Venomous Faith

Barbara Thiele

Description

Set in the Carolina Bible Belt, from the 1950s to the 1980s, the story explores the parallel lives of two friends, Claire and Francis, separated when young. After being trafficked through an abusive foster care system, Francis arrives at the home of Pastor Leroy and his wife, Fat Cow. Leroy leads an evangelical church of worshipers who test their faith by handling deadly serpents. Francis learns the trade of snake handling and when her life is threatened, strikes back with venom. Claire's life, by contrast, seems relatively normal. As a psychologist, she counsels in a State Penitentiary. However, when her life comes under attack, she also reverts to tried and true methods to protect herself and family. In a life-threatening climax, the two adult women join a force of revenge.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 30 avril 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528956512
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Venomous Faith
Barbara Thiele
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-04-30
Venomous Faith About The Author About The Book Dedication Copyright Information Acknowledgement Chapter 1 1955 Sayreville, South Carolina Chapter 2 Sayreville The Patriot’s Bugle Chapter 3 Woodville, NC Present Day Chapter 4 Woodville Chapter 5 Sayreville Chapter 6 Woodville Chapter 7 Sayreville Chapter 8 Sayreville The Patriot’s Bugle July 20 th 1969 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Woodville Chapter 11 Woodville Chapter 12 Sayreville Chapter 13 Woodville Chapter 14 Sayreville Vernon Day Chapter 15 Woodville Chapter 16 The Pillow Talks Epilogue
About The Author
This is Barbara’s first novel, having previously written and illustrated children’s stories. She has worked extensively with sexually abused women and children and also counselled in a men’s state prison. Prior to retirement, Barbara led a ministry for mentally handicapped young adults. She now lives in the Land of Enchantment, New Mexico.
About The Book
Set in the Carolina Bible Belt, from the 1950s to the 1980s, the story explores the parallel lives of two friends, Claire and Francis, separated when young. After being trafficked through an abusive foster care system, Francis arrives at the home of Pastor Leroy and his wife, Fat Cow. Leroy leads an evangelical church of worshipers who test their faith by handling deadly serpents. Francis learns the trade of snake handling and when her life is threatened, strikes back with venom. Claire’s life, by contrast, seems relatively normal. As a psychologist, she counsels in a State Penitentiary. However, when her life comes under attack, she also reverts to tried and true methods to protect herself and family. In a life-threatening climax, the two adult women join a force of revenge.
Dedication
Dedicated to the Dynasty: Lara, Peita, Kate, Dijana, Marnie, Olivia, Ella, Ava, Clare and Ines.
Copyright Information
Copyright © Barbara Thiele (2019)
The right of Barbara Thiele to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788789608 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781788789615 (Kindle e-book)
ISBN 9781528956512 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
Thanks to Brian, my best friend and husband, the strength behind us all. Also, Judy Hildebrand, who gave me the push.
Chapter 1

1955 Sayreville, South Carolina
“Say goodbye to your gran,” the Revrund hollered. The big man, dressed in his somber, dusty-black, clerical garb, heaved her like a sack a p’tatas into the back of the battered, old Chevy truck, where she landed amongst the hay bales. A soft landin’, but her leg stung and started to bleed from the scraping on the rusty tailgate.
Riddled with rust, the old Advanced Design half-ton truck showed major signs of wear and tear. The right-rear fender hung by the last few spent screws and the corroded muffler trailed almost to the ground. In the late ’40s, fresh off-the-showroom-floor, this model shone like a new penny; starting off bright red but now faded to a chalky pink.
Hay bales surrounded the girl and rose precariously to the level of the cab, while wire cages pressed down into the available spaces beside her. The Reverend neither smiled, nor spoke again as he wiped the sweat from his red face and fingered his back-to-front, dirty yellowing collar from his grimy neck. He dumped his heavy body onto the worn-out upholstery and slammed the door.
She waved four tentative little fingers at Gran.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, she told herself and clutched Dolly to her thin chest. Don’t cry. They won’t like us if we cry.
On this July day, the heat and humidity pressed down relentlessly, typical of a South Carolina summer. Movement became slow, forced, and taking small sips of breath felt like imminent drowning.
The oppressive heat from the midsummer sun blazed on the nearby black, Scape ’ore Swamp. In its stifling clutches, animation seemed suspended. Below the water, a myriad of teeming life forms ate and were eaten, unseen, in this bio-diverse, aquatic ecosystem. Above this tannin-steeped water, a similar system of life and death wrestled to evolve.
As a carpet of snow muffles sound, this relentlessly moist atmosphere produced an eerie, similar empty silence. No cricket, nor cicada screeched, no bird chirped, nor cawed no energy for a mating ritual today. All living creatures waited motionless, breathing in shallow gasps to conserve energy, waiting and watching, forever cautious.
The echoing bellow of a mating bull alligator no longer resonated and now a pregnant female basked motionless, her mouth gaping open, panting dog like. Others lay nearby in the dark, tepid water, their ectothermic biology adjusting their body heat to the ambient temperature. Their vigilant, yellow, reptilian eyes surfaced just above the water level, watching, as the orange spots on the blue-black salamander caught the eye of a great, gleaming white egret.
Foolishly, the salamander had ventured from his mole-like burrow, which was in the mud and reeds. The bird’s patience, standing motionless in the shallows, paid off. She skewered the amphibian with her long beak. Throwing her head back, she swallowed the succulent morsel, which would later be regurgitated to her chicks. Cautiously and silently, she lifted her long legs and continued her stalking along the shoreline, her clawed feet raising clouds of mucky detritus.
Darting fish and frogs would appease her appetite today, but in a few weeks baby hatching alligators would augment her diet. She could just as easily become part of the adult gators’ diet, so today she also kept her distance and watched.
A slight breeze rippled the mirrored surface, moving the reflections of languid Spanish moss hanging abundantly from branches overhead. The glassy surface soon settled. Not another breath or sigh of breeze would bring relief today. The cycle of life and death; eat or be eaten, this instinctive fight for survival of all animals would continue unabated.
Gran wept into her hanky and tried to look encouraging. The Revrund will look after her. She reassured herself , but indeed feared for the very survival of this little girl. Had she told Francis about the Revrund and his wife ? I’m sure I must have. But she couldn’t quite remember .
Mabel Smithers had nurtured twenty children over the years, either abandoned or orphaned. Although foster kids, sent from the Child Care Department, Mabel loved and cared for them as if they were her own, natural-born children. This latest one had been special. Not just because she arrived at the end of Mabel’s spirited life, but the child showed such courage.
Mabel had notions of turning the courage into promise, and then into success; but now Mabel’s time had run out. Mr. Henry Smithers, her lifelong partner, had gone to meet his maker and worse, she could no longer remember the important things to manage her day. This last little one had become Mabel’s caregiver instead.
Gran , to all her charges, Mabel always hoped for some of the children that their own birth mother would appear and become their mommy again. I have no right to take away the honor of that name from some poor unfortunate soul who comes to reclaim her child. However, it never happened, no lost mommy ever came back for her child. No woman sought her out; neither filled with contrition nor self-righteous authority, not a one. But her little ones who were all grown now, came by often to visit their Gran.
Mabel, dressed in her blue, cotton housedress, and pink floral apron, watched the truck with its precious cargo until it fishtailed around the corner, forever lost from her view and care. She wrung her hands and tidied a stray strand of gray hair falling from her forehead.
That poor child hasn’t got a hope in hell. Those so-called experts from the Department haven’t a clue about protecting children from danger, or being responsible for these little ‘uns. They dump them onto one so-called ’carer’ after another, into who knows what situation.
Mabel had heard more than one horror story about foster parents. She sat down on the stoop, wiping the perspiration from her brow with her forearm. The distraught woman dabbed again with her handkerchief and let the tears flow.
* * *
Blood ran down the child’s leg into her shoe. Holding back a sob, she tried to wipe her shin with the hem of her dress, then pieces of straw.
They won’t like us if we’re dirty.
She brought her knees up under her chin, covering her legs with her dress.
As she inhaled, Gran’s familiar talcum powder scent on her clothes made her look back longingly, but Gran and her house hid behind shrubs and trees, out of sight.
“Gran, Gran,” she screamed.
She attempted to stand, to jump over the side of the truck and run back home. Gran needed her, but the reckless, wild swaying of the truck made her grasp on to the rim of the cabin, hot to the touch. She quickly let go and resigned herself to the futility of the idea.
I can be really small if I hold my legs in tight. Maybe they won’t even notice me .
She began to rock herself backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, sobbing inconsolably.
Now her fourth foster home in as many years, living with the Revrund and his family promised to be better, Gran said so. Her five desolate years since her momma died meant moving every time