Fancy The Early Years: Volumes 1 & 2

By David N. Walker

Fourteen year-old Fancy has been both mother and sister to her four year-old sister Danni since their mother died in childbirth. When their father leaves to serve in the Confederate Army, she must take over running the family farm and raise Danni by herself.

Follow this enterprising young woman as she must find a way to support herself and her sister after the loss of the farm to an unscrupulous neighbor. Cheer for her as she escapes a kidnapper and later must deal with the kidnapping of her baby sister.

Fancy: The Early Years combines Fancy Vol 1 and Fancy Vol 2: The Search

• Language: English
• Publisher: David N. Walker
• Release date: Oct 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781370025992

David N. Walker

Born in Dallas, Texas, in 1943, I grew up in Fort Worth and graduated from the public school system there in 1961. I attended Duke University, graduating with a B.A. in political science and a minor in accounting.During my service in the Army, I was stationed at Fort Polk, LA, Fort Sam Houston, TX, and Fort Sill, OK.Most of my career was spent in the insurance business, with a few brief forays into accounting. Although I spent a year in life insurance and a couple of years in financial services, my primary emphasis was health insurance.I served as president of an Optimist club in Lawton, Oklahoma, and another in Fort Worth. I also served as lieutenant governor in each state and held several district committee chairs. As a member of Toastmasters International, I won a district Humorous Speech contest.I am a member of McKinney Memorial Bible Church, where I serve as the leader of my Sunday School class.Hobbies include travel, golf, skiing and flying. I have traveled the nation extensively and have been in or near all the places I use for settings in my books.I have served as vice-president of the Freelance Writers’ Network of Fort Worth and have been a member of the Oklahoma Writers’ Federation, Inc. I also co-founded a novel writers' group called Warrior Writers Workshop.For the last year and a half I have led a small group of published writers in the Fort Worth-Dallas Metroplex.

Book preview

[Type text]

THE FANCY SERIES

The Early Years

Volumes 1 & 2

Novellas by

David N. Walker

© David N. Walker 2012, 2014

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

Writing may be done by an individual sitting alone at his computer typing in the words that become the story, but it is never truly the work of the author alone. Anything any of us write is the product not only of the person who actually does the writing but also of all the people who have trained, encouraged, inspired and otherwise had input into getting the author to the point of publishing the work.

I would not have anything published if it weren't for Jillian Dodd. Author of two highly popular YA series—That Boy Series and The Keatyn Chronicles, she sat me down a year ago and literally pulled me out of the doldrums which had caused me to quit writing. She told me what she had done and how her work was selling and that I could do the same thing. She has since helped me in numerous instances with inspiration and technical knowledge whose importance have been immeasurable.

Charity Kountz, author of the children's book Jason and Lizzy and the Snowman Village, and Nigel Blackwell, author of Paris Match, have also been extremely helpful with suggestions for the plot as well as with technical help that I desperately need. They, along with Mary Morgan, have encouraged me along the way.

Once I thought a novella was completed, my wife Sharon and my friend Lara Schiffbauer, author of Finding Meara, undertook the job of editing it. It would be a mistake-laden manuscript if not for their hours of generous help.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention Kristen Lamb, author of We Are Not Alone and Are You There Blog? It's Me, Writer, who helped me learn the difference between protagonists and antagonists and between conflict and merely bad situations.

Although I don't know either of them, I'd like to thank Bobbie Gentry and Reba McEntyre for their unknowing contributions to this book. Bobbie Gentry's contribution was writing the song Fancy. Reba McEntyre's was popularizing the song and making me aware of it.

Although this series of novellas bears little resemblance to the story in the song, it was the song that originally inspired me to write this. Over the years and through numerous rewrites, the idea of the dying mother giving Fancy a red dress and sending her out to earn her way in the world as a prostitute has given way to this version, but I would never have gotten here without their inspiration. For this I thank them both.

I thank each and every one of these people for their help and support.

DEDICATION

My interest in historical fiction arises from my interest in history itself. I have had history teachers, both in public school and at Duke University, who apparently think the purpose of teaching history is to try to bore the students to death with dates and dry facts. We've all had such teachers. I consider myself fortunate to have had two noteworthy exceptions to this type of teaching.

Chester Tucker taught my eighth grade American history class. I think he was the first teacher who actually challenged me to think rather than memorize facts from the textbooks and lectures. This simple and grossly underpaid man opened the semester by reading two descriptions of the drive from our school to his house. One painted a lovely picture of the route, the roads and all the sights along the way. The other denigrated everything about the drive, discussing what was wrong with the pavement of the streets and everything else negative that he could think of.

He didn't tell us until after he finished reading the second one that they both described the same trip. His point, which he made boldly enough that I still remember it over fifty-five years later, was that we have to watch for the writer's slant in anything we read. He was dealing particularly with news reporting that was slanted from the writer's—or his employer's—political viewpoint, but I have found this to be an important thing to remember in all I read or hear or see.

Once he finished challenging us about this, he proceeded to present a year's course in history as a fascinating study, making it all so interesting that it came alive in my mind and those of most of my classmates.

A few years later, my junior year in high school, I had the good fortune of having Julia Kathryn Garrett to teach me American history. Once again, a teacher challenged me to think and made history come alive to me. Rather than drum dates into our heads, she talked at length about the results of various events and their historical significance.

She also wasn't afraid to admit when she was wrong, which didn't happen often. One particular time, she called J. P. Morgan a robber-baron. Having just finished reading a biography of the man, I took exception to her painting him with the same brush as the likes of Jay Gould and Jim Fisk. I raised my hand and politely disagreed with her, and I cited several things Morgan did to help our nation in times of distress. The next day, she started our class off by saying she had been wrong in so characterizing Morgan, and then she apologized to me and thanked me for correcting her.

For giving me a deep and true love of history—particularly American history—I dedicate this book to Chester Tucker and Julia Kathryn Garrett.

FANCY: Volume 1 - p. 1

FANCY: THE SEARCH- Volume 2 - p. 58

FANCY VOL 1

a Novella by

David N. Walker

© David N. Walker 2012

CHAPTER ONE

Clara Faye Fancy Greene stopped for a moment to wipe her brow. She pulled her hat off to fan herself with it, revealing a head full of rich, thick red hair. She’d helped her father with the plowing for several years, but he’d always take the reins back from her after a few minutes.

Now that he was gone to help the army defend the Confederate States of America, it was all on her fourteen year-old shoulders to run the farm and see to her four year-old sister Darlene Danielle, whom she called Danni. She couldn't afford to stop her work.

She stared up at the deep blue sky, uncluttered by cloud. The sun beat down on her like fire from heaven, causing sweat to pour from every pore in her body.

Although the war had only broken out a month ago and her father had only been gone for three weeks, it seemed like eternity. She knew she had to get the cotton planted soon or it would be too late, so she worked from dawn til dusk in the field, stopping only to share a lunch with Danni, who played nearby. After lunch she warned Danni as she had several times before not to mess up the seeds she’d planted.

As she looked beyond the plowhorses, she saw two men in the distance, sitting their horses and watching her. Pastures and woods abutted her land on three sides, but these men sat between her farm and that of her neighbor, Sylvester Fochs. Everyone called him Sly, and she'd always figured it was a name he deserved. She couldn't tell whether he was one of the men or not at that distance, but she dismissed them from her mind to concentrate on the plowing at hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sylvester Sly Fochs sat patiently watching Fancy follow her plow back and forth across the field, his foreman at his side. Good land there. He swept his hand across the vista. Make a nice addition to my place.

He'd had his eyes on the Greene farm ever since he settled nearby. He'd already bought up all the good farmland in the area, and it represented his only avenue of expansion. The land around him in other directions was too rough for farming and had been left in pastures and woods.

The foreman nodded. Sure would. Too bad you couldn’t get Tom Greene to sell it to you before he left.

Fochs jerked his head around. Who told you he didn’t sell it to me?

Well, I thought you . . .

Don’t think. The boss sounded angry. You’re not paid to think. You’re paid to run my farm for me.

Sure, boss.

Fochs realized he was being a bit hard on the man. See that house over there? He pointed to the Greenes’ home.

Yeah. Old Tom build a nice place for himself. Not near as big as yourn, but nice.

Yep. Fochs nodded. It is a nice place. Maybe I’ll let you move into it when I get the place.

Used to living in a bunkhouse with the rest of the hands, the foreman perked up with immediate interest. You mean you really did buy the place?

I ain’t sayin’ I did or I didn’t. He turned his horse’s head. Come on, let’s get out of here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dead tired, Fancy called Danni to follow her back to the barn. She stripped the gear off the horses and rubbed them down a bit. Then she forked hay into their feed troughs and freshened the water in their buckets.

Let’s go in and get something to eat, Danni.

Finally. Danni had been whining about being hungry for an hour or more. What we eat?

The last rays of sunlight showed them the way to the house. We got plenty of eggs and bacon and some leftover biscuits from this morning. I reckon we’ll have that for supper. You go set the table while I get the food going.

They were halfway through supper when Fancy heard a knock on the front door. Now who would be callin’ at this hour of the night? You stay put and finish eatin’.

She picked up the shotgun she kept handy and went to the door.

Who’s there?

Parson Hobbs.

Fancy recognized his voice, but she was less than thrilled. He’d always seemed creepy to her, and since his wife died he seemed to take an unhealthy interest in her.

Little late for a social call, Parson.

It’s never too late for the Lord’s business. May I come in?

Seeing no way around it without being rude, she opened the door and let the man in.

He doffed his hat as he entered, openly ogling her ripe bust and trim waistline. Missed you in church the last few weeks. Thought I’d better ride out and see if you and Danni were okay.

His stare made her stomach curdle. She didn't know whether she wanted to throw up or spit on the man.

We’re fine. She didn’t offer him a seat, because she didn’t want him to stay long. We were just eating supper.

Oh, I’m sorry to have interrupted you. Looks good, though.

She could tell he wanted an invitation to join them, but she wasn't about to give him one. Plantin’ season, we have to put in long hours. Now we gotta finish supper and get ready for bed. Did you need something?

Why don’t you go on with your supper. I can come sit and visit with you there.

Fancy shook her head. Don’t really have the time.

Well, like I said . . . He was a bit off balance due to her attitude. I noticed you hadn’t been to church—

Like I said . . . She interrupted him. Puttin’ in a crop is long hours and hard work.

Well, yes, but after all, you need to rest on the Sabbath. He forced a smile, which didn’t come to him naturally. She noticed the look in his eyes didn't match the smile on his face.

Fancy stared at the man, hoping to disguise her fear. Jesus said man wasn’t made for the Sabbath, but the Sabbath for man. He also said when the ox is in the ditch, you gotta pull it out, whether it’s Sunday or whenever.

Look ma’am. I think we got off on the wrong foot. The thing is, your daddy left you all alone, and you need a man. My wife died, and I need a woman. So I thought—

No, parson. Don’t even think about that. I’m fine. I don’t need a man, and I sure as hell don’t need one your age.

Now Miss Gr—

You’d better leave. She lifted the shotgun from behind her skirt, her knees quaking under her dress.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The parson cracked his whip hard on the back of the poor horse pulling his buggy. Little vixen.

I’ll get her yet, Dobbins. Ain’t right for her to be livin’ out here thought’n no man. Had any sense at all, she'd up and marry me and let me take care of her. She’d not find a godlier man anywhere. Oughtta jump at the chance to marry up with someone like me. Needs a man to keep her in line. Discipline. Woman needs discipline.

The buggy veered around a couple of curves as he continued to whip his poor horse, almost colliding with a slow-moving farm wagon in the process.

The old farmer turned to glare at him. What’s the all-fired hurry about?

Sorry. Hobbs, at a more sedate speed now, pulled alongside the wagon. I didn’t see you in the dark. Didn’t mean to scare you or your horses. Continuing at a sane speed, he pulled slowly away from the farmer and continued his journey back to the parsonage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fancy leaned back against the door after she shut it, needing support to steady her. She took a deep breath to calm herself before returning to the kitchen to rejoin her sister.

I swear, that man makes my skin crawl. Fancy slammed the door and turned back toward the kitchen, almost running over her sister in the process.

What wrong, Fancy? Whyn’t you invite him to eat? Even at her tender age, Danni was somewhat aware of social graces.

Fancy knew Danni loved going to church with her and their father and that the girl didn’t understand why they no longer went. He had to get back to town, Danni. Now let’s get back our supper.

She finished eating and told Danni to go get ready for bed while she cleaned up the kitchen. After telling Danni a story and tucking her into bed, she climbed into her own bed. Dead tired, she fell asleep almost immediately.

Next morning, Fancy was out in the barn at daylight, hitching the team up to her plow, when Danni appeared in the barn doorway.

Me hungry.

Okay, honey. Fancy smiled at the child. I was about to come in and make breakfast. Just let me tie the horses to the hitching post. She had hoped to plow a row or two before her sister awoke, but she said nothing about it.

She prepared more ham and eggs, since that was about all they had plenty of. Carefully sliding the spatula under the eggs, she pulled them out of the skillet sunny-side up and placed them on two plates.

Danni pushed her plate back a few inches. Me want bikkits and gravy.

Sorry, sweetheart. I was too tired to mix up any dough last night, so I don’t have anything to make biscuits from.

Danni squinted her eyes and made a face, ready to cry. When Daddy here we had bikkits and gravy.

Yes, we did. Fancy took the child’s hand. "When Daddy was here, he did the plowin’,