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.