~I am coauthoring a new book with my husband Stephen McClelland. It is a wonderful story of living with Jesus in the midst of adverse circumstances. The setting is early America, when slavery was still lawful. This is a rough draft sneak peak. Enjoy! <3
Thomas stood stiffly at Pappy’s unmarked grave; his solid body, a mass of concrete. Jade grass was breaking through the frozen earth as the gentle spring sun began to slowly wane the harsh effects of winter. Branches drenched in Spanish moss swayed in the chilly breeze like torn sage curtains— dew dripped down them like crystal tears.
Thomas
thumbed Pappy’s old beaten up Bible with his large calloused hands and then
stroked a hand down his coarse beard. His warm brown eyes misted as he thought
fondly of Pappy’s Bible studies with him and the other young slaves. No matter
how exhausted he was, Pappy would faithfully sit with them every weekend and
teach them the Word of God.
Thomas
inhaled deeply as he remembered the night he finally surrendered his life to
Christ. How sweet was the love of God that enveloped him. His insides felt like
warmed ginger. His heart, for the first time, had felt peace. The pains of the
past melted away like butter over a hot stove. He had finally understood the
light in Pappy’s eyes.
Although
his encounter with Christ had saved him…life was still hard at times.
Especially now, since Pappy had been dead for over a year.
“I know
that, that I’ll see you’n again…b-but,” his voice cracked with pain, “but it
feels so different with you gone.” Thomas sniffled and pretended his dear older
brother in Christ were still with him. He put the back of his hand to his nose
to wipe the drops of snot away.
He
imagined Pappy’s fatherly arm were wrapped across his massive shoulders.
“Old
mas’er is sick and weak now. He ain’t been getting out of bed much. The doctors
cum round frequently but he only get worse. I haven’t seen mas’er but a few
times in the last couple months. I think he gone go yonder soon?”
Thomas
closed his eyes shut as he prepared to voice a heartbreaking matter. His free
hand baled into a fist until his fingernails dug into his skin.
“Ivy gone
have a baby. The baby’s name is Libya. She fairer than her mama. I think Ivy
was raped like her mama. Anyway, Libya only 5 years old and she sick. She ain’t
talking…she ain’t moving. She just still. Ivy give her water here and again…but
Libya refuse to eat. Tonight we gone go pray for Libya and ask God to heal
her.” Thomas’ breath shuttered and he began to weep.
Several
minutes passed before he collected himself. The peace of Christ swelled within
him from the Holy Spirit. The love of God soothed him and he felt his heavenly
Father say Libya was cared for.
Thomas
smiled and thanked God that he could know Him so intimately. He grinned at
Pappy’s grave. I understand how you were
able to walk like Jesus now. No matter what, you always acted like Jesus even
to your enemies.
Thomas
continued talking as if Pappy could hear him and voiced news of some other
things going around at the plantation.
“I know
it’s minor compar’d to what I was talking about before. But it sure does my
heart good to say it to you anyway.”
After he was finished, Thomas dipped his chin in respect and said goodbye before heading back home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The
evening sun filtered through the dusty paneled windows in Solomon Blake’s room,
creating a foggy light effect. He coughed harshly and let out a pained groan.
The veins in his wrinkled hands surfaced unnaturally and he trembled despite
the massive blankets that rested on his gaunt body/form. There was whispering
going on in the room and Solomon shut his eyes to rest. He only intended to
pretend to fall asleep, but he quickly entered into a state of unconsciousness.
By the time he awoke again it was night.
“Huh?” he
slurred and felt a trail of drool running slowly down his lips unto his chin.
Spots of blood was on his white sheet.
“What’s
this?” he demanded and peered around—his vision hazy.
Brass oil
lamps glowed with melting white candles fixated on top of them. The faint aroma
of sickly sweet mint coated the air.
A grown
John with pitying eyes answered, “your nose began to bleed in your sleep
father. We wiped it up as fast as we could.”
Solomon’s
vision cleared momentarily and he saw the shimmer of tears behind his son’s
hazel eyes. His chiseled face was strong, tanned and handsome. His mutton chop
beard illuminated the forte of his jaw and framed his face favorably. Solomon glanced
at the way the flickering candles lit up the edges of John’s golden blonde
hair…making it glow like embers.
Solomon
fussed, “well, why couldn’t you take the bloody sheets away boy?”
John
sighed and forced a smile. The illness had made Solomon temperamental over the
last couple of months. “We would have woken you by moving the sheets. But I can
get Biltha to bring in new sheets?”
“I’d
prefer that over sleeping with my own blood on top of me!”
“Yes sir,”
John responded before looking over his shoulder at Silas.
Silas stood
stiffly next to a ruby red ruffle couch. His forehead was beaded with sweat.
Anxiety and weariness had caused his head to throb and he pressed some fingers
to his temples before slowly circling his fingertips to the pressure.
He needed
his pipe and felt like he could pull out each red hair in his bandholz beard at
this moment. He was going stir crazy in the room. The hair on his head was
unkempt. Red curls shot in each direction but down and made him look like a
cave man despite his black tail coat, white collared shirt and coal dark pants.
Even in his mid-thirties he still struggled with boyish fears and John picked
up on his stress like a hound chasing runaway slaves.
“Hey!” John snapped and Silas awakened
from his thoughts.
“Yes sir?”
John’s
visage was fixed in a frown and he chastened Silas in his tone, “go get Biltha
to bring father clean sheets!”
Silas’s
emerald eyes flickered when he realized he had been tuning John out. Heat rose
to his cheeks.
He nodded
briefly and hastened out the room so quickly he almost jolted into the doctor.
“Fresh air
at last,” he whispered to himself once he was outside the door. He exhaled in
relief before searching for the household slave.
He found
her inside Mrs. Blake’s quarters and whistled sharply.
Old Biltha
jumped and when she saw Silas, she immediately bowed her head. Despite her many
years she was strong and just as fat as she had been in her younger years. Her
coarse hair was wrapped up with a ragged blue cloth.
“Go fetch
a clean white sheet for master Blake. He’s in his room. Wash the bloodied one.”
“Yesum
m’ser Silas,” she said respectfully before scurrying away like a mouse escaping
a hungered cat.
She never
liked him much. Not since that faithful day he’d gotten Pappy unjustly beaten
for a crime he committed.
Some people never forget.
Luckily
his tenor was always easy with Biltha. She’d nursed John and Silas knew her
since he was an infant. She had the friendlies face and a comforting demeanor.
Silas
hesitated at Solomon’s door. He hated seeing his uncle sick. He hated watching
him suffer without being able to take the horrible pain away. What was this
illness that captured his uncle?
He prayed
for help before pushing the door open.
When he
entered he saw the doctor at Solomon’s side, putting a wet, oiled towel across
his forehead.
His uncle
looked emaciated…like a skeleton with pale crumpled flesh on.
His once
straw thick hair was now white, damp and sickly. He was withering away before
all their eyes and Mrs. Blake kept up in her sewing quarters crying day and
night with grief.
Solomon
cussed when he was told to drink some tonic.
“I hate
that damn stuff!” he fussed and glared at the deeply purple liquid with
disdain.
“It’s for
your respiratory system Mr. Blake,” the doctor said calmly.
Solomon
sucked in a shagged breath. Mucus was clogged in his throat.
“Hot
tea’ll clear that,” he protested.
“Not this
time sir,” the doctor stated as nicely as possibly.
“Gin
then,” Solomon risked.
The doctor
shook his head slowly. His specks fit like tiny hour glasses on his chubby face
and drooping cheeks. He had the rosy complexion of a bleached strawberry and
the physique of an obese squirrel.
Solomon
thought his features deplorable, but he had learned the doctor was
compassionate and knowledgeable.
With a
relenting frown Solomon took the tonic with a shaky hand and drew the tube to
his lips.
He
squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard and quick.
He gagged
as his taste buds revolted at the bitter liquid.
He handed
the empty tube to the doctor and stuck his tongue out in disgust.
He flicked
his fingers beckoning and John put a piece of chocolate in his hand.
Solomon
quickly popped the hard-sweet candy in his mouth and slurred it around in
delight.
“Ahhh,” he
sighed, “a piece of heaven after hell.”
The doctor
chortled, slightly amused before he stood, “I’ll be back to see you shortly Mr.
Blake. Please kindly remember all of my instructions.”
Solomon
nodded.
With humor
and an arched eyebrow, the doctor ordered, “and don’t give your son or nephew
any trouble when it comes to taking your medicine.”
Solomon
grunted in response and folded his arms before looking away.
The doctor
shook his head and put a hand on John’s shoulder before guiding him where Silas
was standing.
John’s
hazel eyes were still shimmering, but this time with slight hope his father
might recover.
The doctor
saw it and hated that he would disappoint him.
“He
livened up there for a moment,” John said and played at the fabric in his
pockets nervously.
Silas
backed against the wall and envied a piece of chocolate. Maybe something sweet
would distract him from his anxiousness?
The doctor
dipped his chin before holding his head up again, “I’m very sorry John, but I
don’t think there’s much more I can do for your old man besides ease his pain
with the tonic until…he passes.”
John
studied the doctor’s blue eyes and read a finality the doctor dared not speak.
I suspect your father will pass
soon.
A small
gasp escaped John’s lips and his heart pounded in his chest like thunder.
He felt
winded for a moment and managed to calm himself quickly for appearances sake.
“Thank you
for your help doctor.”
They
nodded at each other before the doctor and Silas left the room.
John stood
in the corner motionless for a few minutes until the sound of heavy snoring
caught his ears.
He turned
and saw his father covered in blankets like a shroud. His bed was like a
tombstone and the way his wrinkled hands lay atop each other reminded John of a
corpse.
A sick
feeling leapt inside his stomach and John hesitantly made his way to his
father’s bedside.
His eyes
fell upon the pale form of his dad. His feet seemed frozen in place as if he
could not move.
He had stood in that exact same spot, staring, brooding off and on for months.
~For more information on Stephen’s ministry, click here.
