June 17, 1966
On June 17, I did not write. The best I can do is include.the previous day, the next to last real post I made for some time. Why? Saturday, June 19, I discovered my parents had been reading my journal when I was out .I was furious, distressed almost beyond rationality.Their excuse for this very rank betrayal was they were “trying to help me." What they needed to do for me was certainly vastly different from underhanded snooping! They found no proof I was about to elope which I believe they expected. Their excuse rang about as hollow as any lie I'd ever heard. If that was “help”, why not just give me poison?
I vowed to write no more except a factual recital of what work was done each day for a needed record but not one personal word. I first tried to write a day or two in Spanish, knowing they did not read it. Mom knew French and Dad some German but no Spanish for either. That proved too slow and complex although I had a fairly good vocabulary so I just flat stopped. By late July I'd bought a steno notebook which I kept in the ‘private stash' shed behind the second house. Charlie Mike and I used it for our things, and actually purchased and installed a padlock, each keeping a key. (Partly done after the trashed icebox fiasco in March with the loss of my sun glass and his label collection.) I wrote a bit sporadically thru July but will see what I can reconstruct since by August it got a bit more regular and things began to happen worth sharing! FWIW, here is the last full entry.
June 16, 1966, Thursday
Now that it’s over, it has been a nice day. Got up quite early and went out (it really wasn’t necessary). We talked for over an hour when we got home. but I guess that allowed the Boss to get off to Prescott in a fairly good humor. We saddled the red mares and got the mail and then went to hunt Charley Bryant’ mule who had got away. We trailed him to where he jumped the fence and made for the Bridgeport pasture . We got rained on coming home as we unsaddled about 11:30. I went to work on my cleaning and sorting . It’s a hellacious job, makes me near frantic but I pursued it with a fury and boundless energy. I got most of my ordinary junk sorted with taking a break for lunch and noon chores. At 4:00 I saddled Leo to lead Chief and left a note in the can. We got all our home chores done before The Boss got back. He got all his papers filed anyway. We talked until 7:30 (DST at this time so still “early”) and then hurried off to do the pasture chores. As we crossed the bridge over the ditch a blue Volkswagen passed us. I knew the driver with absolute certainty, knew before he turned around and passed us the other way and finally stopped when we got to the corrals. I was shocked and shook. Later it turned out he had not gotten my recent upset letter as they returned to Drake from Prescott. When Mom gave him a ‘talking to’, he was a bit disturbed but stayed cool. He said I was “the finest girl he’d ever met” and he would not see me again until…the event not specified. We talked privately for a few minutes before parting. He kept looking at me, long, hard and searching. He said he was worried because I had not written for quite awhile so he had to come check. I held his hand fiercely a minute and gave him a swift, anguished kiss in parting. So that was goodbye for now, for awhile but not forever. I am still sure; he is not that good a liar. He was just a little bit angry at Mom but kept pretty cool. Of course The Boss would fry him--or try to-- but I won’t let that happen. I’ll be gone far away. I cried a minute and that shook him. If he didn’t love me, he would not have come and wouldn’t care. But now I am anxious to be gone.
In this general period a new and unexpected idea arose in one of the 'talks'. I had even been considering I enlist in a branch the women's military. For a day or two I was actually ordered to go talk to the recruiters. I began to pack my most important possessions to ship to Judy Crouch, my pen pal, when I went off to boot camp. Like many 'solutions' to my"problem", this one faded and died before long. A sequence of events I perceived as betrayals and abuses extended from May--most not really previously covered--into July. I'll let that recital fill part of the otherwise not written period. starting next week.
This surprise visit was truly the single bright spot in what devolved into an increasingly ugly and horrible month or more.. Once again I was assured Dusty truly cared for me. As he explained, he had gotten worried when he did not hear from me for an extended period. He had to come and check on me. An interim letter had never reached him as I later found. This comforting and supportive knowledge carried me through the passage of some weeks when we were hardly in contact at all as I will later explain.
In some ways it is not easy to either remember or share much of this time. The summer of 1966 was the last part of my 'sentence' during which I still did not know or even dare to hope life could and would change very suddenly. I might call it the last installment I paid for my pardon or at least parole. There were other hard times and all was not happily-ever-after because life is real, not a fairy tale, but I never had to suffer these exact types of vicissitudes again.
The eye candy: Not my picture, but the little blue"Bug" looked a lot like this. As I had named two of Dusty's earlier cars, this one I called "Little Bluebird." The other view is the corrals at the pasture. I have shown them before but this was where we were. Dusty parked in the road as I recall and walked over. I think he had seen Mom was with Charlie Mike and me but he wanted to see me, regardless. Would he have done so had it been Dad? I cannot guess but suspect he would have. He was not afraid of the Old Man and said so several times. In a fair fight I think The Boss would have gotten his ass kicked! Dad was then 54 and Dusty was 43 and worked hard daily. It never happened of course and I am thankful.
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