The Reproach

Ghost regional story

The Reproach

 

 

               

          “Alabama on Wheels”

          The Quarterly Magazine of the

                           Association of Alabama Recreational Vehicle Dealers

 

   Welcome back fellow campers.  Once again Eb and I have loaded up the Winnebago for another summer tour of Alabama and our ongoing search for all those forgotten and overlooked wonders this state has to offer.

   Constant readers of “Alabama on Wheels” will recall our all county tour last fall where we explained how it came to be that every county in Alabama, except Winston, ended up with the same statue of a glassy eyed Confederate soldier on the courthouse square.   We apologize for missing the winter edition, but Eb’s bout of pleurisy  kept us close to home and hospital during the chilly months.  The spring trip to Enterprise, Alabama did Eb a “power of good” as Minnie Pearl used to say, although by the time we reached Coffee County the annual Alabama pine pollen bloom was in full swing and Eb wore out two inhalers.  But, you can’t keep a good man down, and believe me, I’ve tried.

   You will of course, remember our photos of the Monument to the Boll Weevil in downtown Enterprise.  In that issue we failed to mention our gratitude to the kind folks at Walker’s Campground and RV Park on Hwy. 231.  We are much obliged for their hospitality, and Eb and I miss the sassafras and corn cob smoked barbeque at Walker’s Wayside Restaurant and Country Store. We’ve never seen it done that at any place else.  Really, never. Anywhere.

   That giant boll weevil got Eb and me to wondering if every city had a “claim to fame” even if it only the knitted sock capitol of America.  With that theme in mind we struck out for west Alabama, left the interstate system and, ended up in Carrolville.

   The courthouse in Carrolville was burned during the War Between the States by Wilson’s raiders because it was suspected of being a Confederate storehouse and made of wood.   Wilson, by the way, then adjourned to more important arson in Tuscaloosa where the University of Alabama harbored a dangerous corps of cadets.  They spanked the boys and burned the school, but that’s a story for another trip, possibly in the fall during football season.

   The citizens of Carrolville were recovered enough by 1889 to rebuild the courthouse into the two storey Bessemer Gray brick edifice you see today.  Of course the courthouse isn’t the claim to fame we were searching for;  it’s the windows.  Well, that one window in particular…

****************************************************************************

 

   Sheriff Wilburn Fowler had taken just about all he wanted from the good citizens of Carrolville.  His job was secure.  He knew every voter and the name of his wife, the names of most of his children, and all of his dogs.  Every voter knew Wilburn;  no one even bothered to oppose him in the last two elections.  Carrolville was eight years into the 20^th century , and now this “thing” was happening in his town.

   “You’d think they’d have a little respect for me personally, if not some respect for the law.  All they have to do is wait a week, two at the outside, and this business will take care of itself.  I ask you , Billy, why get twelve men to sit through a legal trial, in this kind of heat, in that suffocatin’ court room, if you can’t wait a few days for a legal hangin’?”

   “Oh, they’ll wait Sheriff.  I figure they’ll wait for about two more pulls on that jug they keep passin’ around, but not much longer than that.  The whole bunch is pretty worked up.”  Billy Preston had been deputy for the last three of Fowler’s terms.  Now he took off his badge and laid it on the desk.  “Wilburn, I can’t stay with you on this one.  I ain’t scared.  There ain’t a man in this county I can’t whip, but if we stay here tonight , me or you one will have to kill some of them good ole boys before the rest will stop.” 

   “Put your star back on, Billy.  Take Toby up to the storeroom on the top floor and lock him in.  The only way he could get loose from up there would be out the front window, and the fall would solve all of his problems and most of mine.  When you finish. We’ll lock up and go home.  I’ve known these farmers all my life and I ain’t about kill one on account of that idiot, Toby.  When you get him up there, tell him to set his a*s still and keep his mouth shut.  Maybe they’ll be too drunk to look up.”

   Even if the storeroom windows had not been painted shut, the sheer drop made it an effective prison cell.  By pressing his face against the window pane, Toby could just see the curve in Main Street.  At first it looked like a swarm of lightening bugs moving slowly in the hot night toward the courthouse.  He wiped his eyes and watched, mesmerized by the scene.  Urine began to pool at his feet.  He couldn’t move.  Fear sweat kept him glued to the window glass like a squashed insect on a microscope slide.

   The lights became larger and he saw they were the farmer’s lanterns.  Soon he heard the men’s voices and smelled the stink of burning coal oil from the lamp wicks.  He knew they would cut him first, cut him, geld him like a hog.  His whimper turned to a whine, and then to a high pitched keening. 

   He was like that when they took him.  His fingernails left parallel gouges on the casements when they pried his face away from the window pane.

 

   Sunday morning dawned with a promise of clear sky and more heat.  Abe Sanders, the photographer from the Cooley/Byron portrait studio on State street, loaded a tripod camera onto his buggy and drove down to the river to take advantage of the daylight.  The studio’s specialty was photograph tinting.  Its display window was full of pink bottomed baby pictures and cherub cheeked boys and girls.  Doting mothers and grandmothers always stopped to admire the display.

The photograph  Abe wanted would never be tinted.  This picture could only be stark black and white.  Lynching was a monochrome business.  Yankee newspapers and magazines wanted and expected the spectacular and ghastly.  Ghouls were more profitable than angels.

   After a good breakfast, Sheriff Flower and Billy Preston followed the same track the buggy had taken into the grove of water oaks.  They rode in a borrowed cotton wagon.  Billy even thought to bring tarpaulin so their returning cargo wouldn’t offend the sensibilities of early church goers.

   The strange part was that no one noticed the window for about a week.  Maybe no one could hold his head up that high, but soon enough someone saw it and then everyone saw it.   After a while the window came to exactly what the people of Carrolville  believed it to be.

   The sheriff ordered the janitor to wash the window, but the room stank like piss and death, so the janitor refused to go in and finally quit.  The mayor told the sheriff to replace the pane and the sheriff told the mayor to go to hell or replace it himself.  The mayor and the sheriff are both long gone, but the pane is still there.

 

*****************************************************************************

 

 

            …So fellow campers, every place has a claim to fame and now Eb and I have seen the famous “Face in the Window” at Carrolville.  Frankly Eb thinks it just looks like smeared glass. And I can’t see the resemblance to a face.  But then I don’t live in Carrolville, and it isn’t watching me every day.

 

                 Pearl and Eb Moody for “Alabama on Wheels”

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Quite an informative and enjoyable piece. The language you used, names, and way of telling are easily recognized as being "small town" and "southern." I share Esse's concern about the courthouse. As your sentence stands, said courthouse is suspected of being made of wood. The following are sentence fragments in which a word seems missing--1) We’ve never seen it done that at any place else. 2) even if it only the knitted sock capitol of America. 3) I ain’t about kill one on account of that idiot. 4) to bring tarpaulin." In another sentence, your use of "fear sweat" seems off. Perhaps "fearful sweat" would be better.
I wish I had more information about my stepfather's brother dying in a small town jail so I could write a similar story about it. These kinds of things happened, and probably much more that we'll never know about.

[Delmar Cooper]

Helpful comments thanks. I thought I had corrected those omissions but it seems the correction didn't take. I guess it's unanimous the wood comment was more distracting than humorous.

[Samuel Dickens]

I'm used to reading with a critical eye on this site, so that may have prevented me from seeing the humor as you intended. Perhaps you need a few more to read it.

[roarke]

I read part of this as Roger Miller meets Abel Meeropol…I enjoyed the juxtaposition of tone in this piece. The ending, I don’t know why, just seems a tad brief in conclusion for the two preceding sections. The ending is simple, says exactly what it needs to and has the proper tone… yet.. I wish I could come up with a specific suggestion, but it escapes me. Delmar, have you worked on this piece since posting here? Did it change much from this version?

[Delmar Cooper]

This was a one-shot submission for a local library one time publication called "Southern Gothic." Like a 'fire and forget" missile, once I had pulled the trigger it was hit or miss without correction.

[Dave]

Delmar - I again am thrilled by the conciseness of your storytelling ability.
Thank you for being so good.
Take care - Dave

[Delmar Cooper]

So glad you enjoyed it. It was fun to write. Thanks again for reading.

[wtp]

I really enjoyed this story within a story.
The character development for Eb and Pearl and scene painting for their travels within Alabama were rich and engaging. I especially liked the quirky details like the boll weevil monument and the sassafras and corn cob fired BBQ. I couldn’t resist hitting the net to see if the boll weevil monument and other places were real, which shows how intrigued I was.
The folksy charm of Eb and Pearl accentuated the darkness in the inner storyline. I didn’t find those characters quite as rich as the Moodys, but increased pace of action filled any void. I thought the inner storyline was very efficiently executed. Personally, I would have devoted several paragraphs to Toby’s crime; Toby’s fear of gelding answered that question for this reader in a sentence.
Pearl’s closing, with the Moodys take on the window and the thoughts of the Carolville residents tied things together beautifully. Very nice work!

[Delmar Cooper]

My library system published a paper back called Southern Gothic, this story was written for that fundraiser. Yep, there is a monument to the boll weevil and the "face in the window" exists in Carrolton, Al.
Thanks for reading and your comments.

[Tertia]

Your writing style is direct which immediately immerses the reader into the world you have created and paced correctly to make the story build and become realistic. I know I can learn a lot from your writing.

[Delmar Cooper]

Thank you for reading and for your comment about the story. I doubt you can find much of mine that would improve any of yours. The pace and content/context of a short story is far different from a chapter of a longer work. A short story has to use a different blade, I suspect, something that will kill in one blow.

[Tertia]

Yes they are different but I still feel I can learn from you

[Martin Durso]

Such a wild trip in a short story. From folksy RV world to horrible lynching to Shroud of Turin? Great stuff.

[Delmar Cooper]

Google face in the window Carrolton, Alabama.

[Martin Durso]

Wow. Never heard of lightning portraits. I've no interest in visiting Carollton but appreciate the historical reference. In my view, gives the story even more punch.

[Delmar Cooper]

I share Pearl's opinion about the face and the whole story, it is to an elaborate folktale, but horrifying nonetheless. When I have time I will tell you My story about Carrolton. Never mind, I think I had better stick to fiction.

[SRMarx]

I really enjoyed your introduction to the story. It really helped with immersing me in the story and the world your character's inhabit. You have a very unique voice!

[Delmar Cooper]

Thanks, it's a frame tale - a story- within a story. I did my best to make both interesting. Don't know about unique voice it seems to change every time I clear my throat or pick up a pen.

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

This is an excellently written story, deceptively homespun, and filled with horror. Great detail, realistic narrative style, and is reminiscent of Harper Lee and her ilk. Lulls the reader with humor and lazy country pace, and then explodes into the macabre. Skillful transitions, plot development and good character studies. Won’t forget this easily...Kudos!

[Delmar Cooper]

Thanks for reading. A great honor to be even slantwise compared to Miz Nell Lee and her ilk, the ilkiest one I can think of is Miz O'Conner.

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

Yes, Flannery O’Connor, Carson Mcullers, Eudora Welty my favorites- you’re in very good company!

[Delmar Cooper]

Call me ole fashioned but I still reread "The Bohemian Girl" now and again - my favorite mid-western western.

[W.k.kortas]

What beguiles me the most about this piece is the structure. First, the notion of the niche publication (and this is a pretty narrow one, indeed) is captured pitch-perfectly. I laughed out loud at Eb's pleurisy, because of all the maladies you could have picked there, nothing is more fitting than pleurisy. The story-within-a-story is a wonderful device as well. Yes, every small town has a story like this, but for those who were there at the time, it was an important thing (certainly in the case of our friend Toby), but the last bit of the article does its bit to put it all back into context and perspective again. This is some fine craftsmanship at work here.

[Delmar Cooper]

I'm glad to hear your kind words and gladder still that the you understood the device and the context.

[Nusquam Esse]

Certainly enjoyed looking into the small local story you have here; especially the way you summed it all up at the end. I like how the narrator doesn't see the resemblance, really bringing to question the validity of such a story; but perhaps not every town has something to show, so much as something to claim. Everywhere has their own local story, and not all of them are as 'to the facts' as they may claim. But then and again, having it 'watch us' everyday does give those stories a certain impact to them. Some suggestions. When describing the way the courthouse was burned, bothering to end it with 'and wood' just feels off, like it drags out the sentence and detracts from the original arson. Perhaps just add at the beginning of the sentence, "the old wooden courthouse"? Unless of course this was an effect you were deliberately goin for. Also, the third paragraph of the story proper has the phrase 'me or you one will'; this is either one helluva dialect, or a typo of some sort.

[Delmar Cooper]

Thanks for reading and for your comments. The first faux you mentioned was an attempt at humor, as the Yankees burned the courthouse for two reasons, one it was an enemy store house and two, it would burn. The second was an attempt at dialect, which for me is everyday speech, we might say: “You or me one has got to whip Billy Earl’s a*s for him.”
As to the face, fire, courthouse etc. that stuff is all well, I wont say Fact, but it is pretty well established legend. The face exists, blob like in the window of the Carrolton , Alabama courthouse. I have seen it and it would take a lot of guilt or a strong imagination to conceive it to be a face. But you can look it up on Google and judge for yourself.
Glad to hear from you.