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  Under the Cypress Moon

  By Jason Wallace

  Cover Design by Ashley’s Addictive Book Promotions

  Published by:

  Jason Wallace and JaMa Publishing

  Under the Cypress Moon

  Copyright © 2014 by Jason Wallace and JaMa Publishing

  No portion of this work or any other work by this author may be copied, reproduced, or transmitted, in any way, other than intended, without the express written permission of the author.

  For my grandmother, Barbara, who died when I was a baby. It is from her that I got my gift of wordiness, the abilities of the wordsmith.

  Also, for my fans, all three of you. You know who you are.

  Most of all, for Kaitlyn. You told me that I could never be a successful writer. May this book serve to prove you wrong.

  Introduction

  A story of interracial love and friendship, of gains and losses, of death and the triumph of the human spirit to overcome all obstacles:

  The Crady family, the wealthiest in the region, once owned the Jones family, of which the Kings are a part. Generations later, Mark Crady and T.L. King have been friends longer than either of them can remember. Once Mark falls in love with T.L.'s little sister, Shylah, he is unsure of how to proceed. He does not know whether his friendship can be sustained through the sudden and drastic change of taking on his new found quest of love while juggling the impending death of his bigoted father and keeping alive the family business that provides the livelihoods of many, including his best friend and his best friend's father and uncle.

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  On a cool, crisp late Summer morning, Mark Crady stepped out of his south Georgia home into a world all too familiar, one his father often reminded him was cruel and uncaring. Everything that Mark saw around him reminded him that his father was wrong. The world could not be so bad if it contained scenes so beautiful and moving. The whole place was littered with a great many cypress trees. Just looking at their immensity and splendor filled Mark with a sense of awe. The day was unusually cool for that time of year, but Mark loved it, and he didn’t think of the world in the same terms that his father did.

  Mark was forced to endure the terrible, overbearing nature of his father, Thomas Crady, Jr., even living in the same house, the ancestral home, one that long before, had been the center of a vast plantation, setting the Crady family up to be some of the wealthiest people in the entire region. Mark couldn’t stand many things about his father, Thomas, such as Thomas’ views on the world and his views on all of those he deemed beneath him, most of those “beneath him” placed there because of finances or the color of their skin. Mark often asked his father how he could see others as inferior based on such uncontrollable circumstances, how he could not see that everyone was a child of God, and all the other like and related questions that one could think of.

  At the age of twenty-six, Mark had become the youngest manager in the history of Crady Steelworks, a fairly small yet substantial production plant that had guaranteed the family’s security. Mark’s great-grandfather, Silas Crady began the business at the beginning of World War II, passing it down to his son, and that son to his son, and so forth. Mark had never planned to take over the family business. He would have been just as happy working on the floor with the rest of the men as to assume the leadership role. In fact, he would have preferred it. But, unfortunately for Mark, when his older brother, Michael, died, there was no question of who would one day soon run things. Mark had become the sole, surviving son of Thomas Crady, Jr. Thomas had aged more quickly than his years had passed and had grown very weary of his position in the company. Most of all, he couldn’t stand to look at the countless employees that were of such lowly stations in life that Thomas called them by many callous and heinous names.

  Mark had dreaded the day that he would take over the steelworks, but he knew that he had no choice. In Thomas Crady, Jr.’s eyes, Michael had been able to do no wrong, and Mark could never do any right. Mark knew that he had an obligation to fulfill, one to his family, even one in particular to his father. Mark detested the job, being placed so high above others that he considered his friends. He knew that the lot had to fall on someone, and that someone was Marcus James Crady.

  Thomas, as uncaring as he was toward his son, thought it a great idea that Mark had begun his journey in the company by working on the production floor, really getting to know the ins and outs of the business from the ground level. What Thomas hated, however, was that by doing so, Mark was associating with “lesser elements of our delicate society.” A particular assemblage of that “lesser element” was the King family. Darius King and his brother-in-law, Aaron Jones, had both worked for Crady Steelworks for many years. In fact, the history between the Crady family and the King family went back many generations. Thomas’ great-great-great grandfather had owned the Jones family as chattel property before the War of Northern Aggression.

  Mark had been, for a very long time, best friends with Darius’ son, Tiberius Lamar, affectionately known as T.L. With such a deep history between the two families, it seemed only likely that a member of one family would grow close to a member of the other. Mark and T.L. played together when they were little and went to school together for as long as they could remember. They had even lettered in two sports together. The only real differences between the two seemed to be, other than the different colors of their skin, their financial differences and that eventually, Mark went off to college while T.L. stayed to work in the plant.

  The two never lost contact or let their friendship sour. Mark felt a closeness to the King family that he had never felt to his own. Whereas, Mark’s family was quite small and unaffectionate, the King family was large, incredibly loving, and so religiously devoted that it often made Mark step back in awe.

  It was long a point of humor to Mark and T.L. that Mark’s family had once owned T.L.’s family, but one day, that all of a sudden was no longer a joking matter for Mark. He felt a deep, racking guilt about it all and finally had had enough, marching to T.L.’s father and informing him that he would somehow, someday, try to make it all right. Darius King responded that there was no such need for such a thing, that what was in the past was in the past, and that “Ain’t nothin’ you owe nobody except to the Lord and to yourself.”

  The Kings adored Mark but held a deep-seated resentment toward Mark’s father, but very rightly so. The Kings, and with them, Aaron Jones, rejoiced when they heard the news that Thomas Crady, Jr. was stepping down as General Manager of Crady Steelworks. They knew that Mark was the obvious choice for Thomas’ replacement and felt that Mark, unlike his father, would truly care about his employees and do right by them through thick and thin.

  Mark was nothing like his father, except for his name. Mark made time, every day, to walk the floor of the steelworks, check, firsthand, on production, and greet every employee he saw and shake many hands, no matter the station or skin color of the hand’s owner.

  Thomas told Mark many times not to associate with any employees more than absolutely necessary, to maintain a “respectable distance in order to keep order,” and especially, to stay away from the Kings. This was difficult for Mark because he didn’t believe in any of that, loved the Kings as if they were his own family, and had fallen more and more in love with Darius’ daughter, T.L.’s little sister, Shylah. Mark knew that very few people would approve of such a thing, of a well-to-do white man being in love with a poor, black woman. It tore him apart inside. All he wanted was her, but he didn’t think that he could ever be with her.

  Even if all issues could be pushed aside or, at least, that he could shrug off anything anyone said, he knew that he could hurt his best friend by ac
ting on his feelings and intentions, that T.L. might not approve and might grow to hate him. He thought often of broaching the subject with T.L. when they got together to watch a football game or when they gathered at their favorite bar on Friday nights, the Muddy Water. Mark had held his feelings in for several years, and he felt as though he would burst if he didn’t tell someone about them. He saw Shylah, many times, looking at him in a way that made it seem that she, too, held the same feelings. Mark hoped for this, longed for this, felt an undying nervousness about it all.

  Shylah was everything that Mark ever wanted. She was not only extraordinarily beautiful but the sweetest person Mark had ever met. She would never do anything for or to anyone that did not help them. She always had a kind word for anyone, even for Thomas Crady, whenever she encountered him. Of course, Thomas rarely spoke to her or anyone in her family, instead, acting as though they did not exist. They were black, and he was white. They were poor, and he was rich. Their ancestors had been slaves, and his, slave owners

  It was now Friday night. Mark and T.L. were at the Muddy Water, having a few beers, listening to some music, playing darts and pool. It was a typical hangout. It was routine, almost mundane, but it was all that they knew for years. Mark and T.L. had always been inseparable, to the consternation and disapproval of Thomas. On some occasions, Shylah accompanied her brother to the Muddy Water or came there with a few friends. This was one of those nights. All that Mark could do all night was stare endlessly, hopelessly at the object of his desire. It somehow seemed that she was more beautiful on this night than at any previous moment that Mark had seen her.

  Mark did not know what he would do, how he might bring up the subject of his endless desire for Shylah. What if she didn't like him back, he thought. What if T.L. got mad? What if the whole thing created such chaos that it could never be fixed? All of this bogged Mark's mind down so much that he felt like crawling into a deep, dark hole and dying. He felt such an emptiness that nothing less than Shylah's acceptance of his love could fill it.

  On occasion, Shylah looked at Mark. At least, that's what Mark hoped she was doing. She may have been looking at her brother, Mark thought. He wondered. He hoped. He pined. Mark thought so many times about going over to where Shylah and her friends were. Every one of them knew him. It wouldn't be a big deal, he was certain. In the worst case scenario, they would ask him to leave so that he wouldn't interrupt "girl time."

  Eventually, the night wore down. Mark and T.L. had had their fill of chicken wings, pretzels, and beer and had played enough pool and darts to satisfy their need for a while. It wouldn't be long before the bar would be closing, yet Mark had not broached his secret with his friend or worked up the nerve to go and talk to Shylah. Rarely had Mark spoken to Shylah lately, and it was killing him inside.

  As Mark and T.L. headed toward their vehicles, keys in hand, stumbling a bit here and there, Mark suddenly stopped. T.L. almost didn't notice.

  "What's the matter, man," T.L. asked, thinking that Mark probably felt sick or had forgotten something.

  "T.L., how long you known me?"

  "Shit. Just about my whole life. Why?"

  "I got somethin' I have to tell you, and I don't want you to be mad at me. You're my best friend, and I swear I would never do anything at all to hurt you or your family!"

  T.L. thought that Mark probably had something to say about the factory. Maybe it was closing, and T.L. and his father would be out of work. Maybe hours would be cut, or wages. Those were the only possibilities yet in T.L.'s mind.

  "Dude, there is somethin' that has bothered me for years, and I never could tell you."

  Now, T.L. was really confused and really curious. "What is it?"

  "Your sister, man."

  "My sister? What's my sister got to do with anything?"

  Biting his lip and unsure of how to proceed, Mark choked out a few words. "I... I... I am so unbelievably in love with your sister. I have been for longer than I can remember. I didn't wanna tell you cuz I didn't want you to get mad at me. I can't take it anymore, though. Every second of every day consumes me. I'm dying inside, man! It's all I can think about and all I want! I'd trade everything I have, literally, everything, for one moment with your sister."

  "Damn, Mark," T.L. started. "I had no idea it was somethin' like that, but hey, don't worry about it. If that is how you feel, and if you can honestly promise that you'd do all you can to take care of her and never intentionally hurt her, you have my blessing."

  "T.L., I'd never hurt Shylah. You know me, man. She's all I want. She's everything to me. How could I hurt my everything?"

  "Alright. Alright. Well, you gotta do somethin' about this, man. You can't let it eat at you. You're gonna waste away and die some miserable death at an early age if you don't. Don't let it take away your chance at happiness, and I'm pretty sure that Shylah feels at least a little bit the same way."

  "She does?"

  "Pretty sure, Mark. Don't take my word on that, but I am pretty sure. I say go for it. Do it soon. Tell her how you feel, and I can promise you that she'll at least listen to what you have to say, and worst case scenario, let you down easy."

  "Ok, man," Mark replied. "I guess I'll give it a try, but how?"

  "I don't know, to tell you the truth. How about you come over tomorrow, and me and you and my old man can all go fishin'. Maybe sometime after that, you can find a way. You could use the time we're gone to think it all over. You gotta do somethin'. If I was you, I think I would've done somethin' a lot sooner."

  Mark agreed that this was probably the best course of action for him to take, though he was scared witless. He wanted Shylah so bad that he ached for her in every possible way, but he greatly feared how he would have to go about making his feelings and affections known to the woman of his desire. Shylah was more than just a woman to Mark, more than just the object of his utmost desire and need. She was his queen, his everything, his dream come true wrapped in a beautiful wrapping of deliciously brown skin.

  All of the rest of the night, Mark was restless. He tried endlessly to go to sleep, but all that he could think about was Shylah, about her beauty, about her wonder, about how much he had to have her. When sleep finally came Mark's way, it was the very welcome boon that he had prayed for. The next day could bring whatever it wanted, but sleep must be had at all costs. There was something big to have to do, and without sleep, it might be impossible.

  Mark hurried to T.L.'s house by late morning, ready to begin the day, ready to figure out some way of relaying everything to Shylah. How would she react, he wondered. What would she think? Would it all be ok? Would Shylah laugh at him, shrug it all off, yell, scream, or maybe, with luck, actually at least consider the notion of being with Mark?

  Mark hoped that he would not have to see Shylah's face until he was ready to speak to her. Anything sooner might throw him off, might make him lose his nerve. Shylah had an incredible power over Mark. She had for a long time, though she knew nothing about it.

  T.L. and his father, Darius King, were not ready yet. In fact, T.L. had forgotten to mention to Darius about going fishing with Mark. When T.L. brought it up, Darius quickly stated that he didn't feel like going anywhere, that the two of them should go without him. T.L. and Mark agreed and took off immediately, causing Mark to let out a very big sigh of relief. He did not have to spend any time around Shylah yet.

  As Mark and T.L. headed off to the pond only a few hundred yards away, the subject weighing on both of their minds was sure to surface. "Mark, what ya got planned with my sister? How you gonna tell her how you feel?"

  "Hell if I know, man. I don't have the faintest damn clue! I wish I did. Man, I can't stand this anymore! I have to either convince her or get the hell out of this town for good. I can't stand another minute not having her!"

  "I'm tellin' you, do somethin' about this! Do it today! Pull Shylah aside and tell her everything you told me last night. If she turns you down, she's crazy." T.L. gulped a little, thinking of what he had just
said, telling a man to put a move on his sister, though he fully trusted Mark. He trusted Mark with his life.

  For much of the time that the two fished, they sat in silence. It gave Mark a lot of time to reflect further on what to do and why he needed to do it. He knew of no other way than to just do it like T.L. said... take Shylah aside and confess his absolute, undying love for her. If she rejected him, she would surely have a good reason for it, perhaps, not wanting to take the chance of ruining Mark's and T.L.'s friendship.

  It was nearly an hour before anything more was said than something having to do with bait or the lack of fish. T.L. thought of once more broaching the subject of Shylah, but he didn't want to upset Mark or worry him more than he already was. Assuming that Shylah would go for it and that she and Mark would last as a couple, it would be a great match. Who better could there be for T.L.'s little sister than his best friend, the guy he trusted more than anyone else since childhood, a guy who could take better care of Shylah than anyone else?

  Finally, at about three o'clock in the afternoon, Mark and T.L. decided that they would not catch more fish than the one each they had already caught. Nearly three hours had netted very little. They debated whether or not to even keep the fish, as they were so small that they would not make much of a meal.

  Walking back, fish and gear in tow, T.L. bit his lip to keep from bringing up Shylah. He wanted to bring the matter up as badly as Mark wanted to bring it up to Shylah. T.L. did not know what to do, but he knew that his best friend had a much more delicate situation than he could even imagine.

  Mark nearly burst through the door of the King house, so nervous that he was almost unaware of his actions. No sooner than he got inside, he spotted Shylah, sitting at the kitchen table, reading a magazine. Somehow, she looked even more beautiful than usual, with no make-up on, her hair not fixed. In all her plain glory, she was the most amazing sight that Mark's eyes had ever beheld. His heart pounding, his palms sweating, his eyes twitching, Mark felt as though he might pass out and collapse to the floor.