathered picture of a group I am not familiar with.

“Oh, those are some of my siblings. That’s Aunt Mary in the back right there- my sister.”

I think to myself as I stare back at the photograph. The image of a haunting yet familiar face stares back at me. I feel like I know him but am unsure of who he is. His dark eyes match his wavy hair. The corner of his mouth curves up on the right, giving a hint of both curiosity and mischievousness. He’s handsome, yet I am not sure where he fits. “And this one?” I point to Granny.

“Anna, take you bowl back to the kitchen like I asked. We’ll talk about this another day.” Her body shifts, and I know something is different inside her.

“Is he your brother?” I say as I turn back to Granny Belle.

“He was my brother.” She turns to walk into the kitchen as I hear her words drift faintly under her breath. “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.”

A painting done by my Uncle, Charlie Kennedy, of my grandmother’s land. This landscape is a major setting in the novel, Haskell.

One of the only images we have of the real Haskell. (before his passing in the early 1930s)

Another surprise today, is that there is a true Sunday Short Story posted on my new Substack here. If you are able and have the time, please subscribe to my Substack as well! I will be slowly transitioning short stories there. For paid subscribers, there are some fun additional things that go along with the Sunday Short Story; The Snaggletooth Homecoming Queen.

Happy Sunday and enjoy reading!