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Can Old Scars Be Forgotten?

“From the moment I began I Never Knew Home by Wellsley Fitzroy Shelton, I was captured by the story of Willie Bo Abraham, part-time attorney, part-time fix-it man, who's defending a drifter on a murder charge for killing a “good Christian man.” Willie Bo believes his client is innocent. But it's 1929, and Willie Bo, a “colored” man, is up against more than a winning white prosecutor. He may not have the East Coast law degree and impeccable reputation, but he's got something more important- self-worth. And he's here to patch things up. I loved every page of this compelling debut novel by a wonderful new writer.”

- Penny Warner, Author of 50 books, including award-winning Dead Body Language.

After his first murder case, Willie Bo Abraham, should've begun repairs on Mrs. Morgan's house. Instead, it's postponed again. He accepts a case that may cost him his life-defending a former slave-owner who's accused of murder in Logan Creek, South Carolina. His only ally is a one-armed sheriff.

Mr. Guy initiated a hasty pace as we left town. The old man hovering above kept an eye on us, assisting our journey through the darkness. If I had known that Mr. Guy could move this fast I would've entered him in the town's race and captured first place on the colonel's behalf.
It was becoming clear, however, that his present race would result in a bleaker outcome if he lost. The ground began to quake beneath the wagon as we neared the mansion. At first, I thought it was due to our fast pace, but that wasn't the case. The tremor was becoming intense and thunderous. It was apparent that the roar was approaching from the rear and closing in fast. Nick's words -- "be careful" -- came to mind.
"Com'on! Let's go, boy!" I shouted.
I quickly grabbed the whip and cracked it several times near Mr. Guy's ears. Elevating his head and throwing his mane wildly, he instantly extended his stride into a full gallop. I was hunched over the edge of the seat as I threw out several more lashes. Ahead was a thick patch of trees and underbrush. We quickly pulled off the road and came to halt. Jumping down, I promptly blew out the wagon's two side lanterns and held my breath while holding Mr. Guy's reins, one hand stroking his head for a soothing affect.
"Easy boy," I whispered.
The old man above was also on our side. He took shelter behind a lonely cloud, dimming the light.
The thunderous quake revealed itself as several hooded horsemen and a pickup truck rolled by.