Torrential Rains

By Letta Lane

My mother was worried sick about me. She thought it would be a good idea for my brother Johnny to come and stay with me and Louis. She believed that Johnny would be able to protect me. I felt a little safer with Johnny there even though I still cried myself to sleep every night. One day Johnny told me he was leaving and going back to Gary. Instantly, I felt the fear rushing back into my body. He must’ve gotten into it with Louis. Johnny said he couldn’t stay there because Louis had a bad attitude.

My children don’t often ask me about their father. Maybe it’s because they’re grown now, and they somehow knew not to ask when they were younger. I did love him. And my children are here because of him. I’m thankful that God saved me and preserved my life in order for me to take care of my children. Maybe I forgave him because of them.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9781649790163

Letta Lane

An advocate for anyone in need, Letta Lane spends her days extending the legacy of education in Texas and her nights providing love and attention to her husband and kids. She values the power of faith and the written word. Letta is determined to help stop suffering any way she can.

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About the Author

An advocate for anyone in need, Letta Lane spends her days extending the legacy of education in Texas and her nights providing love and attention to her husband and kids. She values the power of faith and the written word. Letta is determined to help stop suffering any way she can.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the children who have watched a parent suffer from intimate partner abuse. Your stories are important too.

Copyright Information ©

Letta Cato 2024

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Lane, Letta

Torrential Rains

ISBN 9781649790149 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781649790156 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781649790163 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023921794

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

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Disclaimer

This is a work of creative nonfiction. The events are portrayed to the best of the unnamed protagonist’s memory. While all the stories in this book are true, names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of the people involved.

Prologue

My children don’t often ask me about their father. Maybe it’s because they’re grown now, and they somehow knew not to ask when they were younger. I loved him. And my children are here because of him. Maybe I forgave him because of them.

Chapter One

My earliest memories are from living down in the delta. We lived in one of the houses on my grandfather’s plantation. I remember the house being filled with a lot of people: my mom and dad, my brother Junior, my aunt and her children, and myself. I loved the outdoors. There was also this feeling of peace and tranquility when I was with nature. I loved walking barefoot and feeling the dirt between my toes. I recall at any time being able to walk out of the house and smell the sweet smell of fresh linen from the clothes hanging on the line. I dared not play in the web of textiles because my mother would have a fit.

My grandfather’s house wasn’t that far away, so Junior and I would walk or race to his house; it depended on whether my younger brother thought he could get the best of me that day. Mr. Gordman, which is what I called my grandfather, always had chicken soup ready for us to eat. Junior and I would sit and chat with Mr. Gordman while we all enjoyed a bowl of soup. He was very funny and could talk like it was no one’s business. When it was time for us to go back home, my brother and I always stopped along the way at the fig tree. We’d pick the figs and enjoy them right there in the moment. We took our time and savored every bite. Sometimes we took some to the house with us to have later.

My grandfather decided to buy another plantation, so we all moved further down in the delta to Stover, Mississippi. Daddy told me he had about 300 acres of land that included cotton fields, peanuts, and sugar cane fields. The best part was that we now lived close to a bayou. When it rained hard, the bayou would flood, and Junior and I would put on our boots and go and play in the water. If it didn’t rain at all, we’d still put on our boots and wade in the water.

My aunt Ann came to stay with us for a while, and she would take us fishing every day by the bayou. We’d sit there on the bank with our man-made fishing poles. The poles were made from the stalks of the sugar canes. We enjoyed digging in the dirt to find the worms to bait our hook. We never caught a lot of fish, but that didn’t stop us from returning every day. The view was picturesque. It was surrounded by lush trees, and some of them were along the hillside. If we caught a small fish, we’d throw it back in the water, but if the bullhead, catfish, perch, or bluegill was of good size, Aunt Ann would take the fish and bring it back to the house. She’d clean and cook it for all of us to eat. One day she caught a strange looking fish; it was huge, and my grandfather told her it was a bad luck fish. So from that day on, whenever we would catch that particular fish, she’d make us throw it back in the water. People were really superstitious in those days.

When we weren’t outside playing, we were at school, which was a good distance from our house. Daddy would take me and Junior to our cousin’s house on school days. In order to get to their house, we had to cross the bridge at the bayou, and sometimes it would be flooded. Daddy would drive his pickup truck with a boat in tow close to the water, and then he’d put us in the boat to get across. He must’ve had another truck on the other side, because I remember him driving us all the way to our cousins. When we got to their house, we’d