Madelyn Bennett Edwards [Edwards - Lilly

The Legacy of Catfish continues through

LILLY

Madelyn Bennett Edwards

Copyright 2018 by Madelyn Bennett Edwards

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Madelyn Bennett Edwards

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

The point of view of Susie Burton, used in the first person throughout this book as narrator, has no reference or relation to the author and is purely a fictional character.

The town of Jean Ville, Louisiana is similar to the town where the author grew up, Marksville, Louisiana; but most of the specific places such as the Quarters, St. Matthews Church, Assumption Catholic School, and other areas, streets, and places are all fictional.

Printers KDP and IngramSpark

Book design by Mark Reid and Lorna Reid at AuthorPackages.com

Edited by JT Hill and Jessica Jacobs

Photography by Brenda Oliver Vessels

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Edwards, Madelyn Bennett, author

Subjects: Coming of age, romance, race relations, Jim Crow, 1960s, KKK, LSU, Southern University, Sarah Lawrence, Louisiana, Cajun

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition - Copyrighted Material

Acknowledgements

Judge Billy Bennett (my brother), Paula Rosenblatt, MACP and Lisa Mezzetti, (my friends) for your patience in reading my manuscript and making beautiful red ink marks throughout.

JT Hill, editor extraordinaire.

Lori Hill, webmaster extraordinaire.

For John Yewell and Mimi Herman, Writeaways, France and Italy hosts extraordinaire

Mark and Lorna Reid of AuthorPackages for cover and interior design, and all the extras that got this book to print.

Embark Literary Journal for recognizing Catfish.

Taryn Hutchison, writing partner, friend, endorser.

For those who hosted book signings and launches, especially: Mike Dempsey, Laura Hope-Gill, Lenoir Rhyne University in Asheville, NC; Van and Catherine Roy, Baileys in Marksville, LA; Brenda Vessels in Beaumont. For the Louisiana Book Festival in Baton Rouge and the SWLA in Lake Charles. For Avoyelles Charter School and for the book clubs who read Catfish and those who invited me to your meetings.

For all of you who believed in me enough to order and read Catfish. My family: children and step children: Lulie, David, Paul, Gretchen, Anna, Sean, Christopher, Kristine, Lee; my brothers Johnny and Billy, and my sister, Sally, and my other sister, Angela; my cousin Letty, special friends, Tanya, Kate, Clare, Jane, Jeralie, Laurie, Bev, and so many more

For those of you who posted reviews on Amazon and who emailed me, friends and strangers alike, to tell me that my stories and characters meant something to you that you could see, feel, smell, taste, and touch the things I put on the page. That feedback kept me writing on days when I didnt want to.

For everyone who reads my blogs and comments. Thank you. I wouldnt write them otherwise.

Its because all of you that I continue to write.

For Gene.

Who serves and protects so I can write books. You are amazing.

For God

Who believes in me even when I dont.

Table of Contents

***

UNION STATION WAS BUSTLING with people walking in every direction as I searched for the arrival gate from Chicago. The next arrival was scheduled for 9:30 AM, an hour away, so I found a seat on a bench and waited. I was nervous and excited at the same time. I remember tapping my foot on the tiled floor and hearing the patter as though it came from someone else's shoe. I absent-mindedly pushed the cuticles on my fingernails, trying hard not to bite them. This was a habit I'd had as a child that I'd fall back into now and again, but today was the wrong time to lapse. I wanted my nails to be perfect when Rodney slid the gold band on the fourth finger of my left hand.

I had taken a train from New York City to DC on Tuesday night; he was to arrive from Chicago Wednesday and I wasn't sure what time, but I wanted to be there, waiting. I was filled with anticipation as I held my small valise that held a beige suit and matching heels I'd bought to wear to the courthouse for our small ceremony. I wanted to look perfect when I became Mrs. Rodney Thibault.

I heard the announcement over the loudspeaker that the train from Chicago had arrived, but I didn't need the alert; I was standing near the arrival door waiting. I would be the first person he would see when he entered the terminal.

People began walking through the doorway, some with briefcases, some carrying luggage, a few with only a newspaper or a magazine. Most were men dressed in suits and ties, looking distinguished and purposeful. It was as if I had X-ray vision and could see through each individual because none of them were Rodney. I watched as the last person sauntered in and looked both ways, then marched towards baggage claim. The attendant closed the door, locked it, and attached a gold strap from one silver four-foot post to another so no one could get near the gate. I had to move back as she completed her task.

The next train would arrive at noon. I went to the bathroom, found the coffee vendor and bought a cup of coffee, a danish, and a bookCarrie, by a new author named Stephen King. It had surged to the top of the bestseller list out of nowhere and, as a wannabe writer, I was interested in books that were selling well. I became engrossed in the story of a high school girl who seeks revenge on students who bully and humiliate her. It was futuristic, projecting the plot into 1979, five years away. Carrie, the bullied teen, discovers she has telekinetic powers. I wasn't much for science fiction or gore, but the story sucked me in and I was jerked from my reading trance when the announcer said, "from Chicago arriving at" I was on my feet and standing at the door before the intercom completed its message.

This time there were a number of couples and a few women traveling alone who filed into the terminal. I noticed that more of the arriving passengers carried luggage and those who did not seemed in a hurry to get to baggage claim. I looked for the tallest to arrive, someone with dark curly hair and big hazel eyes with amber flecks. He might be wearing a baseball cap so I searched for a navy cap with "Cowboys" stamped in white across the forehead. I thought he could be at the end of the line because he was like thatsomeone who would let everyone else go firstor he might be carrying a bag or two for an elderly lady.

No one with that description came into the terminal. I thought he would be on the next train, which arrived at 3:30 PM, but he wasn't. And he wasn't on the 6:00 PM either.

I concentrated on my coffee and the Washington Post, which was filled with news of the Nixon White House and the scandals being uncovered by reporters Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward. It was all about a robbery at the Democratic headquarters located in the Watergate Towers.

I wasn't interested in politics in those days, but I followed the gossip surrounding the president and the way he'd fired the independent special prosecutor, Archibald Cox, who was investigating the Watergate scandal. It was called the Saturday Night Massacre and ended with the resignation of the attorney general and his deputy. Impeachment hearings had begun at the beginning of May and there were reports of testimony given to the House Judiciary Committee.

At 7:45 PM, the loudspeaker announced a Chicago arrival. I didn't look up this time. I didn't stand at the doorway when the passengers entered from the tracks. Instead, I sat on the bench across the way and peered over the top of my newspaper as if by acting nonchalant, my jitters would go away. I took deep breaths and thought how I wished I knew some of the new-age concepts of transcendental meditation but I'd always thought that stuff was bunk. Now I wasn't so sure, especially when Rodney was not on the 7:45 PM.