The Boy Who Chased Reason

Sweigart Brothers

Description

A young teenager is forced on a journey in search of love, acceptance, and redemption while his struggles challenge his faith and reveal his true self.
The old south in 1911. Thirteen-year-old Virgil Gibson is the middle child in a large southern family. As times get harder, Virgil’s mother pushes the family toward a strong faith in God, and Virgil seemingly has few worries.
When his father tells the family that Virgil must live and work at a factory in a neighboring town to help supplement their meager farm income, everything changes.
The unfamiliar and hostile factory environment leaves him feeling forsaken by his family and forgotten by God. Virgil is placed with Angelica, a beautiful caramel-skinned bi-racial girl who is assigned to help him adjust. They grow closer and fall in love. When Virgil loses his job, he heads north to find better work and answers to his lack of faith. Angelica agrees to go with him and they embark on the exciting adventure together.
As they face the relentless bigotry and exploitation of the times, they become separated. Virgil, determined that he will one day be reunited with Angelica, must somehow survive while searching for his lost love and spiritual truths. He encounters unique and colorful characters that provide inspiration, and life lessons.
Virgil follows his heart on this journey that searches for love, acceptance, and redemption while intolerance and lack of reason challenge the core of his faith.

Sujets

• Religious
• God
• Acceptance
• Redemption
• Rédemption (homonymie)
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: LifeRich Publishing
• Date de parution: 12 octobre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781489744043
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE Boy WHO CHASED REASON
LOST LOVE AND REDEMPTION
SWEIGART BROTHERS


Copyright © 2022 Sweigart Brothers.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
LifeRich Publishing is a registered trademark of The Reader’s Digest Association, Inc.
 
 
LifeRich Publishing
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Bloomington, IN 47403
www.liferichpublishing.com
844-686-9607
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-4897-4380-0 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4897-4381-7 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-4897-4404-3 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022916976
 
 
 
LifeRich Publishing rev. date:  11/29/2022
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
1
L ate summer, 1911. A small farming town in Todd County, Kentucky.
AMEN! Virgil Gibson jerked in his seat, startled awake just as he began to doze off. The shrill Amen from Mrs. Johnson was in response to Reverend McCoy’s, “Can I get an amen?”
Virgil shifted on the hardwood pew, looking around to see who might have noticed his sudden reaction to the response he had heard hundreds of times in the small Baptist church in Southern Kentucky. His older brother, Sammy Ray, chuckled and smiled at him with a reassuring wink. Embarrassment flushed Virgil’s cheeks, and his heartbeat echoed in his ears as he gathered his composure and settled down for the remaining portion of the Sunday morning service.
He leaned against his older brother and wondered if it would be wrong to pray that the service would soon be over.
The reverend’s carefully chosen words filled the small church and hung like a mist waiting to dissipate.
“Still no rain in sight. We may wonder why God continues to test us with the punishing drought that has been laid upon us for so long. Why are so many of our brothers losing their farms? Are we not following God’s commandments as he wishes Are we not properly fighting our individual demons within? As we live our lives this week, let’s search within our souls to see what demons may lie inside us or where we are falling short of obeying the Bible.”
Virgil wondered what demons might be inside of him.
“It is not for us to question God’s wisdom. We are mere mortals—fragile of faith, weak of mind, and wondering souls thirsting for answers. We know our God is a forgiving God, so let us all stand together and hold hands as we participate in a special prayer for the rain to end this glorious Sunday celebration of our faith. And in honor of the upcoming harvest season, we will sing ‘Bringing in the Sheaves.’ As we conclude, we ask for God’s blessing. Let’s live lives that show that we’re worthy of God’s blessings.”
Without hesitation, the entire congregation stood and held hands, side to side, row from row, neighbor to neighbor, and stranger to visitor. Reverend McCoy stood in the aisle that separated the two rows of pews and held hands with each side, joining the entire church in one long chain of humanity.
As the service ended and the congregation filed out of the small country church, the choir continued in song. Reverend McCoy stood in the doorway and thanked each congregant for attending as he or she took his outstretched hand and thanked him for another great sermon.
As he gripped the hand of Virgil’s father, he leaned in and whispered, “Brother Sam, so good you could join us today.”
“Yeah, I know I’m not here very often,” Sam whispered through a forced smile, “but Sally comes ever week and puts money in the basket. She pretty much handles the religion for the both of us.”
“And how are you doing with your personal demon?” The reverend’s grip tightened as he stepped closer to Sam.
Sam looked down without answering. His jaw tightened as he considered what his wife Sally might have told the reverend.
“I will say an additional prayer for God to help you,” Reverend McCoy whispered as he released Sam’s hand and smiled at the next person standing in line.
“Uhh … thank you, Reverend,” Sam said with uncertainty. He gave his wife a look of disapproval.
Later that day, the Gibson family sat down for Sunday dinner. Virgil sat between his brothers, Sammy Ray, who was the oldest at fifteen; and Bobby, who was just a year younger than Sammy Ray. Virgil was the youngest boy at thirteen. Fourteen-year-old Samantha, his oldest sister, leaned from the opposite side of the table and finished filling glasses with fresh water. Susie, age eleven, and Bertie, age seven, sat quietly, waiting for their father to arrive at the table.
Sally went again to the front porch and clanked the small rod around the inside of the medal triangle that served as a dinner bell.
“Where could that man be?” Sally asked as she returned to the dining room.
“Saw him in the barn,” Sammy Ray answered, reaching across the table and slapping a scoop of mashed potatoes onto his plate.
“Doing what?”
“Don’t know. When I got close to him, he told me to get in the house ’cause dinner’s ready.”
Curiosity turned to disgust. Sally knew that Sam was always eager to help neighbors needing a hand and was equally eager to accept homemade wine or bourbon as a token of their appreciation.
“Go tell your papa it’s time to eat!” she snapped to Sammy Ray.
“Okay, but if he’s out there sipping hooch again, he ain’t gonna listen to me or no one else.”
Sally’s glance quickly subdued Bobby and Virgil’s snickers.
“I’ll get him,” Bertie announced. “Papa always listens to me.” She stood and waddled around the table. Her slightly shorter leg was compensated with a wood block that Sam had specially cut and nailed to the bottom of her shoe.
“Get who?” Sam appeared suddenly in the doorway, walking directly to the tall, galvanized milk can that contained the family’s drinking water.
“Whom,” Sally corrected.
Without hesitation, he dipped the aluminum ladle in the water and took a long drink.
“Please, Sam,” Sally protested, “I’m trying to teach the kids not to drink from the dipper. How’re they gonna learn manners unless we teach ’em?”
“You’re right,” Sam answered, sipping another mouthful of water from the ladle before dragging a dirty sleeve across his sweaty forehead. “Okay, children, don’t never drink from the ladle.”
“Just go wash up,” Sally commanded. “There’s still some hot water in the kettle. Just don’t make a mess.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Papa’s in trouble again,” Bertie announced to the room. She steadied herself against the wall and took a couple deep breaths. “Should we pray for him?” she asked as she made her way back to her seat.
“Pray for who?” Sam asked as he rushed to Bertie and kissed the top of her head.
“Whom!” Sally corrected, “Just sit down.”
Sam knew the answer.
Everyone sat motionless as they participated in the prayer that their mother insisted be part of their Sunday dinner together. Sam maintained that God would be more likely to listen to Sally than him, so he insisted that she lead the blessing.
After the prayer, the plate of chicken and the large bowls of mashed potatoes and greens quickly made their rounds.
“Mama,” Virgil broke the silence, “why is God punishing us?”
“God isn’t punishing us.”
“But Reverend McCoy said he was. Said he was punishing us with drought.”
“The reverend is from up North,” Sally explained. “He doesn’t understand that here, we sometimes have abundant rain and sometimes we don’t. He doesn’t yet understand that things down here are sometimes different and more challenging than up North.”
“You’re right about that.” Sam took another bite of chicken, mumbling through a full mouth. “Reverend sure don’t understand how things worked down here. Why, before the war—”
“You’re always ready to blame the war on all of our problems,” Sally interrupted. “What about that darned Planters Protective Association you all tried a few years back? That’s when things went bad.”
“The PPA was a good idea. We had to do that. That blasted American Tobacco was trying to put us all out of business.”
“No income for two years. Whose smart idea was that? Just barns full to the slats of tobacco was all we got out of that.”
“Black patch tobacco. The best pipe and snuff tobacco there is. We had the tobacco everyone in the world wanted. Besides, if I hadn’t joined in, the Night Riders would’ve burned me out just like they did up in Caldwell County.”
“Did they force you to be the county chairman? Did they force you to let the raiders to spend the