The Caulbearers

Prologue
December1, 1969   

      First, she saw a number; it was the number ‘002’ printed in a bold black font against a white background. The number frightened her and she wasn’t sure why. Then the number faded and an image appeared, indistinct at first, but slowly came into focus. It was an image of a group of men, camouflaged in army green, carrying M-16 rifles. They were moving vigilantly through a jungle, their weapons they held in a stance that was ready for an attack. Then she saw one of the men up close. She recognized his face. It was Michael. His expression painted in the colors of fury and dread. It was the colors of war, blood red mingled with the darkest of grays. 
      Suddenly, she saw gunfire and explosives from B-40 rockets going off in every direction. The image appeared in slow motion, Michael and the other men firing back at the enemy as they ran for cover. Then, she saw a B-40 rocket explode near Michael and two other men. Michael was struck by the shrapnel metal and instantly dropped to the ground. He yelled out an unbroken word of anguish as he lay in a pool of blood. Two men rushed to his side dragging him away from the line of fire behind a cluster of trees. They began putting pressure on his wounds, and she could hear one of them say in a trembling voice, Michael, its Billy, hey buddy what do you want me to do? What do you want me to do? Oh God!  I need you to tell me – Talk to me, Michael.                      She saw Michael crying, as he laid there shivering. His last words tormented her soul, Billy – I don’t want to die – Oh my God – I don’t want to die like this!  Don’t let me die –Chastity.

 

1
Cape Charles Town, Virginia 1974

     

      Chastity Elizabeth Haddon sat on her weathered wooden porch swing staring down at a large manila envelope she held firmly in her hands. It was addressed to her with no return address, only a name scribbled by an unsteady hand in the upper left hand corner that read Mercy May. Carefully she opened the package and then reaching inside pulled out an old brittle journal book. Its cover was of handmade paper pressed with yellow Jessamine and tied with a string of hemp. Smiling, she ran her finger across a delicate petal, and then slowly lifted the journal to her nose taking in its scent in a single breath. The sweetness of the South Carolina State flower that she remembered so well had long ago disappeared. All that remained was the blissful reminder of her past as a child wandering along the wooden fence row from where it climbed.
      It was at the Carolina Children’s Orphanage where she spent most of her childhood, except for the few times she was temporarily placed in foster care always returning discouraged. The orphanage had been her security blanket. It was a place where love and hope gust forth like a brilliant sunbeam and not even an overcast of clouds could subdue it. It was where she felt at home. Where she deemed herself blessed to be in the company of such a large family. Yet, there was always something missing, something that called to her in her dreams on many nights like a ghost.  It was that mystery of not knowing where she came from.
      Placing the journal on her lap, she untied the hemp that was loosely knotted. Taking a deep breath, she opened its cover. Bound to the first page was an old black and white photo of a two-story clapboard cottage. The house was weather-beaten and sat on stilts, revealing all that lay beneath it. There was a set of railed steps leading up to the middle of a railed porch, with an overhanging roof supported by square wooden columns.  A large oak tree sat near the left side of the house with Spanish moss hanging from its branches like long forgotten cobwebs.
      Chastity brought the picture closer to her eyes as she strained to examine its details. Standing on the porch near the front door was a little colored boy of about seven years old. The little boy was wearing dark overalls and a white short-sleeved shirt, and all she could see was the side of his face as he looked down at an object he held in his hands. She imagined the object as maybe a lizard, or a frog, something that fascinates little boys and scares the devil out of most little girls, but not her daughter Patience. The three-year old who was now sleeping soundly on the couch with her raggedy doll Sue, had spent most of the morning digging in the dirt looking for what she called roly-roly baby buggies.
      Chastity glanced over at the small wooden table next to the porch swing. Nestled between a Swedish ivy plant and the day’s paper was a mason jar, filled with dirt and dried leaves, and a family of pet roly-poly isopods that her nature child had collected. Chastity chuckled to herself. Anything possessing a face or the breath of life, Patience gave it a name, every doll and stuffed animal, stray cats and dogs roaming the neighborhood; baby birds fallen from their nest, insects, and slithering reptiles.
      Staring back at the little boy in the picture, she rubbed her forehead with her fingers. Who are you and what does this have to do with me?  She sighed, turning the page to another photograph, this time of an old clapboard post office and general store with a sign above the door that read Bailey’s. Suddenly, she saw a flash of darkness, and then flecks of bright light in the periphery of her vision. The photo disappeared from view, and in its place she saw the lower pant legs of a man who wore dirty brown boots. He was standing directly in front of her. She became scared; lowering her chin to her chest as she nervously fondled her fingers. The man stepped forward, his boots shuffling over tiny grits of sand that coated the white wooden planks. Her lips began to quiver as tears trickled down her face creating a puddle of reflections on her hand. She reached over, grabbing hold of the hem of a woman’s dress that was standing beside her. The woman quickly placed her hand gently upon her head easing the fear that impounded her. She then saw a large hand lashing out toward the woman, and a bag fall to the ground, its contents spilling in all directions. There were apples rolling at her feet.

      Chastity lifted her head, gasping as a burst of adrenaline ripped through her body sending her scrambling backwards in her seat. She was unaware of her surroundings, for her eyes which darted fearfully around were veiled in a web of haze. She closed her eyes; released the breath of air she had been holding, and then slowly opened her eyes. Silvery dragonflies dangling by strings collided together in tune as they drifted along side the wind. The sound soothed her nerves as she laid on the porch swing watching the light bounce miniature rainbows from their crystal speckled wings.