Caroline Wilson's Diary

The Redemption of Sadie Burrell -- Chapter 3

I'm like the girl who cried wolf.  I keep saying that my novel is nearly complete and it really is.  My editor is getting married and she said she'll give me more time to work on it.  So I'm going to give you Chapter 3.  I'm thinking that it's dragging.

What do you think?

Again -- this is set in 1930s.  Remember the last chapter was Sadie having a fight with her grandmother, Lu Dell.  It's copyrighted!

Tears trickled down her face as she stared at the sources of her rage.  The overgrown field, and the fickled blue sky that harped between decisions on whether or not to yield enough rain or sun to provide for her family’s livelihood.  Her education.   

“Hey Sadie!  I heard you’d be coming back.” 

She turned and looked in the face of Buster Luke Frasier, her old primary school friend. The mischevious grin that he had often used to challenge her as a child still played around his lips. 

            “Buster Luke Frasier.  It’s so good to see you,” she sniffled, and then greeted him with a hearty embrace. 

             Concern danced in his eyes.  “What’s got you fretting?” he asked.

            “Nothing worth talking about.  Come on and let’s catch up.” 

            They strolled down the dirt road, passing the the neighbors who had come out to catch the evening breeze. 

            “Hey Sadie!  Good to have you back.”  Joelene Perkins sat on her porch with a pail between her legs, her arms rested on her swollen belly as she shelled butter beans. 

Sadie tried hard to not let her surprise show.  Joelene had been a classmate of hers and Buster Luke’s.  But to look at her now, she looked older than her eighteen years.  Creases pinched the corners of her eyes.  Her face was as puffed as her belly.  Her hair hung in twists under a dirty scarf.

 “Thanks Joelene.  Be by to visit when I get a chance,” she lied.  

“Hey Buster Luke,” Joelene added with a nod.
            “Evening to you, Joelene,” he said, sincerely.

“What happened to her?”  Sadie asked as they continued walking.

Buster Luke glanced at her and then stuffed his hands in his pockets.  “She’s on baby number four now.  Been married since we left for college.  So she was about fifteen.  Heck, you’re eighteen now, nearly an old maid,” he chuckled.

“I’ll have you know Mr. Frasier that I’m not an old maid.  I’m a woman with different goals than the likes of Joelene Perkins,” Sadie hissed. 

Buster Luke laughed.  “Sounding more like Mrs. Freeman.”

“Feels like what she used to say to us is so far away.” She stopped, and faced him.  “I’m angry Buster Luke.  Angrier than a rattlesnake that’s been stepped on.”   

He placed his hands on her shoulder.  “Sadie, I heard things are kind of rough for your family right now.  But it’s rough on everybody.  Don’t think I don’t know how you feel.  Several times, I didn’t think I’d be going back to Morehouse, but I scraped and worked whatever job I could find.”

“You mean the fields.”

“Yeah.  The fields.  Cleaning toilets.  Houseboy.  Whatever I could find.”

“Well that’s not for me.  My papa had money until he went into business with Solomon Rogers.”

 “Sadie, you best be careful bringing up the dead,” he warned.  “Mr. Rogers did what a man is supposed to do -- like Mrs. Freeman use to tell us-- the man tried, but he was led astray.”

             “I’m sorry.  I know.  I’ll figure something out.  So how long are you going to be home?”

            “Just a couple more weeks.  Came home to check on my folks.”

            They walked nearly a half mile around the u-circled lane.  Crickets and frogs began croaking and chirping their evening songs.  

            The Rogers’ home came into view.

    “I reckon, Ida Mae and Roy Burrell are courting pretty hard,” Buster Luke said,

pointing in the direction of the Rogers’ shack. 

She watched as Ida Mae leaned against the tattered wooden fence while Roy Burrell gazed at her. 

            “She finally got him, huh?” Sadie asked.

            “I heard they’ve been at it a while now.  Word around town is that she’s pregnant.”

            She stared at them wondering how Ida Mae would ever enjoy life married to a dirt farmer. 

Ida Mae turned and waved at her.  “Sadie!”

She struggled to relax the muscles in her face from the scowl she felt wrinkling it.  She glanced at Buster Luke and then at the pole thin woman running toward her. 

“Sadie, it wasn’t her fault,” Buster Luke whispered.

Ida Mae rushed to her with open arms.  She mustered enough control to return the hug.

“When’d you get back?  I saw your papa and he said you’d be home soon.  Come here, I want you to meet my beau.  You already know him.”  Ida Mae dragged her by the hand.  “Roy Burrell.”

 “Ida Mae, you forgot that I already know him,” Sadie protested. 

            Ida Mae ignored her.  “Roy, you remember Sadie, right?  We were in the sixth

grade together.” 

“Sure do remember you.  Was the smartest girl in class.  Good to see you again,” he said, jumping off the fence.  “Buster Luke.  Good to see you too.”

        “Roy,” Sadie greeted indifferently.

Giddy and gigglish, Ida Mae asked, “So are you two sportin’ now?”

Buster Luke glanced nervously at Sadie. 

        “Ida Mae, ain’t none of our business?  Buster Luke c’mon let’s let these gals catch

up a piece.  I want to show you the truck I bought.”Roy said.

Sadie flashed Buster Luke a pleading glance.  She didn’t want to be alone with Ida Mae, not just yet. 

“Sadie, I sure is glad you home.  I missed you so much.  I stop writin’ you since you stop responding to my letters,” she said.

“College is a busy place.  Didn’t have time for writing.” 

Ida Mae tore off through the field, childishly skipping like they had done in the sixth-grade. 

            “House wit’ runnin’ water, and toilet,” she yelled.

Sadie wasn’t interested in their old childhood games. 

“C’mon Sadie.  Like we used to do,” Ida Mae begged.

 “Big city and fancy parties,” Sadie blurted, half-heartedly. 

“Husband that loves me.”

Her mind raced searching for the perfect response.  She couldn’t be bested by her friend.  “A rich husband and maids,” Sadie countered. 

Ida Mae stopped her silly skipping.  Her dark brown eyes shifted under thin lashes.  Sadie waited.  She’d thrown the ball, now it was Ida Mae’s turn to bat. 

Nothing.

Good.  Sadie raised her left eyebrow, swept her hand through the blowing strands of her thick, wavy hair, and folded her arms across her chest, something she’d done to signal anyone who’d challenge her to do better.  “Since you can’t do better than that, you’ll have to come work for me and my husband.  You’ll be my maid.”    

Ida Mae panted, “Oh, Sadie.  Just like we used to do.  I missed you so much.  Can I tell you a secret?”  She threaded her arm through Sadie’s.  “I’m in love and I’m going to have a baby.  We’re gonna get married and I want you to be my maid-of-honor.”

Sadie chuckled and then broke into full laughter. 

Hurt showed in Ida Mae’s eyes.  “What’s so funny, Sadie?”

        “Roy Burrell?  C’mon Ida Mae.  We always said we’d do better.  Remember

you just said it ‘house with running water’. Roy can’t provide that for you.”

Ida Mae’s laughter rang in with hers.  “Sadie you didn’t hear the news did you?”

Curiosity quelled her laughter.  “What news?”

“Roy and his family done inherit the land they live on.  Seems that

Roy’s papa did some work for some rich white man.  When the man took sick, Mr.

Burrell got him to the hospital in time.  Said the man never forget it and – how do

you college folk say it – bequeath Roy and his brothers nearly sixteen acres. 

Roy done build a fine looking house.”

“What?  No…no one told me,” her voice rang with more surprise than she wanted.

“Yep.  They been croppin’ since last year and things been goin’ good for ‘im.”

Sadie glanced in the direction of Roy and Buster Luke.  The two were laughing like old friends, like they had much in common.

“Sadie, I really love ‘im.  Always did.  I know you used to call me a fool, but I told you that I was goin’ to marry him one day.   Didn’t I?”  Ida Mae said, proudly.

Who’d have thought that Roy Burrell, the dirt farmer, would have been able to make a successful living on his own? 

    “What you gals cacklin’ ‘bout?” Roy asked, as he strolled toward them.

Sadie noticed the smile on his lips.  How it contrasted his harsh square jawline. 

“Honey, I was just tellin’ Sadie ‘bout our good news,” Ida Mae cooed. 

Sadie waited for a response -- at least a hint of joy or pride on Roy’s face -- but

instead, the lines above his brows furrowed.  He almost looked confused.  He

lowered his eyes, avoiding Ida Mae’s expecting glance. 

“Well, Sadie and I were just out for a walk and we best be getting back before the sun sets.  It sure was good to see you two again,” Buster Luke chimed, replacing the awkward silence.

Still happy, Ida Mae said, “Sadie, I’ll come by tomorrow.”

Writing About Characters Outside of your Race

Will this post open up a can of worms?  I certainly hope not. 

Alex and the Lamb was a simple writing project for a little boy that I truly adore.  Alex Pearce is my co-worker's son and the story was written for him.  When it was time for the project to roll into motion, I was asked by the illustrator, "How do you want Alex to look?"

My response was simple.  I want him to look like the person I wrote the story for.  Of course, the illustrator meant no harm.  All he wanted to do was to make sure the illustrations were to my satisfaction.

Anyway, the book is now published and in the hands of many who enjoy the story.  Yes, there are others who enjoy it other than my mother.  The question I keep getting is:  Why is Alex white?

You see, I have no issue with race, at least I don't think I do.  So why does it matter?  Would you purchase a book whose main character was different than the author's race?  Would you feel the story is authentic?