Amy Lynn
AMY LYNN
By Jack July
Copyright © 2012 Jack July
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1480086886
ISBN 13: 9781480086883
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012919293
Comments or questions? Contact Jack at AmyLynnBraxton@gmail.com
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
North Charleston, South Carolina
Jennifer
My beautiful Wife
Thank you for allowing me to chase yet another crazy dream
I LOVE YOU!
Patrice Jones (PJ)
When the rest of the world was not interested,
You read my writings, chapter after chapter.
Thank You so much.
Stacy Robnolt and Annie Jackson.
Your inputs were as priceless as your friendship.
Ace of Spades HQ.Com
Thank you ron and ronnettes
Author’s Note
My decision to write this book was motivated by watching President Obama hang the Congressional Medal of Honor around the neck of Staff Sergeant Salvatore Giunta. As the President read what he had done, I sat back and wondered, where do we get these kids? These wonderful, brave young men and women that put on a uniform and decide that their life is worth less than a brother or sister in arms, or even the greater good?
I once heard the expression, “You are the sum of your experiences.” OK, I can buy that. But I believe there is so much more. It isn’t just the sum of your experiences but the experiences of those who have influenced you. What makes them who they are? I lived with my father for 18 years, never knowing much about him. He was not a good man and I never knew why. His actions and examples taught me to be less than honorable.
Throughout the years I have met people, wonderful people that stood by me when I was at my worst, when my life was at its lowest. I often wondered: who mentored them? Who made them who they are? Why would they waste time with me? But they did and I am a better man for it. I wanted to write all of these peoples’ names down in a list. I’m sure, however, that they already know who they are. If I have shaken your hand and called you friend, you are one of them. Thank you, I love you.
This book is about a girl named Amy Lynn and those who loved her. She was exposed to both the best and worst of humanity. Her trials and travails are somewhat autobiographical in nature, though I will never disclose what is real and what is fiction. The characters in this book are either real people or compilations of people from my life. I hope while reading this book you will think about those that love you, those that put themselves out for you. Then take the time to find out who and what shaped them because it will be worth your effort.
I am a math major. There are no attempts at literary gymnastics or twenty-five cent words (My Grandpa would give us a quarter when we used big words). This is an American story of an exceptional little girl that, surrounded by love, grows into an exceptional young woman. So please, sit back, get comfortable and enjoy the story of Amy Lynn.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
The Final Chapter
Chapter 1
Amy’s eyes sprung open as the morning song of Granny Patches’ old rooster echoed across the holler. As she lay in bed she felt the warm breeze coming through the window; another hot August day had begun in Black Oak, Alabama. The house was eerily quiet. It had been six days since she heard her brother’s closet door slide open, his chair squeak as he sat down to put on his socks and boots, his gentle steps as he walked to the side of her bed, and his whisper, “Amy, get up, let’s go.” She would never hear those words again.
Climbing out of bed she noticed her gown sticking to her back. Sweat, she thought. Nope, her little brother Joseph had peed the bed. She blamed herself. She knew she should have made him go before he went to bed but there were so many visitors and so much going on, she forgot. She would add washing bed sheets to the day’s chores.
Her boots, shirt, and bib overalls were left beside the bed. There was no sense in waking her little brother, so she carried her clothes to the bathroom to change. She thought about a bath but there was no point. She would just be getting dirty and sweaty, anyway. She would take a shower after her chores. She wiped herself down with a washcloth, got dressed, and went into the kitchen. The light switch was being stubborn again; she wiggled it around a little and … on.
What she saw was more proof that it all wasn’t some bad dream. Stacks of pies, cakes, corn bread, and pans of biscuits covered the table and counter like it was the Braxton family reunion. She wanted to cry, but the tears were all gone, only a hollow, empty ache. She didn’t feel like eating but she was thirsty. Orange Kool-Aid; Amy and her big brother Kerry drank it by the gallon and laughed at each other’s orange mustaches. She opened the refrigerator but couldn’t find it. The pitcher was somewhere behind the fried chickens, hams, bowls of mac and cheese, and collards. In the South, food is love and they all loved Kerry. A glass of water would have to do.
Ten steps down the back stairs. She counted them every day. The stars were disappearing in the glow of the rising sun. She never noticed that before as she was always too busy talking to Kerry. It was a long walk to the barn. It seemed much longer alone. For the past two years, Amy got up with him and helped the best she could. Kerry taught her how to throw chicken scratch, how to collect and wash the eggs, mix the milk for the calf, and shovel the manure. The work never bothered her, just as long as she could be close to him. He was her world and whether she knew it or not, she was his.
She flipped up the wooden latch and went inside the dark, old barn. The milk crate was right where she’d left it. It made a good stool so she could reach the pull string for the light. She would have to remember to ask her daddy to make the string longer. Something moved in the corner. It was Blackie. She walked to the corner, reached down, and picked up the four-foot long black snake. It didn’t seem to mind. With her right hand holding his body and her left behind its head, she kissed it on the nose. “Hi Blackie,” she sighed. Her hand slid down his belly and she noticed that he was pretty fat. Blackie ate the bad snakes and Amy appreciated it. She gently set the snake back down in the corner and it crawled behind the hay bales.
Amy thought she would start with the pigs. She pulled the lid up on the thirty gallon feed can to find it empty. I should have asked Daddy to fill this up for me yesterday, she thought. Now I have to find another way. She looked over at the pallet where the bags of feed were stacked. She tried to move one but at one hundred pounds it didn’t move easy. A shadow in the doorway got her attention, then a voice.
“I figured I’d find you down here.”
Amy knew that deep baritone voice. It was her Uncle Jack. Jack pulled up the milk crate and took seat; he wanted to look at Amy eye to eye.
“Hi, Uncle Jack, whatcha doin’ up already?” Jack was famous for sleeping late; his “job” kept him up most nights.
“Well, I ain’t been to bed yet and I come to see what you were doin’. What are you doin’?” He laced his fingers together and stretched his arms out between his knees as he waited for an answer.
“Chores,” she said proudly. “Animals to be fed and cleaned up after, eggs to be collected; just, chores.”
Leon raises some good kids, he thought. “Amy, honey, I think me and your daddy can handle it,” said Jack.
Amy stood up straight with her chin raised and shoulders back. She spoke slowly and enunciated every word, “These were Kerry’s chores; now they are my
chores.”
Uh oh, Jack thought, she’s stubborn like her momma. “Amy, you are twelve years old. Nobody expects you to do all of this. Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up. Be a little girl, at least for just awhile.” He could not have expected what came next.
Amy cocked her head and crossed her arms not believing what she just heard. Anger began to well up inside and her words began soft.
“Little girl?” she whispered, “little girl? Well, sir, let me tell you about this little girl.”
She stepped to within a foot of his face. “When my momma died, Joseph was eighteen months old. This little girl took care of him, dressed him, changed his diapers, and wiped his little butt. I washed all of our clothes, cooked dinner, cleaned the house, and helped Kerry on the farm. I’ve been doin’ it since I was seven years old. You want to show up now and tell me to be a little girl?”
Amy started to pace back and forth in the barn and began to get louder. “Daddy works seventy hours a week in that mine tryin’ to pay off Momma’s medical bills. Me and Kerry did it on our own. We didn’t ask nobody for nothin’ and I’m sure not askin’ for it now. Go on, Uncle Jack,” she pointed toward the door. “Git.”
Amy pulled hard and slid the bag of feed off the pallet.
Jack tried to speak, “Amy, I—”
Amy turned it up another notch. “And another thing. I am sick and tired of that lazy Aunt Gloria and that busybody Aunt Sharon showin’ up at the house at least once a week talking trash about my daddy.” Amy changed her voice to a nasally mocking tone. “‘It’s a shame you kids have to live like this. Why can’t Leon find a wife to take care of you kids?’ Next time they show up here I’m runnin’ ’em off. Aunt Gloria sits at our table stuffin’ her fat face with food that I made for Daddy and the boys. They are starlings, Uncle Jack, starlings. They fly in, eat our food, crap all over everything, and leave. Yes, sir, next time they show up, I’m runnin’ ’em off.”
Jack was staring at the ground, his massive shoulders hunched. It had been awhile since he felt shame like this. He lived less than a mile away and never thought about these kids, what their lives were like without their momma and what all they were going through. He spent time with Kerry, but everybody wanted to spend time with Kerry. I can fix that, he thought.
Jack stood up straight, took a deep breath, and said, “I hear ya’, Amy Lynn. Lock up the barn and let’s go back to the house. We’ll get your daddy up and talk about it.”
Amy slowly stood up straight and faced Jack, her fists balled up to her side, and there they were—those big emerald green eyes and they were on fire. Jack hadn’t seen eyes flash like that in near fifteen years. They were her momma’s. Then that voice again, like the low growl of a little dog that decided not to take any more beatings.
“You ain’t listened to a word I said. No, sir, I will not.”
Jack took a step back and for a moment he was silent. Then he smiled, or at least the parts of his face that still worked smiled. He looked down and thought, Oh shit, another hard-ass Braxton. Jack walked over to the pallet and picked up the bag of feed. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his knife, cut the top off of the bag, and dumped it in the bin. In a soft voice he said, “You reckon I could help?’”
Her rage began to slowly drain away. She looked up at Jack and with a stern voice said, “Yes, sir, but just help.”
An hour later they left the barn, walked down the short side of the hollow, and began the climb toward the house. Amy stopped, looked up at her uncle Jack, and said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you like that. I hurt inside. I hurt real bad.”
Jack stared at her for a few seconds then reached down, picked her up, and, surprised by how heavy she was, he let out a little grunt. He kissed her on the cheek. “We all get to the other side of enough, honey. I understand; I miss him, too.”
He set her down and they continued up the hill. Jack looked down at her. “That starling thing. Kerry said that, didn’t he?” She looked up sheepishly. “Yeah.” Jack laughed. “Well, honey, he wasn’t wrong.”
Chapter 2
Amy walked through the back door followed by her uncle Jack. Joseph was already up; Amy could hear the cartoons in the living room. She thought about what to feed him for breakfast, and then she saw the spoon sitting in the pecan pie plate. The boy was up to no good already. Daddy would want to eat; he liked little ham and biscuit sandwiches and she had plenty of both. She put on a pot of coffee and in the distance heard, “LEEONNN, GET UP. Amy’s got coffee for us.”
Leon answered back, “Alright, Cuz, I’ll be up in a minute.”
Leon put on a t-shirt and some bibs and walked into the living room. He tousled Joseph’s hair and said, “Good morning.”
Joseph answered back, “Good morning, Daddy,” without taking his eyes off Scooby-Doo.
Leon walked in the kitchen rubbing his forehead. Jack chuckled and said, “Boy, your head looks like it wore out three bodies.” Leon bent down and gave Amy a hug and kissed her on the head, looked at Jack, and said, “Well, I guess that’s what I get for passin’ the jar with you.”
Amy, standing amongst the stacks of food, looked up at her daddy and said, “Daddy, what do I do with all this food?”
“Well, Amy, what would Jesus do? Granny Patches would probably appreciate somethin’, your uncle Jack and Carla Jo would probably take a little, too.”
“Mmmph,” Uncle Jack grunted while nodding his head and shoving ham and biscuit sandwich number three in his mouth. “Don’t forget those Hatfield boys. No tellin’ the last time they had a decent meal.”
Amy scrunched up her face. “Daddy, them boys are strange.”
“Maybe,” her daddy replied, “but you’d be strange too if you lived their life.”
Jack motioned his head to the front door. Leon nodded and told Amy they were going to sit out on the front porch. Leon opened the front door and felt the breeze that was coming from the south right through Granny Patches’ lilacs. Leon tilted his head back and took a deep breath. Then he looked over at Jack. “They won’t be able to put anything in a can that smells like that. Katherine helped her plant all them bushes.”
They sat on the rockers across from each other. Jack, Leon’s cousin and best friend, slid forward the edge of the seat. “I’m sorry, Leon.”
“’Bout what, Cuz?”
“You and the kids are the only family that I have. I should have done more to help after Katherine died. Now Kerry? I can’t imagine how you feel. Just know I’m here for ya’.”
Amy bumped the door open and handed a cup of coffee to Jack and her daddy. She then ran back inside only to return moments later with a plate of ham and biscuit sandwiches for her daddy. “Daddy, I’m gonna divide up that food. Uncle Jack, do you want anything special?“
“Whatever you do is fine with me, just make sure I get one of those pecan pies.” Jack smiled and winked as Amy walked back inside. Jack took a sip of coffee. “Look, I’m not telling you your business. You got some good kids, so you’re doin’ somethin right. It’s Amy, ya’ know, she’s a girl. She needs a woman to talk to. Someone to teach her about, ya’ know, women things.”
Leon nodded and let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, I know.”
“I was thinkin’ that maybe she could spend some time at the house with me and Carla Jo. Carla Jo’s a classy woman; she could teach her some girl things. Free ya’ up for time with Joseph, whatever.”
Leon knew Jack was trying to help. Problem was, Leon had spent the last six days barraged by friends and family with friendly advice. All wanted to help and he’d about had enough. “Jack, I’ve just lost my son and I’m not feeling too good about my ability to be a daddy. Do you think we can have this conversation another time?”
Jack bowed his head. ”I’m sorry, Cuz. I’m no good at this.”
“Yeah, ya’ are; you’re here.”
Both men looked up as they heard the sound of gravel crunching under tires and watched as a police cruiser parked in front of the house. It was Sheriff Gene Carter.
Leon got up and stuck his head in the door of the house and hollered, “Amy, would you bring Sheriff Carter a cup of coffee, and wrap up one of them pies and stick it in his car?”
“Yes, sir,” Amy yelled back.
Like his daddy and his granddaddy, Gene Carter was the much-loved Sheriff of Jackson County. Locals referred to him as Sheriff Teddy Bear. At six-foot-seven and three hundred pounds, he was an imposing figure. He’d played offensive tackle for Auburn while earning his criminal justice degree. “Southern gentleman” would describe him best: polite, mild-mannered, and kind. It was said he could charm the rattles from a snake. He grew up in Black Oak and had great respect for the culture of the community. Because of that he turned a blind eye to the moonshine stills a couple of the families still operated. He never carried a gun, at least that anyone could see. In the trunk of his car, however, was an arsenal that would make a third world dictator jealous. There were two things that Sheriff Carter took particular umbrage to: harming a child and dealing drugs. Participating in either of these activities would place you in the company of the unfortunate few that watched Sheriff Teddy Bear turn into Sheriff Grizzly Bear.