Mud yanked that blade free only to impale him with it again and again. She stabbed him so long and hard her arms eventually gave out, leaving her no choice but to fall to her side in an exhausted heap on the floor.
Her mama’s face came into view. Her sightless eyes were wide open, housing a look of frozen terror unlike anything Mud could have imagined in her deepest nightmares.
“M-ama?” Mud whispered, scrambling as close to Flora’s head as she could get. But no answer came.
She grabbed on to her mama’s face, tugging her head in her direction, pleading with her, begging her to wake up. But Flora’s sightless eyes remained unmoving.
“Mamaaaaaaaaa!”
Chapter One
Two years later
Jena Village, population 213
“Jasper?” Grace Holloway called out, attempting to juggle the bags she held in her arms. “Will you please grab the door for me?”
Jasper, better known as Reverend Holloway to the townsfolk of Jena, hurried into the room, a playful smile on his face. “Oh, I don’t know. What’ll you give me if I do?”
Grace laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I’ll tell you what I won’t give you if you don’t hurry it up, preacher man.”
Opening the door, Jasper kissed his wife on the lips. “You always did know how to play hardball.”
He followed her out to the car and opened the back door for her. “Where are you going anyway?”
“To the children’s home over in Calhoun.”
A look of concern passed through Jasper’s eyes. “That’s the third time you’ve been there this week. Besides, I thought you were going to help me with tonight’s sermon.”
Grace wanted to point out that those kids needed her more than he did at the moment, but she refrained. “I won’t be gone but about an hour. I’ll be back before you know it.”
He suddenly looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, Grace. You take your time at the children’s home. I can handle the sermon. Besides, if I’m not feeling it tonight, I can always sing.”
“No singing.” Grace chuckled, intentionally shuddering. Jasper couldn’t sing his way through an elementary school solo. “I’ll be back in time to help you.”
With a wink, Jasper plucked two of the bags from her arms and placed them on the back seat of the car.
Grace handed him the one she still held, opened her door, and then slid behind the wheel. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll bring something home.”
“Sounds good.” He shut her car door.
Grace waited for him to stroll back up the drive before putting the vehicle in reverse and backing out.
She loved living in the small village of Jena, Louisiana. She and Jasper had moved to Calhoun nearly fifteen year ago, before the village of Jena had been established and the casino had been built.
Once the village had begun to flourish, Grace had instantly fallen in love with it. She had talked Jasper into selling their place in Calhoun and moving to Jena shortly thereafter.
The two of them had agonized over leaving their large church behind to start over in the tiny village of Jena. Especially one with only two hundred and thirteen souls.
The Jena Band of Choctaw Indians happened to own the large casino on the outskirts of the village, which brought in a lot of revenue for Jena. They also owned pretty much all the lands to the east, and many of them attended Jasper’s church.
In fact, had it not been for the Choctaw’s generous donations, Grace had no doubt that she and Jasper would have never been able to rebuild their church after the fire that destroyed it nearly thirteen years ago.
The Jena Band of Choctaws happened to be one of three federally recognized Choctaw groups in the United States and were sometimes referred to as Eastern Choctaw. They were good people, and Grace loved them dearly.
But it was the children’s home in Calhoun that owned her heart. Especially since she and Jasper could never have kids of their own.
Grace had begged Jasper countless times to go with her to a fertility specialist and find out the problem, but he’d refused.
“I would rather leave it in the hands of God,” he would say over and over. “If it’s meant for us to have a child, then God will see to it that it happens.”
Disappointed and more than a little defeated, Grace had given in and canceled any and all appointments.
Chapter Two
Mud stood on the outskirts of the local village, listening for sounds of movement.
Her stomach had been growling for so long she’d begun to develop the shakes around midnight the night before.
With her mama gone, the gardens had died out long ago. Tending the vegetables Mud could do but finding the seeds to grow fresh ones had been impossible. Besides, she had no idea where to get such seeds, even if she could spell them.
Mud had been left with no choice but to survive on fish and what she could occasionally catch in the traps, which wasn’t much recently.
She tightened the rope around her waist, which held her pants up, and crept on bare feet toward the darkened eatery on the corner. Her mama had told her it was called Smith’s Barbeque.
Mud rarely went to the village where the Devil resided. And she wouldn’t be there now if hunger hadn’t driven her to it.
Flora had taught Mud such things as cooking, fishing, tracking, and hunting. She’d also taught her to steal.
Though Flora had forced her daughter to remain in the trees when she’d gone into the village to steal the things they’d needed, Mud had paid close attention. She’d watched from the shadows, taking it all in… Learning.
Mud arrived at the back of the barbeque shack, pausing to check her surroundings. Satisfied that no one lurked nearby, she tried the doorknob. It was locked, exactly as she knew it would be.
Flora had informed her on more than one occasion of how the village people locked up their possessions at night before they went to sleep. Not that Mud blamed them. She herself had fashioned a lock of sorts for her own home. Especially after what had happened to her mama.
Memories of that fateful day abruptly exploded through Mud’s mind. Her mama lying helpless on that floor, blood oozing from her throat. Her terrified eyes, moments before they turned sightless.
Mud had killed the Devil who’d taken her mama’s life. She could still recall the feel of her blade sinking into the monster’s back. Again and again.
She wondered how much time had passed since she’d been forced to bury their bloodied bodies. Not that she could tell time.
Flora had been teaching her daughter to read and write. She had also helped her learn some numbers. Because of her mama, Mud could write her name and count to twenty. She could read and write other words as well, though not many.
Tugging her knife from the pocket of her pants, Mud gripped the wooden handle tightly in her fist and tapped it against the glass of the back door to the barbeque shack.
She cringed at the sound of the glass breaking, her gaze scanning the surrounding buildings for signs of life. At least the Devil wouldn’t be lurking about. Mud had made sure of that. No, he couldn’t hurt her anymore. Not from his shallow grave near the swamp.
When nothing or no one stirred, she reached through the busted window and opened the door.