In The Snake Charmers, Jen, a suburban mother, is desperate to stop drinking–but she can’t. As she stumbles through pearls and pantsuits, the Women’s March, a global pandemic, and the blur of young motherhood, craft beer in hand, Jen must decide if she can break the generational cycle of substance abuse–for her daughter, if not herself.
Braided with Jen’s story are the voices of the women who came before her:
Sisters Mabel, a suffragist, and Edna, a bootlegger, who chase freedom down opposing paths until a fatal night that changes everything
Ruth, a college friend of Betty Friedan’s, who finds purpose in the WWII workforce until she is forced back into domestic life
Twins Sandy and Suzy, who came of age during the diet-pill craze of the 1960s–one silenced, one radicalized
Barb, whose wildly successful alcohol campaign in 1990s Manhattan targeted moms just like Jen
I am currently looking for representation for my 80,000 multi-generational quit-lit women's fiction novel, inspired by my own journey to sobriety. If you are interested in representing me, please reach out!
Edna, 1919
The fiddles and banjos and upright bass whirred with energy as I tried to keep up with the turkey trot, the newest craze, where everyone flapped and strutted in circles. I wiped my forehead, damp with sweat, regretting letting Mabel talk me into wearing a hat.
I left the makeshift dance floor, the center of the tobacco barn cleared to mark the end of harvest season. I headed toward the cider table, hoping there was still some of Aunt Winnie’s blackberry pie. I wanted to catch the cool mountain breeze wafting through the open barn door.
The band shifted to something slower. I stood on the edge, watching couples forming for the foxtrot. The little ones were chasing lightning bugs, hovering in one spot before pouncing. Round here some people said that lightning bugs were the souls of dead relatives, coming back to tell you something, but I wasn’t so sure. That’s not what the preacher said, anyway. Plus, I wasn’t sure how they’d feel about being captured.
Still, those Mason jars twinkled something pretty, and I wished I was out there with them. Looking back and forth between the dance floor and the lightning bugs, I didn’t know where I fit in.
Not on the dance floor, not yet. I saw John Henry and my sister Mabel. As John Henry pulled her close, I wondered what it would be like to dance like that, if someone were to ask me. I looked around the room, not seeing anyone who came close to John Henry.
His smooth movements belied his injury last spring, a bullet to the thigh. I’d heard my sister arguing with him about it the other night. Unless you knew what happened, and most people did but knew better than to say so, you’d think he was completely fine. But I knew what to look for, noticing the slightest hesitation, the favoring of one leg over the other.
They were whispering and smiling, John Henry and Mabel. Then something in my sister’s face changed. Her whole body stiffened. They finished the song, but just as it ended, Mabel was by my side.
Mabel took my hand, pulling me toward the barn door. “I need some air. Come with me.” She dragged me outside and out of earshot, toward our tree, a majestic magnolia with thick, shiny leaves and opalescent flower vessels in full bloom, glowing in the moonlight. We ducked under a branch, opening into a magical, natural hideaway we’d come to when we were little whenever we wanted privacy or when Papa had too much to drink.
Mabel looked around, making sure we were alone before leaning in close and whispering, “I’m leaving, Edna. I’ve got to.”
“The party? It’s almost over anyway.”
“Not the party, Edna. Wilkesboro. I’m leaving Wilkesboro.”
I searched her face, looking for a twinkle in her eye, some line of laughter to tell me she might be joking, but there was nothing. She wasn’t kidding.
“But… John Henry is here,” I protested. How could she leave him? And me, I almost added.
“I can’t marry him.”
“He asked you?”
Mabel nodded. She then turned and started climbing the magnolia, just like we had so many times before as girls. She could care less about her white dress.
I followed her up a few branches, not too far up, but far enough not to be seen. The leaves were thick, but the stars poked through in places.
“Isn’t that what you wanted? To marry him?”
“I thought I did… It’s just… After the shooting, I can’t live through that again.”
He was one of the lucky ones. The bullet hit his leg, and the recovery had been smooth.
“Did you talk to him?”
She stopped climbing and found a place to sit, making room for me closer to the trunk. “He swore he’d be safer. But he won’t give it up. Not even for…” Mabel rubbed her belly in a circular motion.
“Oh, Mabel!” A little niece or nephew. How long had this been going on? With Papa’s watchful eye, where? When?
And the question that I secretly wanted to know but would never ask: What did it feel like?
“Maybe if you got married real quick…” I started, not finishing the other part, that no one would know this child was a bastard.
“I can’t…” She turned her body away from me, bristled when I reached out to touch her.
“But you aren’t married!”
“I know, Edna! That’s why you can’t tell anyone.”
I’d said the wrong thing. I knew it as soon as the words left my mouth.
“I could help you with the baby,” I suggested gently, trying to smooth things over. I’d helped enough with our little brothers that I knew how to put a baby to bed and keep it fed and clean.
The stringing and stomping from the barn wafted in our direction. One of the last songs they usually played. Everyone would be heading home soon enough. They might start looking for us.
“If Papa found out, he would kick me out. Make me marry John Henry. You heard him ranting after the Johnson girl got in a family way.”
And then it hit me. She hadn’t told John Henry. “You mean he doesn’t know?”
“And he’s not gonna. If he found out, I’d be stuck here forever.”
“You love him. Why can’t you just marry him?” It seemed like the simplest solution in the world.
“I can’t. Not if he won’t give up bootlegging. Ever since he got shot, I’ve been begging him to stop, pleading with him, but he won’t. Says he needs to do it to provide for us.”
I wasn’t quite sure what she had against bootlegging. Or why he wouldn’t at least consider what she wanted. There was so much I didn’t know about relationships.
“Surely there’s something else–something less dangerous–he could do instead?” I suggested.
“He won’t listen. I just tried. Again. While we were dancing. But he won’t budge.”
I put my hand on her arm, trying to comfort her. I wanted to touch her stomach, to see if I could feel the baby, even though I knew it was too early for any of that. And if I did touch her stomach, it would make the baby real.
“Where will you go? What are you going to do?” She couldn’t have made plans yet. Maybe, she’d stay long enough to start showing, and then John Henry wouldn’t let her leave.
“Asheville.”
What did Asheville have over me?
“I met some women. They’re in Asheville. They said they would help me find a home for the baby. And they’re working on something bigger than all of this: the women’s right to vote.”
“Mabel, you know that will never work here. Can you imagine?”
“Yes. And that’s exactly why I’m going.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“Come with me. That’s why I’m telling you. I want you to come with me.”
“Oh, Mabel. I don’t know. What about the boys? They’re hardly old enough to take care of themselves. And Papa will be beside himself.”
“It won’t be forever. You could always come back.”
“And do you think Papa would really let me come back after leaving him like that? Did you ever hear the parable about the prodigal daughter?”
“No…”
“My point exactly.”
Mabel started to climb down from the tree, and I followed her. I could hear the band start playing Shady Grove, the last song of the night. John Henry would be looking for her on the dance floor.
“Cover for me?” Mabel asked, handing me a sealed envelope. “And give this to John Henry?”
I took it. Mabel gave me a quick squeeze and turned to leave.
“Now?”
Mabel nodded.
“How?”
“The Fanjoys came down from Black Mountain for the party. They promised to take me back with them. Already picked up my trunk. Please don’t tell Papa.” She turned before I could stop her.
Peaches in the summertime,
Apples in the fall,
If I can’t have the girl I love,
I won’t have none at all.
As I turned the letter over in my hands, I couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want me to come, didn’t think I would say yes. Her trunk had long been packed. And what if I had said yes? Would the Fanjoy's even have room? What about my belongings?
Cheeks as red as a blooming rose,
Eyes of the deepest brown,
You are the darling of my heart,
Stay 'til the sun goes down.
I couldn’t stay to hear the end of the song. She never wanted me to come, I decided, kicking the dirt, wishing for something harder to hit. I walked as fast as my good shoes would let me, away from the party and back toward home, not wanting anyone to see the tears streaming down my cheeks, especially not Mabel or John Henry, not that they would care.
I didn’t stop till I got to our wrap-around porch, the only one like around. Papa built it that way cause he said he wanted to always be able to see who was coming and going. I collapsed into Mama’s favorite chair, rocking back and forth, trying to make sense of everything.
That’s why she told me, I reckoned. ‘Cause she needed someone to give John Henry that letter.