Thunder’s Shadow
In the Shadow of the Cedar
Abagail Eldan
Note: Abagail Eldan is the pen name of Sheila Hollinghead. This book was previously published under the name Sheila Hollinghead.
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
This ebook is not for resale.
Scripture taken from the King James Version.
The Cedar’s Shadow Saga describes many events that actually occurred within a fictionalized story. It also tells of several south Alabama towns that actually exist. However, both the unfolding of the events and the descriptions of the towns are flavored with artistic license. This is not a history or geography book although I attempted to remain true to the times and places whenever possible. This is a work of fiction that tells a story, one that I lived, if only in my imagination.
Copyright © 2016 Sheila Odom Hollinghead
All rights reserved.
To my readers:
May you always find rest
in the shadow of the cedar.
Thus saith the Lord God; I will also take of the highest branch of the high cedar, and will set it; I will crop off from the top of his young twigs a tender one, and will plant it upon an high mountain and eminent:
In the mountain of the height of Israel will I plant it: and it shall bring forth boughs, and bear fruit, and be a goodly cedar: and under it shall dwell all fowl of every wing; in the shadow of the branches thereof shall they dwell.
And all the trees of the field shall know that I the Lord have brought down the high tree, have exalted the low tree, have dried up the green tree, and have made the dry tree to flourish: I the Lord have spoken and have done it.
~Ezekiel 17:22-24 (KJV)
*The story of the Uktena can be found at: The Red Man and the Uktena.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1—War
Chapter 2—Torture
Chapter 3—Sylvia
Chapter 4—Marla
Chapter 5—Michael
Chapter 6—The Proposal
Chapter 7—The Surprise
Chapter 8—Sylvia
Chapter 9—The Feast
Part Two
Chapter 10—Goodbye
Chapter 11—Marla
Chapter 12—The Farm
Chapter 13—Dr. Driscoll
Chapter 14—Sylvia
Chapter 15—The Hutchinsons
Chapter 16—Mr. Aaron
Chapter 17—Dr. Burch
Chapter 18—The Request
Chapter 19—Friends
Chapter 20—Friendship
Chapter 21—Killer
Chapter 22—Cedar Spring
Chapter 23—The Plan
Chapter 24—Organizing
Chapter 25—The Visit
Chapter 26—Turning Freely
Part 3
Chapter 27—Michael
Chapter 28—Telling Michael
Chapter 29—Grace
Chapter 30—Momma
Chapter 31—Laurie
Chapter 32—Liberty Belle
Chapter 33—Aaron
Chapter 34—The Ride
Chapter 35—Alone
Chapter 36—Troubles
Chapter 37—Thanksgiving
Chapter 38—Christmas
Chapter 39—Cedar Spring
Chapter 40—Gone
Chapter 41—More Trouble
Chapter 42—Laurie and Walter
Chapter 43—Aaron Returns
Chapter 44—The Uktena
Epilogue
Part One
Chapter 1—War
Cold and damp seeped through the cracks in the walls, settling into my very bones. I scooted my chair closer to Michael. His dark head was bowed as I reached blindly for the warmth of his hand. I found only coolness. Uncle Howard and Aunt Liza were in rockers on either side of the upright radio, and my cousin William, his sandy brown hair sticking up in all directions, was on the couch. The two-toned wood of the radio gleamed from Aunt Liza’s constant polishing. The round dial, so much like a giant eye, mesmerized me. I released Michael’s hand, and my fingers clutched the chair’s rails.
The Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. The radio announcer continued, repeating the words, and I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all.
The slatted walls of the room, the wooden veneer of the radio, the static-filled voice... all exuded coldness. Michael’s face was a frozen mask; his dark eyes lifeless.
Uncle Howard rubbed the balding spot on his head and glanced at Michael and then at William, worry lines forming on his otherwise smooth face. But he remained silent. The radio went back to the regular programming, and my uncle leaned forward, huffing a little, to click the protruding knob, cutting off the mundane words, meaningless to us now.
Uncle Howard continued leaning forward, as far as his rounded belly would allow, and propped his elbows on his knees and clasped his leathery hands together. Aunt Liza rocked back and forth, tears silently running down her cheeks and mumbled under her breath. Uncle Howard shushed her, but she ignored him, repeating the sounds over and over.
The words she muttered sounded familiar. “What are you saying, Aunt Liza?” I asked.
She looked up at me with glazed eyes. “Uktena,” she said, whether in answer or still chanting, I didn’t know.
William stirred on the couch, running his palms over his hair, smoothing it back in place. “Is that an Indian word?” His hazel eyes, clear as always, studied my aunt calmly.
Her face flushed, and her own eyes regained clarity as she focused on her brother’s child. “Yes. Uktena are the horned snakes of legends. The dragons in Japanese culture always reminded me of them.”
I slid off my chair and knelt beside her, peering up into the face people told me mirrored my own. Her long hair, as dark as black coffee, with only a few stripes of gray, had been braided and coiled around her head, much like a headband.
She wiped her face with her apron and smiled sadly when I took her age-spotted hand in both of mine. Her long, dark lashes blinked back the tears in her eyes.
“Will you tell us the legend?” I asked, hoping it would take our minds off the terrible tragedy. I glanced over my shoulder at Michael who had slumped over. His hands were gripped together, his knuckles whitening. He did not raise his head, or even indicate he had heard us. William, however, leaned forward, and nodded.
I turned my attention back to Aunt Liza and stroked her weathered hand, the only indication of her age. She attempted another smile, and even such a tentative smile accentuated her high cheekbones.
“Sure, honey. The Red Man, one of the Thunder Beings...”
“Thunder Beings?” I interrupted.
“Yes, there are four, according to legend. The Red Man is one of them, the one lightning obeys.”
I nodded. “I think I’ve heard the story before. It’s one Poppa told Zeke and me, but it’s been so long ago, I don’t remember much.”
William nodded. “Pop told Laurie and me the stories of the Thunder Beings.”
I missed William’s father, who was my mother and Aunt Liza’s brother. William and I were double cousins. His mother, my Aunt Jenny, was Poppa’s sister. Uncle Colt, Aunt Jenny, and their daughter, Laurie, had planned to come for my wedding, along with Michael’s father and his uncle. We had planned a Christmas wedding, but with the bombing of Pearl Harbor, I didn’t know how our plans might now change. Before tears could begin to form, I wrenched my thoughts back to my aunt.
“I never get tired of the stories,” I said, giving William a look.
He took the hint. “Me, either. Please tell us, Aunt Liza.”
An emotion I couldn’t n
ame flickered across her face, the face so much like the picture of my mother, the mother I had never known, that tears came to my eyes.
For a moment, it looked as if Aunt Liza wouldn’t speak, but then she cleared her throat and began. “The story tells of a hunter who went with his brother to the mountains. This hunter left his brother at camp and continued on, to hunt for a deer. When he heard a great commotion, he ran to investigate. A terrible struggle came into view — the Uktena and the Red Man in a death grip. But the hunter, being a great marksman, saved him...” Her voice trailed off, and her head dipped. Then she looked around at all of us, her bluish-green eyes shiny with tears. “The Uktena can only be destroyed if the aim is true and straight to the heart. The heart lies beneath the seventh spot from the Uktena’s head, making them almost impossible to kill.”
“True and straight to the heart,” I repeated. I released my aunt’s hand and climbed to my feet.
Michael had let his head rest in one palm, and he studied the stained linoleum as if it held answers. He slowly lifted his eyes, making contact with mine. His eyes darkened to black, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. With a visible effort, he pulled his gaze away and stood.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Where?” Fear clutched my throat. For a second, I envisioned him hitching a ride to the war — to fight the Japanese. My jumbled thoughts saw him rescue the Red Man, the Thunder Being, from the clutches of the Uktena. I blinked my way back to reality and let out a straggled sigh.
Michael was studying my face, his brow furrowed, but his words were commonplace, grounding me. “I need to get home. It’s getting late.”
He started toward the door without another word, not even saying goodbye to Uncle Howard, Aunt Liza, or William.
I grabbed a sweater and followed him out. The chilly wind made me wish I had grabbed a coat instead. I pulled the sweater tighter, wrapping my arms around myself. Michael stepped on the running board to climb into his truck, not seeming to notice I was there.
I reached my hand out toward him. “Michael...”
He hesitated, his hand still on the truck door. “What?” His voice held an edge of irritation.
Softening my tone, I asked, “What are you doing?”
“I told you — I’m heading back to the dorm.”
I bit my bottom lip, peering at him from beneath my lashes. “Do I get a kiss goodbye?”
“Jay...” He looked at me with infinite sadness, his eyes so dark they were impenetrable. After a long moment, he wrenched his gaze away. “I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t sure what he was sorry about. Not kissing me goodbye? Leaving without speaking? The attack on Pearl Harbor?
I nodded my head as if I understood. “Goodbye. See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, I’m joining the Marines. I’d go today if it wasn’t Sunday.”
Pride constricted my heart. We had to do something — we couldn’t stand idly by while our country was attacked, while Americans were killed. I nodded my head although a thrill of fear ran through me. “I understand, Michael. And I want you to go... we have to defend ourselves.”
Relief flooded his face. “I hoped you would say that. I should have known you’d understand.” He climbed down from the truck, drew me close, and held me.
I was glad of his warmth and his familiar smell of lye soap that never quite eradicated the scents I loved so — the smell of hay, leather, and horses. It had permeated his clothes, perhaps even his very skin. I breathed in the comfort, longing for the days when Poppa was alive, aching for my old life on the farm. The troubles had faded away with time, leaving only memories of the happy moments, and my heart had yearned to make new ones, back home on the farm, with Michael. Now, the future loomed before us with uncertainty.
I peered up at Michael’s determined face. His gaze held an unfamiliar fierceness, so fierce I had to turn from his penetrating look. “You will take your finals?” I mumbled into his shoulder.
“Sure. I’ll check with the recruiting officer. I’m certain I won’t have to leave for a couple of weeks.”
“We were supposed to get married at Christmas...” My throat constricted. If we married earlier than we’d planned, we’d have at least a few days together before he left. But I couldn’t get the words past the lump in my throat.
He tilted my chin until my eyes met his. “Jay, don’t you think we need to wait?”
“Wait?”
“Our plans, our hopes will have to be put on hold.”
I nodded, but a streak of anger shot through me. At Michael or at God, I wasn’t sure.
My breath hitched, but the anger enabled me to force the words out I had wanted to say. “We can marry as soon as possible. I want to be your wife... however long God grants us.”
The memory of the day we had visited Paul, Michael’s friend, came to me. That day Paul’s grandmother... no, it’d been his great grandmother... had said Michael would travel over the ocean — unbelievable at the time, but now her prophecy was coming true. But... it had been three years ago, and I didn’t remember her exact words... something about Michael returning broken — broken, but she had said he would return to me.
He kissed my forehead and pulled my head to his shoulder, interrupting my thoughts. “We need to think about this. I’m not sure if this is the right time to marry.”
I stiffened, and he pushed me gently away. “You’d better get back in. It’s turning colder.”
“See you tomorrow?” I asked again.
“Sure. I’ll see you at school after I go to the recruiting office.” His words were calm enough, but his eyes steadily avoided mine. He climbed back into his old red truck. Rust was eating away the finish, but I loved it. It was part of Michael. This time, he slammed the door before I had a chance to say another word.
I watched him drive away. Coby, the Australian shepherd Michael had given me, came up, whined, and nudged my hand, wanting a pat. I mindlessly obliged before I went back in.
“Michael gone?” Aunt Liza asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Aunt Liza and Uncle Howard exchanged a glance when I flopped down on the couch. Neither spoke. Aunt Liza’s head bent over her mending, and Uncle Howard occasionally turned a page of his farming magazine. I soon got up and went into the kitchen, looking for leftovers. William was there ahead of me, eating a piece of fried chicken. Two years ago, he had moved here to attend Auburn — or Alabama Polytechnic Institute to give the school its proper name — majoring in agricultural science. Uncle Howard had cleaned his shop out for his nephew, fixing it up as a small apartment.
Propped against the edge of the sink, William nibbled on a chicken leg, his face calm and composed, although his ever-changing eyes were thoughtful. I sat down and propped my elbows on the kitchen table and smoothed out wrinkles in the oil cloth. The longer the events of the day played in my mind, the sicker I felt. I decided I wasn’t hungry after all.
William threw the bones away and washed the grease from his hands.
“Goodnight,” I said, without looking at him.
“Blue Jay, are you all right?”
My heart squeezed teardrops to my eyes, hearing the nickname Poppa had given me so long ago. How I wished he was here now! But at least I had people who loved me — I’d be all right.
I wiped the tears away and nodded. “Fine.”
“And Michael?”
I shrugged my shoulders and looked into William’s face, deciding to confide in him. “Michael wants to postpone our wedding.”
He leaned back against the old, yellowing sink and stuck his hands in his pockets. “That’s understandable.”
“It is?”
“Our country has just been thrown into turmoil. Michael is trying to figure out what to do...”
“He’s already decided. He’s joining the Marines.”
William nodded. “Good for him.” He walked over to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Michael needs your support. It’s tough to leave your home, the people
you love... And you know, Jay, there might be... umm... consequences if you married...”
“Consequences?” Heat rose to my cheeks as I realized what William meant. Pregnancy. If Michael left, it might make it tougher on him — no, not might. It would make it more difficult for him to leave... but pregnancy could be prevented.
My cheeks burned hotter. I couldn’t talk to William or Michael about that. I stood quickly, and William took a step back, away from me.
“Goodnight,” I said, without making eye contact. I hurried out and went to my room. I changed into my gown and slid under the covers, but sleep wouldn’t come.
The events of the day kept playing and replaying in my mind. So much tragedy! And Michael wanting to delay our wedding! Our future was unknown... but wasn’t that always the case? We just had to trust God. My heart broke, thinking of Michael leaving me and not knowing for how long.
And it ached for all those who had died at Pearl Harbor and for their families. War was imminent. How could I sleep?
The dawn broke and found me awake with my thoughts.
Chapter 2—Torture
I had made a decision during that long, restless night. I wouldn’t say another word about getting married. I’d let Michael figure things out. He needed time to sort through all he was feeling without pressure from me. I hoped — prayed — his decision would be to marry before he shipped out.
If the United States went to war, as everyone said was now inevitable, surely it wouldn’t last long. Even if we didn’t marry, Michael would come back, in a year or so, and then we would marry. We were young; we had plenty of time.
I had to hold on to the words of the old woman. She had said he would travel over the ocean but would come back, and we would have children together. But a worry kept flitting around my head — the worry that the old lady had been wrong, and I’d never see Michael again.
And how did the old woman predict the future? Didn’t the Bible warn against such things? If it came from the devil, how could it be something I could trust?
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