The Shovells
A Novel By
STEVEN WOOD COLLINS
Retopia Limited
Cayman Islands, British West Indies
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Chapter One – Grannie
The wooden joints of the ancient rocking chair creaked and cracked as Chester pitched back and forth on the veranda of his opulent East End mansion. The rhythmic report of old age sounded like his knee joints when occasionally used.
He started to nod off when he heard her approach. He snapped upright and braced himself for the worst.
“Chester, you lazy old coot, git up from thar and fetch a jug of moonshine from the root cellar!”
“I be a fetchin' moonshine whenst still be a done a makin', Ma.”
Grannie sat down in the rocky chair facing his. She wore a solemn expression on her face. She said, “Elvis he's a fixin' to be a noveleest.”
“That sounds like a migh' dangerous occupaishion! It be 'bout time he thinks 'bout doin' somethin' dangerous as a growd-up. Whut be a noveleest?”
“Noveleests be’em, you ignoramous, who be a writin' books you don' ne’er read!”
“Be you insultin' my intelligence again?”
“That be a regular occupational 'azard fur you, you lazy polecat, if’n you 'ad any!”
“Whut Elvis needs doin' to be a noveleest?”
“Mandie Mae says he needs to takes one of those books to a publeesher.”
“Whut be a publeesher?”
“Hell fire on me if'n I knows!”
“Who he gots to wrassale to gits one of them thar books?”
“Him ne'er need to wrassale a single blamed soul, you lazy hick, You needs to buys him one of them thar books fur him. You plumb furgits we don' need to wrassale anymo’ to git whut we’ins wan’s.”
“Old ‘abits die hard, Ma. Whar be Elvis now?”
“He be out back at the concrete lake a wrassalin' and a blackguardin' that big, ugly lizard critter you boughts him the othern day.”
“That be one of those crocodillians.”
“Crocowhuts! Be you disrespectin' me again? If'n you be, I gonna to whup you good wit’ a stick, boy!”
“Gorsh, I ain't disrespectin' you, Ma.”
“I warns you I ain't a takin' no backsass from you. I be your eldern by thirteen yearn and knows the ways of the world likes you ne’er will. You and yourn chillen be backerds and always will be comparst to me.
“Well, anyways, I be a hopin' he don' kill that one too fast like he did the othern. It be a dang blasted shame to be a wastin' money like that on his wretched critter collection. Why cainst he be like normal male younguns back home and wrassale with black b’ars like they does in the woods in ol’ Kentuck?”
“Don't be a givin' him any ideas, Ma, or he be a askin' fur me to buys him a black b’ar.”
She regained her composure. She said, “Give him a holler! I be a wantin’ him to tells you hisself 'bout his afix'n to be a noveleest.”
“Elvis! Git in this here house, righ' now!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
“You know, Ma, I been a thinkin'…”
“You be a thinkin', ay? Looky out world! Chester’s been a thinkin'”
“Ma, please. This thinkin' is mightily important to me," he implored. “Elvis purt nigh on twenty-seven yearn of age and he ain't a grandpa. And Mandie Mae, well, she be a turnin' twenty yearn of age this year and is a fixin' to be one of those spinsters if'n she don't gits hitcht soon. That all be a shame on the Shovell clan. I too be concern’d because ourn kin kinfolk ne'er live much past forty yearn of age.”
She stared at him as though he was daft all the while he spoke. She responded: “Chester, you be a dang blasted imbecile! Shovell kinfold ne'er e’t better than possum and taters. No wonder they died as younguns. This be a new age of super duper victuals and medicinal practices. Ne'er you mind, purty Mandie Mae and that no 'count Elvis they live yon one hundred yearn of age and Mandie Mae she git hitched nigh on whenst I breaks Elvis of the uncouth ‘abit of wrassalin' wit’ hern suitors. Let me do the thinkin' 'cause you ain't up to speed wit’ modern morays 'cause you be uneducated. I gonna start pinnin' back yourn ears and a makin' you read a newspaper every day like yourn dear old ma does.”
“Ma, I ne'er seed you a readin' one of them newspapers.”
“Chester York Shovell, be you a backsassin' and a disrespectin' me again!?”
“No, Ma, but...”
“But me no buts, boy. Now fire up that smoke pot. Nigh’ critters be a startin' to git the best of me. And stop pickin' your teeth with that dang blasted possum bone! Boy, that be anothern nasty ‘abit of yourn that I gonna break you of someday. You ain't ne'er gonna gits hitcht 'gain wit’ uncivilized manners like that.”
“Ma, neighbors gonna complains to the poleece again if'n I does.”
“If'n 'bours does, you be a offern them to buys their property 'gain. I don' a cotton wit’ their interfairence with ourn familiar bliss afte’ suppertime. Sooner we be rid of them the better. Purty soon we jus' migh’ own all the property fur all the eye can seed 'round these here parts and cains clear all ourn land fur alter purposes.”
Chester took a match out of his shirt pocket and struck it across the back of his thigh. The phosphorous tip instantly ignited. He lit the smoke pot and his corncob pipe. Drawing on the burning tobacco, he grinned a wolfish grin. He said, “Now that be one idea of yourn that I likes immensely, Ma.”
Suddenly Grannie’s face became flush. She brought her hands to her face as a staccato screech commenced like the sound of dog nails dragging over the marble floor. She shrieked: “Elvis! Whut in the blue blazes are you doin' with that thar vile creature! Git it out of here, you big lummoxen!”
The exceptionally tall and muscular young male yanked on the rope with all his might to stop the eight-foot long crocodile tethered at the other end from charging any further toward the pair. Besides the large bowie knife slung from his right hip, all he wore was a tightly fitting swim trunks and a silly grin.
"But, Grannie! I be a wantin’ you to be a appreciatin' me fur my accomplishmen'. Looky here. I done manage to close Herkimer's yap."
A long length of thick hemp rope wound around the animal’s snout.
This finally proves whut I be a expectin’ all along--that dang blasted, inbred moron McCoy clan manage’ to produce a dang blasted moron Shovell. I don’ warnt Chester before he start a courtin’ that McCoy woman that this likely might occur if'n he knockt her up. Wale, that thar goes our dream that he be a one day a takin' over Chester's Shovel Mountain Panther Piss Sour Mash Still and makes a success of himself in the distillin' business on his own. Perhaps his bein’ a noveleest ain't such a bad idea after all fur him given his mental infirmity. Oh, well, at least Mandie Mae be somewhut normal fur continuin' on the Shovell clan ‘eritage. But Chester he be a needin' a righ’ful heir 'cause Elvis ain't no how be a proper successor. I must fetch him a new wife to bear him anothern son. Thar be plenty rightful and proper ladies in these here parts of Londontown to hitch to him. Well, anyway 'til that occurs I must be a placatin' Elvis as best I can 'cause Mandie Mae done told me that they be sensitive in nature. Boy, I sure do love a thinkin' like this 'cause it be a makin' me feel so intelligent. I just wish that old coot Chester would let a honey bee flyst around in that empty barn he calls his brain every once in a while. Last time he did we became billionaires. But that be ages ago and anothern story fur a tellin' later. I must tend to the matters at hand so I must cease this thinkin' fur now. Well, that thar is just the way we talks in our neck of the woods in old Kentuck.
“Ma, you be okay?” he said. His face was no more than a foot away from hers.
“Yes, confound it! I was just a thinkin’!”
“You gave me an awful fright, Ma. I thought that we might lost you fur good. I ne'er seed you a thinkin’ like that before.”
“Be you a disrespectin’ me again?!”
“No, Ma, but...”
“Git back to that thar char of yourn, you nitwit! Now whar was I?” She smiled at her grandson after she shook her head.
“Why you smar' and clever ol' boy! I be so proudful of you I couldst almost spit. Now you keepst that rope 'round Herkimer's snout so he cainst e’t any more of ourn 'coon dawgs. And you be a keepin' it ropt to a fence post whens you feeds that thar critter.”
Elvis beamed. "I promise, Grannie. I cains always hogtie the rope 'roun; his snout again after he e’ts. I know the wrassalin’ technicailities fur 'at now.”
“Why you be a smar' and goo' ol' boy, Elvis. Now you haul that thar critter back to that thar lake and gits back here in a lightnin' flash 'cause we be a wantin' to jaw at you 'bout your wantin' to be one of them thar noveleests. And fur heaven's sake, put on your britches, you be a startin' to rile up the womenfolk helpers dressed as naked as a jay bird.”
“I be a back here in a lighnin' flash, Grannie.” He proceeded to run with Herkimer in his arms to the nearly Olympic-size swimming pool.
She looked into Chester’s eyes. She said, "I reckons that boy be a makin' a fine noveleest one day.”
The pair continued rocking with their eyes closed while they awaited Elvis’s return. After a few minutes, Elvis returned.
"Grannie, I’m aback."
Her eyes popped open and she looked up at him. “Well, so you be. Pull up one of those chairs over thar and let's have a jaw at you.”
“Son, yourn grannie be a telling me that you is a fixin’ to be one of them thar noveleests. That be a migh’ radical departure from anythin' a Shovell e'er done. Be that as it may, you cainst spend the rest of yourn life wrassalin’ crocodillians.”
“Wale, Pa, I was a hoping you’d buy me a black b’ar…”
“Are you disrespecting your pa, boy!? You shuts your trap ‘til you been tol' to speak.”
“Okay, Grannie.”
Pa resumed: “You’ve reached a poin' in life whereas you needs to be a thinkin’ seriously ‘bout yourn life’s work. I always be a wantin fur you to be a continuin’ the age-old Shovell tradition of shoveling fur a livin’ if’n you wernt interested in the liquor still business. Shoveling ain’t such a bad career, Son. We Shovells been doin’ that fur generations, probably as far back as the invention of noble digging implement.”
“How would you know that, you puddin’ head!? You canst even ‘member yourn great grandmas’ maiden names.”
“Please, Ma. Don’t interrupts me again. This here is a serious discussion that I’m a havin’ wit’ my son,” he snapped. “Now, as I was ‘bout to say, as my dear old grandpa was fond of sayin’, 'you takes care of your shovel and your shovel will takes care of you fur the rest of yourn life.' Shoveling ain’t a glamorous calling but it’ll provide fur you and yourn family even during the wors' of times. And if’n you’re as good at the profession as I and the last four generations of Shovells was, you’ll one day reach the apex of the shoveling trade and works fur an undertaker. It don’ git any better than that in the line of work. I’m proud to say I’ve dug graves back home fur some of the finest folks who e’er died. We as a family owe our very existence and vast furtune to the noble diggin’ implement. Ne’er furgit that and always be proud of yourn ‘eritage as a Shovell. Whut do you say to that, Son?”
“Go ahead. Talk, boy!”
“Pa, I hold my head up high knowing my heritage as a Shovell as I do. But I must admit to you that I feel the call to another calling—one as a writer of novels. I must also confess that I’ve been reading novels for several years now while you weren’t looking.”
“Fur land’s sakes, may the Good Lord have pity on your soul, boy! You ain’t even mastered the fine art of blackguardin’ yet and you be a readin’ noveels behind our backs. I think I’m going to die of shame right here and now!”
“Ma! Let the boy speak!”
“Grandma, I’m planning to return to school to study literature and writing in order to further my career objectives as a novelist.”
“Chester, git me a jug of moonshine now. I’m going to git properly drunk!”
“Ma!”
“Boy, that be some ambition of yourn. Whur do plan to pursuit yourn schooling?”
“I was thinking of enrolling at Oxford University.”
Grannie interjected: “That’s plumb ridiculous! Only the best of the best English blackguarders are ‘cepted to school thar. You take a look at that uppity solicitor of ours who gradeated from that institution. He’s by far and away the vilest of blackguarders I e’er ‘ad the eternal disgrace to hear speak. I was so mortified with his blackguardin’ the first time I hear him speak I almost died right thar on the spot. I culnt even understand most of the cuss words he used they were so vile and blasphemous. You’ll ne’er match him in any way shape or form so don’t even think of it. Heck, yur still practicin' yourn blackguardin’ skills on dumb animals.”
“Ma, I think the boy’s a might confused. Whut sorts of noveels ‘ave you been a readin’, son?”
“Books written by Mark Twain at first. Now I’m reading a book written by Ian Fleming.”
“Who give you those books?”
“Our solicitor, Mr Briarwood.”
“Just as I expected! Fire that boy righ' away, Chester. He be a corruptin’ the moral sensibilities of my gran'son. Elvis be a startin’ to talk like him, too.”
“Ma, please. I be a might touched in the heart that Mr Briarwood been a taken an interest in furtherance of his educaishion.”
“Well, if it weren’t for him I might not have ever taken a shine to reading, Pa.”
“Even still, it be a far cry from whut I had in mind fur you as an occupational pursuit. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather receive vocational training as a shov’ler? You know you can make an honest living in the trade and always live on the income you cains earns from the still when times gits real bad in the shov’lin’ business. I’ll even train you to operate your own still.”
“Pa, I just don’t think that I’m cut out to be a shov’ler or moonshiner. Besides, we’ll never run out of money for at least the next ten generations of the Shovell clan. My heart is in pursuing a writing career and that ‘s whut I aim to train to do.”
“How do you expects to git into Oxfurd University? ”
“With your money, Pa. Just dump a wheel barrel full of it on their doorsteps. You cain always hire someone to tutor me in the fine art of English blackguarding before and after I begin my studies.”
“Well, you were the first Shovell to ever gradeate from high school. That does say somethin’ 'bout your aptitude fur higher educaishional studies. Ma, whut do you think?”
This here is where I steps in to save the day in furtherance of my plan to wed Chester again so he cans produce anothern male heir.
“Why I think it’s a hellacious idea fur him to educates himself to become a noveleest. I cainst be more supportif.”
“Really, Ma?”
“Really!”
“Are you sure you be a wantin’ this fur yournself, Elvis?”
“Absolutely, Pa!”
“Okay. I be a callin’ Mr Briarwood the first thing in the mornin’ to git the wheel barrel a rollin’ fur you. But you’re goin’ to needs to be speakin’ fur me as you always done. That Mr Briarwood doesn’ seem to understand proper English when it be a spoken.”
“I shall do so with pleasure, Pa.”
Chapter Two—The Deliverance of Mandie Mae
Mandie Mae entered the veranda accompanied by a distinquished-looking woman in her late fifties. Dressed to the nines in an elegant evening gown and high-heel shoes, the statuesque blond stood well over six feet tall.
Grannie beamed at the sight of her. “Wale, thar be my purty Mandie Mae,” she said. “Whar in tarnashion be you a takin’ her tonigh’, Miz Cavendish?” She gave the matron a suspicious look.
If the truth be plainly known, Chester’s stubborn insistance on cultifying Mandie Mae is a dang blasted waste of time and money. She be already purfect from ‘ead to toe. And she be a makin’ any righ’respectful feller back home a beaudacious bride and mamma of ‘is chillen.
“Madame,” Mrs Cavendish replied, “We’re off to dine at the Ritz and afterward take in a play in Soho.”
“My, my, you be all dressed up and ‘ave somewhar to go. Now don’ you be a keepin’ ‘er out too late, Madame. She be a resuming’ her kairahtay laissons tomorrow.”
“I’m quite well aware of that, Madame.”
Suddenly Mandie Mae shot off toward Elvis. He grimaced and covered his head.
As she approached him, she screamed, “Elvis, if’n that slimy critter of yourn e‘ts anymore of mine coon dawgs, I’m a gonna whup the livin’ daylights out of you! Be you a hearin’ whut I says?”
“Now, now, chillen. That be no way to be a actin’ in front of ourn company. Settle yourn differences in private quarters in the mornin’ if’n you must, prefurably out of doors whar you cainst cause too much damage to the propairty, or in Elvis’s wrassallin’ gym.”
“Yes, indeed. Mandie Mae, we must depart now if we’re going to meet our dinner reservation on time. Please bid your family a good evening and let us repair to the restaurant straight away.”
“Wale, okay,” Mandie Mae responded. “Good evenin’, folks.” She turned away from Elvis and proceeded to follow Mrs Cavendish out of the manor.
After they settled in the limousine, Mrs Cavendish said, “You know, my dear, there’s no need for you to exhibit strident behavior in any social setting, especially when it comes to comportment with your family. Also, your continuing to affect your native speech pattern is unwarranted. You must begin to demonstrate your command of Queen’s English in every social setting, including all interaction with your family members. I know full well that you’re intimidated by that prospect. However, I assure you that you’ve made great strides in learning the language during the past two years under my tutelage.”
Mandie Mae sniffled as though Mrs Cavendish’s scolding mildly upset her. She said, “Elvis just brings out the worst in me. He’s an inconsiderate lout most of the time and seldom, if ever pays attention to my needs as his sister.”
“Better. You are coming to the realization that Elvis wants your attention at all costs. Do not allow him to goad you into playing into his hands, though. You must instead manage his sibling expectations of you and teach him a lesson about how you wish for him to treat you as his sister whenever you can in a civilized fashion. Elvis possesses every bit as much capability to interact with you in that manner, you only need to lead the way to help him do so. Do you understand my proposal?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. However, I don’t think I’ll ever be brave enough to speak the Queen’s English to Grannie—she’s just so strident and intimidating most of the time in every social setting.”
Mrs Cavendish sighed. “I see your point. Well then, let’s make her an exception to the rule for the time being. As to Elvis, you should attempt to show him the kinder side of your personality whenever you can. Think about how you may make that representation to him.”
“I shall.”
“Well done, my dear. Now I have a surprise for you.”