"Hope in the world brings about change."
Reviewed by Jennifer Vido
Posted September 9, 2010
Inspirational Romance
Many years have passed since Jessilyn Lassiter twiddled her
days away playing with dolls. All grown-up at the age of
nineteen, she is ready to face the world and the challenges
it may bring. Madly in love with her beau, Luke Talley, she
lives with the hope that one day soon they will become
husband and wife. If only he could come to realize that
they would make the perfect pair. Patiently she waits for
her dream to come true. When a young black doctor named Tal Pritchett arrives in
town, Jessilyn's near-perfect life suddenly turns upside
down. A gentle soul with a heart of gold, this man steals
her friend Gemma's heart leaving Jessilyn feeling left out
and all alone. Side by side, Gemma and Tal attend to the
sick while Jessilyn slowly comes to grips with the meaning
of this new relationship. Right before her very eyes,
Jessilyn watches her confidant and closest friend begin to
slip away. Just as Tal starts to make a name for himself among his
people, a prominent white woman named Miss Cleta summons
this black man for medical care. This innocent request from
one human being to another turns into a racial uproar
resulting in the lynching of one of the town's young men.
Sparked by this incident, the Klan once again goes on
attack against Jessilyn and the ones she loves. With a town in turmoil, Jessilyn must face the cruel
indecencies of the prejudicial world in which she lives.
Trying to come to grips with it, she questions God's role
in the injustice of it all and doubts her own faith. Will
Jessilyn be willing to accept God's divine judgment? Or,
has the brutality she has witnessed destroyed her spirit
forever? CATCHING MOONDROPS is the third book in Jennifer Erin
Valent's powerful trilogy that explores the racial
prejudices of the old South. From her eloquent prose to the
unforgettable moments of raw emotion, Valent delivers a
historical novel that is sure to sweep even the toughest
critic off his or her feet.
SUMMARY
Jessilyn Lassiter no longer has to convince people she’s not
a child. Having just turned 19 in the summer of 1938, her
love for Luke Talley has never been more real. And Luke is
finally beginning to care for her in the way she’s always
dreamed of. But their budding romance is interrupted when
Tal Pritchett—a young, black doctor—comes to Calloway,
stealing the heart of Jessilyn’s best friend, Gemma, and
stirring up the racial prejudice that has been simmering
just beneath the town’s surface. The tension starts to
bubble over when Jessie’s elderly neighbor Miss Cleta
becomes the first white townsperson to accept Tal’s
treatment. And when a young black man is lynched, Calloway
is brought to its knees once again as Jessilyn realizes that
her anger can make her heart as full of hate as the klan
members who have terrorized her town and her family.
ExcerptThere’s nothing in this whole world like the sight of a
man swinging by his neck.Folks in my parts like to call it lynching, as if by calling
it another word they can keep from feeling like murderers.
Sometimes when they string a man up, they gather
around like vultures looking for the next meal, staring
at the cockeyed neck, the sagging limbs, their lips
turning up at the corners when they should be turning
down. For some people, time has a way of blurring the
good and the bad, spitting out that thing called conscience
and replacing it with a twisted sort of logic that
makes right out of wrong. Our small town of Calloway, Virginia, had that sort
of logic in spades--after the trouble it had caused my
family over the years, I knew so better than most. But
the violence had long since faded away, and my best
friend, Gemma, would often tell me that made it okay--
her being kept separate from white folks. "Long as my
bein’ with your family don’t bring danger down on your
heads, I’ll keep my peace and be thankful," she’d say.
But I didn’t feel so calm about it all as Gemma did.
Part of that was my stubborn temperament, but most of
it was my intuition. I’d been eyeball-to-eyeball with pure
hate more than once in my eighteen years, and I could
smell it, like rotting flesh. Hate is a type of blindness
that divides a man from his good sense. I’d seen it in the
eyes of a Klansman the day he tried to choke the life out
of me and in the eyes of the men who hunted down a
dear friend who’d been wrongly accused of murder.
And at times, I’d caught glimpses of it in my own
heart. The passage of time had done nothing to lessen its
stench. And despite the relative peace, I knew full well
that hearts poisoned by hateful thinking can simmer for
only so long before boiling over. In May of that year, 1938, the pot started bubbling.
I was on the front porch shucking corn when I saw
three colored men turn up our walk, all linked up in
a row like the Three Musketeers. I stood, let the corn
silk slip from my apron, and called over my shoulder,
"Gemma! Come on out here." She must have been nearby because the screen door
squealed open almost two seconds after my last words
drifted inside. "What is it?" "Company. Only don’t look too good." I walked to
the top of the steps and shielded my eyes from the sun.
"Malachi Jarvis! You got yourself into trouble again?"
The man in the middle, propped up like a scarecrow,
lifted his chin wearily but managed to flash a smile that
revealed bloodied teeth. "Depends on how you define
trouble." Gemma gasped at the sight of him and flew down
the steps, letting the door slam so loud the porch boards
shook. "What in the name of all goodness have you
been up to? You got some sort of death wish?" A man I’d never seen before had his arm wound
tightly beneath Malachi’s arms, blood smeared across
his shirtfront. Malachi’s younger brother, Noah, was
on his other side, struggling against the weight, and
Gemma came in between them to help. "He ain’t got the good sense to keep his mouth shut,
is all," Noah said breathlessly. I went inside to grab Momma’s first aid box, and by
the time I got back out, Gemma had Malachi seated in
the rocker. Gemma gave him the once-over and shook her head
so hard I thought it might fly off. "I swear, if you ain’t
a one to push a body into an early grave. Your poor
momma’s gonna lose her ever-lovin’ mind." Along with his younger brother and sister, Malachi
lived down by the tracks with his widowed momma--as
the man of the house, so to speak. He’d taken up being
friends with Luke Talley some two years back when
they’d both worked for the tobacco plant, and they’d
remained close even though Luke had struck out on his
own building furniture. Malachi was never one to keep
his peace, a fact Gemma had no patience for, and she
made it good and clear many a time. Today would be
no exception. "Goin’ around stirrin’ up trouble every which way,"
she murmured as she pulled fixings out of the first aid
box. "It’s one thing to pick fights with your own kind.
Can’t say as though you wouldn’t benefit by a poundin’
or two every now and again. But this foolin’ around with
white folks’ll get you into more’n you’re bargainin’ for."
The man who’d helped Noah shoulder the burden of
Malachi reached out to take the gauze from Gemma. "Why don’t you let me get that?" Gemma didn’t much like being told what to do, and
she glared at him. "I can clean up cuts and scrapes.
I worked for a doctor past two years." Malachi nodded toward the man. "This here man is
a doctor, Gemma." I was putting iodine on a piece of cotton, and I near
about dropped it on the floor when I heard that. Never
in all my born days had I seen a colored man claiming
to be a doctor. Neither had Gemma, by the looks
of her. "A doctor?" she murmured. "You sure?" He laughed and extended his hand to her. "Last I
checked. Tal Pritchett. Just got into town yesterday.
Gonna set up shop down by the tracks." Still dumbfounded, Gemma handed the gauze to
him. "What d’you think about that?" Malachi grinned
and then grimaced when his split lip made its presence
known. "A colored doc in Calloway. Shoo-wee. There’s
gonna be talk about this!" The doctor went to work cleaning up Malachi’s
wounds. "I ain’t here to start no revolution. I’m just aimin’
to help the colored folks get the help they deserve."
"Well, you’re goin’ to start a revolution whether you
want to or not." Malachi shut his eyes and gritted his
teeth the minute the iodine set to burning. "Folks in
these parts don’t much like colored folk settin’ themselves
up as smart or nothin’." Gemma watched Tal Pritchett like she was analyzing
his every move, finding out for herself if he was
a doctor or not. I stood by and let her assist him as
she’d been accustomed to doing for Doc Mabley until
he passed on two months ago. After Tal had bandaged
up Malachi’s right hand, she seemed satisfied that he
was who he said. Noah slumped into the other rocker and watched. "It’s
one thing to get yourself an education and stand for your
right to make somethin’ of yourself. It’s another to go
stirrin’ up trouble for the sake of stirrin’ up trouble."
"I ain’t doin’ it for the sake of stirrin’ up trouble.
I done told you that!" Malachi flexed his left hand to test
how well his swollen fingers moved. "Ain’t no colored
man ever gonna be free in this here county . . . in this
here state . . . in this here world unless somebody starts
fightin’ for freedom." "Slaves was freed decades ago," Noah said sharply. "We ain’t in shackles no more." "But we ain’t free to live our lives as we choose,
neither. You think colored people are ever gonna be
more’n house help and field help so long as we let ourselves
be treated like less than white people? No sir.
We’re less than human to them white folks. They don’t
think nothin’ about killin’ so long as who they’re killin’
is colored." "Don’t you go bunchin’ all white people together,
Malachi Jarvis," I argued. "Ain’t all white folk got bad
feelin’s about coloreds." Malachi waved me off in exasperation. "You know I
ain’t talkin’ about you, Jessilyn." Noah had his hands tightly knotted in his lap and
was staring at them like they held all the answers to
the world’s problems. "All’s you’re doin’ is gettin’ yourself
kicked around." He looked up at me pleadingly. "This here’s the second time in a week he’s come home
banged up." I put a hand on Noah’s shoulder and set my eyes on
Malachi. "Who did it?" He put his bandaged right hand into the air, palm up.
"Who knows? Some white boys. You get surrounded
by enough of ’em, they all just blend in together like a
vanilla milk shake." "How’s it you didn’t see them? They jump you or
somethin’?" "Don’t ask me, Jessie. I was just mindin’ my own business
in town, and then on my way home, they start
hasslin’ me." "What he was doin’," Noah corrected, "was tryin’ to
get into the whites-only bar." Gemma sniffed in disgust. "Shouldn’t have been in
no bar in the first place. There’s your first mistake."
"Whites-only, too." Noah kicked his foot against the
porch rail and then looked at me quickly. "Sorry."
I smiled at him and turned my attention back to
Malachi. "It’s a good thing Luke ain’t here to see this.
He don’t like you drinkin’, and you know it." Malachi’s eyeballs rolled between swollen lids.
"I don’t know why he gets his trousers in a knot over it
anyhow. Ain’t like there’s Prohibition no more. And he’s
been known to take a swig or two himself."
"Luke says you’re a nasty drunk." "He is." Noah knotted his hands back in his lap. "And
he’s been at the bottle more often than not of late."
"Quit tellin’ tales!" his brother barked. "I ain’t tellin’ tales; I’m tellin’ truth. They can ask anybody
at home how late you come in, and how you come
in all topsy-turvy. He comes home in the middle of the
mornin’ and sleeps in till all hours the next day."
"What about your job at the plant?" Gemma asked.
Malachi closed his eyes and waved her off, but his
brother provided the answer for him. "Lost it!" He
loosened his grip on his hands and snapped his fingers.
"Like that. There goes his income." "I said I’ll get another job." "Oh, like there’s jobs aplenty around these parts for
colored folk. And anyways, if you find one, how you
gonna keep that one?" Gemma had her hands on her hips, and I knew what
that meant. I leaned back against the house and waited
for the lecture to commence. "You talk a fine talk about colored folks needin’ to
stand up for equality, but you ain’t doin’ it in any way
that’s right and good. You’re goin’ about town gettin’
people’s goat and tryin’ to get in where you ain’t wanted
and gettin’ yourself all liquored up and useless. Now
your family ain’t got the money they depend on you for,
and why? Because you walk around livin’ like you ain’t
got to do nothin’ for nobody but yourself." "I’m standin’ up for the rights of colored folks everywhere."
Malachi was angry now, pink patches spreading
on his busted-up cheeks. "You see anyone else in
this town willin’ to go toe-to-toe with the white boys in
this county?" "Don’t put a noble face on bein’ an upstart." Malachi pushed Tal’s hand away and sat up tall. "You
call standin’ up to white folks bein’ an upstart?"
Doc Pritchett tried to dress the wound on Malachi’s
temple, but Malachi pushed his hand away again. That
was when the doctor had enough; he smacked his hands
on his thighs and stood up straight and determined in
front of Malachi. "I ain’t Abraham Lincoln. I’m just Doc
Pritchett, tryin’ to fix up an ornery patient, and I ain’t
got all day to do it. So I’m goin’ to settle this argument
once and for all." He pointed at Gemma. "She’s right.
There ain’t no fightin’ nonsense with more nonsense,
and all’s you’re doin’ by gettin’ in the faces of white
folks with your smart attitude is bein’ as bad as they’re
bein’." Then he pointed at Malachi. "And he’s right too.
There ain’t never a change brought about that should
be brought about without people standin’ up for such
change. And sometimes that means bein’ willin’ to fight
for what’s right." Gemma swallowed hard and didn’t even try to argue.
My eyes bugged out of my head at the sight of her being
tamed so easily. "Now, I’m all for civil uprisin’," Tal continued. "I don’t
see nothin’ wrong with colored folk sayin’ they won’t
be walked on no more. I don’t see nothin’ wrong with
wantin’ to use the same bathroom as white folks or sit
in the same chairs as white folks. Way I see it, none of
that’s goin’ to change unless someone says it has to." He
squatted in front of Malachi again and stared him down
nose to nose. "But all this hotshottin’ and showboatin’
ain’t goin’ to do nothin’ but get your rear end kicked. Or
worse. You aim to stand tall for somethin’? Fine. Stand
tall for it. But don’t you go around thinkin’ these battle
scars say somethin’ for you. You ain’t got them by bein’
noble; you got them by bein’ stupid. All’s these scars say
is you’re an idiot." It was one of the best speeches I’d heard from anyone
outside my daddy, and if I’d ever thought for two
seconds put together to see a colored man run for
governor, I figured Tal Pritchett would be the man for
the job. As it was, I knew he was the best man for the
job he had now. Sure enough, being a colored doc in
Calloway would be a challenge. But I figured he was
up for it. Regardless, he shut Malachi up, and for the next five
minutes we all watched him finish his job with skill and
finesse. When he’d fixed the last of Malachi’s face, he
stood and clapped his hands. "Suppose that should do
it. Don’t see need for any stitchin’ up today. Let’s hope
there’s no cause for it in future." Then he looked at me.
"You got someplace out here where I can wash up?" I held my hand toward the front door. "Bathroom’s
upstairs." He hesitated. "I’d just as soon wash up out here."
I caught the reason for his hesitation but didn’t know
what to say. As usual, Gemma did. "I done lived in this here house for six years now, and
I’m just as brown as you. You can feel free to go on up
to the bathroom, you hear?" He looked from Gemma to me, then back to Gemma
before nodding. "Yes’m." And then he disappeared
inside. "‘Ma’am,’" Gemma muttered under her breath. "Ain’t
old enough to be called ma’am, least of all by a man no
more’n a few years older’n me." "You know what happens once you start gettin’ them
crow’s-feet . . ." Gemma whirled about and gave Malachi the evil eye.
"Don’t go thinkin’ I won’t hurt you just because you’re
all bandaged up." Noah got up and paced the porch until Tal came
back outside. "Doc, you have any problem gettin’ your
schoolin’?" Tal shrugged and leaned against the porch rail. "No
more’n most, I guess. There’s a lot to learn. Why? You
thinkin’ about goin’ to college?" You could have heard a pin drop on that front porch.
Never, and I mean never, in all the days Calloway had
been on the map, had there ever been a single person,
white or black, to step foot at a college. The very idea of
that mark being made by a colored boy was a surefire
way to start war. And Noah knew it. He looked at his feet and kicked the heel of one shoe
against the toe of another. "Ain’t possible. I was just
wonderin’ aloud, is all." "What do you mean it ain’t possible? All’s you’ve
got to do is work hard. You can get scholarships and
things." But Noah took a look at his brother, whose face was
hard and tight-lipped, and nodded toward the road.
"Nah, there ain’t no use talkin’ over it. We’d best get
home, anyhow." Tal didn’t push the subject. He just picked his hat up
off the porch swing and plopped it on his head. "Miss
Jessie, Miss Gemma, it was a fine pleasure to meet you
and a kindness for you to give us a hand." "You should stop by sometime and meet my parents,"
I said. "They’re off visitin’, but I’m sure they’d be right
happy to know you." "I’m sure I’d be right happy to know them, too." He
turned his attention to Gemma. "You said you worked
for a doctor?" "I worked for Doc Mabley. He was a white doctor.
Died some two months ago." "He let you assist?" "Only with the colored patients. Doc Mabley was
kind enough to help some of them out when they
needed it. Otherwise I kept his records, kept up his
stock." "Well, I’ll tell you, Miss Gemma, I could sure use
some help if you’d be obliged. An assistant would be
a good set of extra hands, and I could use someone
known around here to make my introductions."
Gemma eyed him before slowly nodding. "Reckon
I could." "Wouldn’t be much pay now, you know. Ain’t likely
to get much in the way of fees from the patients I’ll be
treatin’." "Don’t matter so long as I have good work to put my
hands to." "That it would be. My office is right across the street
from the Jarvis house." Malachi snorted. "Shack’s more like it." "Room enough for me," Tal said. Then to Gemma,
"You think you could stop in sometime this week to talk
it over?" "I can come day after tomorrow if that suits." "Nine o’clock too early?" "No, sir. I’ve kept farm hours all my life." He grinned at her. "Nine o’clock then?" "Nine o’clock." Malachi watched the two of them with his swollen
eyes, a look of disgust growing more evident on his face.
He’d made no secret over the past year about his admiration
for Gemma, and the unmistakable attraction that
was growing between her and Tal was clearly turning
his stomach. "Mind if we go home?" he muttered. "Before I fall
down dead or somethin’?" Gemma tore her eyes away from Tal to roll them at
Malachi. "Would serve you right if you did."
"And on that cheery note," Malachi groaned on
his way down the steps, "I’ll bid you ladies a fine
evenin’." I gave Noah a playful whack to the head, but he
ducked, so I only clipped the top. "Luke will be back
home tomorrow evenin’. He’ll be itchin’ to see you, I’m
sure." "I’m itchin’ to see him." He took the steps in one leap,
tossing dust up when he landed. "You tell him to come
on by and see us real soon." "And tell him to bring his cards," Malachi added.
"He owes me a poker rematch." I squinted at him suspiciously. "Only if you play for
beans." "I hate beans." Malachi leaned on Tal for support, and Noah scurried
to catch up and help. I watched them go, but I
wasn’t thinking much about them. I was thinking about
Luke. It had been two months since he’d left to collect
customers for his furniture-making business, and every
day had seemed like an eternity. The very thought of him got my stomach butterflies
to fluttering, but one look at Gemma told me it was
another man who had stolen her attention. "That Doc
Pritchett’s a fine man." I smirked at her. "Looks about
twenty-five or so." "So?" "Good marryin’ age." She crossed her arms defiantly. "Jessilyn Lassiter,
what’s that got to do with anythin’?" "Only what I said. I’m only statin’ fact." "Mm-hm. I hear ya. You’d be better off keepin’ your
facts to yourself." She grabbed the first aid box and headed inside, but
the sound of that door slamming told me I’d got to her.
It told me Tal Pritchett had got to her too.
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