The Legend of Quito Road - Softcover

Fryer, Dwight

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1583147063 ISBN 13: 9781583147061

Publisher: Harlequin Kimani Sepia, 2006

Synopsis

The future seems to hold limited possibilities for Son Erby. The African-American child of a farm laborer in 1930s Tennessee, his fate seems as certain as the sunset at day's end. But when his father takes him to work at the Coleman farm and hands down the secret to making corn liquor, everything changes.
Moving from the shaded parlors of the wealthy Sawyer clan to the illegal activities in the woods along the Mississippi river, this perceptive novel explores the roots of racism, and the dangerous power of secrets that will shatter every taboo in a sleepy little town caught between the past and the future. Beginning with Son's simple plan to make his fortune with illicit whiskey, and speeding toward an explosive climax that will expose the twisted roots of his family tree, The Legend of Quito Road is a look at a bygone time, the sobering echoes of which can still be heard today.

About this title

About the Author:

Dwight Fryer is the league director for the Shelby DEBATE Society (www.shelbydebate.org). Memphis Debate, a 501(c)(3), shares public policy debate methods with over 300 high and middle school students in 28 Shelby County Schools. Fryer is a Christian minister, writer, speaker, storyteller, historian and genealogist, avid bird and nature watcher, reader, and anything outdoors, especially flying kites. He has over 25 years business experience in accounting, finance, marketing, and technology. His historical novels, The Legend of Quito Road and The Knees of Gullah Island were critically acclaimed. He holds a BBA in Accountancy from The University of Memphis and a MS in technology management from Christian Brothers University. Dwight and his wife Linda work with the National Meningitis Association (www.nmaus.org ) as an advocate for immunization against bacterial meningitis after the death of their sixteen-year-old daughter Adrienne from meningococcal disease in January 2001. Fryer survived colorectal cancer in 1998 and an accident caused by a drunk driver in 1992. Dwight shares with audiences how quickly anyone can become The Patient in Room 3053 and how medical professionals make a difference for each person they encounter every day. Visit www.dwightfryer.com for more on Dwight and his work.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

October 1860

Gillam Hale, a master distiller, a brewer of intoxicating spirits, lived his early life as a rare issue-free black man — one born to parents who were free. He now stumbled in the rain along a Mississippi River bluff trail between two white men on horses who had sought him for two years.

The band traveled slowly, just north of Memphis. Their course lay hidden to them, except during the frequent flashes of lightning. The horses acted as true guides. After the group rounded a bend, lightning spooked both horses and the rope around Gillam's neck jerked him forward. He tripped and fell hard to the muddy ground on his back.

"Wait, boss! Wait, bos...!" The lynch-man's noose muffled his cries. "Stop,Raford! You killing him!" Allen Sawyer,this venture's chief investor, shouted from the rear horse.

"Whoa, whoa boy." His red-haired business partner pulled the lead horse to a stop and looked back.

Sawyer jumped to the ground and tried to loosen the rope's hold on Gillam's neck. It was attached to the saddle horn of the surgically impaired male horse his partner chose to ride because of its large size and complete willingness to comply with his every command. "Damn you, Raford! He ain't worth a penny to us dead."

Raford Coleman spat out his reply: "He made just one damn batch since we bought him, so he ain't worth much to me!"

Gillam lay on his back in the cold mud. He thought, I'm valuable to Sawyer 'til he gets his money I took.

Sawyer eased the knot and, in an instant spark of lightning, looked in Gillam's face.Gillam feigned terror. The slaveholder's mistaken judgment at that moment equaled his error in Memphis's Auction Square two years earlier when he'd shouted the highest bid for the enslaved whiskey maker.

"Get up, Gillam!" Sawyer commanded.

Gillam tried to get on his feet but his hands were bound behind his back and he gripped something by which he could regain far more than his balance. As he fell back down, he remembered the words of his father,"Boy,be sure what you plant. Whiskey's the devil's seed. You reap what you sow."

Sawyer lifted Gillam to his feet, as Gillam laughed inside but put on an air of gloom. Sawyer removed his soaked hat, ran his hands through his blond hair and returned to his saddle. He wondered how his love for strong drink and gaiety had brought him to this miserable task.

Red-headed Raford jerked the rope again and kicked his big gelding forward.

Gillam felt the rope around his neck tighten again. The cord cut his wrists, but he smiled, hidden by darkness. Gillam Hale held no fear in his heart.

Three blasts from a distant riverboat's horn signaled another difficult journey on this cold October night. The rain slowed to a drizzle and the noise of the storm lessened. In his dominant left hand, the whiskey-making slave held a narrow shard of glass. He had fallen on it earlier when he slipped in the mud on a high bluff. He began to cut the rope the second Raford Coleman jerked him forward.

Gillam struggled to keep up with Coleman's horse.His muscles ached, but hope fueled him."Raford Coleman," he mumbled out of earshot of the white men, "when we get to the edge of the river, I'll fix it to where you never hunt a colored man again." The piece of glass sawed through the wet cord and Gillam waited.

The backwoods trail wound through dense woods until the narrow path overlooked the Mississippi River. Gillam freed his hands and maintained pressure on the rope as he removed it from his neck. "I's falling, boss! Boss, help me!" he screamed. He tumbled down the bank and pulled Raford and his horse with him.

"Nigger bastard!" Raford shouted.

Sawyer jumped from the saddle and strained to see. Gillam, Raford and his horse hit the muddy waters with a gigantic splash. The river swallowed all three. There was no sign of life.

The solitary blond slave owner stood alone with his skit-tish horse. "Raford! Raford! Raford!"Sawyer screamed."Raford Coleman! Rafe!" His horse attempted to pull away, but the wiry Sawyer held him fast."Raford!" Sawyer shouted again. If that Nigra's alive, he thought, the current'll take him downstream. He forgot his partner as he remembered the reason he had set out on this frightening night, his money. Sawyer swung back into his saddle and turned the mount downriver and southward toward Memphis.

His horse's hooves produced sucking noises that seemed loud in the sudden calm that followed the violent weather. Sawyer pulled his animal to a halt a short distance away and continued to scan the dark waters. He never heard a sound of anything alive. Only the noise of the river answered his silent prayers. The riverboat horn sounded repeatedly over the loud splashing from the paddle wheels of the nearby steamship. Another long, hard blast sounded just before a single human scream pierced the night. The tortured cry ceased and silence settled as the boat's wheel stopped churning.

Against the wind, Allen Sawyer shouted,"I wish I never got involved in this damn whiskey business."

From his hidden place at the river's edge, a shivering Gillam Hale agreed.

December 1932

Gillam Hale's son, Gill Erby, sat in the front wagon seat during the family's weekly ride to town.

Gill reflected on his age of sixty years and turned to look down at his thirty-four-year-old wife.He surveyed her small features and freckled nose,the only blemishes on her light-skinned body. She was, by blood, barely a Negro, but, in the world Gill Erby knew,you were either a Negro or you were not.Sarah Erby was a Negro and he was glad she was. Her straight black hair was tied into a neat ball under her simple bonnet. Everything about her was delicate, from the tips of her toes and fingers to her fine eyelashes. As he watched, a single sturdy leg, covered by a thick cotton stocking, slid from beneath her flowing skirt. The thickness of her calves reminded him of her inner strength.

For Gill, she was a beautiful sight to see, easy on the eyes, some would say, even after years of looking at her. Gill suppressed a smile that he could call such a beautiful woman his own.

Sarah Erby had looked like a baby when he first brought her home in a wagon pulled by his young mules, Dick and Dan. She turned eighteen just before Gill married her after his first wife died in childbirth and left him with a houseful of kids. Sarah still called him Mr.Erby; he simply referred to her as Baby.

He visualized the faces of each of his twelve children. His previous marriage produced six of his offspring and his current marriage to Sarah brought the other six to the world.Four of those children, all boys, had died. Gill Erby clearly remembered their faces. A boy's death meant one less male child to carry on the family name. The loss of a son stole a pair of strong hands that would never guide a plow through the soil. The pain only the death of a child brings troubled this man.

Everything about him spoke strength, his muscled arms and thick fingers. All who knew him witnessed that he was a good man, a steward at the local Pleasant Grove Colored Methodist Episcopal Church. Gill Erby, however, possessed skills church folks ought not to use.

"Haw, get up there!" he yelled and slapped the reins. The team turned onto Quito Road toward Lucy, Tennessee. Gill looked down on the animals' backs as they pulled the family wagon."Whoa, Dan!"

The mules appeared identical, but Dan was as mean as Dick was gentle. Nothing Gill tried changed Ole Dan. It cost too much to replace a mule, so this beast occupied a major part of his daily struggle to feed his large family and survive in a world not friendly to sharecroppers, especially one with black skin.

Sarah and three of Gill's daughters sat in the back of the wagon."Son," as Raymond Simon Erby's mother Sarah called him,was the only living male offspring. The family crossed the wooden Big Creek Bridge and Gill noticed Son looked into the woods at a brightly colored redbird. The male bird flitted back and forth from limb to limb before he stopped to offer his trademark song. The man's mouth turned upward into a smile fueled by his only son and boyhood memories. His boy reminded him of his own father, Gillam Hale. "You sure is Papa's seed,"he mumbled softly,but Son couldn't hear him over the clatter of the wagon wheels on the rickety bridge and rushing waters of Big Creek. The sounds transported Gill to one particular tale Gillam had told over and over. Gill remembered the night Papa killed Rafe Coleman Sr., as if he'd been there instead of not yet born. It was a feat no colored man in Shelby County, Tennessee,before or since,performed and lived to tell.

"Redbird, redbird in my sight, see my boyfriend tomorrow night," Sarah brought her husband back from his Mississippi River dream."Mr. Erby, where you today?"

"Right here, Baby." Gill Erby half turned and looked down at Sarah. "I remember when Papa and I used to walk Quito Road into Lucy. Oh, he told some kind of stories about the Ghost of Quito Road."

"Why you bring up that wives' tale?" She looked into his light brown, catlike eyes and flashed Gill a smile."Ain't no such thing as a Ghost of Quito Road."

"Now,Baby,"Mr.Erby spoke over his shoulder to Sarah."My Papa said it was so a Ghost of Quito Road." He turned for a moment to enjoy a look at her smooth skin and dimpled cheeks. She pouted her tiny lips and he wished he could smooth her furrowed brow.

"Papa, was it a real ghost?"

"Naw, Son, the Ghost was a slave the white folks couldn't catch. That Negro hid along Big Creek and over on the Mississippi River bluffs to the west of here."

"Why'd the white folks want to catch the Ghost?"

"He was a runaway," Gill Erby relayed."Some folks said he stole a lot of money from the Sawyers — they owned him."

"Did he take the money?"

"He did. Papa said the Ghost believed the Sawyers owed the slave the money for taking his family." The old man paused while it all soaked in. "But they wanted him back 'cause the Ghost was a distiller."

Sarah rolled her blue-green eyes in disapproval. "What's a distiller, Papa?" Son chirped. Gill Erby smiled wider than he normally would and looked over his shoulder at Sarah."Son,I'd better wait 'til you a bit older to tell you why he was so valuable.For now,just know folks called him the Ghost of Quito Road. Every now and then, people'd see him, but no one caught him before slavery ended. The colored folks would see the Ghost and they'd keep it a secret. They'd say,'I see you, but I ain't see'd you." He released a hearty laugh.

"Mr. Erby —" Sarah changed the subject " — what you gone say to Mr. Conrad?"

"Don't know." He added,"By my figures, we ain't clear on this year's crop. The Coleman brothers might not carry us to next season."

"Don't fret, it'll work out," Sarah said.

"I know, Baby, but it's so close to Christmas. I don't know where we'd move to this time of year."

Silence fell on the wagon. The pungent smell of smoke from a coal-fueled fire filled the air as the family came to the edge of town. Ole Dan acted up and Gill Erby yanked on the cutting bridle that always had to be kept in the mule's mouth. Ole Dan is mean as the man who sold me these mules, he mused. You'd almost think that man and this mule is pappy and son 'cause their disposition is the same.

A breeze picked up and chilled the warmer than normal December weather. Gill looked toward the southern horizon and noticed that a thin layer of clouds blocked out the afternoon sun.In the distance,a mother shouted for her children to come inside and a colored man wielded an ax in his struggle to split wood for someone else's evening fire.

"Gee, mule, gee!" Gill Erby shouted the command for the team to turn right into the alley in the middle of the small town.

About this edition

• Publisher: Harlequin Kimani Sepia
• Publication date: 2006
• ISBN 10: 1583147063
• ISBN 13: 9781583147061
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 384