Trouble's Always Watching Volume 1: Volume 1 (The Trouble Series)

by Courtney Smith

  “I gotta say dat I have some difficulty believin' what you were sayin' 'bout the bear attackin' you,” pointed out Reverend Stevenson. Trouble kept his gaze focused on his skin.

  “I understand. May I please be 'cused f'om da table?” asked Trouble.

  “Yes, but I'd really like fo' you ta eat somethin' first,” replied Reverend Stevenson. The guest felt as though his body were balanced on the edge of a sword. If I take even a drop o' dis meal, Mrs. Stevenson gone be even madder, but Reverend Stevenson may be 'fended if I don't take part. Mrs. Stevenson gone be mad no matter what I do, so da heck wit’ it! He calmly picked up a bowl and filled it up mostly with fluid. Trouble adjusted his seat at the table, dropped in a chair, and swallowed the bowl’s contents in one motion. Then, he walked towards Reynaldo's room. He smiled upon the realization he was completely healed. Then, he lowered himself onto the floor and allowed his consciousness to slip away.

  Daylight pierced through the side of the splintered house, facing the sun. Bright streaks of light gently warmed the Reynaldo’s closed, chestnut eyelids. He opened his eyes for a split second to see an empty space on the floor. Then, he closed his eyes only to open them again, a split second later. Where is dat Negro?!! He ran into his parents’ cot to see them sleeping upon a large, makeshift bed.

  “Wake up!” screamed Reynaldo. The silence of the serene, wooden walls broke like a flooded dam. The hefty, resting woman raised the upper half of her body like a jack-in-the-box with brown matter in her eyes and scowled at her son.

  “If you wakin' me up fo' no good reason, I swear I'll get a whip and put mo' strips on ya than a zebra,” threatened Dorothy Stevenson in a very friendly but suggestively harmful tone.

  “Trouble is gone!” shouted Reynaldo. Both Anthony and Dorothy Stevenson jumped out of their cots as if a fire were under their backsides. They went through the same routine of running across the splintered floors throughout the cabin as their son had done, earlier. A movement outside of the window caught Reverend Stevenson’s attention while Dorothy and Reynaldo ran around the house. He peered through the window to see the ebony, fourteen-year-old laborer tilling the ground with his hoe and dropping seeds into the broken soil.

  Reverend Stevenson smiled because he saw his faith in Trouble had not been misplaced. He turned around to see his rushing family and shouted, “You c'n stop, now!” Both Reynaldo and Dorothy stopped to look at the surprisingly calm patriarch of the family. Reverend Stevenson pointed to the skinny figure outside, working diligently on the landscape.

  “He seems to be working pretty hard for a sloth,” laughed Reverend Stevenson. Dorothy and Reynaldo Stevenson glared out of the window at their unwelcome guest with discontent eyes. Trouble glanced up from his labor to see peeled eyes and furrowed eyebrows through a window. They'll never 'cept me if I coul' plow all da fiel's in Lou'siana in one day!

  The diligent laborer continued working without glancing in the direction of his hosts. Reverend Stevenson scratched his chin and stood as though he were trapped in his thoughts. My family say Trouble don't like to work, and he is untrustworthy. I just don't see it. I think I'm gone work near the plantation today wit'out bein' seen. The large man grabbed his hoe and walked out of the door without saying a word to anyone. Dorothy Stevenson glanced at her husband and said, "C'n I g't uh 'goodbye!'" The Reverend waved without stopping or turning his head toward his wife.

  A metal blade moved through the soil like scissors through paper. Trouble reminisced about being so sore; each step or squeeze of the hand felt as though his muscles were torn. Sometimes, a tool as light as a small hammer or wrench seemed as heavy as an ax after a long day of working on a plantation. Ironically, he had been working all morning, and he was not tired at all.

  Trouble paused and grasped his new hoe in his left hand. He balanced the tip of the handle until it stood perfectly vertically upon his index finger. The tool felt as light as a piece of lent. The item fell casually and intentionally from his hand before it was spinning like a cheerleader’s baton. The object spun until it appeared invisible and gradually slowed down and stopped.

  He covered five hundred yards within minutes. I jus' covered large 'mounts of lan', an' I haven't even broken uh sweat. I move as dough dat bear never came near me an' betta! He finished most of the work the rest of the Stevenson Family had to do before they came outside. Maybe dey see I'm not dat bad wit' the work I done. Not! Dorothy and Reynaldo Stevenson walked outside of the cabin. Their jaws dropped when they saw all of the work he had been done.

  Trouble took a single step in their direction before they looked at him. Their eyes squinted, and their faces scowled upon seeing him. The unwelcome houseguest withdrew his foot from their direction. If dis dey attitude, dey c'n keep it by demselves. I'm outta here! I ain't gone do dem a favor an' be mistreated. I don't have ta take dis! The laborer hoisted his hoe upon his shoulder and calmly walked out of their sight.

  Trouble's feet grazed the surrounding grass as he walked along the dirt road. The sweat upon his body enhanced the cool sensation of the warm breezes against his face. The Stevenson's may not 'preciate my work, but dat don't mean nobody else will! The traveler stretched his gaze across the flat, hard soil to see a familiar face. A thin, elderly, hickory man strained to move a plow with a grey mule that refused to work.

  The plow kept getting stuck in the hard, light-brown clay mixed with dark-brown soil. The animal with flies all over it trembled with each step and wore a brittle, old, worn-out harness. The man beckoned and whipped the creature move, but the beast held its ground like a heavy stone. The teenage wonder recognized the man struggling to push the plow.

  “Mr. Jensen, ya need any help with da plow?” asked Trouble. Jacob Jensen glared at the thin, teenager.

  “I 'preciate yo' offer son, but I really don’t see what you c'n do ta help me.” The uncanny adolescent smiled for a second about how useful the man would learn he had become.

  “I don’t think you gone get dat mule to work on da plow,” replied Jacob Jensen. Trouble swaggered to the mule's side and asserted, “I really don’t think we’ll be needin' him.” The confident volunteer dropped his hoe on the ground, placed his hands under the stubborn mammal, and lifted the creature above his head as easily and lifting a blanket. The animal brayed, made lots of noise, and swung its legs wildly in protest, but teenager handled the beast like a man handling a newborn kitten.

  Jacob Jensen’s widened his eyes, stumbled backwards, and nearly fell as he witnessed the young man’s fantastic feat of strength. He walked as the creature struggled and kicked despite its previously weakened condition. Trouble moved his head very quickly to avoid the hoofs of its swinging legs. He gently lowered the animal to the ground and walked away from it before it dashed off of the plantation. The elderly man fell over as he watched. Jacob Jenson was lost in his thoughts: If I tried to tell anyone else 'bout dis, I might end up in uh padded room! Some secrets 're bes' kep' tuh myself!

  The elderly gentlemen just smiled and watched the laborer work. The powerful youth picked up the reigns of the plow, slipped the harness over his body, and proceeded to pull it. Trouble moved the apparatus through the soil as easily as a needle piercing cloth. The elderly Jenson's eyes stretched open as he watched the young marvel. The teenager dashed through down the soil until he placed lines throughout the field.

  The worker plowed through the aisles with the ease of drawing on paper. Soil flew throughout the place like thrown confetti. He covered a whole area that would have taken a group of men several hours in as little as ten minutes. The teenager removed the old, worn reigns from his thin, powerful body and walked over to Jacob Jensen.

  “Trouble, I always thought you were mo' rotten dan feces in da sun, but I don’t have too much pride tuh admit I’m wrong,” admitted the withered, old man.

  “Would ya like ta stay fo' breakfast?” The juvenile's eyes suddenly flickered with his sense of awareness slipping away from him.

  * * *

  The darkness
of the night swallowed the walls of the church like a black hole. The tall, dead grass could only be perceived by brushing against travelers' legs. The moon provided the only visible light in the whole area. The squeaks from the boards of the church revealed their condition with the building’s settling. The shadow of a small, bell tower had the appearance of an ominous building in the faint glow surrounding it, which gave the building’s shadow the darkness of a deep abyss. The chirps of crickets intermittently broke the night’s silence at random points.

  The chirps stopped upon hearing tufts of grass being rustled. A slender, moonlit arm lifted the window with a shapely feminine body following it into the sanctuary upon hands and knees with her persuasive, dark companion behind her. His familiarity with the structures allowed him to maneuver through the room as though it were day. His eyes briefly scanned different moonlit structures through the blackness as though searching for something. Then, he grasped his companion’s waist and lifted her, so that she was sitting on the furniture.

  The enthusiastic adolescent pulled himself toward his companion as she wrapped her legs around his waist. They pressed their lips against each others as warm blood rushed throughout their bodies like raging, flooding rivers. The young man kept his lips attached to hers as he placed his hands beneath her inner thighs, grasped them, and climbed onto the fixture with her. He gently eased his left hand underneath her head to provide comfort from the hard surface of the wood.

  Her fingertips grazed boy's face with one hand and guided the fingers on his right hand to the buttons near her chest with the other. He hurriedly unfastened each button with knuckles grazing plump, soft flesh within her full blouse until they heard a loud noise coming from behind them. They immediately jumped off of the furniture with the intent to run before staring into two, glistening barrels with a lantern swinging upon them. The large man lowered his weapon as he screamed, “What in God’s name 're the two o' doin' on da altar of da church!” The light of the lantern glistened off of the young lady’s smooth skin.

  Her long, curly, black hair reflected lantern's light in nearly artistic patterns. The shapely, young woman's hands shook upon lowering her dress above well-defined legs. She placed her trembling hands on her sides. Her body tottered quietly as her lips quivered. She placed her hands above her eyes while she gazed into the pastor's face. The other delinquent wore a smirk upon his face.

  “You dunno what dis is? Yo paren’s ain't explain it to you?”

  The young lady turned around gazed at her companion as she spoke, “Are ya crazy! You brang me to da best way to receive damnation fo' doin' you know what—!” The reverend glanced at the angry, young woman firmly and clarified, “I know what cha ‘bout to do: I wasn’t bone, yesterday!”

  “Look Reverend! I’m very sorry ‘bout what I did. I know what I’s ‘bout to do was wrong, but I didn’t ‘xpect this fool ta brang me here to do it!” apologized the young, teenager as she slammed her clenched fist into her disrespectful partner’s arm. She glanced up at the man and asked, “Am I going to Hell?” The Reverend looked at the regretful, young woman with some mild respect for her sorrow and answered, “Ya will if you keep hangin’ ‘round him!”

  She glanced at her unscrupulous partner’s eyes with conviction and bitterness in her voice and replied, “That won’t be a problem, ever again!” The young woman walked away from the holy relic, faced the pastor, and repeated her apology.

  “I am truly sorry! I’m not gonna lie and say that I didn’t know what I was doing was wrong, but I honestly didn’t know this fool was coming here! This won’t happen ever again!” she screamed as she stared at her indifferent partner in sin and stormed out of the church with her hands covering her face. The robust man returned his gaze to the other teenage intruder and waited for him to apologize.

  “Whatcha lookin’ at me fo’?” queried the dark-skinned teenager.

  “Frankly, I don’t know what I’m lookin’ at, but a child of God is not it!”

  “If you wan’ me to say ‘I’m sorry,’ then I’m sorry dat you interfered! I almost had her til you showed up!”

  “Whatever, I know how to make you really ‘sorry’!” threatened Reverend Stevenson. The young man blew raspberries and quietly walked toward the door.

  * * *

  Trouble slowly opened his eyes, and lowered himself upon his knees.

  “Lord! I'm so sorry. Can Ya ever fo'give me?! I's so wrong to do what I did!” He slowly rose his feet. No wonder I went to Hell! Tears filled his eyes, and he was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts he nearly forgot his location. The boy raised his head to see the elderly gentleman staring at him as though he lost his mind. He glanced at the teenager, peculiarly.

  “Boy, ya know ya touched, don' cha?! But ya still did uh very good job on my farm! I asked ya if ya would like to stay for breakfast.”

  If I stay, I'd be yanking food outta his children's mouths. I can always feed myself by hunting. He strugglin' worse than mos of us on da plantations.

  "No sir. I'm fine, thank you. Besides, I have to leave."

  Trouble casually picked up his hoe, and he calmly walked as though he were suspended on a cloud. The grateful, elderly man stared in the young man’s direction with gratitude and respect as he watched the kind laborer’s silhouette fade with distance. A pair of curious eyes watched Trouble from the shadows of the forests and the brush.

  A lean, mildly bronze man wildly pulled the reigns with a few horses dragging a heavy plow through rock-hard soil with hesitance. A bronze adolescent broke dirt with his hoe on the plow's side to prevent horse's injury. The pair worked as though nothing else existed except their task. The younger, muscular adolescent watched the hooves when a blue strobe out of his left eye caught his attention. He slowly lifted his head with his hand over his eyes to observe a thin form with blue overalls heading towards them from a distance.

  He ran beside his father, politely tapped his shoulder, and pointed in the approaching form’s direction. The man nodded in his son’s direction, giving him permission to greet the unknown pedestrian. The young man rushed out to meet the figure and give him a friendly greeting until he recognized a face he despised.

  “Trouble! What you doin’ on our land? I know ya up to no good, and we don’t have time fo' yo’ foolishness, man!” warned the ardent teenager as he clinched his fists, and his eyelids formed short, thin slits across his face.

  “I ain't here fo' any type of trouble; I’m actually here ta help,” explained Trouble.

  “I personally don’t want you here, but I’m goin’ ta ask my father,” replied the resentful, young man as he frowned in the unwanted visitor’s direction. Trouble stayed in his current place as he watched the young man walk to his father. He looked to the see the adolescent and his father pointing in his direction upon conversing with one another from a distance. Both the son and his father walked toward the voluntary laborer. André La Feat and his son Eric La Feat stopped within a few feet from the visitor.

  “Listen Trouble, I don’t mean ta be rude, but I don’t trust ya. Ya got us inta trouble when we didn’t deserve it. My son still feels guilt 'bout da scars an' bruises dat were put on my back although we all know he ain't do nothin' wrong to begin with,” asserted André La Feat. Trouble hung his head in front of him as his mind wandered to deeply shameful events, which happened less than one month ago.

  * * *

  Moonlight traced the edges of three-story, red-brick, and Victorian-style home with warm air saturating the atmosphere like a mother grasping her child. An oval man stumbled from the porch, across a short, grass-covered field along a ten-foot trail to reach a small, wooden structure. He flinched upon feeling the grass' moisture lightly dampening his trouser's hemline. He jumped and whipped his head around after hearing crickets' chirps saturating the air with their incessant noise. The round man finally reached the door to the wooden stall and promptly shut it behind him.

  The forest's shadows hid three silhouettes watching the oblivious man as a
crouching lion hunting for its prey: One of them had a large build, blonde hair, a small beard, and freckles. The second one was tall and ungracefully thin with red hair and smooth, peach skin. The last young man was thin with dark skin, blue overalls, a small Afro, and a straw hat. The three of them hunched over, crept quickly to one another, rushed to the side of the outhouse, and pushed really hard; they rocked the structure from each side.

  “Hey, I dunno who dat is outside, but if ya stop and turn yo'selves in, I may go easy on you! But if ya insist on continuing, I’ll make sure dat you 're punished!” screamed the man. The frightened senior held onto both sides in an effort to preserve his privacy in the dark. The smell of his own fecal matter began to annoy him since he was in the structure longer than he initially intended. The young men had so much fun rocking and laughing; they did not notice the structure cracking until it snapped with the top half falling over. Moonlight revealed an obese man sitting on a latrine with a flushed-red face gritting his teeth.

  He could not see the perpetrators’ faces due to the darkness, but he could make out three, young silhouettes. The young men immediately ran off in separate directions before the man could pull up his pants to pursue the miscreants. He knew he was too old and obese to give a good chase and properly catch or identify them, but he stopped and contemplated an alternative. I dunno know who'd be doing such uh thing, but I know whom I can blame it on!

  The Honorable Emerald Eckels hobbled hurriedly down the street into town a short distance from his home after making his clothes presentable, staring at each adolescent he passed until he could find a suitable victim. He had on a white suit resembling the one Colonel Sanders wore with a matching white hat and a trimmed, red beard. He trampled down the wooden walkways of the adjoining buildings like a stampeding bull. Judge Emerald Eckels peered through the window when he paused with a wicked smile upon his face. He walked into an establishment with pearl-white crown molding bordering the ceilings and walls of most rooms. The furniture shop had wooden tables, chairs, and stools with varying stains and fine finishes. An adolescent with bronze skin perused the items in the store. He and his father had worked hard all year and saved to do something nice for the lady of the house. He knew his father’s sense of taste was inadequate to please his mother. The boy carefully examined the grain and stains of the craftsmanship he knew his mother would appreciate. He saw a fine piece his mother would definitely appreciate.