Dancing at The Royal Jade

You may have come here expecting to read Dancing at The Orange Peel (the original working title for my novel). We can rarely (if ever) anticipate how our creativity will unfold; it’s never linear and rarely logical. So the last 6 months have brought on a host of changes. Keep reading for the TD;LR or for the full backstory to find out how all these changes have come about and what they mean for me as the author and for you, the reader.

Me and Becky quit playing hangman when Al, that crazy boy my cousin Connie has a crush on, stands up in the back of the school bus, pretending to be James Brown. He acts out like that every day, right when we get to that same corner. The other kids have eyes on Al, too. I don’t know why anyone would want so many people watching them, but you can tell he loves it.

Libby had never seen a Negro in the Chamber before. Could this be the man the Chamber Board fussed over accepting? Mama had told Uncle Nelson that many members were fuming, her boss, especially, that a colored man might be allowed to join.

At the end of the day on the bus, Libby quizzes Mama about the Black man she's just seen at the Chamber. But she has to be careful how she asks.

Libby eagerly awaits Mama’s return from a Saturday movie with her friend Miss Cheryl. They finally arrive, laughing and chattering about Sean Connery. The mood shifts quickly, though, with the the unexpected arrival of Mama’s new acquaintance.

With their guests gone, Libby is curious about her mama’s new friend. Noticing how different he is from all the people she knows, she watches him and Mama closely, her mind filled with questions. Only a few does she dare to ask. Explore Chapter 5 of Dancing at The Royal Jade, a Beaucatcher Chronicles novel, set in the 1960s in Kent Creek, North Carolina.

Like all of Grant's other girlfriends, Brenda had been enchanted by his story of the promise he’d made to Carter to watch over his girls. It was a tale of heroes that had been in the paper, been told and retold by every police officer and sheriff’s deputy in Gibbs County. So the ladies were charmed and fell in love with the hero who’d survived.

Examining her pink fingernails, Gwen scraped one thumbnail with the other. “We cut our dinners to just twice a month so you could have more time with her,” she reminded Grant. A fleck of polish flipped onto the couch beside her. He sighed heavily then said, “Didn’t make a difference.”

Mama wakes me trying to slip the Nancy Drew I got at the library out of my fingers. The Secret of the Old Clock is splayed open on my belly from when I fell asleep with my pillows bunched up behind my head.

Gwen stepped away from the window and, for the fourth time, allowed the curtains to fall back into place. She fiddled with the stereo volume . . . again. Low enough to keep from waking Libby, loud enough to cover conversation. She couldn’t quite find the balance.

Mama shakes my shoulder. “Libby, Libby honey. You’ve got to wake up.” The bright light coming through the slit in my bedroom curtains hurts my eyes. I roll over and hug Winnie the Pooh close. Mama rounds the foot of my bed. “You know how your Uncle Nelson fusses if he has to keep the car running while they wait on us.” She throws the curtains back, filling the bedroom with sunshine. I squeeze my eyes shut, groan. “Come on.” Palms up, she raises her arms. “UP! Get dressed and

Uncle Nelson pulls up to the church’s side door so Grandmamma won’t have to climb steps. After dropping the back door of the station wagon open for us, Granddaddy points to Grandmamma’s walker. “Push that here, Half Pint,” he tells Pammy. He carry-drags it ’round the car to Grandmamma. At fifty-nine, she needs a lot of help, but Mama says old age isn’t her biggest problem. It’s the diabetes.

After the service, Gwen stood on the church’s wide top step, pretending to listen to Italian cream cake recipe details from Mrs. Smith, the lady who planned the church’s spaghetti dinners. Behind the elderly woman, on the ten-foot-wide concrete porch that extended the church’s full length, members of the congregation clustered, chatting in usual after-church fashion.

“Slow down, Mama.” My heels burn, rubbed raw by my new Mary Janes. I stop and look back to see if Nate has driven off. Besides these darn shoes, Mama not accepting Nate’s invitation to the lake and her suddenly telling me all the time to keep secrets has me irritable. We’ve never kept secrets. It’s near impossible in this family anyways. But ever since Nate came along, she’s wanted to be sneaky. With Aunt June being nosy and Granddaddy the way he is, I reckon I see why.

Me, Connie, and Pammy jump out the back door as soon as Uncle Nelson stops the station wagon in my grandparents’ driveway. At the curb, Mr. Willie, dressed in his Sunday best, gets out of the white car. When he sees everyone, he nods at Grandmamma. He never talks much and usually keeps his distance, but he always offers a smile to us kids. Mama always gets her own special hello from him, though. “Miz Gwen.” He tips his hat and almost whispers. She returns the smile.

Gwen dipped her hands into the warm, soapy water. The number of dirty dishes that piled up before lunch preparations were even complete always amazed her. As she gazed through the window over the sink, Libby crossed the backyard toward Denny’s car where the menfolk were gathered, all but Denny himself. Even as a boy, he’d preferred the women’s kitchen conversations over the men’s talk about farming and such.

The last day of school before Easter break, the only homework Mrs. Flynn gives is spelling words. So that morning, I ask Mama’s permission to get off the bus after school at Ivey’s. She agrees—so long as I check in with her friend, Miss Cheryl, the second I get there and then come straight to the Chamber right after.

I hurry back to the Chamber with the thought weighing on me of those ladies in Ivey’s believing I’m a robber. What will Miss Cheryl tell Mama? When I get close to the police station, Uncle Grant is in the parking lot. I call to him from the corner. He waves. “Hey, wait up!” After saying something to the officer he’s been talking to, he jogs toward me, holding his handcuffs against his hip so they don’t clink around. “How’s my girl?”

Gwen felt Grant’s eyes settle on her. Uncrossing her arms, she angled to face him in the chair beside her desk. He looked puzzled, likely not just about those darn flowers—she’d been so stupid to bring them into work—but also about Libby. Her daughter rarely acted out the way she just had, but there was no way Gwen could explain her behavior without telling Grant about Nate, and somehow, she had to get Libby to understand that she couldn’t talk about him either.

Gwen was shocked when Libby jerked away from her and stomped to position herself beside Grant at the window overseeing the office. A long stride took her to the window as well. Steading herself with a grip on table’s edge, she responded breathlessly to Grant’s question about the man now settled into the chair beside her desk: “Yes, he’s the new member.” Gwen placed her hands on Libby’s shoulders, hoping to suppress any comments from her. Her daughter shrugged, but didn’t pull