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  PRAISE FOR BJ MAYO AND ALFIE CARTER

  “In his debut novel, Alfie Carter, BJ Mayo has crafted extraordinarily original and real characters that will encircle your heart and camp out with you long after you’ve read the last page. Join Jackaleena and Alfie in their amazing journeys from Africa to Texas in a delightfully original and harrowing path of survival, growth, courage, and faith that showcases grace in its purest form. You will not be disappointed.”

  —Marian P. Merritt, author of The Moon Has No Light

  “From the war torn jungles of the African coast to the dusty hills of West Texas, Alfie Carter is an incredible story of courage, faith and love.”

  —Robert C. Martinez, PE, president and CEO, Titan Rock Exploration & Production

  “A wonderful story masterfully written. The storylines were presented and woven together to make a fascinating read—easy to follow with proper attention given to detail. Highly recommended.”

  —Rory Pendleton, Texas A&M class of ’78

  “Bob Mayo is a good storyteller whose attention to detail draws the reader into this wonderful story of hope, perseverance, and faith. A very enjoyable read.”

  —Tommy Knowles, retired oil and gas executive

  Copyright © 2021 by BJ Mayo

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Skyhorse Publishing books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or [email protected].

  Skyhorse® and Skyhorse Publishing® are registered trademarks of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation.

  Visit our website at www.skyhorsepublishing.com.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  Cover design by Daniel Brount

  Cover photo credit: Shutterstock

  Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-6425-5

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-6426-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  There is something about a stream that calms the spirit.

  A calm spirit cleanses the soul.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Ms. Carter . . . Counselor, please approach the bench,” said a seemingly exasperated Judge Ivis Parker. “Defense counselor, you too.” His tremendous, pepper-colored, and generously woolly eyebrows narrowed to a gray V, as they always did when he was not happy. The bushy black and gray twigs melded together at the seam above his nose. Normally unflappable, his tone denoted no further tolerance.

  “Judge, I am so sorry,” Jackie said, barely above an audible whisper, “I was merely in deep thought. Again, I am deeply sorry.”

  “Okay, okay, please proceed, counselor, and let’s please try to stay focused on our task at hand. This is the second time in today’s proceeding that you seemed to fade off, and I sincerely hope it is the last.”

  “It will be, Judge,” Jackie replied.

  Jackie Carter, County Prosecutor for Spring, Texas, was more than deeply troubled by the case at hand. The alleged rape of a ten-year-old girl by two local seventeen-year-old boys was going fairly well for the prosecution, until the girl and her parents agreed to allow her to testify in front of the jury. There she sat on the witness stand, barely below the age of puberty, innocent and pure. The normally stoic prosecutor became overwhelmed with empathy, to the point of a near flood of tears just visualizing what had potentially happened to this young girl. Every time the girl was given a question, she spoke in halting, one-word answers, and Jackie’s skin would crawl.

  The defense attorney was merciless. His line of questioning seemed to tilt the guilt in the little girl’s direction. Jackie interrupted him time and again, as he put forth questions that made it look as if she had provoked the attack by the two young men. As Jackie thought of the brutality of the event, she could not gain full control of her emotions and began to weep.

  Judge Parker immediately summoned her to the bench. His gravelly voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Ms. Carter, may I ask what in the wretched sam hill is wrong with you today? I have seen you handle some of the roughest cases ever to come across my bench without so much as a flinch, always prepared, always professional, and might I say, somewhat like stone at times. What is so different about this one? The first time I can forgive, the second is questionable. But crying publicly, counselor, and in front of the jury, for all to see? Are you trying to elicit sympathy for the plaintiff, disgrace for the defendants? If you want to wreck this case, keep on doing what you are doing, but I will highly advise you to dry it up, and I mean now. Do you understand me? I want no more of what I have seen, do I make myself clear?”

  Jackie faltered, bringing her tissue to her very red eyes. “Judge, I do not think I can continue today,” she said in a whisper. Her head was pounding, sinuses draining uncontrollably. Her tissue, wadded up in her clinched hand, was no longer of use. It was saturated. “If you can bear with me, I would like to see you in your chambers.”

  “Very well, counselor, but it better be good, and I mean damn good. Look at the cost of the court,” he said in his low, rumbling voice. He never spoke loud enough for anyone else to hear. “Remember, our docket is very loaded for the next three months and this only adds to that business by another day. Why can’t people control their emotions? I mean, I understand that some folks’ feelings are subject to change on a whim, but this is pure nonsense. This is not you.”

  Judge Parker gaveled the day’s proceedings to a close and rescheduled for 9:00 a.m. the following day.

  “Counselor, I will see you in my chambers. Defense counselor, I will call you later this evening,” he said as he waved his hand that there would be no further questions from anyone. Jackie knew he was more than fair, but his hackles were clearly up. It was speculative as to what was going to happen in his chambers. When his hackles got raised, he was a quite a bone to be chewed.

  She sat quietly in Judge Parker’s chambers, awaiting his dreaded arrival. I guess he deserves the truth, as he is a good man, she thought. She had never known him to be unfair in her years as county prosecutor of Spring. For the most part, he always kept himself tempered and mindful, never letting his facial expressions betray his thoughts. However, on rare occasions this did not hold true, specifically when a man, being tried for the murder of his wife, actually jumped up and spit in the judge’s
direction. His complexion turned dark red and his great furrowed eyebrows narrowed. The skin between his eyebrows seemed to turn a dark red in a giant wrinkle. “Handcuff this man and gag him, if necessary,” he said. “I will not tolerate rude behavior in my courtroom.” It certainly got everyone’s attention, and a further outburst did not occur.

  The judge, at six feet five inches, was quite the specimen of a man’s man. He weighed close to three hundred pounds, well-distributed on his massive frame. His giant arms were evident under his flowing black robe. He was always well-groomed, with the exception of the great bushy eyebrows, and always impeccable in his slim black tie. Courtroom witnesses and jury pools always seemed to be taken aback when the Honorable Judge Ivis Parker was brought in by the court bailiff and the courtroom called to order. Jackie always studied the members of the jury’s reactions when he entered the courtroom. His no-nonsense persona was commanding in a calm way. Somehow the audience got the impression that justice just might prevail in a case with a judge like this. He was always a very attentive listener with attention to precise detail. With the exclusion of the man spitting in the judge’s direction on one occasion, there had never been outward signs of animosity towards Judge Parker.

  Judge Parker entered his chambers, removing his robe as he walked through the door. From the color of his cheeks she ascertained that he was probable quite angry, just as he had appeared to be in the courtroom. He hung his robe on the wooden peg next to a framed picture of him and his wife, Melissa.

  “Judge . . . I need . . . ” She stopped and grabbed the tissue again as tears streamed down her face. “I really need to talk to you if you will permit me a little bit of time. Will you allow me a few minutes?”

  Judge Parker, ever the mind reader, sensing he was in for some kind of ride he did not prefer to go on, sighed deeply. “Jackie, please do proceed, take your time, I have only but time,” waving his hand in a broad wave “ . . . and I always like a good story. I am all but certain that yours is going to be a good one after what I saw today.”

  “My name, my name is . . . it is Jackaleena Karino N’Denga,” she said haltingly.

  Judge Parker’s eyes narrowed with great surprise and interest when she spoke these words, knowing they were fixing to go off a cliff and he was being dragged along. The little crow’s feet on his eyes crinkled up, and looked much like the topo maps of the Grand Canyon she had seen. That look struck fear in some areas of her mind, and affection in others. She sat transfixed, stammering for another second or two, just trying to read his face map.

  “I am Cabindan. My mother, her name was Juliana, and my father’s name, it is Mauricio. My little brother A’rao Olimpio died of malaria when he was very little. Maybe about four years old. At that time in our village, I did not know that mosquitos carried the illness. We had no window covering as we lived in a thatch hut. These were the members of my family. There are no others alive but I.”

  Judge Parker looked on in amazement. “Excuse me for my interruption, but may I ask how you got here? Cabinda is somewhere in Africa, is it not?” He spun the world globe on his desk. “Please show me where Cabinda is on this thing. That had to have been a remarkable journey, to say the least. Please go on.”

  “Yes, Judge, it is indeed in Africa,” as she placed her finger on the exact spot on the globe. “As I said, if you will allow me a few minutes, maybe I can explain exactly what twisted me off in court today. Please excuse me, as my head is pounding and my nose is running somewhat uncontrollably.”

  “Judge, do you have any aspirin in your chambers and a bottle of water?”

  “Why yes,” the judge said as he fumbled around in his desk. He produced a little tin of aspirin and handed it to Jackie. He went to his small refrigerator and pulled a cold bottle of water out.

  She took two aspirin and swallowed them down. Her heart rate was beginning to slow as she began.

  “I am of the Ovimbundu people. I am Cabindan. My tribal language is Umbundu. I lived in the village of B’Douro. I am fluent in Portuguese; my father taught me. I believe the year to be 1978 in which I was born. I say the year to be 1978 as I am not sure exactly when that day really was.

  “I was born in our house, which I remember to be thatch, and our floor was dirt, as all other houses were in my village. My mother told me I was born there during the harvest of the crops.

  “I remember well that my father worked the soil and grew crops. My father owned two cows and four goats. He raised corn on a small plot outside our village. He also helped with beekeeping and honey- and wax-gathering. Our village traded with the Portuguese. My mother cooked for our family. We enjoyed eating good for a while.

  “One day, men came and took him away. That night, or the next day, I think, they took my mother. I never saw either of them again. I believe they were no longer of this earth shortly after the men came. Clairvoyance, I suppose. Anyway, I know they no longer walk with us. I was very young and remember most parts of my early life very well, while others are a little fuzzy. I no longer have the nightmares, or wake up in a cold sweat as before. Until today, I had never lost my public composure. For that, I deeply apologize.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jackaleena sat quietly by the slow-moving stream. The peaceful birds called back to each other as they flew gracefully over the water. She wriggled her toes in the mud. She smiled as she noticed again that her toes were the same color as the mud. All of her people were colored like she. Some from the mountain regions were lighter in color. Maybe the night light in the sky made them lighter, as they were not shaded by as many trees as her people. They were not as well accepted within her tribe, but were tolerated, unless the witchy man Toto said no. They could purchase their purity with a few beautiful shells from the ocean, or, if it was his wish, with bloodletting from their veins and into his drinking cup mixed with cow’s milk.

  Her mother was not Milano and had the blood marks on her arms. She never told her why they were there. Jackaleena’s father always told her she was as smart as the leopard and as pretty as the flowers. She always looked into the quiet pool at her face. She thought she did not look like a flower, but flowers were pretty. She guessed it to be true; she might be as pretty as a flower.

  She knew leopards were smart animals. She knew she could sometimes perceive what most people were thinking about saying before they spoke their words. She guessed her father was right. A leopard always seemed to know the hunter’s next move, she had heard many times by the communal fire when the men were talking. They always feared the leopard, and rarely saw one, much less killed one. She always loved to sit close to the communal man’s fire and listen to their bush stories, especially the stories of the hunts.

  She would sit for hours at the stream, until mother whistled her special bird call and she was to come quickly to the house. Most days, Jackaleena was out when the sun was two fingers flat above the land, exploring the areas of the stream. The giant tree by the stream always induced exploring, with its gaping root bundle and secret entrance. It was narrow to get into but large on the inside. She would wiggle through the roots and into the big “room” in the middle. It was big enough for her to sprawl her legs out. She could stand up straight and peer out her eyeholes. Rarely had she seen anyone pass, other than people from her village and the animals. She would sit quietly and watch the animals come by, some very close, and until now they never knew she was there. Some would pause, bolt, and run, seeming to know something was not right. Others, like the great band of monkeys, moved through quickly, always ready to scurry up the great trees at a moment’s notice if the predator alarm was sounded. Once the call was sounded, loud barking and screeching rained down from the safety of the treetops.

  It was here she first saw the three young boys in soldier caps walk in from the sunny side of the jungle. They seemed to appear out of nowhere. She did not dare to breathe loudly when she heard them, and squatted low among the roots of her tree. Her heart was pounding wildly as she struggled to remain calm and quie
t. The boys were not much older than she, and were cursing and smoking with guns on their shoulders. Their camouflage shirts and breeches blended closely with the jungle.

  One of the village elders had a gun he had found in the jungle. He told the other men it had special powers, even though he had no ammunition. Each of the boys had an ammunition belt around their waist, with many bullets. They had soldier hats on and appeared nervous, gesturing and pointing back toward the sun. The cigarettes they were smoking seemed to make them look older, but their vulgar talk showed they were just young boys, possibly from the spirit world.

  She called on Toto, the village witchy man, to come remove her on wings from her hideout. She touched her hands together twice, very quietly. She had been taught that if you were truly looked upon well by Toto, clapping your hands twice after a fervent request, it would be honored. Jackaleena was scared, and wondered if they could hear her heart beating. It sounded like it was going to come out of her chest. She needed to relieve her water maker badly, but dared not. The burning sensation was overwhelming, but she forced herself to remain motionless.

  “We will go into the B’Douro camp today and kill many for Unita,” blustered the tallest of the group. He acted crazy, his hat cocked on his head. “We will crawl through the brush and wait until their fires are low and the huts are quiet. Then we will each go into the first hut we find and kill them all. Captain Mingas said he wants all of the young girls if we find them. I say, to hell with him, and take the girls for ourselves and kill his rooster.”

  “You do and you will be dead if he finds out,” said the squat one with narrow eyes.

  “Hell, I say Mingas is too old to catch me if I decide to run.”

  “You decide to run and he will kill us all. You know how he gets when he smokes the brown-brown.”

  All shook their heads in agreement. He was a mean and merciless killer when he smoked the brown-brown, and most of the time was just merciless. He always kept his prize rooster with him, day and night. Mingas kept the rooster in a small wooden cage a short distance from his sleeping area. If anyone approached within 100 meters, the rooster would let loose with nonstop crowing. All of the men and boys in his command were made to sleep 150 meters away. There he kept four more roosters in cages, placed a short distance from where they slept. Any disturbance caused nonstop crowing and squawking from the outside roosters. If this was before daybreak, they all knew trouble was close.