Judith Campbell is dying, and she cannot take the painful truth about
where her son came from to the grave with her. While on her deathbed in
Atlanta, Georgia in 1994, Judith tells him the tragic story of his
conception, and which of two men his birth father could be: the young
man who professed his love to her, or the pastor who assaulted her.Set
in the Deep South in 1947, The Waltz of Devil’s Creek digs into the
dark crevices of racism and women’s rights during a heated political
climate in an era of segregation. Combined with Judith’s lack of social
stature, and at a time when reporting sexual assault was unheard of,
every injustice is stacked against her from the very beginning.But
there is a light in Judith’s young life: her best friend, Joseph Bird,
who has loved her since childhood. Joseph stands up for Judith when no
one else will and proves that even in the darkest of times, a light is
always burning.  

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“But Mrs. Bird,” I said, looking over at her,
“God don’t want people like Pastor Allman.”

She just looked at me for a moment, and then a
smile slowly lit up her eyes again.

“YOU COME ON OUT HERE BIRD!”

The voice snapped Mrs. Bird and me from our
moment, our heads simultaneously jerking toward the living room.

When we heard Joseph’s feet stomping against the
floor as he ran down the hallway, Mrs. Bird and I dropped the dishtowel and the
plate and hurried out of the kitchen.

“YOU GET YER DUMB ASS OUT HERE!” a second voice
shouted, “OR WE’RE COMIN’ IN TO GET YOU!”

“That’s the Woodson brothers,” I told Joseph’s
momma.

“Don’t you go out there,” she warned him as he
thrust his big feet into his shoes. “I mean it, Joseph, don’t you go out that
door!”

He flung the front door open anyway, and before
he could step outside, the Woodson brothers jumped on him in the doorway.

“Joseph!” I screamed.

“Get out of my house!” his momma shrieked.

The whole house shook as the three fought; a
small table underneath the window beside the door fell over, shattering the
flower vase atop it; fists swung and legs kicked, and cuss words flew.

“You little piece of shit, you burned up my
truck!” said the blonde-haired brother.

“I’m gonna kick your nuts right up yer throat!”
said the brown-haired one. “What tha hell were you thinkin’ boy?!” Thwap!
When his fist pulled back, his knuckles glistened with Joseph’s blood.

“Let go of him! Let go! Let gooo!” I dug
all ten of my fingernails into the blonde’s arm, trying to stop him from
pulling Joseph out of the house.

His momma was on the other side, screaming as
she worked, unsuccessfully, to beat them off with a broom. The blonde shoved me
away, and I fell onto my butt on the porch as they dragged Joseph down the
steps and into the front yard.

“Don’t you touch my son!” Mrs. Bird roared, and
the broom came down hard on the brown-haired one’s back.

He whirled around, seemingly unfazed by the
blow, and yanked the broom from her hands and tossed it.

They nearly beat Joseph unconscious.

Mrs. Bird ran next door and called Sheriff
Woodson, but he never showed; he’d stayed out of all the incidents between
Joseph and his sons. But Joseph wouldn’t have had it any other way.