Debbie. Every plantation has a story buried deep inside it.

I give you the first chapter of Debbie. A biracial orphaned child forced to live deep in the bayou with her racist and cruel "white" family. I didn't know when I wrote this or when I set up the preorder and chose the publication date that it would be during a time of such civil unrest.
That's not something I could have foreseen. I do feel there are many messages in Debbie's story and as characters go she is one of my favorites. She fights in a world I'm not sure most of us can fully understand yet she finds a way to love and forgive; maybe some vengeance along the way... It wouldn't be much of a story if she was always completely humble. However she is strong in ways I'm not and her story has many layers.

The earliest memory is the scent of my mother. She smells like gardenias in bloom. I inhale deeply as if it will help me remember better but there are no gardenias here. I see her smile, teeth straight and white. Her lips red as cherries. The sun on her fair ebony skin makes it glow and her eyes are like dark silk. I know most of that is a fabrication in my head since I was a baby when she died.
A breeze rustles the leaves hanging from the cypress. My mind sees them sway. When I open my eyes they hang still, Spanish moss falling over the edges like a waterfall. I wonder if my mother sat beneath the same trees and imagined life. I often sneak away, whenever I think I won’t get caught.
My mother grew up in the house I live in. It’s large with four columns in front as if they’re holding it up. The porch wraps around it. Inside is a large entryway with fine marble floors that have seen better days. There are many rooms. I should know, as I spend days exploring.
The staircase loops around with iron bars. Glass chandeliers hang from the high ceilings and fancy designs are carved into the molding around the walls, floors, walkways, and ceilings. There’s the library filled with rows of books and a ladder that rolls along the shelves to reach the high ones.
Large windows in each room spill light throughout the house. Except the library: because of its burgundy walls and dark wood it always looks like night. At one time the home was marvelous but now it is in need of paint and repairs.
My uncle is a quiet man with no opinions of his own it seems, as he never voices any and my aunt walks around with a chip on her shoulder. Neither like me much. They don’t say it in words but they do in actions and expressions. I’m not their child. I’m not even a child they wanted in their home. They took me because there was no one else and they hide me away. I haven’t seen beyond our lonely spot in the bayou.
The crunching of dirt alerts me someone is near. Judging by the steps it’s Malery, my disgruntled cousin. A kick to my thigh tells me I was right. “Hey, dimwit, where the fuck you been?”
I cringed. I hated that name -- dimwit -- because my mother was black and Malery, like the rest of my family, considered people with color stupid. Although it was better than the other names he’s called me over the years. “I have a name, you know.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. Get the fuck back home.”
He kicked the dirt beside my head. The particles blew in my face. I sat up, spitting the dirt from my lips. Luckily, I closed my eyes in time. He meant business. If I didn’t follow him now, I’d get the attic. It was filled with shadows that crept in the dark and loud moans and creaks. It was there I found the locket. It was hung on a long, gold chain with a skeleton key. One side was a beautiful young woman with skin the color of mine. I imagined it was my mom but I really didn’t know.
Malery stayed two steps behind me, kicking the dirt every few feet so it would spray on my legs. I didn’t say a word but imagined kicking dirt clods into his eyes and pouring mud over his head. I touched the locket under my shirt. To me it was a way of keeping my mom close even though I knew she probably wasn’t my mom. It didn’t matter, because if she was alive I wouldn’t be here in this shipwreck of a mansion living with a wretched family.
I opened the door and was greeted by my aunt. “Where have you been?” she sneered. “I told you not to leave the grounds. If you can’t follow the rules, I’ll put a chain leash around that ankle.” She kicked my shin for emphasis.
I cringed, but knew better than to speak. She was mean enough to act on her words. I ate my dinner at the small table in the kitchen by myself. They always ate in the dining room but I wasn’t allowed to join them. I wasn’t allowed out of my room when they had company. I dared not try or it would be the attic with the ghosts.

After dinner, I cleaned the dishes and packed away the leftovers. From the window of my room I stared at the moon. It was a full, blood-moon. A gunshot cracked through the sky shaking the house to its foundation.

Releases July 14th!

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