The Blink Of An Eye: The Sweet Water Tales, #1

Chapter 1

The Funeral of Schuyler George

Schuyler George had been a good man, a good friend, father, and tutor to me. He passed away peacefully in the quiet of the night at the age of forty-three from tuberculosis. It was an illness that was eating away at the pure fabric of society when I was a child, yet it felt strange to see someone with the strength of heart and spirit as my father had succumb to the illness.

A lawyer of some standing in my hometown of Sweet Water, Alabama, he’d gained the respect of all the folk who’d ever had the good pleasure to get to know him. He was a kind and gentle man, who it was said had never been seen to lose his temper, not even in the face of prejudice and adversity, which he was an avid defender of.

He was a strongly built man of around six feet two inches tall, with thick black slicked back hair and a handsome strong jawbone. He had a friendly face we loved so much as children; his smile could change your day. He was a clean-shaven man, who dressed impeccably well in smart black suits and polished black shoes for the courthouses of his work.

In his leisure time he wore casual jackets, with light tan chino pants and brown suede slip on deck shoes, which were the style of the time.

He used a cologne they called Lalique, which I recall had a bottle resembling a New York skyscraper, a tall, ribbed bottle with dark green glass, with a stopper the color of a blue sky.

Schuyler recounted other colognes to us as children whilst we stood watching him shave in the bathroom mirror, he’d told us after the stock market crash of 1929 and the depression that followed, devastating the United States, the luxury of the Cologne market had slowed down dramatically, as folk just had to cut their cloth accordingly, and he himself had taken a liking to the Lalique brand. I will always think of Schuyler George, my father, along with the odor of Lalique Cologne, which became part of who he was to us as children; it was a part of his essence.

I wept for the first time in my life at his funeral, I couldn’t recall feeling such pain before, or being so upset, being too young to recall our mother’s death, my life until that point had been a pleasure, a very privileged one for which our father had worked hard to provide.

The funeral was held at the Sweet Water Cemetery in the county of Marengo, at the intersection of county roads 16 and 17; it seemed at the time that the whole county turned out in their best Sunday clothes to bid a farewell to Schuyler George.

Solly, my big brother had returned on special leave from the 192nd Infantry. He’d been on maneuvers with his unit when the news of Schuyler’s death had reached him. Solly had trained at Harmony Church, Fort Benning Military Academy for fourteen weeks, his basic training had been intense and highly disciplined, he’d written home many times and informed us enthusiastically how he’d been instructed with the disciplines of loyalty, duty, respect, selfless service, honor, integrity and personal courage, which he told, were all strong doctrines the military academy taught all its young trainee soldiers.

He’d left Sweet Water no longer than six months earlier as a young boy still wet behind the ears, yet the man stood before us at the funeral of our father, was adorned with full military uniform, proudly wearing the coveted blue cord of the infantry. He wore parade uniform with stiff pants and a slick jacket, a gold-plated buckle he’d kept immaculately buffed gleamed from his waist. His boots were polished so well they appeared more like a looking glass, and his garrison cap had grown to perfectly mold around his head.

Solly had been instructed in the use of the M1 carbine, and informed us in his letters home, he’d steadily outperformed his colleagues with the rifle in training shoots, in his own words he’d taken to the M1 like a Millionaire intent on going broke, he'd taken it and made it an extension of his body.

His training had been vital in what he later described as the Hell on earth of Okinawa; it primed him with the essential skills for survival on the battlefield.

Solly was a tall boy. He’d inherited our father’s strong jawbone and build, but unlike Schuyler’s jet-black hair, Solly’s had always been flawlessly blonde.

He was a fine-looking boy with good strong teeth and blue eyes the color of a deep pool of water, when he smiled small dimples appeared in his cheeks and a fine glint of light appeared in his eyes. He never struggled for attention from the local girls in Sweet Water.

He spoke in a fine gentle tone, in such a way that you always felt at ease in his company. He was my elder brother by one year and I loved him dearly and missed his company and friendship whilst he’d been away with the 192nd.

Sky was our little sister, she was four years younger than me and as huge as it seemed at the time, five years younger than Solly, which was a big gap for us as children. Sky was the baby of the family, and it may well have been a failing on both our parts to always look at her that way.

She was like a summer’s day; born into the family at a time when we’d just lost our mother, she’d given us all great comfort and hope through that dark time.

Not long thirteen years of age at Schuyler’s funeral, she’d taken his passing especially badly. She was a small girl with curly golden locks of hair, she had wonderful blue eyes and laughter that emanated from her like the thunder rolling over the top of a mountain. Sky was a feisty ‘get up and go’ girl, who didn't much care what other folks thought of her hanging around with us boys.

Our father had lived a remarkably simple life; he worked hard at his job in the courthouses, defending the put upon and downtrodden people of Alabama. He gave us a highly unconventional childhood which we greatly enjoyed, we weren’t given any restrictions as children, the world was our oyster and Schuyler let us explore and learn without boundaries or barriers to hinder our growth, both mentally and physically.

We’d lost our mother after giving birth to Sky, it had been an awkward pregnancy for her, and she’d taken on a fever shortly after, never really showing any signs of recovery from it. She passed away one early morning whilst Solly and I were out walking around the town with our small sibling, taking praise from our neighbors for having such a beautiful little sister.

Schuyler would often speak of our mother with a great affection, but only if we specifically asked about her, he’d never presume to offer words of comfort that we didn’t so request. I think, in some small way, it was how he hid his pain at the loss of his wife and best friend.

Our mother’s name was Celestine. Schuyler had met her at the local high school, they’d been sweethearts and married at the Sweet Water Baptist Church on Main Street in the spring of 1925. Solly, my big brother, followed shortly after.

Schuyler told us Celestine was a ‘beautiful lady,’ and always backed that statement up by adding in ‘we wouldn’t be such beautiful children if she weren’t so.’

He loved Celestine dearly, yet we’d never witnessed sorrow in Schuyler’s eyes, he’d told us, she was always within his heart and in his own words ‘I see her within you children,’ her children, and he made the most of what he had left.

She was a brunette lady, tall and slender with flowing curly hair similar to Sky's. Schuyler spoke of her with words of radiance, he said she was someone that glowed, and she had a mighty powerful presence about her.

He told us it was Celestine who’d taught him about peace and love and had promised her on her death bed that he would love her children as she’d loved him.

I only had vague memories of my mother; she’d passed away when I was a small child. Solly would tell a few stories about the good times, sunny days she’d taken us out on picnics to the park, he recalled, yet even some of Solly’s memories had been lost through time. Although I didn’t know her well, I’d missed her presence as a mother, as did both Solly and later my sister Sky. They say you don't miss what you’ve never had, but I'm sure the riches our mother gifted us, in such a small amount of time had made each one of us never feel poor.

Sky looked a lot like Celestine from memory and from the only photograph we had of our mother, taken in the Sweet Water photography shop owned by the Bielski brothers, Tuvia and Zusia, who’d taken our mothers photograph one day whilst setting up a new camera. Celestine, by chance had been passing by with groceries when Tuvia had asked her if she minded posing for a photograph to evaluate his new camera. The photograph would later be developed and given as a gift to Schuyler, who bought a small silver frame for it and hung it in pride of place above our fire mantle.

Occasionally Schuyler would watch over Sky sleeping and lose himself in a moment with his memories of our mother, I knew he didn’t feel sadness in those moments, he always had an inner smile, and you could feel a presence of peace within him. I think, in those moments he was once again within her company, as he’d been before she passed away. He must have loved and missed her dearly.

Celestine’s funeral was held at the Sweet Water Cemetery, where Schuyler also would now be laid to rest, next to the wife he’d loved so much, together for all eternity.

The George family was more than a family. Schuyler had taught us to love each other and to always be the absolute best of friends. It was a condition he’d insisted upon, he believed we'd only have each other’s love and care to see us through our lives.

We would never go to bed at night with a heavy heart or unfinished words over petty things, in fact, we very rarely had disagreements at all. Schuyler had brought us up to respect each other, and not waste our love for each other on trivial matters. So, we grew up in a manner that created peace and harmony in the household; it was a wonderful freedom, our games had no frontiers, and we were liberated children.

We were the best of friends and Schuyler was a big part of that. I didn't look at him as a father, although I knew that's what he was, I looked at him as a friend, as Sky and Solly were. As I grew older, I came to understand much more about him and what a wonderful friend he’d been to me and my brother and sister. He was quite a unique individual man.

Amongst the many faces I didn’t recognise amongst the crowd at the funeral, my eyes fell upon the friendly face of Miss Summer Merryweather, a rare sight for such a day.

Summer Merryweather was a pretty girl, with long dark fine hair, she had an athletic figure about her, but the most attractive thing about Summer was her smile. She could change the look of her whole face when she smiled, and when she did that! Well, your legs kinda wobbled a little; you could say she ‘got me.’

Summer seemed to have an inner knowledge about you, you got the impression she knew exactly what you were thinking at any given moment, it put you on your guard I can tell you! She captivated me a great deal. I guess I was attracted to her and if it weren’t for the occasion of the day, I most definitely would have asked Summer Merryweather along for a walk, she would have been real fine company.

I'd also noticed over by the wooden gateway at the front of the cemetery, Roby Matrice, the owner of the Sweet Water Grocery store, for whom I'd run errands on many occasions in the past. Mr Matrice had given me the use of the store bicycle, to run deliveries around the town and paid me in nickels I used to buy candy bars in the store with.

We had a great working relationship between us, riding the bicycle was a great deal of fun for me and Mr Matrice had his groceries delivered. You see, owning a bicycle wasn’t in the budget for our household at the time, so getting the use of it as the store errand boy, was a real treat for me.

Mr Matrice was dressed in fine Sunday clothes and in his right hand, hung a gold pocket watch, he randomly spun around on a chain and flipped into his pocket. He’d then take the watch out and repeat this process over and over.

He’d told me in the store one day, the pocket watch was given to him by his father, it’d been handed down to him as an heirloom from father to son, as it had through the generations of the Matrices family.

You could tell Mr Matrice was enormously proud of his pocket watch, he tended to clean it regularly in the shop with his handkerchief, he took a pride in the object.

I liked Mr Matrice; he was a kind man who helped the elder folk of the town round the store, with a kindly arm to assist them with a basket. On many occasions I'd seen his kindness in private moments, with locals who’d fallen on hard times, some couldn’t afford the full bill because of the recession the war had brought about, and basic weekly groceries had become a luxury. He was also nobody's fool. I once witnessed him take a box of cookies out of old Leverette Devine’s basket and replace them with a stick of bread, informing her abruptly that she should buy essential staple foods with her budget plan, then he continued to undercharge her for her groceries, quite deliberately so. He was a man with a generous heart full of kindness.

Mr Matrice always stood in the doorway of the store after he’d personally loaded the bicycle with the deliveries, his arms folded. I think he took personal enjoyment seeing the joy I took in using the bicycle, he was a portly cheery faced man with an outgoing air about his manner, who was a highly regarded member of the community.

Solly and I held the duty of pall bearers for our father and took our places at the front of the coffin, whilst behind, Opie Pine and Pate Jackson, two local boys who were good friends of the family through our childhood, took up the rear positions.

Opie and Pate were both a little older than Solly and I but had always been good friends and often enjoyed a Sunday roast dinner along with us at the farm.

Opie was a noticeably quiet character, what you may call a thinker, he didn’t say an awful lot, but when he did people would quieten up and listen to him. He didn't much care for bull shitters or phonies, in fact, he was one of the most real people I'd ever known. His mother had also died young, and his father abandoned him in the local orphanage where he thrived on his own abilities. He studied hard and was interested in medicine, his ambition was to qualify as a doctor.

Pate was a big strong ox of a man, weighing in at around 325 pounds, and was known to eat two corn dogs at a time. He worked in the town’s wood mill alongside his father, Thomas, who owned it. He’d worked the mill right through his life, starting at a young age, humping and lifting and being a general dog’s body around the site, but as he always said, he just loved working with his daddy in the mill as they were real good buddies. Pate always smelt of wood sap, it was under his skin, the irony of the situation was the wood we were carrying on our shoulders holding Schuyler’s body, had been sawn in the Jackson sawmill.

The mill was all Pate ever spoke about, it was the only thing he was interested in and knew about, he could tell you just about anything you'd need to know about the timber of any tree, or how it was cut, hell he knew the ages of the trees brought into the mill just by looking at them for Christ’s sake.

Having never lifted a coffin before, I was a little nervous about dropping my corner, and I didn’t want to let Schuyler down in front of so many of his friends and well-wishers. I was also having inner turmoil holding back my pain and tears, trying my best to keep the choking pain inside. It was in fact a terrible struggle to keep myself composed and in control of myself, whilst inside I was an emotional wreck, but Solly helped with a touch of his free hand on my shoulder,

in an act of comfort and support.

We lifted the coffin from the horse drawn hearse and slowly walked Schuyler to the Church, passing the congregation, including Rain Harris, Raney Carmichael, Savannha Dove and Sage Matrice, who was Roby Matrices’ daughter. They all threw flower petals upon the coffin, and I noticed they all had tears in their eyes.

Men like Rufus Kewell, Ryland Hewitt, Trace Gibson, Tully Carpone, Rowan and Skeeter Anderson, who were all good friends of Schuyler’s throughout his life, bowed their heads with respect.

Slowly and carefully, Solly and I placed the front of the coffin onto the alter of the Church and Opie and Pate lowered the rear, then we took to our seats at the front of the Church and listened to Pastor Mark Noye start to give his eulogy.

Paster Noye had been Schuyler’s friend for many years, he had a shaved head which always showed the blue of the hair trying to burst through, he had a rounded face which wasn’t fat, in fact quite the opposite, Pastor Noye was a very fit man with a strong physique. He had a funny smile which made him look like he was tasting crab apples for the very first time and, like Solly, he had dimples in his cheeks when the smile appeared.

Pastor Noye started out by introducing himself and told us all in the congregation how he was deeply honored that the family had requested he deliver the Eulogy for Schuyler at the service. He told us how, after saying he’d be happy to do it, he'd gotten himself all nervous when he'd thought about the fact he'd known Schuyler George for far less time than most of the folk in the village.

He continued You see he said, "I only met Schuyler for the first time about six years ago, although in a sense I feel like I’ve known him a lot longer. Despite this relatively short period of time, I feel as if I got to know him real well, and perhaps some of the things that I noticed about him, are the things you’ve known and loved about him throughout his life.

Making friends with Schuyler was easy, like most everything else, it seemed he was an expert at it. My own father had passed away some years earlier and I’d gone home one last time to clear out all my childhood belongings, as my mother was moving to a smaller house.

Schuyler had been a neighbor of my folks and was passing by one day carrying a book under his arm he'd loaned from the Sweet Water library. I stumbled on a rock in the front of my mother’s garden splaying a handful of books I'd been loading into my pickup on the driveway.

Schuyler came straight over and assisted me, observing the books as he picked them from the floor, and putting them into the boot of the pick-up, and so, we began our first conversation about books, which turned out to be just about our favorite subject, in fact the conversation was about authors at first, then our favorite titles.

We challenged each other about titles, and kinda made a game out of it, I’d ask him who authored the book, ‘Of Mice and Men,’ and he’d fire back, ‘John Steinbeck’ then quick fire back to me, ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’ and I'd respond, ‘Erich Maria Remarque.’ This conversation continued over a cold glass of my mother’s lemonade, as we sat on the front porch for the best part of an hour. Thus, our friendship began with a mutual respect and love for literature.

After meeting Schuyler for the first time, I remember thinking to myself, ‘What an extraordinary person he was. I thought here’s a man involved in court processes involving racial hatred and prejudice but also deeply involved in the politics of the world.

On top of this, he was an avid reader, a lover of nature and the outdoors and obviously a devoted family man. No matter what topic we discussed he had a knowledge of the subject matter. He was a cut above the average person; in fact, it had been commented to me on several occasions by different friends that Schuyler had most probably forgotten more things than most folk knew. He had so many varied interests. I told myself this man is a lover of life. A genuinely great man.’ Getting to know someone at the end of their life, is a unique experience, almost the entire time I knew him, he was ‘fighting the good fight’ as he’d put it in his own words. It made our friendship incredibly special. So being the local pastor of Sweet Water, I paid close attention to what Schuyler George had to say about