Cracker Town

by WF Ranew

  As Gordon turned to go inside, the portico ripped away and flew with the wind. The remaining crowd scurried back into the church.

  When he got to his office, it was still dark and quiet. Where had that lovely lady gotten off to?

  He moved the flashlight around the narrow hallway. There she was. She rushed to him.

  “I could feel you looking for me before I saw the light,” she said.

  The thunder clapped again.

  Gordon was pleased that her right hand moved behind his head. He pulled her close. They kissed. As they broke the embrace slightly, Gordon could hear Ginger Gail’s heightened breathing.

  His heart pounded.

  They kissed again.

  Things moved rapidly from there. He took her hand, and as his flashlight showed the way, he led her into the choir director’s small office and a loveseat there.

  He pulled the curtains over the window onto the hall.

  Ginger Gail had already put on her raincoat. Gordon tugged it open slightly and moved a hand inside. He bent down and licked her chin.

  They kissed some more but mostly just sat there. They said very little and held each other for a long time.

  Gordon gently massaged her right breast with the flat of his hand.

  He studied Ginger Gail’s smile and stared into her face lit by a street lamp shining through the drapes.

  “You are some woman,” Gordon said. “I’ve had my eyes on you a long time.”

  “I’ve also longed for you, Gordon,” she said finally. “I’ve wanted to taste you. Wanted your kisses on my breasts. When I imagine this, I scream in ecstasy as electricity jolts shoot through my body. I want you, Gordon. I want you now.”

  “Oh, my word,” he said. “We should pray first, Ginger Gail.”

  He said a quick prayer, asking for God’s blessing of the sin they were about to commit.

  Quickly, Gordon unfastened the top three buttons on her blouse. He pulled up her bra and beheld both breasts.

  Ginger Gail moved over and stretched back on the seat.

  Gordon pushed her skirt up.

  They became lovers.

  Gordon was Ginger Gail’s heavenly angel.

  Ginger Gail became his worst demon.

  * * *

  Gordon didn’t feel the punch of guilt over Ginger Gail until two weeks later.

  They’d been careless in the place of their initial encounter. While no one saw them, to Gordon’s knowledge, they both had reason to hide what they did.

  Preacher Adan was married, as was his lover.

  A farm boy just back from Vietnam had proposed to Ginger Gail. They’d wanted the preacher to perform the ceremony.

  Never mind the recent nuptials, Gordon and Ginger Gail couldn’t stay away from each other. They decided to avoid meeting in the small choir office primarily was because of the choir director himself. A part-time minister, he was an accountant in the daytime. He used the office for his business as well as for the choir.

  Yet, they met wherever opportunity presented itself.

  A month later, Gordon cruised toward the choir room after prayer meeting on Wednesday night. He’d gone to his office after the service to work on his Sunday sermon. Of course, he also wanted to snare some time with Ginger Gail.

  As members of the choir left for the evening, most of the mobile building went dark. But he was gratified to see the light still on in the music room next door. He walked quietly to see who was still there.

  It was easy to look inside. The educational trailer aligned at a right angle to the church doublewide.

  The curtains were drawn over the outside choir room window, but there was a part in the middle.

  Gordon looked into the room, lighted only by ambient fluorescent beams from the open choir room behind it.

  He was shocked at what he saw.

  Ginger Gail stood there with a choir robe on, which was odd since they were only practicing that evening. Jason Prichard, a stonemason and bass singer, stretched out his left arm to block her from leaving. He exposed himself while speaking to Ginger Gail. It was a strange scene in many ways but, other than the penis, seemed like a normal one-sided conversation, tilted toward Jason.

  "I've wanted you a long time, girl," he said. "Come here and get down on the floor."

  At that, Ginger Gail hesitated. She backed away from him when he took a step toward her.

  "Damned you, Jason, I told you no," she said. A cool but firm and determined response.

  Jason stared at Ginger Gail. He stepped closer to her. Ginger Gail stood her ground and broke into laughter as she leaned over to pick up her purse from a chair. Cool and calm, she opened the handbag and brought out a small revolver.

  “I don’t think you understand, Jason,” she said. Ginger Gail pointed the pistol toward Jason’s chest.

  He lost all tumescence.

  She lowered the gun and pulled the trigger. The loud blast boomed through the trailer.

  Gordon rushed into the choir room.

  “What’s going on?” he shouted.

  Jason stood there, still exposed but in a pliable state. He saw the preacher and zipped up fast. He pushed past Gordon and ran out of the room.

  "Ginger Gail, are you OK, my sweetness?” Gordon asked.

  Ginger Gail smiled at him. She placed the handgun inside the purse and closed it.

  "Thank you," she mouthed. He figured she sensed that he had been outside the whole time Jason had exposed himself.

  "What a creep, and I always had thought he was an H-O-M-O," Gordon said. “Guess not.”

  “I think P-E-R-V-E-R-T is the word you’re grappling for, preacher,” she said. “Man, I thought that guy was going to…But shit, he didn’t. Glad I had my gun handy.”

  Ginger Gail put her purse down, walked over, and turned off the light switch. She leaned up and kissed Gordon, taking his hand and leading him to the loveseat.

  "You are such a big, nice guy preacher, coming in and rescuing poor defenseless me," she said. “You’re my hero.”

  "Oh, sweetheart, I know you can take care of yourself. I just wanted..."

  "You just wanted… What is it you wanted?" she asked as she eased back onto the small sofa’s arm. She gazed into his eyes and tossed a handful of flaming red hair.

  Gordon parted the choir robe and touched her thigh. Her legs moved apart, with the robe still covering them well below the knees.

  "Well, yes, I wanted you and needed you, dammit. Oops, sorry, only the preachers' kids are supposed to cuss."

  "Well...you wanted...perhaps some of this?" She lifted the robe, and Gordon understood immediately what she was up to.

  “Damn, you ain’t going to shoot me, are you?”

  “No,” Ginger Gail whispered as the preacher eased into her. They clutched together. Ten minutes later, as each heaved air in physical heat, Ginger Gail groaned. Shortly afterward, Gordon felt the glory of heaven itself.

  Minutes passed. They caught their breaths.

  As they strolled out of the choir room into the night, Gordon asked Ginger Gail why she had the choir robe on that evening.

  “Well, you won’t believe this,” she said. “But old Jason took a pair of scissors to me and threatened to stab me to death if I didn’t take my clothes off and put it on for him. Guess he gets off on choir robes.”

  “He threatened you?” Gordon asked, just to clarify.

  “He did. I was scared until I realized it was Jason,” she said.

  “Have to do something about that,” Gordon said.

  He caught a flash of fear in Ginger Gail’s eyes. Then she smiled, and he walked her to the parking lot.

  They never made love in the choir room again.

  After he saw Ginger Gail off safely, Gordon turned around and looked toward his house. The porch light was on, but nobody else was there. His wife and kids were away.

  Gordon jumped into his pickup and drove into town.

  * * *

  Ginger Gail questioned the idea of marriage to R
ubin Gillis the day after he asked her.

  It was a high school courtship, and she had loved him back then. But when he came back from Vietnam, he’d changed. Still, she would marry the man even though at twenty-four, Ginger Gail had other prospects, including her former boss.

  There also was her favorite man of all time, Red Farlow. Unfortunately, like Greg, he was way up there in Atlanta or traveling around the state most of the time.

  How could they have a life together? Besides, he was still getting over his college girlfriend. Ginger Gail tried her best with him during the three weeks they dated over the summer.

  Other than those two long-distance yearnings—for Rubin, then Red—she had few other prospects. Despite regular attendance to the Baptist church, her spotlight performances in the choir, and her incredibly good looks topped by flaming red hair, nobody asked her out. Besides, the eligible men in the church regarded her as Rubin’s lady.

  * * *

  They moved to Rubin’s family farm after their honeymoon in Jacksonville on the beach. She soon found farm life less than desirable. Even sadder, to Ginger Gail, Rubin wanted to be a farmer.

  She had one requirement; to keep her ownership of a small insurance agency.

  When Rubin left for his two-year Army stint, he promised his father to return and join him in the business of growing cotton and soybeans, along with raising hogs.

  “Nothing’s wrong with farm life, honey,” her mother told Ginger Gail. “His family’s a God-fearing bunch, and they’ve lived on the farm for three or four generations. Made a success of it, too. No shame in that.”

  Ginger Gail decided to give it a try. Anyway, she thought she loved Rubin, and he seemed smitten with her from their first date to the homecoming dance.

  They went out their last two years in high school and dated weekends while Rubin attended Abraham Baldwin Agriculture College. He left school after a year and joined the Army. He never went back to complete a degree, despite the GI Bill and insistence by Ginger Gail and his father.

  By then, Rubin wanted to settle down, and the farm was the place for him. Besides, Ginger Gail was his girl.

  Rubin liked to fish. In fact, he fished on the farm’s two ponds and the nearby Wahoochee River several times a week after work. He wanted Ginger Gail to go with him, and she did at first. However, catching fish wasn’t her idea of fun and relaxation. Besides, she had her own business, her stardom in the church choir, and, eventually, the attentions of their preacher to occupy her time.

  * * *

  When she graduated from high school, Ginger Gail took an associate’s degree in office management at Thomasville Business School.

  She went to work for an insurance agent in Bainbridge. It was a fifteen-mile commute from the farm, but she enjoyed the time in the car and her salary.

  It was there, she discovered sex.

  She didn’t learn anything from Rubin, who fought off urges of premarital relations with Ginger Gail. By the time she was twenty, she wanted more in life than the absence of satisfaction by only making out with Rubin in the backseat of his car. They kissed, deeply and passionately, but that was about it.

  * * *

  Gregory Mathis needed someone to come to his office and straighten out the clutter his previous assistant left. He liked Wanda well enough, but she was sloppy in her dress and devoid of organizational skills.

  That’s why he liked the idea of hiring Ginger Gail Swanton as he read her resume. Most of it listed achievements and skills from her two-year courses in Thomasville. The accolades did impress. Top first-year honors in typing, stenography, record-keeping, and accounting. The school named her student of the year, and at graduation, she received the dean’s award for academic excellence.

  Nice, on paper, at least.

  Greg Mathis called her in for an interview.

  She was most impressive in person.

  Mathis hired Ginger Gail as the interview passed the fifteen-minute mark. She would start immediately at the salary of sixty-five dollars a week, not bad for 1969.

  * * *

  She also brought a modicum of security for the agency, not that crime ever visited Greg’s office.

  When Ginger Gail turned thirteen, her father gave her a handgun. It was small and lightweight and fit her hand perfectly. He also gave her shooting lessons and a junior membership in the NRA.

  All the time she commuted to school in Thomasville, Ginger Gail kept the pistol in her purse. She didn’t expect trouble in the late sixties, at least not at the small business school location. But she damned sure was prepared for it as she drove back roads and some sketchy neighborhoods in Thomasville on her way to class.

  When she told Rubin of her interest in guns, he recoiled. Despite having grown up on a farm and being in the Army, he only enjoyed shooting his shotgun around the farm.

  As a young married couple, they hunted dove in the early fall and quail in January. That activity faded as Rubin opted for fishing every chance he got.

  Thus, Ginger Gail rarely got time to shoot her pistol or shotgun.

  She kept the weapon in excellent shape and carried the pistol every day to her new job in Bainbridge.

  When her father died, she gladly inherited his arsenal of shotguns, revolvers, semi-auto pistols, and deer rifles.

  * * *

  Ginger Gail liked Greg, her new boss.

  Greg was a University of Georgia business major who opened his insurance agency the summer he graduated. After a training course with a big life insurer, he fell in love with actuarial science, annuities, and insurance sales techniques, along with term and whole life insurance products. Greg also liked the prospect of wealth-building the life business offered.

  He did well in his first few years, but Greg just couldn’t find an assistant with skill organizing client files and basic accounting.

  Finally, Ginger Gail walked in and took control.

  On her first day, Ginger Gail tackled the files. She also reviewed the books and gave Greg some suggestions. He eagerly agreed to everything she said.

  They’d been working together a year when Greg came in one afternoon from a sales call. He was excited and asked Ginger Gail to come into his office. He’d just sold a million-dollar life policy to a wealthy grain dealer and wanted to go over the details with her.

  He laid out the various forms that needed completion on his desk. Then he spread out his five pages of legal pad notes on the man, his beneficiaries, and his business along with how he’d pay the premiums.

  Greg went through the details thoroughly. At several places, looking down at the notes, Ginger Gail leaned in close over his shoulder.

  She mused over his clean white shirt, pressed to stiffness, his beautiful silk tie, the faint white stripes in his mid-gray suit, and the neatly combed hair. She took in his fragrance, a manly smell and one that tickled her sexual sensitivities.

  As they talked, she put an arm over his shoulder.

  Greg looked up and smiled at her as his left-hand drop to massage the backside of Ginger Gail’s left knee.

  He rose up from his desk chair to face her. They embraced.

  But Ginger Gail resisted.

  * * *

  The spring before Ginger Gail got married, Greg, having put in his time as a life salesman, landed a job with a global life insurance company.

  He sold the agency to Ginger Gail at very reasonable terms for her.

  The night before he left for New York, he took Ginger Gail to dinner.

  The next day, she put out an ad for an office assistant.

  PART III

  JANUARY 1952 AND JULY 1955

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cleet Wrightman started selling Bibles after a publishing company rep stopped at Gordon’s garage for car repairs.

  The man talked non-stop as Cleet swept the floors.

  He offered Cleet the sales job with training the next day at the First Baptist Church.

  The job offer lifted Cleet’s spirits. The only other person who pai
d him was his cousin Wallace, who had Cleet cleaning up the garage two days a week. But, to Cleet, that gig of menial chores didn’t count. Selling Bibles was an important endeavor and it paid better.

  Cleet always knew he was different from other people.

  His feelings burned every time someone shouted and called him a retard on the playground. Once a group of third-grade boys sought him out and beat him up after school as he walked home. For no reason, as far as he could determine.

  After he got home from kindergarten one day, he broke down in tears and told his mother some boys “hurt my heart.”

  Doctors diagnosed Cleet Wrightman with mental retardation when he was seven. His mother—aside from the taunts and teasing he got—knew Cleet was slow in his intellectual functions and learning. In kindergarten and first grade, he couldn’t keep up with other kids.

  He faltered every year until he dropped out in the ninth grade.

  * * *

  Cleet got up around seven and readied himself to hit the streets selling Bibles. He ate a piece of toast as he stood by the kitchen sink. He parted the curtain and looked out.

  The sun’s filtered rays streamed through the full-leaf trees of summer. The light dappled parts of the yard with big white spots. He glanced at the seed and feed thermometer tacked to a corner post of the back stoop. Eighty-three degrees. A roach sat on the rail. Farther back in the yard, several squirrels scurried up a tree as a neighbor’s dog ran barking onto the property.

  At seven forty-five, Cleet headed out with his satchel of order forms, post-paid envelopes, and a sample family Bible. That was his bestseller, and he had a good pitch to move things along.

  He’d gotten two calls generated from the posters he’d put up earlier that week in Smith’s Drug Store, Wallace’s garage, several churches, and the dry cleaners. He’d visit those people first.