Monday Memoir, Jan 1, 1966

I began 1966 in Sacramento although I was already fairly sure I would be returning to Arizona in the relatively near future. A wise idea? In a few words, hell no! But I had unfinished business I could not leave dangling and a little more of my self-imposed sentence to complete to earn my release. I had no illusions it would be easy. Actually, in most ways it was harder than I even imagined or expected but I knew the end would come and somehow I would get there. No regrets; what does not kill you...

January 1, 1966 Saturday 

The day dawned sunny and lovely. I got up and dressed and did the dishes left over from last night. By then Roxie was up and soon the boys. We had 'brunch' and then worked at various chores. I made new finance and correspondence charts and wrote six New Year's resolutions. I read, studied the ARJC catalog etc. Late in the evening we went over to Grace and Ruth's for dinner. I had an Air Mail Special Delivery letter which I was half-afraid to read but it wasn't bad at all. Now I have one more week of vacation to sum it up briefly. It was a pretty reasonable letter from Mom and the Boss but Charlie Mike is a little hot under the collar yet. I hope he is not echoing the real sentiments... I nearly forgot, we drove over to Davis in the afternoon with some of the boys' stuff and I got a look at the campus. The new buildings are going up really pretty--mostly precast concrete extremely modern style but very striking. It was a lovely ride. If this is a sample 1966 will be full of busy sunny days with travel and surprise changes of plans. I hope I can see San Francisco before I go. Maybe Roxie and I can go next Saturday. 

After my departure from "home" I was not forgotten! They claimed to be starving broke but Special Delivery Air Mail? Holy frijoles! As I mentioned, a spate of letters had come from Arizona—threats, wheedles, pathetic whines—the full arsenal of emotional blackmail. There was one to the aunts which I was never meant to see but I did. In it they were warned I was a totally out-of-control nymphomaniac slut, constantly embarrassed Dad by propositioning his friends and any other man in the county and would bring all sorts of shame and dishonor on them if they allowed me to stay. Reading this scathing but false condemnation, I felt flayed and crucified. He did not mention my “despicable affair with a married railroad man"; perhaps too tame a scandal to include!  After they all read that one, there was a lot more cussing. It was too dramatic and ridiculous to be true, but did they doubt me just a little bit? I’ll never know.

I think that was when Aunt Roxie took me over to her house, Was it to protect me, her big sisters or ??? At any rate I think I can say she was less scared of her big brother than any of the others. I do not even think she liked him much! She was a strong Taurus on the cusp of Aries (April 21) and managed well as a single mom for a long time. I always respected her and admired her practicality. We got along well and were a bit alike. 

I suspect Charlie Mike was feeling a bit betrayed as we had spoken of  leaving together. And of course Dad now did all he could to drive a big wedge between us. He was not ready to cut his older son loose--needed the slave labor--despite the fact he often was harder on Charlie Mike than me in some ways, like downright ugly and mean, much more physical punishment. I think he suspected lectures were not efficacious! Charlie Mike was much less subject to emotional blackmail and far less gullible than I was. He always had an iron core and does to this day. Real Scorpio, no surrender and don't mess with him. At any rate once I was back we quickly resumed our trust, sharing and mutual support. 

Just a few photos for eye candy or tax to break up the dull lines of text. First is Aunt Roxie in 1942--she was no fashionista like Sister Ruth but wholesomely pretty. She was about 24. Next a couple of years later, after Larry was born. This is very real and her. Then Roxie and her husband, Ray Tackett. He was the father of both boys. They wed in 1944 I think. An Army Air Corps vet, he contracted a leukemia type disease and died in about 1950, shortly after Steve was born. I suspect it was service related but I never knew. I really do not remember him but am sure he was a really fine man. 

Monday Memoir, Dec 25, 1965

This one is not sad or ugly. I was in Sacramento and experienced a big family holiday 'state dinner' for the first time in my life. My parents did not do such things--we might have a somewhat special meal, maybe mid-afternoon with a snack at supper time but were too far away from relatives and had none of that sort of friends. So here is my impression of the day.

Dec  25, 1965 Sat

I awoke at 8:30 or so after falling asleep over my letters about 3:00. I dressed in my purple outfit for the holiday. Ruth and I drove over to Roxie’s and I pitched in to helping with the dinner. I really enjoyed myself but for worrying about the home folks. It’s enjoyable to work on such projects; I get along pretty well with Roxie. I peeled potatoes, made dips and all sorts of little chores. The big family dinner is an experience I’ve never had before but it was fun in a way. We listened to Steve’s new phonograph and visited some. It was really pleasant. Dan and his family arrived about 8:30. Mama Daisy is a character. She was dressed in black chiffon or crepe or something with diamonds and pearls. The little girls are sweet and affectionate. Small Mark is spoiled. The meal was delicious. I drank wine like everyone else and didn’t care for it. I got some very lovely gifts which I greatly appreciate--a pretty car coat from Grace and Ruth and nice underclothes etc. from Roxie and the boys. Dan gave me a check for twenty five dollars. We stayed ‘til 1:00 am and I helped clear the table etc. Ruth and I talked for awhile after coming home. Yes, I probably should go home but I think maybe I can manage things a bit better. I’ll give it a final try and then quit for good.

I'd been trying to write my continuing letter to Dusty to be sent around January 1 and also some response to the continual flood of letters that arrived from Arizona and had finally fallen asleep. I won't go into detail on that here. I was still at Grace and Ruth's. The move to stay at Roxie's happened a few days later.

I am not sure which  purple outfit but I think one I had made and worn in the summer--a gathered skirt trimmed with lace around just above the hem and a simple tailored shirt in lilac. I will say that I got along well with Roxie. She was very interested in home making things, loved to cook and was pleased with my sewing. Steve and Larry were in and out. We had munchies off and on as dinner was to be late. 

Uncle Dan and his family arrived as I said. His wife was French and I think she had married a soldier late in WW II and come to the US. He died or they divorced, leaving her with four kids that Dan adopted.  Then they had two girls and a boy, June Annette, Janine and Mark. Her name was Christiane and she went by Chris. Her mother had apparently been wealthy before the war and still kind of had "airs" --LOL--which the aunts did not appreciate.Hey, they came from Old Southern Aristocracy as well. (meow.)  Anyway, she was called Mama Daisy. Chris had brought to the family a French habit of wine on special occasions which was generally accepted. 

As Christmases went, it was a much more pleasant one than some I had survived and one of a high points of my stay. They all were really very good to me. I never forgot that and really appreciated all they did. They had quirks too but were essentially good 'normal' people. 

Pictures. This was the fireplace in the family room at Aunt Roxie's, probably over a year later. I am sure the guitar was Steve's; he was into music and influenced Charlie Mike a lot.  Next that purple outfit, the summer of 1965 or 1966. Third is Charlie,Mike, again a couple of years later at Aunt Roxie's. Last Dan and Chris shortly after they married in 1958. He had a pilot's license and flew over to Cottonwood so we could meet her. I think he flew in the Air Force although he was a doctor then. 

Monday Memoir, Dec 18, 1965

 Yes, gentle reader, as the Victorian writers were wont to say, you are going to be like,  "Whoa. Where are we now?" I did give some warning but yes, we are not in the Verde Valley anymore! I'll update more below.

Dec 18, 1965 Sat

We spent a hectic day trying to get everything fixed up. Ruth and Grace got frantic trying to get things done and they scream at each other a lot but I am used to it, pretty much. We talked quite a bit and I am really surprised how bitter they are against the folks. It sort of shocks me. I don’t quite know what to think about everything now after hearing their side of the story. The truth must be somewhere in the middle but it is quite a confusing puzzle.  Larry came by in the evening. He is very shy and quiet. Then he came back with Steve later while we were eating supper. Steve is a character, 6’7” with shaggy light brown hair and specs. And he plays the piano like neat-o. What would Dusty make of this? Oh, I miss him so. It shakes me up in a way; it’s like being at Dusty’s ‘til late Wednesday evening and all. I really couldn’t go home now.  I mailed the folks a letter when Ruth and I went shopping today but didn’t commit myself. I dunno what to do except wait and see what happens. We went to bed early, or I did, and slept and slept and slept.

On December 16 I was still dithering, trying to figure out how to make my break. I had thrown  a small tantrum after lunch and more "talks" and went to bed in the afternoon. The folks went out to do the chores and I fixed dinner  When they came back, Dad was in a snit and went directly to bed without eating. Mom and the boys were starting to eat but the boys were fussing and I did not want to eat either. I sat by the stove in the living room for a bit and then an inner voice said "Now". I changed into my tweed suit, grabbed my coat, purse  and overnight case and walked out the front door without a word to anyone. I collected my boots and suitcase from the shed and walked over to the depot and the work train. I sat for a bit talking to Dusty but then said I was not going to go home this time. We went over to the depot and he called Flagstaff--trains were running late due to the weather and I could probably get a seat. He looked at me. "Do you want to try?" I nodded. 

It was snowing a little in the valley and very snowy and icy up Oak Creek but we made it.  He helped me get a ticket, check my bag and waited while I called Aunt Ruth. Then we sat in Moonspinner and talked until the San Francisco Chief roared in with a swirl of snow.  He entrusted me to the porter who he knew and we kissed goodbye. The trip felt very unreal and even more so when the train got to Stockton the next afternoon. I had to get off there and wait to be picked up to go to Sacramento. The three aunts all came to get me and we ate at a smorgasbord buffet.  I was exhausted having slept very little in about 36 hours but I was there. I 'knew' I was dreaming, half amazing and half a nightmare. Was it, could it be real? 

Some other key information. Aunt Ruth was a representative for Beauty Counselor, a cosmetic outfit much like Avon and Mary K. They called their parties "teas" and she had one scheduled for shortly after I arrived. Larry and Steve were my cousins, Aunt Roxie's sons. Larry was two years younger than me and Steve a bit closer to Charlie Mike's age. They were in college at Davis. 

Now that I was there I almost panicked over the animals and hoped they would be okay. I mean I knew there was nothing I could do but it was so sudden and for the moment so out of my control. I was not sure what sort of reaction I would get from my Arizona family. And I did miss Dusty--greatly. He was now off to Mexico with Johnny and out of reach until early January. I was virtually cut off from all familiar and had awakened in a totally new and vastly different world. 

The Aunts and Uncle Dan when I saw him were very kind and caring, all tried to make me feel welcome and I soon discovered how disgusted they all were at Dad and Mom and the mess of a life they had gotten themselves and the three of us kids mired in. There was a lot of cussing and some very bitter comments. I was shocked, embarrassed and ashamed to have been part of the long-term whine/cry/beg/threaten efforts that had gone on for much too long.  They did not seem to fault or blame me and I started then to realize how the enmeshed and dysfunctional family had played havoc with my mind and that I was truly not at fault. It was enlightening and verified what Mr Peckham had told me, just a week before. I suspected  this reprieve or escape would be temporary but had no idea how long or what came next. 

Here are a few photos that are a bit pertinent.  They are kind of in reverse order. The first is the front yard at Aunt Roxie's home. I stayed at Grace and Ruth's shared home for a few days and then was at Roxie's through the rest of my visit. The older sisters' house burned to the ground about five years later and I have no photo of it. Next are the three Aunts when they met me in Stockton. L-R Ruth, Grace and Roxie.  Then the Stockton Depot--the south end as I saw it when the train arrived about 3:00 pm Dec 17. And finally the Flagstaff Depot on a much different day, taken about a year later. 

Monday Memoir, Dec 11, 1965

 The day of departure was getting closer. Things were not pleasant at home, for sure. I was either left out of some of the routine work or went with Dad and Charlie Mike.Then, rather than give me any instructions, Dad gave them to Charlie Mike who then had to tell me what I was to do. It was insulting and demeaning and I knew it was clearly meant to be. I am not sure if this was still over the donkey's death or what, but efforts were being made to break me. They almost managed. 

Dec 11, 1965 Sat

I got up about 8:00 which was as soon as the fire was built. While Mom and Charlie Mike fed and did the home chores, I made biscuits and breakfast. I still feel a faint air of hostility from the Boss and even a bit from Charlie Mike but I can tolerate that. They got off to a late start. Charlie Mike went up for mail. Nothing for me; no matter. I did the dishes and made a cake mix cake while they were gone and wrapped up one more box. They will prob’ly cost like hell to send but I can pay for it. Sam Slaughter came by to say we had mules in Emory’s.  “Hell with that,” I said to myself but we had to go and catch Ruby and Cinder. I went with Charlie Mike and the Boss to check on that.  Got back and had to hurry to make the 1:30 appointment with the Clinic. I got disgusted hearing the Boss talk shit to Emory. Mr Peckham is a strange looking bird but I found it not too hard to unburden and talk. I mostly knew what he’d say. He thought I should leave and take advantage of this opportunity. He said I expressed myself well but had too little self confidence and self esteem and ran myself down too much. He said I was very controlled but probably too much so. I didn’t mention my other problem but I’m really left with little doubt that I should go. He said I should not feel guilty about the state of affairs here or wanting to leave nor should I worry too greatly about the effect my leaving will have. There was little room for interpretation there. He spoke very positively. When we got home after some shopping we had to hurry to get the chores done. I went out with the Boss and Charlie Mike. Mom said little of the report on the session and got a rather violent reaction I think. Well, my only resort is really just to disappear. I’ve been convinced of that and wish I acted sooner. But I have five days before Dusty will be on vacation and I shall make my break somewhere. Probably Monday night or Tuesday. I sound like I am contemplating an escape from prison or something, don’t I? I hope the Boss goes to Prescott one of those days. Whatever day I‘ll have to hustle.  Will deliver a note to Dusty’s door tomorrow so he’ll be prepared.

The cattle guard at the north end of the pasture was filled in much of the time.  That was a major way our stock strayed. However the one at the south end had been partly filled in by the road grader so it was  now walkable too. Emory Kauzlarich was a neighbor on that south side and we'd had few problems there but now had one.  I realized that Cinder and Ruby were good mules and we did not want any harm to come to them so we had to go get them. As usual, Dad had to be an asshat and got into Emory's face. I was both angry and embarrassed. 

By now there was no question in my mind that I really had to leave and to just vanish was the fastest and easiest. Dusty usually took a couple of weeks of vacation time around the holidays. This year he would not be 'home' in Kingman but planned to take Johnny down to Rocky Point to camp on the beach, fish and explore. The next Friday would be his last day before leaving for that. He had already told me he would help me, drive me to Flagstaff to catch the train and anything else I needed that he could do. That help was very reassuring and supportive to me. 

This was probably the second time I had actually gone to talk at length with the counselor at the Clinic. It was not hard though I did omit some facts from my narrative of the problem. Mom spoke to Mr Peckham also. What she told Dad when we got home I do not recall but I am sure it was bland and brief. Still, he pitched a predictable fit and basically acted like it was a betrayal to share any of our problems with an "outsider" who was probably aligned with the state and local political 'enemies' who would use it to his and therefore our disadvantage. But Peckham's  advice did encourage me, anyway. 

So the next few days I got a telegram and money from Aunt Ruth, shipped at least three boxes of my stuff by Alabam Freight Lines. (I think the same company is now ABF, which we used to move from Alamogordo to here).Their little depot was just two blocks over from home and I took the boxes on one of our old wagons. It really was not too expensive. Before the next Saturday rolled around, I had left.  !965 was going to be a "different" holiday!

Old photos just for helping the text along. Me in front of the hay barn--one of my favorite shirts I made.  The canyon corrals which would have looked like this in a few days--yes, it snowed. And an old shot of Charlie Mike and me doing work like we often had to do.

Monday Memoir Dec 4, 1965

 As I said last time, a lot happened between November 27 and December 4. I suggest readers scan The Week that Almost Wasn't first if you have not. Then this will make sense. Looking back, I shake my head over the drama and feel a twinge of shame for using the sort of emotional blackmail I so despise--I was desperate but do not fully excuse myself on that count..  Anyway... 

Dec 4,1965 Sat

I stayed awake late last night, long enough to see Moonspinner slip down the street about 10:00. This morning I ran over to check and he really was gone. I could not wait to get out the road but was scared to open the can. “You be here Monday. I love you.” That’s the note I found. So I did my chores and headed home. Lyno was better. And so we talked. I made a few complaints but small good it will do. Finally we went up on the mountain with the pickup and chain saw. Meanwhile the local had put the new cook car in place and took the old one. We had a time getting wood, ugh. I got sick going up. Of course if I had caught I would not feel it yet, would I? And it isn’t possible --I should try again about Friday or early next week if that is what I want. And even then I might not. But I’ve just about had it. They convince me to stay for a few minutes but the grief is just too much. We got our chores done by moonlight again. I’ve got to wait and see what Dusty has to say now but I think I will go. They will be mad but I don’t care. I’ve got to escape; I’ve got to.

I am 90% sure Mom and Dad never knew I had slipped out that night and they certainly had no idea how close they had come to being victims. Death had been even closer to me, right up to this day I'm speaking of. I don't think I was play-acting. I was 'dead' serious to make a black humor pun. Suicide was not a threat or a game; death really looked better than life in these days.  For a bit I saw no good ways out. 

My mind was whirling like a hamster on a wheel, still struggling in an alien and little understood situation. I used the familiar term with which I spoke of the mares after being bred--they 'caught' or they did not. At that point I had no way to know that pregnancy would be very unlikely for me then or ever due to some physical issues,  but even being naive, I knew it was possible. No, I would never have agreed to abort this child had it come to be but that never arose. At that point it was still illegal, anyway. But in some ways, I truly wanted to have that much of Dusty regardless of what came later though I still hoped for a shared future.

Leaving was really the only possible alternative besides suicide or murder, neither of which I truly wanted to accomplish, however distraught I was. Even that was going to be difficult. At this point I did not really include Charlie Mike in my plans; too much had changed too fast and I did not want to be responsible for his welfare along with my own. Before long Dad's sly new and mean divide-and-conquer efforts also sprouted and for a time drove us apart. The man was a virtual Svengali, twisting people's emotions, gaslighting until sanity became doubtful and one could perceive white as black and vice versa. In my spare time--there were still constant chores, tasks and urgent necessities to deal with--I continued to sort and pack my stuff. Yes, I was going to go.

A few slightly relevant photos:  The first a repeat from last week: the river was about 25 yards past the bridge and on Nov 30, I stood  under that bridge and asked myself to be or not to be... The next photo is of the B&B 6 work train with the new cook car, the long shiny one, in place. Dusty's car is just left of it and the structure I crawled under dimly visible below them. Last illustrates the blouse or shirt I wore that night.  I had made it earlier in the summer and really liked it. Another pose from this session is the one I photo-shopped with one of Dusty to have us together. 

The Week That Almost Wasn't (Memoir Bridge Nov 30-Dec 4)

The Week that Almost Wasn't--Nov 30-Dec 4

 These few days were simply unreal. I actually wrote several pages in my journal about the events, mostly after the fact. That mess was too voluminous to include in the blog. I decided the best way to cover the days was in excerpts from my semi-completed big memoir book --it is book length and for now unpublished but a few have read so here not quite in an nutshell you have it!.  Yes, I'd throw that book across the room too...but unless memory has failed, it  really happened. And The Powers be thanked I am here almost 60 years later to tell it. 

Part One--The Night

On Nov 30, I went to bed early. Jackiefur had tetanus and was nearing the end. Later that night I awoke and heard Dad ranting to Mom about his horrible worthless kids, especially his selfish, careless, immoral slut of a daughter. We were both labeled “donkey murderers.” The venom, anger and hate in his voice were more than I could stand. The  words and tone sounded absolutely real and genuine.

That old .32 hung at the foot of my half poster bed. How could they have never seen a hazard there-to all of us?  Shaking with my feelings, I got up and dressed, really intending to take the pistol to the bedroom and end this whole catastrophe for once and for all. But something stayed my hand. Instead I got my gray coat and slipped silently out the back door. It was a damp, chilly night and little Ringo went with me as I walked down and stood under the Bitter Creek Bridge. I listened to the river, high from all the rain, roaring by just yards away. I felt utterly worthless, unspeakably desolate and absolutely alone. The heavy coat would become soaked quickly and drag me down; a few instants of cold, choking terror and then silence and peace. I wanted them so badly; was it badly enough? 

Then I turned my head to look west and saw a light. To save me, my guardian angel guided my steps that way. There sat the work train on the siding just above the arroyo. I slipped up cautiously, peered in the windows. The radio was on and Dusty was at his desk, cussing to himself over the hated paperwork. I rapped lightly on the back door. He opened the front one and saw nothing. I tapped harder. This time he opened the right door and his eyes widened with surprise when he saw me. He reached to lift me up into the warmth and shut the door.

I huddled on the sofa, shivering and sobbing, blurted an incoherent tale, barely short of hysterical. He brought me a steaming cup of coffee in the “Monday Morning Cup” and I sipped it gratefully. Did I mention the possibility of murder and suicide? Probably, but I cannot recall. I was so close to being out of my head, raw and rattled, beyond desperate. In a few minutes he came and sat beside me, drawing me into his arms. The anguish faded as I warmed up and relaxed. His lips slid over my face. His cheek was rough pressing to mine and his eyelashes tickled against my face.  

I stirred in his embrace. “Why don’t you take that coat off? You’ll be awfully cold when you go back out.” So the coat came off and I dropped it across the arm of the sofa. As I leaned back against him, surrounded by warmth and security, I shoved the earlier horror into the back of my mind and blocked it there. The radio played on unheeded, until they played “One Has My Name” —the song that was on my gift record. “That’s my song,” he said with a touch of irony and I listened.

We gradually shifted positions until I was half reclining and he was leaning against and across me. “If anyone knew I had a girl here they’d accuse me of doing things I shouldn’t.” he said, irrelevantly. He got up to show me the glass ‘tulip’ panel in the kitchen. We came back and he laughingly said he just did that so I would move my coat. He stood behind me, holding me against him and suddenly lifted me and swung me up heels over head. I hung around his neck and laughed. He held me so easily, as if I did not weigh even 100 pounds. Then he laid me back on the sofa and settled himself beside me.  My glasses were set on the back and his eyes were smiling at me very close and very bright.

“You’re a trusting little thing,” he said. “No man has ever had you in a position like this before has he?” And then, “You’ve got a diamond in each eye.” He said I didn’t look comfortable and put a little round pillow under my head. He kissed me, nibbled, rubbed noses. I lay still, looking at him or at the ceiling, completely detached from reality. My blouse came untucked—it was the butterfly print red one and I had on my brown cord Capri’s –a warm hand slid around and under me ever so gently, lifted beneath my back and arched me up against the hard wall of his body. I sighed, shut my eyes, and felt his lips insistent against mine with teeth hard under their softness. I put my arm around him and felt the smooth warm-hard density of his back, side and shoulder.  The warm hand explored, fretting at elastic and cloth in its way. The snaps of my shirt snicked apart one by one. The butterflies were pushed aside as a work-hardened hand traced its path, caressed and sought. It shifted and I shuddered, tightened, but still answered the hungry demanding mouth that covered every inch of my face and throat.

None of this whole night was real as nightmare morphed into sweet but slightly overwhelming dream. Someone had to die this night—not ‘the real me’ and not my jailer, abuser, controller parent but one naïve 22 year old virgin who offered herself as a willing sacrifice to be ‘ruined’ in the traditional literary way! Looking back, it was absolutely revenge, the most perfect and fitting one I could ever devise or extract. One over-protected—or imprisoned --vestal virgin would be no more. She could not be reborn.

Part 2 The aftermath 

Jackiefur died that night. Not really; it was two nights later, but in my memory it always seemed to be the same day I returned home before dawn. Life is not that neat, poetic and balanced but I still picture it that way. It did happen, very soon. I used Annie who was my main ride at the time and Dad made me do the work of dragging the poor little donkey to the truck and then up over the lowered tailgate into the bed. He was stiff and probably 500 pounds or so, much harder than hoisting a big deer into a tree. I tightened my saddle as hard as I could and still the breast collar almost cut off Annie’s wind. The rope cut into my leg and made an ugly mark. I didn’t say a word that I recall but worked grimly, tears running cold down my face. There was some justice in it I suppose, and I did accept much blame for the tragedy. I finally got it done and later washed out the truck after Dad came back from dumping the carcass. I never knew where.

I had been packing more, the idea of going to California rooting deeper by the hour. I filled two apple boxes and wired them up.  I was surprised how much my suitcase would hold. I had no money but somehow I would manage.  If I stayed much longer I could not keep my promise--I had promised no guns and no river when I left before dawn that night-- as sacred as I felt it to be. Someone was still on the razor edge of death, very likely me.

Then it was Friday and about 12:30 I rode frantically north. Dusty was napping but he came out to greet me with more in his eyes than he would say. We spoke briefly and I said I'd be back. I knew the folks were going to Camp Verde to take Alex to the doctor. They left right after lunch. I snatched up my amber sugar bowl and the prettiest purple bottle from my new collection and rode. I climbed up the back way and knocked at the kitchen door.  He was tying things down so they could move the outfit and cut in the new cook car the next day. He put my gifts in a drawer under the sink. We drank coffee and talked. I was leaning in the door when he bent suddenly forward and kissed me.

A few minutes later Phillips drove up and he had to go out and talk to him. I sat in the swivel chair in front of the desk and then a letter caught my eye.  I picked it up and read it and a shocking horrid awareness swept over me. Agreement or not he was still not truly single and was also someone’s father, --the man in whose arms I had lain. I can’t recall what it said--nothing very important but just talking of family and addressed with a stupid pet name like “Dear Poopsie.”

When he returned I did not speak of it but he sensed my mood had changed. We talked, I still seated in the chair and he on the sofa. I asked him why he wasn’t afraid of Dad after all the terrible stories he’d heard. “I’m not interested in him,” he replied. That was a telling comment, really. He knew it was mostly bravado and bull shit.

The time passed quickly and I reluctantly got up to leave. We stood in the corridor door and I clung to him, somehow hating to part even more than usual. We told each other to be good and to be careful and with a final half anguished kiss I scrambled down and rode home. I went back briefly a little later with little Dusty on the line to ask him to get me a timetable. He thought going to California might be a good idea and agreed to take me to Flagstaff and see me off when I asked.

Home again I began to worry desperately over that letter. Of course the enormity of what I had done had just begun to sink in. What if? Wouldn’t he be torn between a child in which he had invested nine years and one who was not yet a reality? To understand my panic, you need to remember more about my situation and ingrained mindset. Already steeped in profound mistrust and the threat of danger from ‘outsiders’ by the enmeshed family, I was also bound in oft-preached narrow minded attitudes of ‘sin’ and the toll for doing wrong. I’d been fed those old tales meant to keep girls ‘good’ that once a guy gets what he is after, he will drop you. This all raced through my mind. As an unwed mother I would be a pariah and worse in the family and if not thrown out, would likely wish I would be.  All my old insecurity and lack of confidence, the residue of a thousand brow beatings and fault finding and berating about my weaknesses, laziness, worthless and wicked ways, washed over me. How could anyone really care for such a pathetic one as me?

When we got back from the pasture I biked over. The light was on but Spinner was gone. I opened the corridor door and went in. There was a big brown envelope on the desk. I picked up a pen and wrote a frantic note on it. Fearful he would return, I scribbled and fled. I can shake my head at my drama now but it was so real at that moment. I admitted to reading the letter and said he had to answer my one very direct question or I’d be dead on Monday. I had trouble falling asleep that night and was awake to see Spinner slide quietly down the street about 10:00. It was a good thing The Grand Canyon was late that night.

I rode out the next morning, scared to look in the message can. But I found a note: “You be here Monday. I love you. One of three that was there I think.”  It required no translation for me to understand and I was reassured. 

Memoir Monday, Nov 27, 1965

The coming week was catastrophic or very nearly so.  In retrospect, it could actually have ended much worse, like a very final and unequivocal end but it did not. How close things actually came to that  I will never know. Again I have to say thank you to my guardian angel who was surely guiding me every second of this treacherous passage.   
I'm not sure how much to cover all that happened from November 30 until the next Saturday which was December 4. It could fill several pages...so I will just mention the first catalyst here to complete the unfinished phrase at the end of the journal entry. Then I will skim the interim as I cover the next weekend. 

Nov 27, 1965 Sat (Includes Nov 28 also)

Got up about the usual hour both mornings and rode to the pasture with Charlie Mike. Sat we worked on the big feed box and some on the colts’. Saturday we finished the home corrals mostly mucking out the little ponies’ pen. It was awful. Sat evening I wrote letters: Kathy, Linda and Dusty. and took a bath. The folks went to the Mental Health Clinic. Sunday we talked from noon to 2:30 and then I led Chief and the colts and delivered Dusty’s letter pinned to his screen door with a bobby pin. It is perfumed; wonder if he will notice? Both evenings I rode out alone and did the pasture chores. Sunday evening I sewed, patched Levi's and repaired other things, washed my hair and fixed my nails and then read the paper. Now it’s a late bedtime. If Dusty isn’t back,  he should be in a matter of a few hours. Charlie Mike is getting ready to blow the scene with me. I am fed up to the ears. I’ve got to collect my stuff better in a few days and then really lay down the law. The Boss says we kids are doing fine (tee hee!) but what he doesn’t know…

As I have alluded in the last few weeks stuff was almost in an avalanche of "shit happens" and I was barely keeping my nose above the smothering point. Charlie Mike and I were hanging in there as best we could. The idea of I or even we two actually going to California was starting to gain momentum. 

It had been raining quite a lot and the corrals were a mess, both at home and at the pasture. We knew it was bad for the animals at home to be standing in mucky mud but cleaning was almost an impossible job. Five gallons buckets filled and dragged out to dump, refilled with semi-dry dirt and carried in. And meanwhile trying to keep most of the hay out of the mire since there was not much to spare. Often try was the operative word since success was  two inches short of impossible. And there was nothing close to "good enough." 

By this time Mom had gone to the family counselling  at least two or three times and I think I had once. This time Dad went and he was shall we say not impressed?  The harangue and 'talk' afterwards was best forgotten. Otherwise I went on with 'business as usual' to the extent it was possible which of course included writing to Dusty since I was not sure at all that I would see him soon. There were few opportunities to get out, day or night. And no phone, regular or cell, no internet...

Now for the proximate cause of the coming bad week. I will say right off that I felt very bad about it, deep guilt and sorrow,  and I accepted most of the blame because I had not noticed a worsening injury. "No excuse" but lots of extenuating or mitigating matters, at least in my feeling. We had already endured too many losses and much sadness over donkeys being chained. This time if was Jackifur, the first colt of the jenny Sam Steiger had given Dad who in turn gave her to Charlie Mike several years previous. She was pregnant with this one when she came maybe 1958 or so, so by now he was mature and several years old. 

At times he was in a corral but with moving animals around a lot, the space was not always adequate so he wound up chained to a mesquite near the corrals. Sometimes I know he had a halter but at this point there just as a chain around his neck. It was smooth linked and should not have been too dangerous but for some reason it cut into the back of his neck. Charlie Mike and I discover it that day. It was a deep and ugly wound. I put a one foot hobble on him and attached the chain to it but the damage was done. At first we though maybe it had hurt his spine but we soon realized he had tetanus. I suppose we all got shots if we were not up to date but I do not remember. 

The next day we had to tell Dad about it and the excrement hit the oscillator big time. This bad situation rapidly grew into a huge 'snowball' rolling out of control. Maybe it was just a final straw.  I would have chosen to put the poor burro down right away but Dad insisted we had to suffer the object lesson of watching him die, me especially, because my carelessness was totally responsible. And that was just the start of my punishment.

Photos--none ugly; safe to view.  The first is Jackifur. He was a husky, stout jack burro but marked exactly like his mother. Next is Charlie Mike about 8 or 9 when we first got Jennyfur.  He was not all that thrilled to be told she was his! And last shot, a year or so later for the view down Bitter Creek which more properly belongs with the next installment. It was rough and rocky and the bridge about 100 yards up from the river.

Memoir Monday Nov 20, 1965

I guess even then I was afflicted with some seasonal depression (SAD) but given the sorry state of the family and overall situation at that time, I had more than enough to be despondent over. At times I felt I was confined in a Cloister--poverty, chastity and obedience were the order or rule I must live under! Not meaning to be irreverent but actual-factual!

Nov 20, 1965 Sat

Got up rather late. I was just tired and overslept. Fed my pets and did some small repair jobs. We ate late and then had to talk awhile so it was after 10:00 before we left for the pasture. Did the chores and came home.  I patched a saddle pad and made two feedbags while munching on the last of Dusty's chocolate. Did the noon chores quite late. Mom went to keep the appointment with the Mental Health Clinic. That stuff is ridic, really. I rode out on Annie after leading Rico. Powwow had a colic so I hastened thru my chores and came home. We went back out and gave her an enema. Doubt that it did much good. Afterwards I read the December Western Horseman and glanced through the Reader's Digest. I had meant to write some letters but didn't get to. I am just too tired. I'm so discouraged that it seems impossible to do everything and do it right. I wish I'd just sleep for infinity.

 I think I was perpetually tired at this point. Some days I just did not respond to my internal clock and get up at the right time. But a half hour or so made little difference. And an 'early' start on the day's major chores was almost an idle dream. Talks--God,  but I hated that word and that idea! It shadowed most of my days. 

Does anyone remember those chunks of solid chocolate wrapped in saran wrap that were sometimes in bins at the grocery store? They were real Hershey's and it was stamped in them. They were really good! Dusty was a chocoholic too and occasionally pulled one out of the ice box in his camp car  (we both used that term though it was a refrigerator) and gave it to me. I squirreled it away in a safe place and made it last, sometimes breaking off a bit to share with Charlie Mike. 

I guess I was not riding a lot that day so put in some time on the rough sewing which was one of my regular tasks. Scraps of worn out jeans patched fabric saddle pads and empty grain bags of burlap were cut and stitched into feed bags. They wore out fast as they were not all that sturdy. 

Mom had apparently decided that we all could profit from some "family counselling" when a so-called Mental Health Clinic opened under  county or state auspices. The one who needed 'help' the most went only once and then pitched a hell of a hissy fit (guess who) but she went off and on anyway and I did a few times. I have never been a fan of counselling although I know  it can help and does for many. Our overall situation was just so bloody weird I never felt I could make it understandable and realistic to where anyone could truly give me valid and applicable advice. But later I did get some benefit. 

Powwow and Rico were both weaned now. She was a yearling having been born in fall of the prior year and he in April of this year.  Little Dusty,  Twinkles and "Sass Box" were also 1965 foals. I exercised them as we rotated them between the  pasture and corrals in the canyon. Colics were still common even between the several big bouts of sickness. I always felt it was the poor quality hay I often had to feed, sorting out the worst as best I could. But it was often termed my fault for somehow not caring or paying attention as needed. Whatever!! Yes,  there were times when death looked pretty inviting--peace and quiet,  blessed silence... Once or twice I came close to seeking it. One of those was about two weeks away. 

Kinda dull  photos: . (In reverse order) Powwow at about a year old. Mares with some of my homemade feedbags (first Bunny with Little Dusty and then Peppy with 'Sass Box') and a patchy saddle pad, under a saddle on Leo. Aboard was Alex, then about 6 years old. 

Memoir Monday, Nov 13, 1965

Another day in the life, so to speak. I had seen worse but also better.  If memory serves, The Boss had suddenly decided we needed a feed box in the lower pen at the pasture to conserve hay. He had "other things to do" so Charlie Mike and I were assigned that task. We did not have any spare lumber for some reason --not even old stuff to dismantle--so we had to scrounge what materials we could on site.  It took all day and we did not quite finish so had to continue the next day. 

Nov 13, 1965 Sat

Woke up and did the home chore as usual.Ate and loaded hay and waited. Finally Mom drove us and our tools out about 10:00 and w did the chores and started on our feedbox project. It was hard and we cut posts, dug holes and hauled dirt. My wrist and elbow got so sore I could hardly work but I did. I had to and I did. We heard the local come in but could not see it, of course. Finally the Boss brought us lunch . We ate and cut rails. I thought it was too many but we used more than I had guessed. Worked until sundown and finally quit and did the chores. Tina seemed a little off feed. Did the home chores just before darkness set in. Hauled hay down etc. I was a fink and spent the evening writing letters. Wrote to Mr Stenhouse about Tina's "Arabian" sire, wrote to Judy and began a letter to Dusty. It was 11:00 when I finally went to bed. So I dropped off to sleep fairly quickly but aching in every muscle and bone.  

One fact did lighten my spirits despite the toilsome chore. Friday I had made the quick run out to swap animals around as usual. I expected I'd be late but hoped to get back to town before Dusty left for the weekend. I had not seen him since the last Friday. As I approached the steep incline up to the end of  the river road, I found him there, waiting. The first thing he did was hold up his left hand. It took me a  minute but when he wiggled the ring finger,  I saw it was bare, a white band of skin where the ring had always been. "I cut it off yesterday," he explained."The agreement has been signed and my lawyer friend filed it today. I've got to go over and get my official copy but I wanted to tell you first." We did not talk long but he repeated I should let him know if things got too bad and he'd find some way to help me. He knew the situation was disintegrating and he was worried for me. I'm not sure why I had my camera along but I snapped a couple of new pictures of him.

We started on our job as soon as the feeding was done.  We cut mesquite posts for corners and  supports, dug holes to set them and hauled dirt to raise the bottom some. I guess it was at least 2:00 when Dad brought our lunch. After eating we cut rails-- probably cottonwood or willow saplings. The details are unclear. He may have used the chain saw for some of that. I was concerned about Tina as she had been doing well since she finally recovered from her sickness after Rico's birth. So well that we had bred her again--which I always regretted later. She might have died the next spring anyway but...

I had long been curious about her ancestry. The Arabian just did not feel right. Mr Ortmann, who sold her to us, had given me an alleged pedigree and I finally connected her supposed sire to a man named Malcolm .Stenhouse. He was an old area rancher and horseman, I think then based down at Camp Verde.  So I got an address and wrote him to inquire.  I used the rest of the evening on other  correspondence. My arm and hand hurt like heck but I wanted to get that done. Finally went to bed before they got after me for being up too late  By this time, late fall, it was getting chilly at night and I do not think we had built a fire in the stove..Several quilts and wool blankets felt heavy but made me cozy once I warmed my spot.. 

So photos now. First an old one of the pasture corral. We built the box in the farther pen, the one on the ditch edge, upper left corer. Next one is Tina, some time that fall,  and finally the two I took of Dusty Nov 12, 1965. 

Memoir Monday Nov 6, 1965

Did a week make a difference? Yes and no. I was not ready to go to California yet. That would come before long. For now, there had been a Mingus football game Friday night which gave me an opportunity to spend some time with Dusty. We took Charlie Mike up to the field and then drove off to a quiet place until near the end of the game. We had a powerful and deep conversation which healed any potential rift or chance for a break-up. Thus, I thought things could be okay for awhile. With us, they were, but otherwise not so much...  

Nov 6, 1965 Sat

Got up rather late and did my home chores.We got off to a rather late start. I rode Annie out and did the pasture stuff and went on over to Elaine's to see if I could buy her gelding. No deal. I was a little hurt not to hear from Dusty. Something must have come up suddenly. He was "with" me all day though. I have my little sun-face on again--to stay. I got home at 1:30 and felt like hell but after lunch the Boss decided to go to Prescott, taking Charlie Mike and me to get groceries. I rode in the middle wearing my black tweed suit and was hot. I hate it in the middle if I can't hold to or lean on someone. We got groceries at Safeway and Fry's, got home about 7:00 and did the chores by moonlight. Dusty is sure on my mind; am I on his? Little fragments of our talk keep coming back to me. I wish I had it recorded someway. I still have a weird feeling of impending change. A year ago he was about to leave and I thought our paths would never cross again. I think somehow that I was meant for him. It's silly yet we really are 'just right.' Another time I'd not be able to stop him. What a mad year it has been. But for all the anguish I would not undo it. The ecstasy and joy has balanced the misery. I have to write him again now. Will I always? Yes, I think so. 

I did not say why I felt bad but suspect the monthly miseries which still usually gave me a lot of discomfort. If I had a quarter for every time I rode long hours, often hunched over in pain, I could afford a big treat. Why Dad insisted both of us kids go with him I have no idea. I would have expected Mom to go which would have made better sense.  Then we could have done the evening chores at a reasonable hour. So typical of how things were going at this point. Beyond rhyme, reason or even sense.

As I said above, Dusty and I had a good and important conversation the evening before which we really needed. We settled several things and  he finally said, "I love you. I just want to take care of you and make you happy," I had no room left for doubt what his intentions toward me were. Then a little later he put a hand on my knee at the hem of my straight skirt and started to slide it up. I caught his wrist and shook my head. We were kissing and I feel sure he was really not thinking. He apologized at once and asked me to forgive him. That was the first and only time I ever needed to stop him. I just felt I had to for both our sakes at that point. We went back to pick up Charlie Mike and Dusty let us out up the alley from home. I had an impression he was going to be there most of the weekend, but that was not the case. 

From this evening on, November mostly went downhill. The Morgan enterprise was not going well at all as finances, the routine and even health were constantly disrupted by a extended bad spell in Dad's ongoing mental health issues. I have to blame much of his actions and attitude on that (he was often irrational to the max) in order to find some forgiveness and to let a lot of bitterness go. Actually there were few respites in that awful situation for the next ten months until the sudden end of what I've called "my self-imposed life sentence" in early September 1966. 

At times I still wonder how I survived but I know I had help in much higher places than any regular human authority. I had not really recognized my guardian angel at that point, but s/he was there, all the time. I am not sure even now if this Guardian Angel is two entities, if angels are actually above gender identity, or what. There were both male and female aspects.  The 'use name' I was given for mine is Dara, which is also the oak or any style of the Celtic knot pattern  The word is in old Gaelic. So the pronouns truly are we/they for this divine entity.

Photos. The first I took of Dusty, just a few days later, at a time I will discuss next week. Then a shot of Annie, not at this time but showing her under tack. She was a big rangy mule and quite strong. I think that was Mom with her and not me. And finally a Dara Knot pattern, drawn as a symbol of the Oak Tree, sacred to the Druids and revered by the Celts. I would say this design stands for my Guardian Angel Dara too. They were my Oak and protection then as always. 

Memoir Monday, Oct 30, 1965

In many ways this was a very powerful and pivotal day. I did not realize the full impact for awhile but it became obvious and  almost essential in mere weeks. During  the next two months, the effects came to be far more significant than I had even begun to guess at this entry. Though not fully realized yet,  this was the first creaking little turn of the actual wheel of change. This month (October) had tested and tried me fiercely but I was finding new strength and inner assurance that let me press on. A semi-meltdown or two did happen along with a few brief detours and side-steps, but a larger and surer goal was starting to take shape.  I still struggled to think for myself and plow through the smoke and mirrors constantly flashing around me and even to dare those bars and walls that seemed so insurmountable. Each baby step was one more up and out of that spiritual and emotional quicksand to ultimate freedom. 

Oct 30, 1965, Sat

This was quite a day. From 5:30 when I woke up ‘til 1:30 a.m. when I finally got to bed. It’s nearly too jumbled to record. I thought we might not go but we did and were away about 9:30. It proved to be a hot day in Phoenix. The trip down was uneventful. We got our hay at Freesh’s where Charlie Mike and I loaded most of it. Then we drove over to Tempe and got to the motel about 2:30. We visited with Grace and rested ‘til Ruth came about 5:00. They sure are different for sisters who’ve been together nearly all their lives.  Ruth had to pack and I helped some. Then she and I went out to get food for the others and ate our own meal at a coffee shop. It was an interesting interlude for me. They are working hard on me to get me to come over but I  think I may have other plans. We and they left about 9:30. We found all the gas stations were going to be closed but one in New River wasn’t. So we got home about 1:30. I only slept a brief little on the trip and fell very wearily into bed when we got home. I really have too much to think about. It will take some sorting.

We had been needing to make big hay run but had received a call the prior day from Dad's two elder sisters that they would be in Tempe on the weekend, so we postponed the trip. I had actually caught Dusty on Friday,  not long before he left,  which had cheered me. A brief visit was better than nothing!

To be away all day as we planned required a complicated  effort to get the critical chores done. Charlie Mike and I were both to go and Mom could do very little.  Alex was not old enough to help much yet--just six. Thus the early start, although delays always seemed inevitable. It was getting chilly up in the Verde, but Phoenix was still very warm. What was Dad doing while we did most of the loading? One big shrug--do not recall. Probably attempting some sort of deal.

Grace and Ruth Morgan were 5 and 3 years older than Dad. Grace was semi-retired by now--a kind of voluntary thing?--and Ruth was still a teacher and administrator in a big high school in the Sacramento area. She'd came to some conference or seminar.  As I noted,  their personalities were very different. Grace was quiet, sober and thoughtful while Ruth was voluble, chatty, and seemed ditsy or shallow but really was not. I went with her to get carry-out and we ate at that place. She suggested I quickly get my own PO Box and open a bank account, saying she and Uncle Dan would provide me the funds needed. I think she gave me a check. Ever since the year I dropped out of high school, they had all four (Dad's siblings) been working to get me out of a situation they perceived as not productive or beneficial to me. By now they all felt I should be in college. For the most part I agreed but was not sure I would like every aspect of their plans and direction for me. For a time that became almost moot but that is getting ahead of the story. 

We started  north very late and were lucky to find one service station open. That big old truck with a heavy and high load--several tons of hay--gulped a lot of gas and could only go so far on a tank and fumes! Thus we got home very late. How the animals were fed I do not recall. Maybe Mom had or had enlisted some help like maybe Charley Bryant.  At any rate it was late to bed after a very long day. I was too tired not to sleep but had a tangle of ideas and questions rolling around in my head and probably some odd dreams. However, I did take care of the PO Box and bank account within a few days. 

Photos?  First here are the three Aunts some weeks later.  Ruth is on the left, Grace in the middle and Roxie, a few years younger than them and than Dad, on the right.  The two eldest had been slender when young but now in their 55-65 ages were heavy as their mother had been. Roxie was always sturdy. I am sure I have featured the F700 truck before but here it is again.  It is behind Patrick, with a load much like the one we brought home. I know there were well over 100 bales on such a load. If I ever counted I do not recall the exact number. Possibly 150 or even more--depending on whether two or three wire size bales. Somewhere from 65 to 120 pounds apiece!

Memoir Monday, Oct 23, 1965

 A week made only a little difference. I was still trying to be very careful and "do right' so I had not really seen Dusty and was feeling that keenly. He was not going to take the first step because he'd said he'd give me time to work my end of things out. We had not really broken up but I worried it would end that way.  I should not have, but remember what my world was like at this time.

Oct 23, 1965 Sat

Got up fairly early after spending a restless night. I broke my chain in my sleep and envisioned it as symbolic of Dusty and me breaking up, but I was able to fix it. Does that mean I can mend our current rift? I hope so. I rode over on Buzz after feeding and looked around. After breakfast I rode out on Cinder and did the chores. I’m working on Becky Sue some now. The folks went to Prescott and Kirkland. I rode Chief and led the two little ones. Charlie Mike went out to do the midday, so I made brownies, cleaned my room, sorted clothes thoroughly and washed dishes. I’m gradually getting rid of a lot of creepy clothes I seldom wear. If I keep at it, my wardrobe will eventually be reasonable.  I rode Lyno out. She was frightfully high but I can ride her. They got back rather late with groceries. I made supper again--stew. We talked about horses etc. afterwards. I guess tomorrow will be rather frantic. Today was okay generally. I wish I’d just be left alone more. I can work more efficiently that way but I may not delve very deeply on my own I must admit. I suppose learning and growth just has to be painful. Wonder why? My diary/journal is the only place I can pour out my thoughts etc. Wish I could finish the “Story” up to date. Doubt that I ever will now though. I am having to drop an awful lot of things by the way and I’ll probably never return for them. If only I don’t have to lose Dusty but I rather feel I already have. Oh, then I haven’t a purpose, hardly. It’s all for him.

Charlie Mike was still on 'my side' in this all. He was getting very tired of our male parent's attitude and mean actions too.  Dusty was always very good to him, treating him just like a younger brother so he never objected to delivering a message for me etc. In fact he voluntarily checked in with the Bridge Gang every few days.

I guess it seems like I was always writing notes and letters--true, that was my way. Since this was not a typical "going together" situation, it was one way to keep in touch since telephones were not really accessible and there were no cell phones or email or anything; oftentimes meeting was a matter of chance and effort to try to cross paths. At this point, it was very happenstance as I was under a tight level of surveillance and did not dare push the envelope much. The chain I mentioned was the fine silver one that my little Zuni sun face came on, my very special 1964 Christmas present. I had worn it constantly inside my shirt to protect it. 

Obviously I was now riding Chief, stallion or no. He was very well behaved and performed as well as any good gelding. I was also working Lyno since she was not able to handle dad's weight with his big saddle. She was high strung but not mean or tricky at all. Becky Sue was a young mare we had gotten in Gallup, NM with Bunny and Peppy and Peppy's colt. She was fairly gentle but did not know anything--even after a year being there, so I thought to try. I recall her as a dark dun, nice confirmation with a lot of potential--not much realized,sad to say. In a few months I could have done with her like Patrick and Ginger. But time, energy, support or encouragement? Ha ha. 

I had a closet full of clothes I almost never wore and was sewing any spare moment but my ideas did not always turn out so I'd do a drastic thinning now and then.  A day when at least Dad and often even Mom and Alex were gone was almost a vacation--nobody was on my case or scrutinizing every task I performed and everything I might not be doing exactly as I was supposed to--under the current day's 'rule'. I so often felt alone and isolated. I did confide some in Charlie Mike but a lot of my concerns were just too mature for him. He was 14 now which is a long ways from 22. But I thanked heaven he was there as I tried to be for him. We trusted each other which was invaluable, a life saver. 

I was at a pretty low ebb-- Dusty and our bond was one of the few things I would absolutely not set aside, deny, abandon or give up. So much of the rest of the 'stuff' that was important to me or enjoyed continued to drop off into what few cracks were left and I doubted I would ever get into them again. It hurt--a lot. Thankfully within less than a decade I'd picked up many old hobbies and interests, added to them and made them part of my life as they are to this day. Resilience and determination can do so much. But right then...and it got worse before better.

What will illustrate this point in time?  Little new, for sure. Charlie Mike with Prez. He got along with the big old mule real well. An old shot of me on Chief. I cannot paint a picture of drudgery, bad weather, chronic tiredness. It would be gray and dull, brown like mud and kind of blue and purple like bruises.  No--that is too bleak. I will leave it to morbid imagination! 

. 

Memoir Monday, Oct 16 1965

 The "stuff breaking loose"  I had feared came a few day before this. Mom asked me a few direct questions and I mostly answered honestly. There was really no alternative. I might had lied to Dad but I could not to her. My mistake, really. And DTBL she could not keep it to herself and once Dad was in the middle of it, the proverbial jig was up. But mostly  he was playing very cagey and knew just how to get to me. The subtle and sneaky type lecture, aimed to shake my confidence and stir both fear and guilt. I was still seen as the fifteen year old though and not the woman of twenty two that I was. That was what saved me, really.. The whole story after the journal entry. 

Oct 16. 1965, Sat

Got up and fed the monsters. Ate biscuits for breakfast and rode Cinder out to do the morning chores. Charlie Mike joined me and we got rained on a little before we reached home. Of course our trip was cancelled so we talked instead. Now that my mind is made up what I’m going to do, it’s a lot easier to listen and think. I must get a long letter written to Dusty and then I will concentrate very hard on studying all sorts of things. I’ll cut my pen pal list down with another brutal chop. Five of the ten will have to go. After lunch we took Ginger over to her new owners. They were half scared to death of her but they decided they liked her and we got our check for her. Now to sell some mules. The chores were done in rain but I was warm inside. After supper I sorted and ‘strated’ up things and got my list of goals, plans etc. out and we went over them. It was pretty interesting , really. Getting the ranch and marriage and a family are my two top goals (No names mentioned!). Beyond that I only have wishes and dreams, and they are mostly unrealistic. I went to bed at 1:20 am after beginning Dusty’s letter--an important document indeed. I can always smell cigar smoke in the rain now. How could one forget that? Those kisses could last me a long time. Already I have had more than I deserve, so much more. Now to make myself the right woman.  Should’ve begun sooner but it’s never too late, is it? Not yet, anyway.

Things had come undone on Wednesday and Thursday.  I first got chewed upside down for my stupidity and basic wickedness and then came the sly part. My weakest spots were so vulnerable and used with no mercy. "Groomimg" was not a term used then but I got "the age fifteen approach" that I was being set up by an older man to be used or even maybe pimped out to the whole gang.(not in those terms but that was the inference.) Of course a cheater could never be expected to stay faithful, even if I 'won' for the moment. And I was certainly too naive and basically unattractive for anyone to be really interested in me. I'd need a dowry like property and such. It was just a silly crush anyway, and I'd get over it and forget very soon.  

Destroyed was almost too mild a term for how I felt but I was not quite ready to go to the river or to give up for real. Friday I sent a note by Charlie Mike and Dusty met me at the pasture Friday afternoon. I had to find out if he really did care; I knew but the doubts had been stirred so badly. It was a difficult conversation.  I sort of asked if he had lost respect for me since I had been willing to meet and act on my feelings. He denied that emphatically and asked me, "Have you done anything you are ashamed of? Have I? " And I could give an honest "no" in both cases. We had kissed and snuggled and talked; he never once 'tried anything' that I could possibly object too and nothing was ever disarranged beyond my hair!! I did say maybe I should not be seeing him so much under the circumstances and he said he should have broken it off when he left the year before for my sake although he had certainly not wanted to.  But I still lingered in his embrace and as he said later, "every time we kissed the sun came out." That was true; it was a bit drizzly with broken clouds. Finally we walked back over to where Moonspinner was parked and he mentioned how none of his dreams came true and he had always wanted a ranch but knew he would never get that.  I sensed he was troubled but did realize I was being pushed savagely by the home folks. He was not sure what to do about that. He'd let me set the pace for now. 

I knew then beyond a doubt that he was not playing games with me or acting out of any ill intent and that we would only truly be together when he had things settled with Johnny and was able to legally carry me home. Still I would have to at least make things look right at home and appear to be settled into a changed mindset and attitude.  To some degree I did manage that. I set my new goal to do my best to help the folks get that ranch they still asserted was "for me",  only I was going to try to get it for Dusty, too.  Yes, it was hopeless,  but I really did try.  I tried for almost ten months more but with a few near catastrophic events in the relatively near future and many more the next year.  November and December were nightmares and but for fortune, I could have been a suicide or a murderess. It came very close to that.

So Ginger was sold. Of course my breaking and training her and also Patrick was never mentioned nor did I get any credit for that. They just did it on their own, didn't they? None of that situation changed at all. I really never expected or believed that it would. I tried to convince myself that if I did everything right it would all work out. In that I was truly unbelievably naive and gullible. But the enmeshed family and emotional incest still had me in a fierce bear trap, one I could not yet escape. 

The only pictures here will be Dusty and me, the self-photo-shopped one of us together and him on Prez, playing a wee bit of his dream as a cowboy/rancher.  His place in my heart and the bond we shared had not been shaken and really could not ever be.