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  RAVEN

  D.M. BARRETT

  Copyright © 2019 by D. M. Barrett

  First Printing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means--electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning or other--without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in 2019 by Amazon Printing.

  Cover design by: Mat Yan Cover Designs

  Library of Congress Cataloguing

  ISBN: 978-0-578-49636-8

  Printed in the United States of America

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to a true man of God, Pastor Mike Garrett. His eternal epitaph, before God, angels, and witnesses, reads: He Took In Strays.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue: The Arrival

  1: Jehovah Jireh

  2: A Sawmill Town

  3: The Woods Are On Fire

  4: The Smith Brothers

  5: The Audition

  6: Great Scott

  7: Deliverance

  8: Friday the 13th

  9: The Night Of Broken Glass

  10: Ginger Men

  11. Poor Man

  12: A Widow, A Banker & A Teacher

  13. Sacred Ground (Part I)

  14. Sacred Ground (Part II)

  15: Outcasts

  16: Hard Times

  17: Hoochie Coochie Man

  18. Legacy

  19: The Christmas Miracle

  Epilogue: The Grand Adventure

  Prologue: The Arrival

  A 1932 black Ford truck stopped at the gas pumps of the Ferguson Discount Grocery. A fortyish dark-haired man in a black suit exited the truck and walked to the store’s entrance.

  The proprietor asked, “Can I help you, sir?”

  The man replied, “I need some gas and some information.

  “We got plenty of gas and all you need to know about this neck of the woods,” the shopkeeper replied.

  “I’ve been asked to be the preacher at the Community Church, and I need to meet the Masons,” the preacher replied.

  “Look across the street and there’s the church. Give me five minutes and I will tell Mr. Walter and Miss Frankie that you’re here,” the storekeeper said.

  “Excellent,” the preacher acknowledged.

  Inside the store, the proprietor cranked the phone and said, “Sarah, get me Mr. Walter Mason. Miss Frankie, this is Jackson Wright. That new preacher fellow is here. Okay, I’ll tell him.”

  “Sounds like they are on their way,” the preacher remarked.

  “It won’t be long. They live about a block west of here,” he said.

  Before the preacher could finish his five-cent bottle of Coca-Cola, the elderly couple entered the store. Miss Frankie quickly introduced herself and her husband.

  “Who is he?” Mr. Walter asked.

  “I’m the preacher,” he replied.

  “Preacher? The preacher’s been dead for over two years. We haven’t been holding church since then,” Mr. Mason exclaimed.

  Miss Frankie added, “He’s hard of hearing.”

  “Indeed,” the preacher noted.

  “Want a deed? We can’t sell that church! Our nephew is sending a new preacher from First Church in Nashville. George is one of the elders,” Mr. Mason said loudly.

  "Has he been to an audiologist?" the preacher inquired.

  Mr. Walter quickly responded, “A urologist? I don’t have any trouble with my equipment. I can piss like a Tennessee stud!”

  Miss Frankie told the preacher, “The keys are under the mat. Make yourself at home.”

  “Thank you very much, Sister Mason,” the preacher replied.

  Before Mr. Walter could say anything else, Miss Frankie said, “Come on Tennessee stud. Let’s get you home.”

  “Wood? I don’t have wood, but it won’t take long, baby,” he said, and he slapped her bottom as they exited the store.

  The storekeeper, Jack Wright, said, “Now those folks are a handful, preacher.”

  “No doubt,” the preacher replied.

  "Say, I took an unusual phone message this morning. It was from a fellow calling himself 'Whitehorse'", Mr. Wright said.

  "What was the message?" the preacher asked.

  Reading from his written note, the shopkeeper replied, "Tell Raven that Whitehorse said, 'Congratulations.'"

  "My full name is Thomas Preacher Mann. A few of my army buddies call me Raven," the preacher remarked.

  "Why is your middle name 'Preacher?'" Mr. Wright inquired.

  "It was my Dad's dream that I would grow up and become a minister," he replied.

  "I suppose his dream was realized," the shopkeeper responded.

  "Indeed," the preacher said.

  "Now is Raven a good nickname or a bad nickname?" Jack Wright inquired.

  "In ancient cultures, some believed that a raven was symbolic of death. But in the Bible, Elijah was fed bread and meat by ravens during a long drought and famine," the preacher explained.

  "So which type are you?" Jack asked.

  As he turned toward the door, the preacher said softly but firmly, "Both."

  “Wait, I’ll close the store for a bit and walk across the road with you to the church,” Jack Wright said.

  “As long as you don’t try to carry me across the threshold,” the preacher said with a grin.

  The pair crossed the street of the little town to the old church. It was a small white clapboard structure with almost non-existent whitewash on the exterior. It had electricity but no running water.

  The interior of the church consisted of one large auditorium that seated about seventy-five people and a small back room that was likely meant to be a small children’s Sunday School room or a possibly a nursery. The former pastor had converted it into a small living area. There was a rusty pot-belly stove in the auditorium.

  The pastor’s room contained an army-style cot, a small card table desk, a small bookcase beside the table, and a quite small, aged chifforobe.

  There were no toilet facilities. The rear of the acre-and-a-half lot held two outhouses. One was carved with a half-moon on the door for the ladies. The other had a carved star on the door to identify it for the men.

  Near a hidden side of the building was an outdoor shower equipped with a hanging five-gallon bucket with punched holes serving as a showerhead. It was about ten feet from a hand-dug well complete with rope and well bucket.

  “It’s not much,” Jack opined.

  The preacher replied, “It’s enough for me.”

  “How many attend on Sundays?” the preacher asked.

  “None,” Jack answered.

  “I mean before the pastor passed?” the preacher clarified.

  “There are no services for another month. Most of the members are old. They hold Sunday mornings from early April till late September. They can’t risk a fall on frost, leaves, fallen branches, ice or snow,” the shopkeeper noted.

  “I suppose I have some time to get to know the good people of Ferguson,” the preacher said, punctuated with a brief sigh.

  The two men returned to the store. The preacher decided to buy a few groceries to take back to the church.

  “How about a sandwich and some canned baked beans for supper? It’s my treat.” Jack offered.

  “What do you have?” the preacher asked.

  “I’ve got ham or bologna but I’m out of ham,” Jack replied.

  “Bologna – with crackers,” the preacher selected. />
  “Beans with or without?” the storekeeper inquired.

  “With or without what?” the preacher queried.

  “Weenies, weenies brother,” Jack replied.

  “Let’s be conservative, Brother Wright, and try without,” the preacher said with a smile.

  * * *

  There was a lot that the preacher man didn’t know about Ferguson, however, there was a lot that Ferguson didn't know about the preacher man.

  The town was situated nearly equidistant between Nashville and Knoxville, Tennessee on the Cumberland Plateau. The nearest small cities were Crossville at 21 miles east and Cookeville at 13 miles west.

  The Cumberland Plateau is part of the Appalachian Mountain area that contains some of the country’s largest contiguous forests as well as the Cumberland River.

  It is definitely Tennessee hill country with hill people lifestyles and ideals.

  Ferguson was founded shortly after the Civil War. It had previously served as an established camp for Champ Ferguson and his band of Confederate guerillas. Ferguson claimed that he and his band of guards took orders from Captain John Hunt Morgan, of Morgan’s Raiders fame, but that was never officially confirmed.

  Champ boasted to have personally killed over 100 Union soldiers and pro-Union civilians. He was arrested, tried, and executed by the U.S. government after the war. Ferguson was one of only two Confederates executed for war crimes-- the other being Captain Henry Wirtz, commandant of the infamous Andersonville Prison in Georgia.

  Local history suggests that Champ Ferguson’s cruelty resulted from a dozen or so Union soldiers appearing at his house while he was away. They forced his wife and teen-aged daughter to strip naked and cook them a meal in the nude. Thereafter they then drove them publicly down the road with whips. There was an implication they might have been raped.

  Ferguson, Tennessee was much of a boom town by the turn of the century. It was a local hub for the few contiguous rural counties. It had a sawmill, a lumber yard, a mercantile store with dry goods, a grocery store and a branch bank.

  It was also a great place to buy locally produced spirits, principally, grape and blackberry wines and local moonshine referred to as mountain dew.

  In 1920 the first shoe fell for Ferguson. Prohibition was being enforced and Revenuers showed up regularly to wage wars against ‘shiners and winers. The local honky-tonk, known as the Thirsty Turtle, went out of business.

  The second shoe fell at the advent of The Great Depression. By 1937, Ferguson was one third its former size. The population had fallen from almost 2,500 to less than 800.

  Yeah, that preacher man had some hard work ahead.

  The preacher watched as Jack Wright left the church and crossed the road on his way back to the Discount Grocery. He contemplated the times and the work that was before him.

  The hard times pervaded almost every aspect of the country's collective experience. There was mental anguish, emotional suffering, excessive need, homelessness and in some cases, near starvation.

  The preacher spoke aloud, “Now Satan, the Bible says you walk around looking for someone to devour. There is no place for you here. We will fight you. We will resist you. We rebuke you in the Lord's name. There isn't even a place for a foothold. Get thee hence!”

  At that moment, the preacher recalled an old gospel song that his friend, Reverend Peyton, used to sing. ‘You Can't Steal My Shine’ began:

  “You can't steal

  You can't steal

  You can't steal my shine

  Oh I shine too bright

  Oh I shine too bright

  You can't dim my light.”

  Just like David danced when the Ark of the Covenant returned to Jerusalem, the preacher got light-footed and went into a spirit-filled Tennessee buck dance. No doubt the devil realized the fight was on.

  1: Jehovah Jireh

  Upon hearing loud knocking at the church door, the preacher opened the door to find Jack Wright standing there. He appeared a little disheveled and slightly out of breath.

  “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock,” he said.

  “I was naked and hid myself,” the preacher replied.

  “Really?” asked the storekeeper.

  “No, but it’s the best Bible verse reply I could think of,” the preacher remarked.

  “Miss Rosie called the store and asked for you to come and see her. She said it was real important,” Jack explained.

  “Do you have any idea what she wants?” the preacher inquired.

  “She said she needed your help. It’s about a half-mile down the road toward Crossville,” Jack said.

  “Well, I’ll go down there,” the preacher said as he reached for his jacket.

  “But preacher, her place is . . . it’s a . . . I mean . . .,” the merchant stuttered.

  “It’s what?” the preacher asked.

  “It’s a . . . it’s a cathouse,” Jack exclaimed.

  As the preacher walked through the door, he turned to Jack and said, “They that are whole need not a physician, but they that are sick.”

  Miss Rosie’s bordello was housed in a large, white, well-kept, southern-style antebellum mansion. It was a two-story with tall, white marble columns reaching from the ground to the roof line.

  The house sat on a slight rise in the center of a 25-acre tract about 50-yards from the highway. It was a hidden jewel once it was noticed.

  The inside of Miss Rosie’s was even more ornate and luxurious. It had 12-foot ceilings, marble floors, and plenty of unique wood carvings on the banisters. It was furnished with the finest French provincial style furniture and the marble floors were covered with the finest Persian rugs. Miss Rosie’s sported the finest draperies.

  The house had a massive parlor capable of seating 70 to 80 people, a huge formal dining room and kitchen, and was replete with indoor facilities.

  The Tiffany table and floor lamps had colorful cut glass shades and bases of bronze. The entranceway had a small chandelier, but the large parlor was furnished with a massive one.

  Rosalyn Amanda Hatton was the illegitimate granddaughter of Confederate Brigadier General Robert Hopkins Hatton, and his wife, Sophie. General Hatton, who was from Lebanon, Tennessee, had served as a lawyer, politician, and U.S. Congressman prior to the Civil War. He was killed at the Battle of Fair Oaks in Henrico County, Virginia in 1862.

  Rosie’s father was Reilly Hatton, son of General Robert Hatton, who died in 1875 at age 21 just prior to entering Cumberland Law School in Lebanon. Rosie’s mother claimed to be the girlfriend of Reilly and that Rosie was the yet-to-be-born illegitimate child of the couple.

  Rosie’s maternal grandparents were wealthy plantation owners. Her mother inherited the plantation, sold the agricultural land and invested the proceeds, but she kept the mansion and 25 acres.

  Tara Lee, Rosie’s mother was born in 1859 and passed away in 1917 from tuberculosis. At age 41, Rosie inherited the estate and quickly made it cash generating by turning it into a luxurious, strict clientele bordello.

  The preacher stood at the front door of the mansion and turned the key to the mechanical doorbell to announce his arrival. He was greeted by a buxom, lovely, brown-eyed blond in her mid-twenties.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the girl asked.

  “I’m here to see your mother,” the preacher replied.

  “My mother?” the girl asked with a puzzled expression.

  “At her request, I’m here to see Miss Rosie,” the preacher said bluntly.

  “Come sit on the sofa while I get her,” the girl replied.

  In a couple of minutes Miss Rosie welcomed the preacher. Needless to say she was not what he expected.

  Miss Rosie was a petite blond with periwinkle blue eyes. She was dressed like she had just stepped out of a Parisian dress shop. Her matching shoes and jewelry were attention- getting, too.

  The lady announced that she was Rosalyn Amanda Hatton. She extended her hand expecting the preacher to kiss the back of it. Ins
tead, he vigorously shook it and stated, “I'm the preacher from the Community Church and I’m here at your request.”

  Miss Rosie asked, “Are you a wet preacher or a dry preacher?”

  “I don’t mind enjoying a little communion wine occasionally,” he informed.

  “Jackie, get us a couple of glasses of our blackberry communion wine,” Rosie instructed.

  “Miss Rosie, I am led to believe that you operate a luxury bordello from these premises,” the preacher said cautiously.

  “I used to run a high-dollar cathouse, but not now,” she said.

  “Have you abandoned your business?” the preacher inquired.

  “No, it abandoned me. You’re the first man that’s been in here for almost three months,” she explained.

  “What caused the downturn, Sister Rosie?” the preacher queried.

  “I started the business in 1917 after my mother died. After the stock market crash in 1929, things started getting bad. Ferguson had business closures, migration to the cities, and no cash for any type of luxuries – including the services we offered. Back in the day, I had eight girls on two shifts. Now I keep two around – just in case,” she explained.

  “Why do you think I can help?” the preacher asked.

  “First, you are a man of God and you can pray for the situation. Second, you can try to talk some sense into that banker, George Hickman, and stop him from foreclosing my loan, and finally, you can ask the Lord to figure something out,” Rosie said.

  “Miss Rosie, I have two words for you: Jehovah jireh,” the preacher stated.

  “Preacher is that good or bad?” she inquired.

  “It’s very good. It means the Lord will provide. But it is conditioned on faith and obedience,” the preacher explained.

  “What do I have to do?” she asked.

  “First you need to believe that the Lord can improve your situation. Next, you need to stop whore mongering,” he said.

  “I have faith, preacher. I prayed you into this whorehouse today,” she said tearfully.