A Sharecropper Christmas (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sample from Here Today Gone Tomorrow by Carlene Havel

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A SHARECROPPER CHRISTMAS

  Carlene Havel

  Copyright 2013 Carlene Havel

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Art by Joan Alley

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by Prism Book Group

  ISBN- 978-1-940099-22-4 First Edition, 2013

  Published in the United States of America

  Contact info: [email protected]

  http://www.prismbookgroup.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  Herbert’s voice radiated excitement. “Alice, I found a job!”

  “Good,” she replied. Work explained the bottle of milk in his hand. “What kind of job?”

  “Farming,” he said with a big smile. “Something I know how to do for a change.”

  She couldn’t let herself get too enthused. This opportunity could fall through like too many others. “For how long?”

  “It’s permanent!” Herbert grabbed her hands and attempted to swing her into a dance step. When Alice resisted, he dropped her hands and continued. “I ran into old man Sweeney a little while ago. He found out the tenants deserted one of his farms. They didn’t give him any notice, just packed up and left in the middle of the night. Mr. Sweeney told me I can work his place on the thirds and fourths.”

  “When do you start?” Alice asked cautiously.

  “As soon as possible,” Herbert said. “Mr. Sweeney needs somebody right away so he can quit worrying about paying someone to milk the cows every morning. We can pack up tonight and head south right after church tomorrow. Monday morning I will milk and start plowing. I have it in my mind to grow some winter vegetables, and I want to get you and the kids settled into the house as quick as I can.”

  “There’s a house?”

  “Yes. It’s a regular working farm, just like…just like any farm would be. Fifty acres, with a house and a barn and its own windmill. Our prayers have been answered, Alice. Praise God!”

  “A house,” she repeated, determined not to cry. Five years ago, Alice never dreamed she could be excited about sharecropping. When she and Herbert married, Alice knew she would have to work hard—all farmers’ wives faced that prospect. Yet she never expected to be turned out of their home with little more than the clothes on their backs. Herbert made a good crop in 1929, the year after they were married. Even though the news about the stock market was grim, traders in Europe and New York City seemed to have no connection to a West Texas cotton farmer. Soon, however, the price of cotton fell so dramatically that Herbert’s sales at the local gin didn’t cover his investment in seed and materials. The only way to recover was to have a good crop, and the only way to finance the effort was to mortgage the farm. In 1933, the bank foreclosed.

  As more and more farmers and business owners faced bankruptcy, desperation stalked every household. Alice and Herbert took shelter with various relatives for a month or two at a time after they lost their land. They tried to make themselves useful guests, Herbert tinkering, repairing, and chopping firewood to earn their keep. Alice made sure she did the lion’s share of the housework, although she often felt some folks took unfair advantage. Her parents, Charley and Myrtle Smith, were in no position to help, having lost their meager savings when the bank failed. There was no possibility the Smiths’ tiny house could accommodate Alice’s family. Her sister Frances had already moved back home, bringing her husband and three children. Uncle John camped out on a cot in the Smiths’ kitchen. After they wore out their welcome with relatives, Alice sneaked her family’s few belongings into the far corner of an isolated warehouse, while Herbert continued his frantic search for work.

  With his usual optimism, Herbert assured Alice every day that he would soon find a steady job. Then everything would be all right. Early each morning, he went to a vacant lot where unemployed men waited for a chance to earn a day or two of wages doing odd jobs. Herbert brought home barely enough to keep his family fed by hauling furniture, picking cotton, or repairing farm equipment. Although he never turned down any kind of work, there were too many days when he stood in the vacant lot from early in the morning until late afternoon, only to return home empty-handed.

  Meanwhile, Alice used her mother’s treadle sewing machine and all the used bed sheets she could beg to stitch together a tent. It was finished in the nick of time. When the trucking foreman found the Shoemakers in his warehouse, he ordered them to vacate the premises immediately. Herbert cut cedar posts and somehow managed to get a second-hand tarp to throw over the makeshift tent in case of rain. They made their home outside town at the bend of the river, along with other hard-luck families and a sprinkling of hobos. After months of living in a tent, the prospect of a house sounded almost too good to be true.

  “Where is the farm?” Alice asked.

  “Not too far,” Herbert replied. “Garza’s Crossing, only a little piece south of San Antonio.”

  It would be nice to stay closer to her hometown, but Alice made no complaint. The thought of living in a house took precedence over everything else. What a relief it would be for her baby not to be born in the tent city during the winter.

  “Are we going to have milk tonight?” asked five-year-old James.

  “Yes, son,” Alice replied. “Milk for supper with your soup. Doesn’t that sound good?”

  James nodded solemnly. He reached a finger to touch the cold bottle in his father’s hand, as if to verify it was real.

  “Who loaned you the wagon and mule?” Alice asked.

  “Mr. Sweeney had them in town, but they belong out at the farm we’re taking over.”

  “Are we moving to a house, Mama?” James asked.

  “Yes.” Alice smoothed his blond hair. “A farmhouse.”

  “David.” James held his three-year-old brother’s face in both hands. “We’re going to live in a house again.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The family arose before dawn to prepare for their move. Herbert took the tent loose from its makeshift frame while Alice folded it as neatly as she could. Herbert piled their sparse collection of pots, dishes, and clothing on top of the cedar tent posts in the wagon bed. Then he covered everything with the tarp and lifted his sleepy sons into a small space reserved for them. With arms folded, Alice surveyed the bare spot where their tent used to stand. “I reckon we need to stop by Mama and Papa’s after church and say goodbye. Maybe Mama will let us have a few chickens.”

  “That would be mighty fine,” Herbert said. “We can’t stay long though, because we need to get to Garza’s Crossing before dark.
”

  Herbert helped Alice climb up to the wagon seat, no easy task for a short pregnant woman, for the ride to church. After Pastor Denton grew too old and blind to shepherd his flock, Jasper Reynolds had agreed to stand in until a full-time minister could be called as pastor. By the time a pulpit search committee was formed, the church found it could no longer afford to pay a minister’s salary. So Reynolds farmed all week, devoting Sundays to preaching and visiting the sick.

  “Good morning, Brother Shoemaker,” Jasper Reynolds said. “Sister Shoemaker. Nice wagon you have there.”

  “Thank you, Pastor. Belongs to Mr. Sweeney. I’m going to start sharecropping for him.”

  “Praise God!” Jasper said.

  “Amen,” Herbert replied. “How are you and your family this fine morning?”

  “Tolerably well, thank you. The weather’s holding good for late October, ain’t it? We’re due a good cold snap any time, though, maybe a freeze coming on. You and the young ’un getting along all right, Sister Shoemaker?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Alice answered, embarrassed at the slightest reference to her pregnancy.

  “As I said, I’ll be working Mr. Sweeney’s farm over near Garza’s Crossing.” Herbert fiddled with the strap of his overalls. “I reckon the wife and I will move our letter to a church down that way next Sunday.”

  “Sure hate to see you folks leave us,” Jasper said. “But I understand the situation. Times are hard, sure enough. God has poured out His wrath as a judgment on us—not that we don’t deserve it.”

  Try as she might, Alice could not keep her mind on the rambling sermon. Her only thought was that this Sunday represented a form of deliverance for her. Although she and Herbert would no longer live among friends and family, she would also never have to hear another sermon from the mouth of Jasper Reynolds. Perhaps Herbert was accurate in his belief that every situation contained some cause for rejoicing, if only she would examine it closely enough.

  Before she knew what was happening, Herbert had her hand, leading her forward, with James and David following behind. At the front of the church, Herbert turned to face the congregation. Alice did the same, wishing with all her heart that everyone’s attention could be focused somewhere other than on her family. Herbert was presentable in his white, starched shirt and striped overalls. However, her expectant stomach pushed against the flour-sack fabric of her faded Sunday dress. Even in this impoverished crowd, Alice knew her barefoot boys’ clothing looked shabby.

  “Friends, I want you all to come by and extend the right hand of fellowship to the Shoemaker family. They’re leaving us to move to Garza’s Crossing, and I know we’re all going to miss them.” The song leader’s wife played a hymn on the pump organ while most everyone filed by to say a word of farewell.

  As soon as Bertha Cooper enveloped her in an embrace, Alice began to cry. Herbert passed her his white cotton handkerchief, put his left arm around her, and kept shaking hands with his right. “We’ll be back someday, God willing,” he assured everyone.

  Several men clapped Herbert on the shoulder and congratulated him for finding steady work. “Don’t suppose you need a hired hand?” Barney Jackson asked.

  “Not right away,” Herbert replied. “But I’ll keep you in mind if we start to need help.”

  Alice’s cousin Henrietta Wilcox was the last person in line. “I’ll sure miss seeing you and Herbert in church every Sunday, Alice,” Henrietta said, tears streaming down her face.

  “I just got stopped crying,” Alice said. “Don’t go getting me started again.”

  “I’m sorry, but you are the only church-going kinfolks I have.” Henrietta smiled and wiped her eyes. “Who’s going to help you when the baby comes?”

  “Maybe Mama or Frances,” Alice said, although the relationship with her sister was always strained.

  “Well, if they can’t come, you get word to me.” Henrietta hugged Alice and kissed her cheek. “You take care of this girl,” she said as she shook Herbert’s hand.

  “Yes, ma’am. I surely will do that.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Alice spit on Herbert’s handkerchief and used it to scrub a spot on James’ neck. “Ow!” he complained.

  “You can’t go to your grandma’s house with a dirty neck,” Alice said. “I don’t know how you manage to get so filthy at church.”

  “Do we have to kiss them?” David asked.

  “Of course you do.” Alice brushed dust from the boy’s overalls. “They’re your grandparents.”

  David ducked his head. “They smell bad.”

  “That’s because Grandma dips snuff and Grandpa chews tobacco,” James said.

  “Herbert, see to your sons,” Alice insisted.

  “Now, sweetheart, what James said is true. Myrt does dip, and the only time Charlie is without a plug is when he’s smoking.”

  Alice ignored her husband’s remark. “I expect you boys to show respect to your grandparents,” she said. “That means hugging and kissing without making any faces. Otherwise, you’ll be in trouble when I get you home. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” James said.

  “David?” Alice pinched the boy’s ear.

  “Ouch! Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  “That’s better.”

  Herbert jumped down from the wagon seat and helped Alice alight. He lifted David from the wagon bed, while James scampered to the ground on his own.

  Alice put her hands at her waist and leaned backward. The Smiths lived in the house they bought when they moved to town years ago. Four scrawny peach trees stood on the packed earth of the shallow front yard. Round metal fasteners were scattered across the exterior walls of the house to hold the black tarpaper covering in place. Myrtle Smith threw open the front door and stepped outside. “There’s my babies!” she shouted. “Come here and give me some sugar.”

  James raced into his grandmother’s open arms, while David ambled behind him. Myrtle kissed each child noisily. “You have two fine boys here,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Alice replied. She stepped onto the stoop. Herbert stood on the landing, since no standing room remained on the porch.

  “Come on in and rest your weary bones.”

  Alice decided to break the news right away. “Mama, Herbert got a job sharecropping for old Mr. Sweeney.”

  “Well, now.” Myrtle stepped back and opened the squeaky screen door. “What do you know about that?”

  “Only thing is, we have to move down to Garza’s Crossing, where the farm is.” Alice moved inside the house. “Hello, Papa, Frances, Arnold.” While greetings were exchanged all around, she began to feel mildly nauseated from the smell of stale tobacco. She looked for a place to sit, but the four straight-back chairs were already occupied by her father, uncle, brother-in-law, and sister. The remaining living room furniture consisted of an iron stove and a double bed. Alice considered whether she should dare to sit on Frances’ bed without being invited to do so, and decided against it. She’d come to the Smiths’ house to accomplish two things—to say goodbye and to take home some chickens. She would not jeopardize the latter goal by starting an argument with her sister.

  As soon as she could, Alice suggested taking the children out to the backyard. That left Herbert to visit with the grownups. She suspected Herb would dislike being confined to a room that reeked of tobacco, but she knew he would enjoy the conversation. She often said her husband would talk to a fence post if given half a chance.

  Frances remained indoors while Alice and Myrtle went into the backyard with Alice’s boys and Frances’ three daughters.

  “Mama, Joanie pinched me,” James complained.

  Before Alice could respond, Myrtle snapped, “Don’t be a tattletale.”

  “I’m hungry,” David said.

  “We’ll eat after a while.” Alice brushed David’s hand away. “Now that we have a place to live, I could take care of my chickens, Mama.”

  Myrtle noisily drew in a breath. “I don’t know
as I can separate out them chickens you left here from those me and Frances raised.”

  “It really doesn’t matter which is which, but I sure would like to have a couple of laying hens and a rooster,” Alice persisted.

  “A couple?” Myrtle glanced toward her back screen door.

  “Four, maybe.”

  “Mama, can I go inside where Papa is?” David asked, tugging at Alice’s dress.

  “Yes. Go,” she replied. Turning back to her mother, Alice said, “Herbert and I left two dozen chickens here when we lost the farm.”

  “Well, that was some time back. You’ve come over and helped us eat some of them since then.” Myrtle pulled a small tin from her bosom and put a pinch of snuff inside her lip. “I been letting Frances have half of the egg money. She’ll be powerfully mad if I let any of them chickens get away.”

  Alice waited until she was sure she could prevent anger from filtering into her voice. “Blame me. You can tell Frances I said I was taking them, but you never said it was all right. James, come here.”

  James came running. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Go get that stack of flour sacks from the wagon and bring them here, all of them. Don’t go through the house,” she said, as she turned her son by his shoulders. “Go around by the side yard. Hurry up, now.”

  Alice tossed a handful of feed to the ground as she went into the chicken coop. She picked up the hens as swiftly as possible to minimize their clucking. Holding the feet together, she thrust a flour sack over each hen’s head. She swiftly pulled the bag over the feet and secured the opening with a length of rope she’d packed inside each sack earlier. Alice was glad she’d put the hens in the wagon before tackling the rooster. He resisted her grasp noisily, grazing her wrist with one of his sharp claws. Alice winced but held on and managed to get the flour sack over the rooster’s head. As she wrapped the sturdy rope around the mouth of the sack and the rooster’s legs, Frances stepped onto the back porch. With hands on her hips, she asked, “What’s got my chickens all riled up?”