Excerpts

Preacher Man and the Switch

Darlene grew up in a small Southern town at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Life in the foothills revolved around cotton and the people who spun it. Just about everybody born and raised on a mill hill talked a lot about going places, but only every now and then would someone really leave. If you lived there long enough, the hill became more than an address—it was a way of life.

Her father volunteered down at the mill mission on Sundays, where he loved to greet church–goers at the door (especially the ladies) and even do some occasional preaching. Her mother played the old pump organ in the corner when she wasn’t having another bad headache that sent her to bed for a day or two. Darlene hated what she called “churchy things,” particularly the hard pews and long services. Most of all, she resented being the kid of E.B. Morgan or “Preacher Man,” as he was known around the hill.

It wasn’t unusual for Darlene to drift off to sleep listening to her parents argue. Betty Ann Morgan could stay out of her husband’s way most evenings after work as long as she had a good supper on the table. Other nights, nothing could satisfy Earl as he sat alone, brooding for hours on the back porch steps. If he came in without slamming the door, Betty Ann would breathe a sigh of relief. Otherwise, she knew she would have to face the demons Earl couldn’t battle by himself anymore.

When the yelling and hitting began, Darlene would slide way down into her blanket, pulling it over her head to muffle her sobs as she huddled close to the wall on her tiny cot in the corner of her parent’s bedroom.

She feared the switch—one she had to go outside and pick herself when she was “bad”—regardless of the weather, day or night. She would then be forced to watch as her daddy plucked the leaves from the branch one by one, snapping it through the air a few times to check its ability to, as he said, “teach a lesson.”

Earl’s homemade dramas always worked. By the time he was ready to punish Darlene, she was sick to her stomach. Betty Ann knew not to try to stop her husband’s hot temper ahead of time or one of the women in the family would bear the brunt of it. Instead, she hesitated as long as she could before stepping in between the switch and her little girl, pleading with Earl as she guided Darlene into the bathroom.

After his violent episodes, Earl usually left the house and stayed out all night. Once the front door slammed, Betty Ann knew it was all right to come out from the tiny bathroom built on the back porch. With Earl gone, the child who remained fearfully silent no longer contained her nausea. Darlene vomited while a tearful Betty Ann pulled her little girl’s hair back from her face and held her brow.

She helped her put on her night clothes so as not to rub against the switch marks on her legs and buttocks, then gently tucked her into bed, humming a curious mixture of lullabies and old hymns. Darlene clutched her mother’s hand as she traced the switch marks that Betty Ann had once again taken for her. When she felt safe, she let go and slept.

If Back Porch Steps Could Talk

Aunt Lucy drove down from West Ridge to get eight-year-old Darlene out of school the day Betty Ann died. The medical doctor brought up from the state capital determined it was a sudden brain hemorrhage that caused the frail twenty-eight year-old to fall down the back porch steps. Supposedly, no one was at home; no one heard her cry for help.

After the funeral, Darlene was sitting alone in the living room when she overheard Lucy and some neighbors talking in loud whispers from the kitchen. They said the police, looking to give Earl the news, finally found him at Nell Hester’s house on the outskirts of town.

Sure enough, Miss Nell started coming around the house a few weeks later, bringing cooked meals and cleaning up the place. Following the southern tradition of a year-long bereavement, Earl announced soon afterward that God had seen fit to give him and his daughter a welcomed companion. Even so, Darlene hated Nell and she didn’t care who knew it. And when Earl, the church folks, or the neighbors weren’t looking, the feeling was mutual.

It was hard enough for Darlene to adjust to the sudden loss of her mother, followed by the woman who, after years of opening her back door to Earl late at night, lawfully and proudly stepped into Betty Ann’s shoes.

Nell was the same woman Darlene saw heatedly talking to her mother one day in the mill parking lot. Although told to walk on home, the little girl dawdled long enough to hear her mother’s raised voice.

“At least you can wait until I’m dead, Nell Hester!”

At the time, Darlene didn’t have a clue as to what her mother meant, nor did she realize Betty Ann’s headaches were increasing. But it didn’t take long for her to put it all together once Nell moved in and, on many a dark night, lie awake and wonder all sorts of things...

 

 Here’s my grandmother, Betty Ann, in her
hand-sewn wedding outfit—quite the fashion in the ‘30s

This is the only picture my birth mom had of her mother, well-hidden under the mattress inside a small New Testament.

At age 11, mom watched in anguish as her enraged stepmother burned the rest of Betty Ann’s possessions in the back yard.

This photo of Betty Ann was given to my mom years later at a Jenkins family reunion. It was taken just a few months before her death.

The stress from an abusive marriage and frail health is evident, but my grandmother still managed a beautiful smile.

The Bus to Betrayal

Sam came from Bryson Gap near the state line. His dad (like his dad before him) worked cotton, but left the day Sam turned two. Ever since, his mother tended to drinks and the men at a roadside tavern. Sam swore he wasn’t getting cotton dust in his lungs. He aimed to see what was on the other side of a mill hill.

He liked Darlene’s smile, and she longed for Sam’s affection. One day he told her about a call he got from his cousin who had a friend up north in New York City. The word was out about some big paying jobs. The more she listened to Sam, the more romantic it all sounded. She was too happy with Sam to ask any questions. This was her chance at a new life; she was willing to take the risk.

She told her daddy she was spending the night with Aunt Ruth and going to church with her the next morning over in Donaldson. But as folks at the Mt. Zion Holiness Church tarried a little while longer at the altar before dismissing for Sunday dinner, a bus bound for New York rolled into Washington, DC, carrying a runaway and the man of her dreams.

New York City was intimidating for a Southern girl like Darlene. Everything was different—the pace, the people. Sam did get the job with his cousin’s friend, but Darlene’s dreams soon turned into nightmares. The hushed conversations, calls for “errands” all hours of the day and night, and the increasing stress on Sam told Darlene that he had gotten into something over his head. She feared more and more for their safety.

Men would come and go around their run-down flat in Brooklyn. Sam said it was just a “starting out” place because soon he would be making the kind of money that people back home only talked about.

But Darlene finally started asking those questions—first of Sam, then of his friends. She was soon shut out from all conversations and asked to leave the room when “customers” came for Sam.

Months passed and Sam grew distant and preoccupied. Darlene lived like a prisoner, often driven to upscale homes to baby-sit for an entire day and even weekends, but never getting paid. She was repeatedly warned not to mention anything about her personal life to the children nor ask them any questions about their families.

She caught Sam in so many lies. He began to act increasingly annoyed with Darlene, as if her presence had become unwanted baggage to what he was doing and the people he was doing it for. She begged him to leave New York, but he wouldn’t listen.

From the Hill to the Streets

Darlene was shocked when one of the men who worked with Sam informed her that she was going to move in with Peggy for a few days. A puzzled Darlene asked, “Who’s Peggy?”

The man she knew only as J.D. chuckled. “Well, you could say she runs a--uh, finishing school. Yeah. She’s a busy gal, so be ready first thing t’morrow morning.” Pointing his stale, unlit cigar in Darlene’s direction he warned, “If you ain’t, you’re gonna cause Sam trouble.”

As he was going out the door, J.D. suddenly grabbed Darlene, locking her in his strong grip. The sweat on his stubbly beard brushed against her cheek as he whispered, “Ol’ Peg’s real good at grooming Southern belles like you. Who knows, maybe I can be your first customer!”

She heard him laugh all the way down the hall as her trembling fingers finally secured the latch on the door. A sudden wave of nausea sent her running to the bathroom. She sobbed as she leaned against the toilet, wishing she could feel the familiar, reassuring touch of her mother’s hand to her brow. But the only other creature in the room was a cockroach scurrying along the baseboard, trying to find a better hiding place after all the commotion.

A few minutes later, Darlene got up and splashed her face. She stared into the mirror—examining every detail—oblivious to the water dripping onto her blouse. Then, as if finding an inner resolve, Betty Ann’s little girl wiped her chin. She pinned back her sandy blonde hair and waited for Sam to come home.

That night Sam tried to assure her that working for Miss Peg was just temporary until he could move up in the company, and it really wouldn’t change anything between the two of them. He said they needed her cooperation. His persistence began to take on guilt-laden tones: “If you really love me, you’ll do it”.

Darlene thought she had already proven her love for Sam by giving herself to him--all of herself. But it wasn’t enough. A man she hardly recognized anymore wanted to offer her body to strangers for easy cash on the streets of New York.

Before going to bed, Sam made it clear that his boss was not going to put up with her taking a cheap ride. She was expected to work like the other girls brought into the organization. He then matter-of-factly went on to bed.

However, Darlene sat at their little kitchen table all night and heard the sounds of a city that never sleeps. She also listened to her heart...

Giuseppe "Crazy Joe" "Bonanno was the boss of the Brooklyn-based crime family that bears his name.

The Bananno Family was the smaller of the original five families that controlled organized crime in New York City in the 50's.

A Basement in Cotton Town

Earl was furious! At first, he refused to open the door to his wayward daughter.

“Go stay with Ruth, tramp!” he barked through the screen door.

She had just come from there, having been politely told by her newly widowed aunt that she couldn’t take on Darlene and her problems right now.

Anita was excited to see her big sister, but Nell quickly pointed out that the girls’ bedroom furniture had been “remodeled” to a single and Darlene’s belongings were stored in the basement.

The Morgan’s larger rental house, secured after the second marriage, was built on a slope. Underneath the mill unit was a storage area with a small window and door. The tiny, dingy basement was always a refuge for Darlene. She would go there to hide or to play, depending on the mood of the people upstairs.

Since all of her things were there, she asked if she could stay below for just a few days until she could decide what to do. She had access to the bathroom from the back porch steps, and an old couch stored in the corner would do as a bed. Earl agreed, but let his older daughter know that if she caused any more problems, he would have no choice but to go ahead with plans to have her sent to a state-run home for girls of “her kind”.

She whirled around and snapped, “Plans? What plans?”

Darlene knew that Earl had not even reported her missing all those months. As her father shuffled up the back stairs, he reminded her that she was in no position to put him to the test. The door slammed and she was alone. She hated to admit it, but Earl was right. Thanks to him, she at least had a roof over her head for a while.

She got a third-shift job at the mill. The work was harder than washing dishes down at the diner, but the pay was much better. She really didn’t mind living in the basement. After all, it was her space—a place nobody seemed interested in invading or taking away. Aunt Ruth no longer had anything to do with the niece who ran away with a boy to New York. Darlene’s childhood friend, Ollie Bennett (one of the few “respectable” people in town who still spoke to her), found an electric heater on sale at Fletcher’s Hardware and dropped it by one night before her shift. Her little home was dry and relatively warm.

She would often get invited by other third-shift workers to walk down to Clyde’s Diner for breakfast. When she went along, someone in the crew would always insist on buying her meal. Once a week the new mill hand would find a box of baked goods waiting for her at her work station, and on Sundays, Viola Williams invited Darlene down to “Scuffle Town” (the black side of town in the segregated ‘50s) for chicken dinner—often the only full meal she would have for the week. Folks knew she needed help, but they weren’t going to poke their noses into her business. She was E.B. Morgan’s kid and her problems were a family matter. It was just the Southern way.

Darlene felt unusually tired. She thought that perhaps after all she’d been through, it was wise to stay put and keep things simple for a while. She convinced Earl to let her rent out the basement. Nell immediately liked the idea of extra money coming into the house, but only if Darlene was excluded from coming upstairs. Earl set her up on a payment plan and some rules.

As soon as he had payment for the first month’s rent in hand, Earl made it clear their relationship from that point on was strictly one of boarder and landlord. She laughed out loud as her father shuffled up the back steps. “So what’s new, old man,” she yelled, “what’s new, huh?” The sixteen-year-old sounded tough, but as the autumn nights grew longer, so did Darlene’s fears. She knew she was in trouble.

Revelation in the Rain

It was the middle of October and Darlene found herself standing at the pay phone on the back wall of Mr. Booker’s store near closing time. She had walked there in a light evening rain and was shivering, but not from the weather.

She picked up the receiver, unfolded a crumpled yellow paper, and carefully gave the operator the telephone number for Sam’s cousin in New York. She was surprised when Sam answered and relieved when he accepted the collect call.

Darlene had rehearsed this conversation over and over again in her mind, but the words weren’t coming that easily. She had hoped that as soon as he heard, Sam would be willing to come home to marry her and make a clean start. Instead, an angry man was on the other end of the line.

“You and me…that was a g–––damn mistake! You’re the one who left, babe. It’s your problem now.

Deal with it!” Sam hung up. Seconds later, the line was cut between New York City, the little mill hill, and Darlene’s heart.

She slumped against the wall, clutching the little piece of paper that was supposed to connect her to the one person that could have, should have cared. She thought maybe her dad, Nell, and Sam were right. Her life was one big mistake. No one ever loved her, except Betty Ann. But Darlene reckoned that if her mother had lived, she would probably have become disgusted with her, too—just like everybody else.

Blanche Atkins rattled the keys in the direction of her last customer. Scolding the teen for “dilly-dallying around,” she reminded Darlene that it was Wednesday and prayer meeting started at seven. She never looked directly into the tear-stained face of the preacher man’s daughter as she hurried to lock up and get to the mission. As Darlene stepped out onto Jackson Corner, she decided that the only way to get rid of a mistake was to erase it.

Trudging back to the basement along the damp streets, she suddenly felt a strong kick in her stomach. She grabbed herself with a surprised “Uh!”...but the feeling left as quickly as it came. A chilly drizzle began. She picked up the pace and returned to her shadowy thoughts of suicide, convinced that a handful of Miss Nell’s nerve pills stolen from the medicine cabinet upstairs would put her gently to sleep forever.

She rounded the corner of the school playground when it happened again—another jolt; then, a sort of “flutter.” She reached out to steady herself against the playground fence, waiting, wondering. All at once, she was flooded with an intense awareness, a split second understanding so strong that she drew a startled breath. “A baby,” she whispered, protectively pulling her jacket across her abdomen. “I have a baby.”

Darlene could not begin to explain how she knew, but she was certain that the child growing inside of her sensed the despair, as well as the chilling resolve to end both their lives. She was convinced that the baby was reaching out, desperate to live…and wanting her to live, too.

Unsettling thoughts of both fear and amazement bombarded her as she made her way up the hill to Spruce Street. By the time she pushed open the stubborn door to what she called home, Darlene had made up her mind.

She didn’t know how she would get through the days ahead, but she wanted to take one more risk to love and be loved in return. Astonished at the new, strong emotions to protect the tiny person living in her body, Darlene wondered if her peculiar feelings were what others called “motherhood”. She found herself thinking in terms of her surprise baby, not just her unexpected pregnancy.

Later, a heavy rain beat upon her bare window. Darlene could usually get a little sleep in spite of the broken springs and holes where sneaky rats regularly stole the couch stuffing, but not that night. The reality of her situation weighed heavily.

“Oh, God, please help me,” she cried. “I don’t know what to do!”

Darlene muffled her restless sobs face down into her pillow, not wanting to awaken and anger the family upstairs. To the frightened sixteen-year old, the plea was nothing more than an emotional release. But the One she called out to that night was listening...

This is the actual mill house where Darlene lived after her father remarried and had a daughter with Nell.

The current residents, who have remodeled the house, were kind enough to let me take a photo of the place Darlene called home.

Hiding Against Time

Darlene didn’t tell anyone about the baby, not even Doc Wilson who treated most of the mill workers and their families. It’s not that she didn’t want to, eventually, but it scared her to think what would happen to her and the baby if Earl found out. She’d heard stories about girls who were driven all the way to Monroe to a doctor’s office at night to take care of their “problems”. Darlene didn’t think she could bear having another part of her life taken away. Yet, she worried more as each day passed about how she was going to take care of her child.

Tall for her age and well proportioned, Darlene hid her growing secret underneath the oversized jeans, T-shirts, and light jacket that became her daily uniform at the mill. She hoped that before spring she could decide what to do, but time ran out for her on April 14, 1955.

As he dressed for work early that morning, Earl got a knock on his back door. He thought Nell left her lunch again on the kitchen counter. He was surprised to see his older daughter, doubled over, pale and in pain. He immediately assumed it was her appendix. When Darlene told him the truth, the whole neighborhood heard Earl Morgan go on a tirade. He was still swearing at the top of his lungs when the tires on his brother’s old 1940 Chevrolet Sedan squealed into the mill parking lot to pick up Nell. The nearest hospital was in Lewiston, forty miles away.

Darlene didn’t mean for it to happen this way. The last thing she wanted was to involve Earl and Nell, but the pains frightened her. She even wondered if the baby was normal. She scrunched down in between the covers of an old blanket in the back seat, covering her head—just like the little girl who feared the switch.

Darlene resigned that the familiar, as ugly as it was, seemed better than putting herself into the hands of total strangers. She tried to drown out Earl and Nell’s remarks by putting her hands over her ears. What she could hear, though, she agreed with--at sixteen, her life was already one “hell of a mess.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the little life inside of her. “I’m so sorry it’s ending this way.”

As Earl opened the door to the county hospital, he sneered, “Hey, you and that kid could die in there, you know.” Darlene looked up into his cold, steady eyes, searching for any warmth of a father. She was too shaken to fight back. Breaking her stare, she caught her breath and walked without help into the strange sights and smells of Lewiston Memorial.

The Baby Downstairs

Most of the hospital staff talked in hushed tones with disapproving glances as they prepared Darlene for delivery, but Dr. Morris was different. He talked sympathetically with his young patient, often patting her hand and wiping her brow. Earl never came to the nurses’ station to inquire about his daughter’s condition. He was too busy talking to a lawyer on the phone in the lobby.

Darlene knew by the look on Dr. Morris’ face he was troubled. She felt Earl’s wish was about to come true when she was told that her baby was wedged horizontally in the uterus. An attempt had to be made to rotate the tiny body from a sideways position towards the birth canal or a normal delivery would not be possible. The fearful teenager choked back tears as attendants wheeled her gurney into the operating room to stand by for an emergency C-section.


As final preparations got underway, Dr. Morris took Darlene by the hands. He asked if she believed in God because if so, it was a good time for them to pray together. She told Dr. Morris that the man who brought her to the hospital claimed to be one of God’s preachers, but she knew that he was hoping that neither she nor the baby would make it. Darlene made it very clear: to her, God was just another E.B. Morgan.

Dr. Morris looked intently into her anxious, blue eyes. “I understand,” he said. “But right now, this is about you and the baby, not the man downstairs.”


Darlene was groggy. “God hates me.”


“No,” said Dr. Morris, “people who use His name have done you wrong, but God can’t hate what He creates. He loves you.”

She was fumbling for a response when a large, black mask was placed over her nose and mouth. Dr. Morris signaled to the nurses and quickly prayed as he moved to the end of the bed, asking God to help them both—for him as a physician to be able to bring both the young mother and baby safely through the procedure and for Darlene to be at peace, knowing that God loved her and still had a wonderful plan for her life. She had never heard anyone pray like that.


“The baby,” she sighed, “help the——” Before she could finish, the awful smelling ether had done its job.

At 9:53 PM, a small but healthy baby girl arrived into the world. Dr. Morris was relieved because the young mother had never seen a doctor nor taken any special precautions during her unusually stressful pregnancy. Soon after she awoke, Darlene was prepped and moved to another floor in the hospital, far away from the nursery since Earl had already made legal arrangements to sign away all maternal rights.


Nightly sleep came only in connected moments, not hours. Every movement or sound from the other female patients in the ward seemed amplified in the dimly lit room. It was in these fitful moments that Darlene would think about the baby girl downstairs with no name on her bassinet.

When other babies go to their mommies to be fed, where does April go?
Does anybody pay attention to my baby at the window?

Darlene desperately wanted her little girl to know that someone upstairs in Ward 5 loved her very much. By habit, she huddled under the thin blanket and spoke softly, as if April were in her arms. “If I’d been older, I’d have made it work for us..."

 This is the cotton mill where Darlene worked third shift for sixty-five cents an hour right up until the day she delivered her baby.

Ordered Steps

Mary Diane's next step led her to the public library. Until 1970, the Lewiston newspaper would print admissions and releases from the county hospital. On microfilm records, a “Miss Darlene Morgan” was admitted to Lewiston Memorial on April 14, 1955--the only “Morgan” admitted and the only single female on that day. The paper also listed Leesville as Miss Morgan’s hometown. Mary Diane had amazingly discovered the identity of her birth mother within minutes.

A few days later, she made her way forty miles up the road to Leesville High School where she asked to look through some old records dating back to the ‘50s. She told the matronly attendant at the front desk that she was looking for a relative. It was Myra Brown’s last day in the Leesville school system; she was proudly retiring after forty-three years of service.

“I bet I can speed up your search, honey,” Myra said in a lilting voice. “Why, I’ve known every student who strolled through those doors!” Myra was right. She remembered Darlene Morgan and took her visitor straight to the records stored in a small, musty closet.

“It’s a shame Darlene dropped out,” she said. “She was a sweet girl, but she had a troubled home life. And then that boy came around…” Myra shook her head and paused, as if recalling a vivid memory.

Excited beyond belief, Mary Diane was leaving with a copy of the records and even a school picture of Darlene in the eighth grade. Myra opened the side door to the office just far enough to pop her head out.

“By the way, dear,” she yelled across the parking lot, “old Preacher Earl still lives in the same house over there on Spruce Street, but I wouldn’t advise you dropping by--at least not yet.”

Before leaving Leesville, “Baby Girl Morgan” drove by the preacher’s house, having names but no details of what life was like for Darlene and the chain of events that led to the adoption.

God Calling

A year passed and Mary Diane had not contacted Earl. Seventy-two year-old Tom Horton died suddenly from a heart attack and Ellen was also in bad health. The only child of the Hortons didn’t have time to think of anything else as she adjusted to the loss of her dad and faced the challenges of taking care of her elderly mother.

But later the desire was rekindled. Her mother’s health stabilized and Mary Diane took the time and energy to find Darlene. A friend who was a Christian counselor offered to be the go-between. The call was made.

When asked about Darlene’s pregnancy and resulting adoption, Earl couldn’t remember whether his daughter had delivered a girl or a boy, but Mary Diane’s friend assured him it was a girl and she was hoping to contact her birth mother. At first, Earl was distressed and reluctant to talk, but the caller continued to be gracious and patient. Finally, he grumbled something about Darlene living in Tucker Shoals.

Tucker Shoals! Tom Horton grew up in Tucker Shoals, picking cotton and working the family farm. After learning the electrical trade up north, Tom resettled near his hometown years later as a successful contractor and carried his family back to Tucker Shoals on many summer weekends to visit relatives.

Getting the exact address from the phone operator, Mary Diane could not believe that Darlene lived just one street over from Tom’s aunt and uncle. As a child, she played in the front yard of Uncle Grady’s house many evenings before the call to supper.

How many times, she wondered, did her birth mother prepare supper while watching her children through the kitchen window, just steps away from the child she had never seen…

Mary Diane was convinced that during those summers in that little town, she had brushed by Darlene at a store or passed her on the road. Mother and daughter moved through life amazingly close to each other, yet neither woman was aware of the identity of the other or of the special link they shared.

Her friend did not delay. He called Mrs. Henderson. “I am a friend of a young lady who is sitting in my office right now,” he said, “and she wants to locate her birth——”

Darlene would not let him finish. “April?” she asked in a breathless voice, “is this about April?

She was shocked. She had been praying to see the little girl she placed into God’s hands twenty-eight years ago. As time passed, though, Darlene wondered if it was in God’s plan for her to ever see the fruit of her prayers. It happened with just one phone call.

Unfailing Grace

After an awkward, but well-mannered introduction three days later in the presence of both families at the counselor’s office, the two women could no longer contain themselves. Mother and daughter rushed into each other’s arms. At last, the girl in Ward 5 got to hold her child.

For the next four hours, she told Mary Diane her astonishing story. As they filled in the gaps between their lives, the grace of God became so clear—a stunning providence that kept them near each other, preparing them for such a remarkable encounter.

Mary Diane had pursued a career in broadcasting and was an announcer and talk show host at a regional Christian radio station. Her daily program featured a mid-morning prayer time where people across parts of three states would call in their prayer requests. She would share the needs and then ask the listeners to join in a prayer of agreement.

It was a powerful platform God used to draw His family together from all walks of life and locations to pray for one another. Incredibly, Darlene was one of those faithful listeners, totally unaware that the lady who led her in prayer every day was her “April.”

What an unforgettable moment when Darlene reached into her purse and pulled out a New Testament with its ragged binding and fragile edges, along with the picture of Mary Diane’s grandmother. Betty Ann left a little girl and a Bible behind when her years on earth ended. As short as it was, her life and quiet faith reached out and touched the granddaughter she never met.

Darlene also left a little girl, with a prayer for her welfare and happiness. Twenty-eight years later, as she pressed the picture and New Testament into her daughter’s hands, the women wept with gratitude at the overwhelming goodness of God. And on that reunion day, they sensed Betty Ann was also rejoicing with them.

This New Testament, now over 100 years old, is one of  Mary Diane’s most prized possessions.

It originally belonged to Mabel Jenkins who gave it to her daughter, Betty Ann, the day she was baptized at Hodges Crossing in the Roebuck River, August 11, 1929.

In turn, an aunt gave it to Darlene after Betty Ann's untimely death. Darlene kept it hidden under her mattress since her step mom, Nell, had burned the previous Mrs. Morgan's possessions.

Various passages—marked by women through the generations—left distinct ways to remember something personally important. This heirloom will be passed to Mary Diane's granddaughter.