My Family Tie to Crazy
I’ve blogged before about how my ongoing quest to document my family history inspired the Crazy, Texas, series. As I pored over old census documents, vital records, and paper clippings, I wanted to know more about my ancestors. Imagining their lives and how they shaped my current-day family traditions led me to Crazy.
One record in particular made that black and white historical view really come to life for me. I knew that one branch of my family all came from the same area of Texas, and that they lived in that area for at least 100 years. What I didn’t realize was how connected their lives were.
In one census, a neighbor boy is listed as a farm laborer in my ancestor’s household of several daughters. In the next census, that neighbor farm laborer is the husband of one of the daughters. At first, it was a surprise. Then I realized that rural life hasn’t changed so much all in the intervening years.
And I’d argue that today’s rural and small-town culture is very much rooted in the lives our ancestors forged in new lands. Then, as now, farming and ranching was a difficult life. The farming communities like my ancestor’s became close-knit out of necessity. A farmer’s success often depended on the help offered by his neighbors and family, and that help was honor-bound to be reciprocated. Whether it was pitching in at harvest time or stepping up to protect a neighbor, those communities were together.
That togetherness is a big part of A Crazy Homecoming and the series I’ve got planned. A big part of what defines my characters is how they’re shaped by the community they’re a part of, and in turn, how they shape that community.
Before Mick could tell him to piss off, Daphne extricated herself from the arms of her eager dance partner, lurched back to the table, and grabbed Raney’s drink.
“Whew! That’s more work than it looks like.” She wiped her forehead and theatrically rested her head on Raney’s shoulder. Mick took one more swig of his beer, set it down forcefully, and pushed himself away from the table. He reached behind Raney and grabbed Daphne’s arm, pulling her toward the dance floor.
Daphne looked up at him in surprise. He circled his arm around her waist and rumbled, “It's my turn now. I'm tired of watching you dance with other men."
She stuttered and resisted. “I don’t know this one.”
He leaned in, so close his lips were almost touching her ear. So close he could smell her shampoo and the scent of her laundry detergent. It only added to the fire burning in the pit of his stomach. "It's not hard, Daphne. I lead. You follow. Your body knows the rest."
He felt her moment of surrender. He pulled her close, held her there for a beat longer than he needed to, then whisked her into the dance.
The intimacy of dancing with her, of staring into her eyes for minutes on end without speaking, was practically heart stopping. The quick beat ended and was replaced by a slow song. She began to step away, but he tightened his grip around her waist and tucked her right hand under his on his chest.
As they started swaying to the crooning love song, she rested her head on his
shoulder and let him lead. With her wrapped in his arms, their bodies moving in tandem, he closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her head. He was lost, pulled into the bubble of their own little world.
As the song ended, they leaned back to look in each other’s eyes. He stroked the back of his fingers down the side of her face and cradled her jaw in his hand. She licked her bottom lip and that was all the invitation he needed. As he leaned in for a kiss, they were interrupted by a shrill, "Well, well, well, bless my soul, if it isn’t my cousin, Daphne!"
If Sissy was a man, he might’ve punched her then and there for her bad timing. Daphne stepped back and turned around. Sissy was dressed to the nines, watching them with one hand on her hip and a haughty smirk on her overly done-up face. "Oh, I'm sorry," she crowed. "Did I interrupt something?"
Mick forced a smile and said, "Of course not. Good to see you, Sissy."
"Uh huh, I bet." she quipped. She sidled closer and in her high heels towered over Daphne. "Daddy told me the big news.”
Daphne asked, “What news?”
“What do you mean, ‘what news?’” Sissy screeched. “I don’t know what Nana was thinking, handing over the ranch to you. To you, instead of her boys who have lived here since they were born. It’s beyond me."
Straightening up to her tallest, Daphne responded tightly, "I'm sure she has her reasons."
Sissy stuck her finger in Daphne’s face. "I don't know what lies or promises you've been feeding her since you got here, missy, but I'm here to tell you that you won't get away with it. That ranch is my family's birthright, not yours. I'm not about to let some crazy old bat hand it off to her city slicker granddaughter." She glanced up at Mick and added, "Much less one who's cavorting with the hired help."
Mick had known Sissy going on twenty years and she hadn’t changed. She’d always been a shrill, calculating, self-centered woman. He’d learned to tolerate her vanity and mischief, even if it did annoy the hell out of him. Sometimes that tolerance was harder to manage than others, but even if they weren’t teens anymore he still wasn’t going to hit a girl. He put his hand at the small of Daphne’s back and tried to steer her toward the doors. He looked around, hoping Raney or Danny was around to intercede.
Daphne sputtered angrily. “Hired help?”
Mick felt her step away from him so he looked back, and damned if she didn’t launch herself at Sissy. She swiped and clawed like a cat. When that didn’t work, she lunged and swung like a boxer. “You conniving bitch!”
Mick quickly grabbed at Daphne, knocking her punch off course so she only dealt a glancing blow to Sissy’s head. That only pissed her off more and she lunged again. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her off.
Danny and Scotty appeared, and Mick heard Danny saying, “Back off, Sissy!” But Sissy scrambled back to Daphne’s side, pointing and waving her hands around, shrieking so fast and slurred Mick couldn’t make out what she was saying.
Raney joined them and he hissed, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Raney was in front of Daphne pulling her toward the door, and Mick pushed her from behind, trying to keep the women off of each other.
Finally he gave up and hauled Daphne up over his shoulder like a sack of beans. All the way out to the truck, she rapped on his back and shoulders, spewing inventive curses at him. He decided he didn’t mind so much, though, as he steadied her weight with his palm on her fine ass.
About the Author
Cate Baylor has been a technical communicator for over fifteen years. When she's not writing, she suffers from hobby addiction, which includes (but is not limited to!) reading, jewelry making, crochet, knitting, scrapbooking, cross stitching, and home DIY. She lives in Houston with her geeky husband, three neurotic cats, and precocious Yellow Lab named Tex. She comes from a long line of Texan farmers who are likely rolling over in their graves knowing she’d much rather stay blissfully air-conditioned than suffer outside in the Texas heat. She's a die-hard Texans fan but hasn't decided whether she's willing to embrace the Astros as an American League team.
Connect with Cate on her web site or her Facebook page. You’ll also find her author profile on Goodreads and LibraryThing.
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