ICY Road

The Passing of a Great Lady

2012-01-25T23:55:00.001-05:00

Born in 1923 in the little town of North Kingsville, Ohio, and growing up in the Great Depression. Irene E. Stewart went to a little school where she knew everyone for all twelve years. She graduated Valedictorian in a class of 13 students. She then went on to the Ashtabula Business College, the first woman in her family to seek higher education.

Her first job was as a typist. Then she worked as a secretary for a firm of lawyers until the firm dissolved during WWII. She married John D. Callahan in 1945. They had two daughters, Diane E. (Callahan) Moore a costume designer and Kathleen A. (Callahan) Jordan an e-book author.

Irene landed a job with the New York Central Railroad in the 1940's. When it merged with the Pennsylvania Railroad in 1964, the Reclaimation Plant closed. From there she went to work for Union Carbide in their Linde` Division until she retired.

When the economy went south in the 1970's she bought and operated the Leeward Lounge. She married Roy L. Talbot in 1976. Irene and Roy Talbot were very active in the Harbor Restoration project and the Ashtabula County License Beverage Association, until they retired in 1988. They traveled in extensively an RV, where Irene began writing short stories. They finally settled in Kentucky in 2005 when they could no longer travel or battle the northeastern Ohio winters.

With the help and support of her daughters, Irene published several short stories on Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble under the name of I. C. Talbot. She was working on a collection of short stories at the time of her passing.

She will be remembered for her courage and common sense by all whose lives she touched.

She is survived by her husband, Roy L. Talbot, her daughters Diane and Kathleen, her grandsons Nevin & Carl and many other beloved members of her extended family.

She passed away on January 18th, 2012 of a sudden heart attack.

Mitzi's Exit - New Short Story

2011-12-03T10:51:00.000-05:00

Just released - 'Mitzi's Exit' is the lastest in the Icy Road collection.

Mitzi's Exit - Smashwords

I'm still working on the first large collection. I've found a better way to get all the stories together: Scrivener. It works very well on a collection of short stories. So when I decide to print them, the front and back matter are already in place.

Saves me some work.

Update!

2011-08-20T12:58:00.000-04:00

"Do You Have an Aunt Cecilia?" has appeared as a free e-book on Barnes & Noble website.

We are thrilled to see how many copies are going out to readers all over.

Thank you!

PS - "Doyle Road Bridge" the first collection has stalled because I'm working on proofs for the paperback of my first novel. This is a delay, not a derailment. Tkx - KJ

The Finalist Covers

2011-08-17T09:23:00.000-04:00

These are the two covers that Mom chose.

This is the cover she wants for inside the book.

This is going to be the icon cover. The colors are going to scream "PICK ME!" at the reader.

Book Covers

2011-08-05T16:07:00.001-04:00

Although I do not know you personally, your art work on the covered-bridge cover for my first book is inspiring enough to entice a reader to turn its first page. Thank you for your efforts on my behalf. I have a long-term love affair with the covered bridge, having lived a long life in Ashtabula County, Ohio, where covered bridges abound. There they found that a covered bridge far outlasts the steel bridge, cost less to install, and beautifies its surroundings. Thanks again. I. C. Talbot.

Are We There Yet?

2011-07-29T14:05:00.000-04:00

Okay, one more time.

This might be it.

More On The Bridge Cover

2011-07-28T08:08:00.000-04:00

First off, here is a link to Andre Jute's blog "Kissing the Blarney Stone". Andre is giving me some pointers on how to make the cover look great, instead of merely 'okay.'

I'm frustrated that I can't get the software to work right. The learning curve is steep and I'm just not patient enough.

Cover For Short Story Collection

2011-07-27T17:39:00.001-04:00

Compose

I wasn't sure I was going to be able to use this, but the photographer was kind enough to allow it.

It's it lovely?

First Collection In The Works

2011-07-26T19:32:00.000-04:00

Yes, I've found a proper theme and the right pictures for Irene's collection.

George Ducro has kindly allowed me to use his fabulous photos of Doyle Road Bridge. As you can see, this photo is going to be eye catching!

So the theme will be as follows - Icy Road is the name of the short stories, but the book will be titled after the bridge.

It's All in the Details

2011-06-28T11:03:00.000-04:00

As I have been working on the Icy Road collections - I've noticed little details I've missed.

The Amazon UK author page I. C. Talbot - UK was blank until yesterday. The Amazon US page has been up for weeks - I. C. Talbot - US.

I released 'Death of a Family' on Smashwords without all the addresses in it.

I don't have templates for her books, though I have a bio template.

All these small details add up - can readers find the links to the stories? What is the best way to find all the stories - even as I add more?

All this takes time - and organization to make it more effective. Since I've done it once already, it's faster.

'Turned Out' on Smashwords

2011-06-20T23:27:00.000-04:00

Octogenarian I. C. Talbot is releasing her short stories with the help of her daughter. The 358 stories have been sorted into 17 volumes. They are mostly women's fiction and will appeal to woman of any age group.

Turned Out – Women's fiction, 9k Words

Julia was always a good kid. So why did she find her bags packed and on the sidewalk? Why had her family turned her out?

About the Author

Born in 1923 in the little town of North Kingsville, Ohio, and growing up in the Great Depression. I. C. Talbot went to a little school where she knew everyone for all twelve years. She graduated Valedictorian in a class of 13 students. She then went on to the Ashtabula Business College, the first woman in her family to seek higher education.

Her first job was as a typist, then she worked as a secretary for a firm of lawyers until the firm dissolved during WWII. From there she went to work for City Hall, until she landed a job with the New York Central Railroad. When it merged with the Pennsylvania Railroad in 1964, the Reclaimation Plant closed. From there she went to work for Union Carbide in their Linde` Division until she retired from there.

When the economy went south in the 1970's she bought and operated a tavern from 1971 to 1988, until she retired a second time. After her first retirement, she and her husband traveled in an RV, where she did the bulk of her writing. They finally settled in Kentucky when they could no longer travel and did not care to battle the northeastern Ohio winters.

With the help of her daughter, she has decided to e-publish her collection of over 230 short stories under the moniker of "Icy Road" short stories. She says of her writing: "I write pulp fiction. My stories are pure entertainment for women."

Her daughter K. A. Jordan serves as her editor and publisher.

We have published 'Turned Out' to Smashwords.

'Turned Out' by I. C. Talbot on Smashwords.

'Turned Out' by I. C. Talbot on Barnes and Noble.

I. C. Talbot, Author Page for Amazon.

Coming Soon - to Kindle Store

2011-01-21T14:44:00.000-05:00

We have been looking for a way to get more of Irene's stories published. Since the e-reader phenomena came about, we have decided to publish a few of her stories to Kindle.

Out of the nearly 300 stories we have on hand, a select few will be published in the next couple of weeks.

Stay tuned, we are going to announce them here first.

Turned Out

2010-09-12T14:26:00.000-04:00

TURNED OUT
By I. C. Talbot
.
Julia Carstairs was seventeen, just graduated from high school, when her father and mother turned her out of their house.
The young girl did not smoke, drink, never had any contact with drugs, had no expectations of being waited on hand and foot, was helpful to her mother around the house without being asked, kept a clean room and had grown proficient over the years in making most of her own clothing.
Julia came down for breakfast one pleasant summer morning, was asked to run an errand to the barn, returned to find her bags packed and her father loading them into the back of his pickup truck. Taught never to question the decisions of her parents all during her young life, Julia waited silently for an explanation. None was forthcoming.
"This is the last day you will spend in this house, Julia," her mother said when her father ordered her into the truck before driving off with her. She hadn't the faintest notion of what she had done, where she was being taken, or what was to happen to her. Her father answered her questions with silence.
Julia was stunned beyond belief. Nothing in her entire lifetime had prepared her for this turn of events.
Her silent, stern faced father turned, after placing her belongings on the sidewalk in front of the local bus station, handed her an envelope, climbed into his truck, and drove off, leaving her alone on the sidewalk with her things.
Julia was always discouraged from inviting her friends to the house, was never allowed to spend any time away from home. There were no friends to whom she could turn. With no money for bus fare, Julia believed she was dumped off at the bus station as no one would question a young girl with luggage being there alone.
A tearful Julia carried her two battered suitcases and two fairly large boxes into the bus station, placed them near a bench against a far wall, sat down and opened the envelope her father had given her, hoping for a clue to her future.
In it was a ten dollar bill, a smaller envelope with two dollars in small change (no pennies), and a folded document she thought to be her birth certificate. Nothing else.
Still stunned, as all this happened to her in the space of a short hour, she unfolded the certificate and began to read.
Her first name, Julia and middle name Agatha were as she knew them but the last name was not Carstairs, the one she had grown up thinking to be hers. Her mother's name and that of her father, as shown, weren't those of the people she had lived with all her life and called Mom and Dad.
The first and last name written on the certificate under Mother's name was that of the resident of Willow Crest, a stately home from which, gossip said, all the town's benefits flowed.
The name shown under Father's Name was unfamiliar to her.
Listed on the outside of the envelope was a local telephone number.
Julia sat for over an hour on the hard bench while the realization that she had no place to go, no way to get there if she had, and was entirely on her own, set in.
Finally, with a huge sigh, Julia walked to the pay phone, put in her quarter and dialed the number on the envelope.
"Shane and Renfrew, Attorneys at Law, how may I help you?" came back at her.
"I don't know if you can." Julia replied. "I'm seventeen, with a problem I don't know how to solve. I'm at the bus station with my belongings, brought here by my father with the admonition not to return home, ever."
"What did you do?" she was asked.
"I got up this morning, ran an errand out of doors for my mother before breakfast, and when I returned, found my things packed and was told I had to leave."
"May I ask your name?"
"Julia Carstairs well, I thought I was Julia Carstairs but I was given a birth certificate for a Julia Agatha Christie."
"Julia," the voice on the phone told her, "stay right where you are. I'll come get you. In a blue Ford, in ten minutes. My name is Shirley Fontaine. Stay calm, dear."
Julia hung up the phone and returned to her bench.
Shirley, however, rushed into Cal Renfrew's office without knocking, saying as she entered, "You will never guess who just called, Cal."
"Well, from what I overheard, Shirley, let me guess. The matter we discussed last Friday as someday rearing its ugly head, has done so, far in advance of the expected date."
"Right. I'm picking up Julia Carstairs Christie at the bus depot NOW!"
"I'll call my wife to let her know we have a guest, who may stay for three years before all this is settled."
Shirley closed the outer door as Cal picked up his phone.
At the depot, as Shirley opened the outer door to an almost empty room, she saw at the far end, a tearful lost looking young lady, with luggage around her feet.
She called quietly, "Julia?" and was answered by a shy smile.
Well, Shirley thought, she's a pretty little thing, poorly dressed, but Cal will soon take care of that!
Shirley picked up half of Julia's things, while she followed with the rest to the car, where everything was stowed in the trunk. They then drove to Cal's office.
Julia was ushered in, introduced to Cal Renfrew, offered a chair, and asked if there were anything she wanted before they had their chat.
Julie smiled shyly, "I wasn't offered breakfast before being rushed off..."
"If Shirley would be so kind as to run to MacDonald's, would one of their breakfasts do?"
"Yes, sir, it would."Shirley was so kind.
While they waited, Julie told Cal about the birth certificate. He explained that the Carstairs were only foster parents, perhaps in some way related, that she had been, unfortunately, placed with the Carstairs shortly after birth, although not forgotten by her own parents. His client wanted her to remain Julia Carstairs until her twenty first birthday.
Now, until that time, she was welcome to live with himself, his wife and two children, Drew, thirteen and Delia, twelve, as one of the family. Would Julia agree to use the Carstairs name until that time?
"I don't think the Carstairs would want that." she offered.
"They have no say in the matter. In fact, if they voice an objection, or make any mention of the fact that your last name isn't Carstairs, they face consequences."
"Why the mystery, Mr. Renfrew? Either I am a Christie as my birth certificate reads, or I am not."
"Julia, I am under obligation to see to your welfare until you are twenty one. At that time, you take over. Meanwhile, if you'd like to work, I will find you a job, or you may elect to go to college. I understand your grades will allow you to enter any college you may choose. Your tuition is provided for."
Julia's hopes rose immediately, but she questioned: "Why wasn't I told? The Carstairs said many times that I must earn my own living when I finished school, would not be able to attend college. I probably would have chosen other courses to be college ready, had I known."
"I've kept track of your scholastic record, Julia. I believe you could ready yourself for college by attending summer classes in Albany. They start Monday and I will see that you are enrolled immediately."
"How would I get to Albany? And how will I live, and where, while going to classes?" Julia was skeptical.
"Shirley will let you stay with her during the week, if you choose to go and you will return to my house weekends. Shirley will use this afternoon to take you shopping for a fall wardrobe. Would you be up to going after lunch?" Renfrew asked.
"It's very nice of Shirley to allow a complete stranger to stay with her. Things are happening so fast, it's hard to make decisions." She was overwhelmed.
"You will have time before and during the ride to Albany after lunch for serious thought on the matter." was Renfrew's optimistic statement.
"And in the three hours before then, can I keep busy, by perhaps helping Shirley?" she questioned.
"I am sure she'd be pleased you offered." He called out to Shirley, "Julia has offered to help you anyway she can, until you both leave after lunch. I'll let you two work it out."
Shirley smiled, "I can always use help. Julia, what do you know about filing?" she asked, as Julia left the lawyer's office.
"What filing system do you use?"
"Alphabetical." Julia's question showed promise.
"I know my alphabet." Julia said with a slow smile.
"Good. See that stack over on the desk?" Shirley pointed to a pile of correspondence, and explained further to Julia, "All our filing is done under the Client's last name, which will appear on a legal paper, whether litigant or defendant, and can be easily determined if you call out the case name to me."
The filing was soon finished.Shirley also found Julia very efficient at the keyboard when she set her to work there, and was sorry when lunch time came. Another hour with Julia's help and she would be on top of things in the morning.
On the drive to Albany, Julia asked a lot of questions of Shirley, who explained as best she could, keeping the confidentiality of her work in mind.
Julia was impressed not only by the name of the shop she was taken to in Albany, but by the manner in which Shirley handed her over to the sales clerk.
"This is Julia. She will go to summer classes starting Monday and is entering college this fall. She will need a complete wardrobe, please."
They went over the racks, gathering clothing. Julia was dressed, Shirley consulted, Julia undressed, dressed again. It took little time for the sales clerk to discover what pleased Shirley. Nothing flamboyant, just stylish, somewhat conservative, in skirts, sweaters, dresses, all of excellent quality.
After amassing a pile of choices, Julia was hustled off to the shoe department where she chose four pair, matching them with the clothing she had chosen.
Lingerie, p.j.'s, light coat, jacket, scarf, gloves, purses, hosiery, again with the clothing and shoe purchases in mind, were chosen.
Julia caught a fleeting glimpse of price tags and, although enjoying the unique experience, laid her hand on Shirley's arm as she went to arrange for payment.
"Who is paying for all this, Shirley?" was her question.
"A client." was the answer.
"I could get by with half this cost at Sears, or Penneys, even less at Walmart."
"Yes, you could. But we were told where to bring you, and given an approximate amount to spend. We're under that. You've been very easy to please, and I think you'll look great in all you've chosen." Shirley explained.
"Honestly, Shirley, my sewing machine and all the materials and other things over my four years in high school didn't amount to what those four pair of shoes cost."
"My dear, this is one time I would caution you not to look a gift horse in the mouth." Shirley admonished.
"Well, okay, then!" Julia sighed.
"Good girl. Now I'll take you to my place where you will spend your evenings, five days a week."
Shirley drove to a house in a modest neighborhood, explaining on the way she had a teen aged daughter, Martie, whom Julia would meet a little later.
Martie had her own room, for which Julia was grateful after being given a tour of the house. She had always studied alone in a quiet house, and one look into Martie's room at her TV, stereo, record player and collection, made Julia appreciate the guestroom had been built off the family room, behind the garage.
This part of the house seemed a new addition to Julie, as were the furnishings, and would be a great place to study.
"Mr. Renfrew is coming to take you back to Littlefield for the weekend. Why don't you spend the time until he arrives in arranging your new things, taking off labels, and sorting out a few items, like pj's, to take with you. Here's a weekender bag to pack it in. I'll bring Martie back to meet you when she gets home. And, Julia, please answer her questions generally. That you are going to summer classes at the college and Mr. Renfrew is sponsoring you, as he's done for others over the years. They all proved to be brains who didn't fit into Martie's picture of real people. You're more like her. I think you two will get along fine."
Shirley was wrong about their being alike. Martie talked a blue streak, Julia just listened. She had only a vague idea of who Martie's favorite musicians were, hadn't seen any of the movies Martie had enjoyed, and gave only perfunctory answers to her questions.
Martie soon lost interest and Julia was alone in her room when Shirley came to tell her Renfrew had arrived.
During the drive back to Littlefield, Julia answered the many questions Cal asked about herself, the Carstairs, and the family life she knew with them, giving him an insight into what her life had been like thus far.
The Renfrew house was on the river, a very attractive home outside, beautiful on the inside. The Renfrew children proved younger, polite, but distant.
Julia's suitcases were already in her room, which had a southern view of woods and river. She enjoyed the view as she unpacked, intermingling her new things with the old, placing into the weekender those things she would need in Albany.
Mrs. Renfrew requested she join the family after settling in, and Julia spent an hour becoming acquainted with the Renfrew children, Mrs. Renfrew whom she immediately liked and the house.
It was suggested she wait to visit the grounds until the morning as dinner was ready. It was enjoyed during light conversation.
Julia was an early riser, even on weekends. The smell of coffee lead her to the kitchen at quarter to seven next morning. Cal Renfrew was seated at the counter looking out at the river and seemed lost in thought as she entered.
She said a quiet "Good morning, sir," and didn't think he heard, until he answered in the same quiet tone.
"Come over here, slowly, Julia. I've been watching a squirrel cross over quite a distance on a wire. See him out there?" he pointed.
"I do. That wire has a lot of slack in it. He could fall if startled. Do you suppose he's brave or just foolish? Of course, either way, you have to admire him. It would be so much easier to make that crossing on the ground." As she stood, intent on that little furry creature's daring do, Cal studied the young girl.
Julia was about five foot six, he guessed. Long blonde hair caught up in a pony tail, green eyes, aristocratic nose and chin, and a delightful wide grin, showing even white teeth, and there was an easy going air about her.
What a blow it must have been for her world to change the way it had, he thought. Julia Carstairs, but not Julia Carstairs. Parents who weren't parents and didn't want her, let alone love her. Believing there was no chance for her to go to college, then the definite opportunity to go arising.
Here she was, in completely different circumstances, admiring the pluck of a squirrel!
He wondered if perhaps he should schedule several visits for her with Amory Stedman, the Guidance Counsellor at Littlefield High School. Julia found no reason to visit him while she was enrolled there and Amory reported her as a well adjusted young lady. Had all this changed her? He should find out.
"Would you like breakfast now, or would you care for a walk about the grounds, Julia?" Renfrew asked, thinking it might give him a chance to learn.
"I can breakfast later when everyone is up, I'd like a walk. It looks nice and fresh out there."
It was a beautiful morning and Cal took her first along the river. He was proud of having acquired this piece of property on its shore, although it had to be fenced when his children were younger.
"Julia, tell me how you feel about everything that is happening in your life." Cal asked.
"So many of the questions I had over the years have been answered now. My supposed parents were affectionate, I guess. They always seemed to be standoffish where other people were concerned polite, but not wanting anyone to get too close. Vague with the answers I always thought should be answered more specifically. Why didn't they just come out and say they weren't my parents? That, I could have understood. I seemed different from them in so many ways. My opinions, likes, dislikes. There were Aunts and Uncles on both sides cousins they visited a lot when I was younger, but we never returned their visits and they gradually stopped coming. 'Different interests, different lifestyles' I was told."
"I can remember the many times other people told me I surely didn't resemble either of the Carstairs, I must be a throwback or something. I can remember how upset my mother how do I think of her now? my foster mother? getting really upset over that. Why not explain I was a foster child, or adopted?" she asked Renfrew.
"Their contract was to reveal nothing." he explained.
"What would they have lost by revealing it?"
"Oh, I'd say a lot."
"Can't you tell me?"
"No, not yet." Renfrew shook his head sadly.
"But if I can be told when I am 2l, why not at almost eighteen? Swear me to secrecy, threaten me with banishment, no, I guess I've already been banished, haven't I?
"Tell me, Mr. Renfrew," she continued. "Do you think I shall be better able to handle the facts of my life when I am 2l, three years less one month from now?"
"No, I don't. But you can get used to not being a Carstairs by birth during that time."
"Get over being cast out by the only family I've known? How long does it take to get over the death of ones' parents? Mine are dead, you know, to me. But I can't go to the farm and see it empty of the Carstairs because the Carstairs are dead only to me. That's what I can't understand. And why yesterday and not on my graduation day? Who decided when they should cast me out? You, my parents on the birth certificate, or my foster parents?" Julia wanted to know.
"Actually, Julia, it was the Carstairs."
"Why?"
"At the moment, I don't really know. But the fact that they gave you the firm's phone number means something. If this hadn't happened, would you eventually have moved away if you found employment in Albany? You could have gone there to look for work. What were your plans? Did you reveal them to the Carstairs? Something set this off, as you were to be allowed to stay with them, or go where you would. The tie was to remain the same."
"Then you think what they did was meant to upset the apple cart?"
"I wish I knew."
"I guess I should look at this in a different light. Not knowing all the facts makes it almost impossible to guess why, at this time, I was made to leave the house."
Julie sat on a stone wall, looking out at the river."Mr. Renfrew, what happened this past week? Why was Shirley aware that I might call? She didn't seem surprised. Nor were you. It was just as if you all had shifted into another gear on a steep hill. You seemed ready for me."
"I have no idea why we felt ready for contact from you, as I really don't know." Cal answered truthfully.
"Look, its clear I've been kept in the dark all my life. Now I want the light turned on. I want to see my future, not grope in the dark until I am 2l. I think, by giving me that birth certificate, the Carstairs were directing me. What I need to know is in this town somewhere. Is it well hidden? Why immediately enroll me in summer classes in Albany, away from Littlefield!" Julia was now facing him, her eyes flashing. "I'm curious, Mr. Renfrew, I want the facts. And with that birth certificate, I think I can get them myself, one way or another."
"Please, Julia, I ask that you don't!" he pleaded.
"Not good enough, sir. I've always needed a reason for things people wanted of me. A please is not a reason. I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll wait a week for a good reason, a very good reason. Then I find the light switch!"
Julie took a short cut back to the house, and joined the Renfrew family for breakfast.
Before Cal did likewise, he went to Julia's room to check her purse for the birth certificate, only to find it wasn't there. He would call Shirley after breakfast. She could look in Julia's things at her house. He didn't think Julia was expecting anyone to take it, so why should she hide it? It might upset things if it stayed in her possession.
When he called, Shirley suggested Cal just ask for it. Give her the excuse that he wanted to check on something. He was a lawyer, she was certain he would think of something!
He did as she suggested, asked Julia where it was, could he see it. He wanted to know how the Carstairs got it.
Julia replied, "There isn't anything on it to tell you. I know it by heart. It's a certified copy, came from the State Records. You can get a copy from there if you need one. $2.00 plus postage." and walked away to join his daughter. It was almost too smooth, he thought. Like a lawyer might answer. Then he grinned. No, exactly like a lawyer would answer.
Julia, unbeknownst to Shirley, made a copy of both sides of the certificate on the copier while she was helping her in the office, and filed the original in the closed files under Shirley's name. She felt the original was quite safe there, and the copies, one of the front, one of the back of the certificate, were also safely tucked in the torn corner of the lining of the weekender. The names and dates were on file in her memory. Etched there, in fact.
Julia spent a busy week back in Albany. First, an interview in the Administration Office, where her enrollment was finalized. Then classes. Her books were delivered to Shirley's house, along with a class schedule, even before her return from Renfrew's. Shirley didn't just hint at how fortunate Julia was to have all the preliminaries taken care of for her. She still vividly
remembered how much time and money it took for her brother to gather up his books (used, of course), arrange tuition, and find a place to stay. His time in college was long before Shirley married, found her present home, gave birth to Martie, but was still fresh in her memory.
Julia had a retentive mind, a knack for thorough reading, but even so, her first week left little time to even remember her ultimatum to Cal, or become acquainted with Martie.
Later, she found the young girl to be refreshingly honest, nosey, with a great sense of humor. Martie was experiencing things at school Julia had missed, and she soon realized her introverted nature had shut her out of a lot of enjoyable experiences.
Martie developed the habit of seeking Julia out when she came home from school, during the hours her mother was not yet home. To Julia, it was like having a younger sister, and she found herself reticent to weekend at the Renfrew's, as she felt out of place in their more opulent setting, much more comfortable at Shirley's.
She asked Shirley if it were necessary for her to go there every weekend, if her presence at Shirley's might be an inconvenience if she didn't go. Before answering, Shirley spoke to Cal Renfrew about it.
His reply: "When Julia reaches twenty one, her mother wishes her to be educated in more ways than college. We are to introduce her into society, so to speak, where she will meet eligible men, with the idea of her marrying well, and I'm afraid, reach the point where her mother can finally wash her hands of the girl, or, if her husband is acceptable, meet with her on a social basis. That is why it is unfortunate she was given that birth certificate. Have you had any luck in locating it?"
"No, and she hasn't mentioned to Martie a thing about her last name, not really being a Carstairs, or that she was shown the door on her former home. Nothing that isn't related to school or her present circumstances. Everything seems to be held inside as far as her former life is concerned. Is that good? Do you think she should, perhaps, get help there?" Shirley was concerned.
"I do have full discretion where her physical well being is concerned. Her mental well being is perhaps something I should discuss with the Client. Keep a close watch on her when you can, Shirley. I'll see that this added burden is rewarded."
Shirley suggested to the girls, instead of getting together while she was still at work, they do their studying early, and thus draw Julia into family life discussions, some TV together, during which interaction on a family basis could take place.
Then she pointed out to Cal that more time with herself and Martie on the weekends with Julia could be useful in this matter, also. After all, Julia had several years yet to go before coming of age.
Thus, the outings Shirley enjoyed on weekends with her own daughter stretched to include Julia, and as Martie was active in sports, they took Julia to summer league soccer games. As older girls were on the team, they talked her into trying out for the summer team, too. Julia fitted in nicely with the girls, proved to have a natural knack for the game and the exercise heightened her color.
The weekend games bit into the time Julia spent at the Renfrew's, dwindling it to an occasional Sunday.
The obvious effect on Julia's well being was so apparent, all of Cal's doubt faded. Interaction with her own age group seemed to be what she needed. Her studies were not affected.
Julia passed her SAT test without problem and was soon enrolled in fall college classes.
From a slow paced introverted home life, Julia emerged as an eager, involved young lady. A very much-changed young lady, apparent as young men her age began appearing on Shirley's doorstep.
Martie again postponed her homework until her mother came home to sit on Julia's bed and ooh and aah at Julia's conquests.
The Renfrew's were insistent that the Holidays be spent with them at Littlefield. Martie had a new close girl friend who spent the weekends with her, but the big sister/little sister relation ship remained intact.
After her nineteenth birthday, with two years of college behind her, Julia decided she was ready to confront her past. She had clues enough to know who her mother was, where she lived, and that Julia's birth had been an embarrassment to her family because of their social status. Being well read, having seen, first hand, girls at school vanish because they became pregnant, and heard stories on campus, it was easy to understand that where teen aged girls were concerned, they were at the mercy of their parents' decisions when a difficult situation developed. A handsome face, a smooth line, a moment's indiscretion with the wrong young man, and a girl's life could be ruined. And also a child's, she realized.
Julia wanted to see what the man who caused all this was like. She was certain her mother's family had taken over her life. But were they instrumental in her being raised by the Carstairs? It would be interesting to hear both sides of the story.
Between classes, Julia spent many hours in the college library, which boasted several computers, and she inquired about taking a short class between her regular ones. It would put the information she needed more readily at her disposal.
After the class, with the help of the assistant librarian, Julie started a family tree.
Name: Julia Agatha ChristieMother's Name: Martha Eleanor RandolphFather's Name: Cornelius Wadsworth Stratton ChristieShe then added the date and place of her birth.The library assistant hadn't remained at her side beyond Julia's placing her name on the proper line.
Knowing who her parents were, Julia was now interested in where they lived, and learned Martha Eleanor Randolph was now the sole resident at Willow Crest in Littlefield.
She was an old maid (not that old, Julia thought), never married. Did she still carry a torch for Cornelius Christie had he been her first and only love? What did she look like now? Let's see, I'm l9, she was l9 when I was born, which would make her 38 or 39 now. That was still young, and if she were still good looking, why hadn't her money bought her a husband? Julie was determined to find out.
And Cornelius Christie? He wasn't in the phone books she pulled up on the computer screen.
Julia went back to the Assistant Librarian.
"How would one go about locating a relative's address? One that doesn't appear locally or in any of the phone books pulled up on the computer?" she inquired.
"Try City Directories. If not, advertise for information on the person you are trying to locate on the web. Ask them to mail the information to your home, here, or wherever. It may take time, but eventually someone will give it to you. Using a web site would be the quickest way." the librarian explained to her.
"I don't have a computer or a web site. Now what? I'd like to get on with this family tree, but to hit a snag so soon sort of takes the fun out of it." Julia complained to her new friend.
"Give me what info you have and I'll give it a try for you. I have spare time between two and three. When you come back at four, I'll have it printed out and in an envelope with your name on it on my desk. As I'll probably be gone before then, you can thank me tomorrow, Julia." She said with a smile.
"And if I come by tomorrow when you're here, can you clue me in a little more on computer use? Not so much for this, but I'm enrolled in some courses the girls say can be made easier by info on the computer."
"That's what I'm here for, Julia. From eight to three thirty week days."
Before the weekend, Julia amassed a great family tree. Aunts, uncles, cousins, names, addresses, the works. An astounded librarian kept it to herself, but thought Julia had a very remarkable family tree!
Her father, Cornelius, Julia learned, was now living out of state, ran a brokerage firm, had prestige, was widowed with two grown boys (Julia always thought having a brother would be GREAT! Now she had two half brothers.) She had their addresses, phone numbers, and a gleam in her eye at the thought of close kin.
She debated all one afternoon whether she should contact her father first, one of her brothers, or just show up on their door step and confront all three at one time?
Julia wished she had someone to talk this over with before she committed a fax pax and regretted it. Shirley? The friendly librarian? Julie ruled them out. But she was impatient, her twenty first birthday seemed a long way off. But meanwhile...?
Julia again approached her friend at her library desk on the pretense of computer instruction.
Mary Proctor was about forty, very motherly, and when she asked Julia how her family tree was coming, Julia decided to seek her counsel.
"Mary," she said as she went through a routine she was being taught, "what if you found in a family tree search someone you wished you could meet, never heard of before, but didn't want to interfere in their lives, really, but.."
"You sound lonely to me, Julia. Why not just send them an E mail greeting?" her friend suggested.
"How can I do that?" Julia asked, her interest piqued.
Mary then spent an hour instructing Julia on the how's, why's and wherefore's of E mail.
"But you'll need an E mail address of your own and the address of the person you want to contact." she explained to Julia.
"Okay, how do I get an address of my own, and the other persons?"
"You make up your own address, and use an E Mail Directory to get the other."
This was very interesting to Julia, but she couldn't spend all her time at the library.
Mary's next remark solved her problem."Julia, computers aren't that expensive. You should have one of your own. Go price one at Office Max or at Office Depot. And buy an Internet for Dummies book."
Taking down the name of the computer she was using and its components, Julia decided to talk to Shirley about it. She knew her clothing allowance was generous and her stay at Shirley's must be expensive, could she ask for more, she wondered?
She didn't have to ask anyone. That weekend at the Renfrew's, Cal asked at the dinner table what was new in her life and she expounded on the computer how much she enjoyed learning to operate one, how much it helped in her studies, how much she wished she had her own. Julia laid it on thick, glad of the opportunity.
Mrs. Renfrew offered to go with her to pick out one she thought might be helpful, have it installed at Shirley's the first of the week, and remarked to her husband about the oversight in not already having provided her with one.
Cal apologized profusely about the oversight; two years ago, in fact.
Julia ended up with everything, computer, screen, modem, printer, scanner, fax, personal zerox, her own phone, plus a desk, chair and filing cabinet. She was ecstatic.
There was little space for all this in her room, but lots of space in the family room, where it was set up so both girls could use it to good advantage.
Fortunately, Martie tired after an hour of instruction and Julia was left to her own devices. She immediately got an E mail address and, using the directory, found no end of friends and acquaintances with whom to communicate.
Alone in the house one evening, Julia composed a letter to her half brothers. Nothing earth shaking, just a "while perusing the family tree" sort of thing. She didn't send it, just wrote it up, printed it out, erased it from the file, and after giving it lots of thought, set it aside.
Would it really be fair, she thought, to surprise them with the fact they had a half sister? The letter sat in her drawer, unsent.
Then, while checking further into E Mail addresses, her father's name appeared. Further checking proved it was his office address. Was that the way to go? He probably had a secretary, and an explanation might prove embarrassing to him. Could she use the family tree gambit on him?
"In checking the Christie family tree, your name no, better to leave the Christie name out of it. Cornelius Wadsworth Stratton Christie the name left lots of possibilities. Perhaps Stratton, it sounded like a family name.
To be sure, Julia checked the archives. Yes! It was his mother's maiden name. Wadsworth was his Grandmother's maiden name.
Julia had chosen her initials and the last four letters of Carstairs for her E mail address jacairs. She still used that last name and wondered how her foster parents would feel about it.
Her strategy on contacting her father made it necessary to dig into the Stratton family tree. It took a week before she had enough background for her use.
But in preparing her E mail, Julia again got cold feet.
Instead, she decided to investigage her mother's activities. She hadn't been sent that far away to be raised that her mother could not check on her wellbeing, so perhaps there might be some interest remaining there.
She began reading back issues of newspapers at the library, found her mother's name in bridge club news, learned she was a member of the Littlefield hospital board, and wondered aloud to her librarian friend if she could access back issues of newspapers on her own computer at home.
As Julia began confining all her activities to the indoors, it began to worry Shirley. Why didn't Julia find something to do out of doors play golf, tennis, join the soccer team again? She voiced her concern to Julia.
Julia learned in perusing the papers her mother played golf at one of the clubs between Littlefield and Albany, and she mentioned an interest in learning to play the game. Shirley saw to it at once that Julia had a membership in the club, and also in another local club where Shirley was acquainted with the tennis coach.
Julia spent a good deal of time out of doors from that moment on, concentrating on learning both games and learning them well.
Her need for transportation to go from one to the other, college and home, was mentioned by Shirley to Cal, who agreed Julia should have a small second hand car and driving lessons.
Being a fast learner, and a good athlete, it wasn't long before she was good at all three, driving, golf and tennis.
The paper's sports news listed her mother's name as being involved in activities at the one club on Tuesday and Thursday. Julia changed her scheduled lessons for those days.
And finished her Sophomore year at college.
Unaware of her mother's appearance, Julia decided not to try finding pictures of her, as she would be very nervous in her presence, but to let happenstance take control of their meeting.
Toby Scott was her tennis instructor, a very attractive young lady with a real knack at the racquet, and was quite convinced Julia was a natural at the game. She began singing her praises to the club women.
Julia's golf swing seemed to have real power to Davy Breck, the club pro, who also thought Julia's smile had the same impact as her swing.
Having made no close friends, still being prone to hold back because friendships were frowned on by the Carstairs and besides that, Julia was too busy to form any.
One sultry afternoon after her golf lesson, Julia sat sipping a lemonade alone at an outside table, reviewing one of the books Cal obtained for her for fall courses. Engrossed, she barely looked up when two women sat down at her table.
"You are Julia, Davy's new star pupil, the one with the powerful swing?" one of them addressed the question to her.
"Well, I am Julia and Mr. Breck is trying to teach the game of golf to me." she answered honestly.
"I'm Henrietta Borlin, and this is Martha Randolph. Martha and I are looking for fresh talent on the green. If you are serious about learning, we usually pick a beginner to take under our wing."
After she heard "Martha Randolph", Julia lost the thread of the conversation and as she didn't want to stare at her mother, she fastened her eyes on Henrietta's.
"Well," Henrietta smiled warmly at the surprised expression on Julia's face. "Would you like to play with us for an hour or so after your next lesson?"
"It's very kind of you to offer. I take lessons twice a week, on Monday and Wednesday. I have tennis lessons two other mornings." Julia tried hard not to stammer.
"Tennis? Where?" Henrietta asked.
"At the Sundown Club Tuesday and Thursday."
"What do you do on Fridays?" Henrietta asked, with a grin.
"I'm learning to operate a computer." she answered.
"Well, Julia, you seem to have filled your mornings for the summer." It was the first Martha had spoken, giving Julia the opportunity to really look at her. What she saw was how she, herself, might look approaching forty. Not much different, in fact. Julia wondered if both women were aware of who she was, the resemblance was so close. Nothing was said about that, but they did say they would like her to play with them the coming Monday.
"But I barely know how!" Julia protested.
"My dear, the pro goes on vacation next week, some sort of competition he enters every year. If you don't play with us, you will backslide. Davy suggested we take you over. Don't worry, if you forget to address the ball, even lose half a dozen of them, it should at least prove interesting."
"Then thank you. I'd like to try." Julia replied.
"Good girl." And they left the table.
Julia sat there in shock. She had met her mother for the first time and barely spoken to her. It wasn't what she had envisioned at all!
She spent the weekend with the Renfrews, and they noted how quiet she was. Mrs. Renfrew remarked on it.
"Actually, it's stage fright." Julia explained. "I'm to play golf with two of the ladies at the club on Monday and I've barely begun my lessons."
"Don't fret, Julia. They know you're green, and isn't this the week Dave Breck takes off, Cal?" Mrs. Renfrew asked.
"Yes. The regular league players usually take over for him every year. Who picked you?" he asked Julia.
"Who picked me? Is that how it works? That makes it worse, Mr. Renfrew. Henrietta Brolin, who did all the talking, and Martha Randolph." Julia exploded a bomb, evidently.
They were at the dinner table. Cal dropped his fork and fixed his gaze on Julia. "Ah, I believe it begins. I wondered how she would do it!"
"Do what? What begins? I don't know how to act! I don't think I'll show up on Monday!" Julia was flustered.
"Yes, you will, Julia. I wondered if she would wait until your twenty first birthday once she saw you. I take it you caught the resemblance?" Cal asked.
"I sure did. I think my jaw dropped two inches."
"Hers probably did too, the first time she saw you. I never told her you were her spitting image. I suppose she thought you might resemble your father."
"And what did Cornelius Christie look like, Mr. Renfrew? Blonde, dark hair, what?" Julia's curiosity about her father made her bold.
"How I do wish Carstairs hadn't given you that birth certificate." was Cal's only reply.
"I've used it on the computer to get names for a family tree on both sides. I even wrote an E Mail to my father and half brothers." at the horrified expression on Cal's face, she continued. "Oh, don't worry, I didn't send them. I remembered how I felt when I learned I wasn't a Carstairs. Maybe being one wasn't the choicest relationship, but I was used to it. I could only wonder how those children would feel when they found out their father had sired another child, out of wedlock, no less!"
"Wait a minute, Julie!" Cal interrupted, "Your parents were married! But the marriage was annulled before Martha knew she was pregnant. When it was discovered, she had hidden the fact for almost seven months, and by then, your father's whereabouts couldn't be discovered.
"Martha absolutely refused to approach him even if he were found. I think she hated her parents for what they had done. I never discerned any warmth for them emanating from her, but believe Martha turned bitter inside, because they made her give up the two things she loved most her husband and you." Renfrew hoped he had not revealed more than his Client would like him to reveal.
"She cared for me? Then why not acknowledge me?" Julie was almost crying.
"And give her parents a grandchild they so dearly wanted? No, they gave her pain and sorrow, and she made them suffer in return by never looking at another man!" Renfrew seemed to sympathize with his Client.
"Cheating herself, too, in the process. Are her parents still living?" Julia didn't think she would be able to like those grandparents, and was relieved at Renfrew's reply.
"No."
"She's still beautiful. She might yet be able to have children." Julia mused.
"No, she probably wouldn't want any more! She hardened her heart to the world, I'm afraid." Cal left the table, ending the discussion. Julia lingered. In her young mind, she could see Martha relenting. Or could she? Yes, in her young life, anything seemed possible.
Cal's revelation of Martha's past had given Julia a new outlook on her mother. She was seventeen when turned out by the Carstairs, and now it seemed to give her a close kinship with her mother, who had lost a husband and her love for her parents for what they had done to her at about the same age.
After the last golf lesson until Davy's return, Julia found the ladies waiting with a golf cart and a set of clubs for Julia, who hitherto had used a beginner's set furnished by the club.
Her game, in contrast to that of the ladies, had Julia almost in tears by the fourth hole.
"Look," she told them, "You can't be enjoying seeing me make a fool of myself. Why don't I just go back to the club house and we do this again next year? I should be a little better by then!" She was really disgusted with herself.
"Actually, Julia," Martha said as they all boarded the cart, "I wanted to play with you for an altogether different reason. Henrietta, this is where you tee off for the next hole and leave us alone." She waived Henrietta off the cart.
Henrietta quietly walked away. Martha and Julia sat silently for several minutes, while Julia held her breath. Then Martha reached for her hand.
"You know, don't you, Julia?" she asked.
"I know." Julia replied. "And at first, I didn't really understand at all, until Mr. Renfrew told me what you went through before and after I was born. Your stubborness did cause me some unhappiness, but there was no way I could know it when I was growing up." Julia paused, looking into her mother's eyes.
"Would it have been so hard to go against your parent's wishes when they arranged for the annulment? Didn't you love my father, or was he the one who put up no opposition?" she asked.
Martha looked at her in surprise. "I never thought you would begin this way! I felt there would be recrimination, hurt, anger, but you are talking about our feelings!"
"Well, didn't you have to give up the man you loved long before you even knew about me. How could your parents have been so cruel?" Julia wanted to understand their reasoning.
"Their explanation was "He is not our sort!"
"Tell me about how you met my father, what you loved about him, where your marriage took place, and how they convinced you the annulment was necessary. If your parents did what I think they did, like the Carstairs did to me, with no explanation, I can see why you never shared the fact that you were pregnant with them."
"I truly loved him, but my parents hid me away until the annulment was final. Oh, I prayed every day that Cornelius would find me, that we could somehow steal away, have you and be a family. I cried many tears those seven months before it became apparent to everyone that I was carrying you."
"Didn't he ever try to get in touch with you? What did you think the reason was he didn't? Did you ever ask him?" Julia still held her mother's hand as she asked question after question.
"I never knew where he went!" It was a sad reply.
"My computer found him. He has two sons my half brothers. I almost sent them E Mail from their half sister!"
"How did you find out our names?" Martha asked.
"When the Carstairs put me out, Mr. Carstairs gave me an envelope containing a copy of my birth certificate."
"They put you out?" Martha was aghast.
"When, why?"
"Didn't Mr. Renfrew tell you?" Julia was surprised, as she thought her mother knew all about it.
"No."
"Several weeks after I graduated, they just told me to leave."
"What did you do? Where did you go?"
"The only clue I had was a telephone number on the envelope containing my birth certificate. Shane and Renfrew, Attorneys at Law. Mr. Renfrew has seen to my welfare since."
"Henrietta recognized you the moment she saw you, before I heard you were Julia Carstairs. She and I are friends from childhood, my one confidante over the years. She broke all speed records getting to me with the news she saw you at the club. Where are you staying, Julia?"
Henrietta had tired of pretending to golf. She cleared her throat as she approached.
"Two groups have already played through, Martha." She informed her friend.
"Get in. We're going to Willow Crest. I doubt if I'll let Julia get away for the rest of the summer."
"Well, well, you two seem to be hitting it off, so to speak." Henrietta was very pleased it was turning out so well for her friend.
"It's wonderful, Henrietta. Drive the cart so I can sit here and really look at my daughter." Martha said, with tears streaming down her face.
"And I can, at last, look back at my mother." Julia was also crying.
That proved to be the easy part of disclosing their relationship.
Martha and Cornelius' marriage was still a secret, but now Martha wanted to introduce Julia to all her friends as her daughter. She appealed to Henrietta to help her find a way to do so, without embarrassing Julia. She decided she didn't give a hang for the rumors about herself.
Julia asked her mother, "Why not let me announce the fact of my birth on the computer, just as if I were a newborn? And take out an ad in the local paper for those who don't use a computer?"
They grew closer as they prepared for her debut.Julia dug her E Mail letters to her father and half brothers out of her desk, revised them and sent them off.
Cornelius, it seemed, had told of his short marriage to an heiress to his wife and sons, but he was never aware of Julia's birth.
Now, he welcomed her into his family with open arms, by using his Web Page, no less. He also felt that if the boys' mother hadn't been lost to cancer some years before, she would also welcome Julia, as they always wanted a daughter.
Cornelius wanted to welcome Julia into his social circle with a party to honor the occasion, and Martha was included on the guest list, after Julia told of how Martha's parents had hidden her away. Never having been given a chance to be a mother to a young child, let alone an adult one, Martha was a little stiff at first. Cornelius' sons were, of course, barely teenagers, and were tired of their father's reticence at getting on with his life. They schemed with Julia at reuniting Martha and Cornelius, with very satisfactory results.
The attraction Cornelius and Martha felt years ago had just faded into the past, but never died.
The question of why the Carstairs had turned Julie out was made apparent when Renfrew learned they tried blackmailing Martha, who disappointed them by revealing she owned the property where they lived, and would put them out immediately if they embarrassed Julia.
Martha agreed before the blackmail attempt not to cut off the payment to the Carstairs for caring for Julia until she was eighteen as in their original agreement, as long as she remained there. But with the blackmail attempt, she severed the agreement, giving them the telephone number of her lawyer for any further contact.
They retaliated by ousting Julia, which eventually ended happily for her.
Julia had, of course, dropped Carstairs as her last name before she moved in with Martha. It took a little adjusting for her, but any inconvenience that arose was well worth it.
finis

Kick in the Face

2010-02-03T14:28:00.000-05:00

Dulcie Weeks was born beautiful. Blonde, blue-eyed, rosy cheeked, even her disposition was beautiful.
Her parents were so proud and happy with their beautiful, well-mannered baby, they couldn't show her off enough.
At two, she won a local Beautiful Baby contest; at three, she was on the cover of a magazine with nation-wide circulation; at four, she was in a movie; at five, she fell in love with horses when her Grandaddy Murdock bought her a pony; at six, her mother was showing dogs and Dulcie at National Dog shows; at seven, she was in another movie, one in which she really had to act; by her eighth birthday, she was winning horse shows on her Grandaddy's Arabians; at nine, she entered a posh girl's school where she won honors for her grades; at ten, it was piano recitals; eleven, voice lessons and cute little songs at Mommy's parties during vacation.
At twelve, well, at twelve, Dulcie proved to be a self-centered, just-plain-spoiled brat. And at a posh girls' Academy, Dulcie was just another spoiled rich teenager, one among a whole bevy of spoiled, rich teenagers. But her I.Q. allowed her to skip a grade and she left the academy.
She was a talented, intelligent, well-mannered sixteen - really a spoiled bitch, wise beyond her years and wanting every-thing no matter what it cost to get it.
She was indulged, invited everywhere, and older men loved being photographed with the beautiful, talented Dulcie Weeks.
Her mother was busy preparing for her coming-out party; she believed the sooner Dulcie was launched into society, the sooner she could be courted, married off, and Mother could get on to bigger and better things. She and Dulcie no longer had a good rapport.
Two days after her seventeenth birthday, after riding at her Grandaddy's horse farm, Dulcie stepped behind a pregnant mare and was kicked in the face.
The doctors worked for days trying to save her life. They succeeded, but no one could save her face.
Dulcie was well on her way to recovery before the doctors mentioned, while in her room, she would never be beautiful again, and she heard.
She screamed, yelled and hollered, used language the doctors had never heard before, referred to them and their antecedents, told where they could go and what they could do, until finally, her shots took over. The doctor's wired her jaws shut.
Dulcie finally realized that all the anger in the world would never get her back the flawless beautiful features she lost several days after her seventeenth birthday.
After her bones reknit, Dulcie would need further reconstructive surgery for fill-in. It might take five or six operations to restore and replace the damage to make her look normal. The skin itself was no problem - her scars would all be well-hidden. The best surgeon in the country was flown in for the reconstructive surgery she underwent. Cosmetic surgery would continue until the doctors were certain there was nothing more they could do.
Meanwhile, everything was done for her comfort.
One morning, when leaving her room, the resident patted Dulcie's shoulder. "A little more power in that kick, my dear, and you would have had brain damage, so count your blessings."
Dulcie seethed through further visits from her doctors. She silently cursed them, the horse, the hospital, the whole of Creation, - her wrath knew no bounds. With jaws wired together, she could voice none of this, but her eyes got her message across, no one met her gaze head-on, the venom in them was not pleasant.
Dulcie was on the verge of tears one afternoon when her Grandaddy arrived, but Dulcie did not cry. She never cried. She never had had to cry, life was always Dulcie's way, wherever, whenever, however. She resolved it would be like that again.
They served her dinner, which was all liquid. Her lower jaw had to be rebuilt, thus the wiring. If she hadn't been ravenously hungry, she'd have thrown it all on the floor. It tasted so good, she finished everything, pleasing her Grandaddy, who was genuinely glad to see her with a good appetite.
The elderly gentleman held his granddaughter in high esteem; he knew he helped make her the spoiled brat she was. Her high spirits and escapades gave him enjoyment. Her scholastic ability made him proud and he had gloried in her beauty.
Her accident put a great burden on the old gentleman. It was his prize mare that delivered the kick. She had since given birth to a fine filly. But Dulcie knew better than to walk behind a horse without first announcing she was there, especially a tempermental pregnant mare.
Immediately after the birthing, both mare and filly were shipped out, the mare to be re-bred to the stallion who helped produce the flawless filly.
When Dulcie, in a note to her Grandaddy, asked what he had done with the mare, he replied with an innocent countenance: "Why, she's gone, child, of course, she's gone."
As her Grandaddy never referred to death in any other manner than to say a person, a dog or a horse was gone, Dulcie took it to mean the mare was destroyed. That brightened her day.
Dulcie couldn't talk, but her Grandaddy stayed awhile, to repeat all the gossip Dulcie was missing, and he excused himself as soon as one of Dulcie's young friends came in.
"Your Grandaddy looks awfully gray, Dulcie, he all right?" her friend asked.
Dulcie nodded her head. Yeah, she thought, the old geezer will probably live to be a hundred and leave all his money to charity.
She was wrong again. Grandaddy Murdock died of a massive heart attack at eleven that evening.
Dulcie knew her Grandaddy was paying for all her medical bills. He maintained, as it was his grandchild who was kicked by his horse, it was only fitting he should pay her medical bills.
The day of the funeral, her folks brought in appropriate funeral attire, Dulcie's mother dressed her, a beautician did her hair, a wheelchair took her to the limousine - all properly photographed - and she was whisked to the funeral home and then to the cemetery.
Dulcie got more attention and publicity than did her Grandaddy's funeral.
All these pictures were re-published the next week when his will was read. He left everything - his country estate, his horses, his dogs - all to his beloved granddaughter, Dulcie Weeks.
After the will was read, the lawyer asked to see Dulcie in his office. As she was underage, her parents were invited to accompany her.
What her Grandaddy really left Dulcie was a heavily-mortgaged estate with a stable of horses and a kennel of dogs, eating her ever-deeper into debt.
Dulcie looked askance at her parents. She was never privy to their finances, her Grandaddy was the one who always indulged her. Her father looked back at Dulcie in all her bandages, advising:
"I would suggest you sell it all, Dulcie. That way you can pay for the operations you've had. You see, your Grandfather agreed in writing to pay all your medical expenses. His estate is liable, and you are the heir to that estate. You will have to sell to meet those debts. With what is left, perhaps you can have the other operations when they are scheduled."
"Do you have any idea how much they are now?" she wrote to the lawyer, realizing there would be no help from her parents.
"The hospital gave an estimate of $l50,000. That is a lot of money." the lawyer answered.
"What is the estate worth, approximately?" she wrote.
"A million, maybe more."
"Everything there is mine? The horses, dogs, house and its contents?" she wrote.
"Also the cars, furniture, saddles, bridles, everything." he answered.
"How soon do I inherit?" she wrote.
"Just sign here."
"Good, I can have most of this (she pointed to her face as she wrote) taken off tomorrow. The wire in the jaw, I'm not so sure. It won't be soon enough. Take care of everything until then." to the lawyer. She had opinions to voice, lots of them.
Dulcie's mother and father hovered over her all the way back to the hospital.
She was advised to stay where it was clean and sterile. No barns, horses or dogs, she should stay at the hospital until she thoroughly healed.
Dulcie proved good at waiting. And while she waited, she remembered spending a good deal of time with her Grandaddy while he went to auctions, horse and dog races, listening to his employees, trainers, stable manager, his friends, over many years advising Grandfather on ways to save money. He shrugged off all the advice and suggestions, walking away with Dulcie hanging on his arm.
All this led her to believe Grandaddy's wealth was inexhaustible, not that he was living on the edge.
For years, Dulcie imagined herself as Lady of the Grand Manor, living at the Dulcie Week's Horse Farm. Now she would be, but only up until the time the doctor's bills came due.
When the head surgeon came into her room, trailed by a foreign doctor, Dulcie took a closer look. She remembered him from somewhere before - with his wife and young son. He and his companion examined Dulcie's bandages - to what avail she could not comprehend (until she got her bill, she found his 'visit' cost her $l750, then she understood).
Dulcie managed to get a commitment of ten days until wire removal. Swell, she'd just sit back and rest and heal, fast!
Then Dulcie remembered seeing the doctor in a box at the race track, discussing a horse. Oh, my God, no! He wanted a foal by the mare delivering her kick, and his famous stallion, and one hundred fifty thousand was mentioned for a prime foal.
"And I insisted, like a fool, that Grandaddy destroy her!" She actually did shed a few tears for herself then. The stable boy warned her he was always dodging that mare's kicks. Dulcie hadn't listened, no horse would dare kick out at her! No? She was living proof that she was wrong!
That was a first! Dulcie wrong? Yeah, Dulcie was wrong! It was really going to cost her - looks, money, Lady of the Manor, the easy life she was so fond of, everything actually.
And an ugly duckling doesn't nab a prime marital prospect!
Dulcie took a long inner look at herself and her prospects in the ten days needed for her jaws to finish healing. The bandages would come off at the time the wire was removed. She knew her looks would be completely changed and it really worried her.
Dulcie was able to leave the hospital to visit a little hat shop around the corner. The owner promised to put veils on a hat or two Dulcie owned and liked, if she would bring them in to her. If the results from the kick were too awful, well, she would need more than one small hat!
Why wasn't the woman more reassuring? She told Dulcie over and over that although her looks would be changed, her doctors were the best, and no way should she expect to be ugly, just different. It would take time to get used to her new appearance, though.
She's snowing me, Dulcie thought. But her hopes rose. She dropped in at the shop often and stayed longer and longer during those ten days.
It was a pleasant shop, the work room was comfortable and the owner warm in her greeting and very unsympathetic to Dulcie's fears. Very unlike her mother, who fawned, wept and decried her circumstances. Mrs. Breen was optimistic, pointing out how fortunate Dulcie was to be full-grown when this happened. Had she been younger, she'd need operations for years as she grew. Now, if there were to be problems with her looks, they could be repaired.
"Don't be so down, Dulcie. I've heard a lot about that spoiled brat, Dulcie Weeks. You've come a long way to living down your image. Think how much easier it will be for people to forgive when you have a different face.
"If what you tell me is correct, your grandfather owed everyone. That spoiled brat Dulcie would have been cut off at the knees. Everybody would swarm in to collect their due. Now, well, maybe, if you visit each and every one and personally ask for time to pay, with a plan worked out, they just might hold back. People like to be assured of getting paid eventually, instead of never.
"Sit down there, and in black and white, make a list your assets now, another of your debts, put your estate on a budget if there are any earnings, cut down on everything, sell anything you don't need. If something were financed, send it back. Start right now." She handed Dulcie paper and pen.
Mrs. Breen was very surprised when Dulcie wrote these words on the first sheet:
"Would you be with me tomorrow when the wires come out and most of the bandages are taken off? I don't want my mother, I want someone who will see me for the first time, and I'll want an honest opinion."
"Now you sound like my kind of person." Lillian Breen smiled affectionately. "I'd be proud to be there, Dulcie, and we'll take this along."
It was a cute little hat. In itself, it would catch the eye, and the veil was one that would hide enough, but still not look like it was meant to hide.
"Great," Dulcie wrote. "Eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Mrs. Breen."
"Call me Lillian, or Lil, or anything you wish. Forget the Mrs. Breen."
Dulcie grinned. What came from between her lips no way resembled Lil, but she tried. She got a hug for her effort, and that hug did more for Dulcie than the receipt of her fancy gifts in the past. She had a friend! No matter how she looked, nor how poor she was, she had a friend!
Back at the hospital, Dulcie informed the nurse that her mother and father were not to be at the hospital for the unveiling. Oddly enough, the nurse understood.
Dulcie was up early. Lillian came at quarter-after seven, helped Dulcie dress and did her hair, warning her that when the bandages came off, her hair would again be a mess.
"Bring a comb and brush when they remove the bandages, then. And I'll make an appointment for a 'do' to fit the hat!"
This seventeen-year-old really had matured, Lillian thought. Let's hope she isn't too ugly under those bandages.
The doctors teased Dulcie - they were going to take the bandages off while her jaw was still wired and if she were too disappointed, they'd leave her wired. It'd be easier on their ears.
Lillian couldn't hold Dulcie's hand as the bandages were unwound, she would have been in the way. They snipped with care, soon patches of skin were exposed. Fine surgical lines were still pink and a few stitches evident.
When the last bandage fell, Dulcie's eyes were on Lillian, who had never seen the beautiful Dulcie. Her view of this face was what most people would see for the first time. Dulcie got little from Lillian's face.
"I don't know what you're going to think, Dulcie. I suggest," she turned to the Doctor, "that I do her hair, and let her see herself for the first time in this," she held up the cute little hat.
"I think it's a fine idea." the surgeon said. "We have pictures of the old Dulcie, she was warned she would look different, but considering her age and all, perhaps this would be easier on her." They left the room.
Dulcie's eyes were on Lillian as they left. There was a pleading look in them that Lillian longed to fulfill.
"Did you have a determined chin?" she grinned at Dulcie. "A little tilt to your nose? An almost flawless complexion? A kissable (but I wouldn't know about that) pair of lips?"
Lillian was busy with Dulcie's hair as she fed out this information. It was long and naturally curly. Her bangs were too long, Lillian swept them gently to one side. She took the hat and sat it on Dulcie's head, first one way, then another. She arranged the veil, brushed some hair this way and some that, all the time chattering.
Dulcie's heart sank into a lump in her stomach. It's bad, she thought. Worse than what Lillian hoped for?
She whined through her teeth, louder and louder. Finally, Lillian put her hand gently over Dulcie's mouth.
"Shut up," she warned, "or I won't let you see just how pretty you are!"
Dulcie quieted, was handed the mirror and studied the picture. The veil was arranged to hide the pink scars, and Lillian held Dulcie's other hand to keep her from snatching off the hat.
"Look closely, Dulcie. This is the first time I've ever seen you. When your scars fade, you can hold your own anywhere. Study your face as you see it now." She pulled the mirror out to the end of Dulcie's arm. "Look!"
Dulcie looked. After two minutes, Lillian lifted the veil, still holding the mirror away. "No one will get any closer until you're better healed. Your face is symmetrical, you nose has no lump, your chin is great. Take a feature at a time, then all together. And take that set look of dismay off your face. Try to smile."
With wired jaws, the effort at a smile was a grimace.
Lillian laughed. "Pretend you don't know this girl. What's your first impression? Stuck up princess? Uh, uh! Someone you'd like to know? Someone a little innocent, maybe, if you don't look her in the eye? I like what I see, Dulcie. A young girl who could have had the world by a string, but somehow it all slipped away. A girl whose grandaddy left her a beautiful estate, but it's mortgaged to the hilt. A girl who has to use her training and upbringing and common sense to realize life is no longer going to be Easy Street. If you want something now, dear, be prepared to work for it.
"Someday, after you're married, you may give birth to another beautiful Dulcie. Remember what it was like to wake up one morning to reality, and raise her to know the difference between heartless snobbery and an outgoing, friendly nature.
"Now go get your jaws unwired, and thank those doctors for what you now have. No more snobbery, Dulcie, try gratitude." Lillian gathered her combs and brushes. "I'll be at the shop."
Dulcie sat looking at herself for a long time. She was changed outwardly. Lillian seemed to like her, and was her only friend. If she changed inwardly, could she make more friends? Could she change? She'd try.
The unwiring took several shots of novacaine, and Dulcie refrained from looking directly at either of the doctors before, during and after the process.
"Try moving your jaw up and down slowly," one said, after taking his fingers from her mouth. As she did, he held fingers against both sides of her jawbone, frowning first, but as Dulcie moved her jaw up and down, he started to smile a little.
"Trying saying something." he suggested.
Dulcie took a deep breath. "Thank you," she said. it was totally unexpected, "Thank you both.' she said slowly. "It isn't the old me, but it's a face I can live with."
"You're welcome, my dear." the surgeon answered.
Abruptly, Dulcie walked close and hugged him, then reached out to grasp the younger doctor's hand.
"I'd build a new wing on the hospital for you, but I found out yesterday my grandfather left me only debts. I will pay my bill, though. I'll just have to figure out how."
"Why don't we talk in my office after I check you out?" he suggested.
"All right." Dulcie answered. "I'd be glad to."
A half hour later, having gathered her things in a plastic bag the nurse gave her, Dulcie refused a ride in a wheel chair, telling the eager gray lady that she had been kicked in the head, there was nothing wrong with her feet. She inquired into Dr. Rothman's office location and presented herself at his door.
"I am proud of my work, young lady. May I show you why?"
Dulcie nodded, and he put several x-ray pictures on a large screen. They were horrible, Dulcie could plainly see.
"Are those mine?" she gasped.
"They are."
There was a mirrored cabinet across the room. Dulcie went to it, and looked closely. She was amazed.
"I guess I'm going to have a lot of facial pain, eye trouble and problems with my teeth, aren't I? God, I was a mess! Maybe you'd better tell me the worst while I'm here, please?"
Dr. Rothman waved to a chair. Dulcie sat.
"You were lucky the horse's foot caught you squarely. The bones split here and here." He held up an x-ray of someone else's face, "It pushed back everything in one piece, not your nose nor your chin though. If everything would have been shattered, we could never have gotten it back in place in one twelve-hour operation.
"You were close to death for a while, Dulcie. We fought to keep you alive before we could do any of the restoration work. But we learned several new techniques while doing all this. We call it research surgery. If you will allow us to monitor your progress for one year, maybe put you under so we can be absolutely certain those techniques are working, we can label your operation as just that, research surgery. I will not give you a bill. The x-rays, ambulatory fees, anesthesiology will come under your hospitalization policy carried by your grandfather. You will, however, have my colleague's fees, special nursing, a few other odds and ends left on your bill.
"Since all of these will be submitted as a matter of course to your insuror, while they, in turn, decide what they will and won't pay, it will be about six month's before you know how much this actually cost, but I believe it will be somewhere between fifteen and twenty thousand."
"Then I'd better start looking for a way to pay it. Six month's isn't very long a time to earn that much money, on top of what I already owe."
"I still want that foal, Dulcie."
"I'm sorry, I begged Grandfather to destroy the mare and he promised he would."
"And then he saw the x-rays, Dulcie. He knew he had no ready cash to put up for my services. He pledged the mare's foal, and he left the mare with me. You can put them both down, or let me have them. I'll go $200,000. Its a beautiful little filly, and the mare was re-bred. But they're yours, with the board bill if you don't sell."
"I don't hate the mare, Doctor, but I don't want a horse around that kicks people. She might kick you or one of your grooms."
"I'm willing to chance it."
"Then I'll sign a bill of sale at the lawyer's office tomorrow."
"I'll have your certified check ready," He stood up, Dulcie shook his hand across the desk, and he came around to open the door for her.
"Remember, Dulcie, we'll have to schedule those tests."
"Have your office call me. You know where I'll be." Dulcie took her things to Lillian's, who was overjoyed at the news.
"You've solved three problems this morning. Your first look at your new face, your hospital and doctor bills settled and now you are going to get out of debt.
"I'll take you to see your folks. I know you don't have a driver's license, or I'd let you go alone." Lillian continued.
"Thank you, Lillian, I don't want to go alone. This is the hardest part. My Mother had great plans for her beautiful daughter, and I'm now a big disappointment to her."
"I wonder," Lillian replied as she went for her car keys.
Dulcie took off the cute little hat with the concealing veil. At Lillian's look of askance, Dulcie told her:
"My mother and I haven't been very close," she explained. "When I was old enough to get into trouble, she retired to her room with 'the vapors'. Dad took care of everything and meted out the punishment. It was her idea I be sent off to 'finishing' school, probably hoping it would be my finish.
"When she came to see me at the hospital, she never came alone. She always brought some talkative crony from one of her clubs. No, I want her reaction to hit me here," she patted her heart. "Right now, I can take it, especially with you around."
"Why thank you, Dulcie. But maybe you have your mother all wrong. Keep an open mind and see."
Dulcie did, however, put the hat on the back seat of the car.
Lillian followed Dulcie to the front door of her home. The maid answered the door, but Dulcie's mother was standing near her.
"Morning, Stella," Dulcie pushed her way in. "Good morning, Mother."
Mrs. Weeks' reaction: "What do you mean - mother? Young lady, I'll have you know..." she slowed the word to a stop, took a step forward and looked closely at Dulcie. "No, no, what have they done.... you can't be my beautiful Dulcie!" and fainted.
"Stella," Dulcie lowered her mother to the floor. "I think mother has the vapors again. Get someone to help you take her to bed, and then come up to my room. Well, don't stand there just staring, girl, move it!"
Stella gasped, "Yes, Miss Dulcie," and ran down the hall, leaving Mrs. Weeks on the floor.
"Lillian, come see my room. I'm moving to Grandfather's immediately after I call my lawyer. Its a shrine to a beautiful Dulcie," she exclaimed as she threw open the door.
"Wow!" was Lillian's only comment. A decorator's dream for the bed-sitting room of a beautiful blonde! Pictures, trophys, mirrors, mirrors, closets of beautiful clothes, mirrors, large windows with velvet draperies, sand colored carpets, blue velvet upholstered chair and couch, bedspread.
"I'm going to love living in Grandaddy's house. No, my house. Everything is at least a hundred years' old. It's a bit dark, but I'm not going to hide there."
Stella knocked lightly on the open door.
"Mother recover yet, Stella?" Dulcie asked, amused.
"No, Miss, I doubt she ever will."
"Oh, she will. There's bridge club tomorrow. Stella, will you pack my things? And that one picture of Grandaddy, Father and me? The rest of this stuff, put in a nice big box in the attic. Is Dad around? I'd like his reaction to my new face before I go."
"He's in town with Mr. Grimes, his lawyer, I understand," Stella answered.
"Then I'll talk to him and Howard Grimes at the same time," Dulcie dialed, motioning Lillian to a chair.
"Mr. Grimes, please, Harriet. This is Dulcie Weeks."
"Hello, Mr. Grimes, I understand my Dad is with you. I don't need to talk to him right this minute, I want to talk to you first."
"All right, Dulcie (she heard her father's voice in the background, but Grimes shushed him), what is it?"
"First, tell Daddy I am not suing the doctor nor the hospital, but Dr. Rothman will be in tomorrow with a certified check made out to me. Find the papers on the mare, the one that kicked me, and her filly. He's buying both. The check is for $200,000.
"I'll want a complete listing of the farm's indebtedness when I endorse the check. Some of those bills I'll pay in person so the check goes into my personal account, not the one with Dad's name on it, the other one at Bank One. I'll have a deposit slip made out."
"Dulcie, this is excellent news. It will put your estate out of debt, but it won't cover your doctor and hospital bills."
"I've already taken care of those, sir. Now let me talk to Dad."
"Here he is, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Dulcie."
Grimes must have covered the phone, because there was a minute before her Dad answered.
"Dulcie, are you all right. Why didn't you tell us your jaw was being unwired and your bandages, are they off, too? And what's this about all this money and your hospital bills being paid?"
"Well, hush, Daddy, and I'll tell you." Dulcie said in her best southern accent, and then regretted it and reversed to the new Dulcie.
"You'd better get on home, Daddy, I've given Mother the vapors again. The bandages came off, you now have an ugly duckling, and when I presented myself at the doorstep, Mother promptly fainted. I'm moving to Grandaddy's tonight. Stella's packing my things, and I'll send one of the grooms for them.
"Dulcie, you can't go to that dark, old house by yourself."
"Daddy, that dark old house is now my home, nobody fired any of the servants, did they? If they didn't quit because they weren't being paid, I'll pay them all tomorrow. Don't worry, I'm a big girl with a new face and a new personality. Business comes before pleasure now, sir.
"When mother gets through telling you horror stories about my new look, put some garlic around your neck and come see me. Love you!"
Lillian was shaking her head at Dulcie when she hung up. "That was brutal, kiddo, worthy of the old Dulcie."
"Well, if I was brutal, maybe he won't boo-hoo on me when I see him. Come on, let's pack up some things and get out of here, to where the real Dulcie will develop and grow.
"By the way, I'm adopting you. Don't you need a vacation from your hat shoppe? I'm going to need a chaperone, I am only seventeen, you know." Dulcie declared.
"Young lady, you will never be seventeen nor eighteen again as far as the world goes. But you're all right, Dulcie."
They went down the wide staircase, arm in arm. When they reached the bottom, the door flew open.
Dulcie's father must have broken all speed records to have made it there that fast.
He looked from brunette Lillian to blonde Dulcie, back to Lillian and then Dulcie.
"My daughter is a blonde and seventeen," he grinned at Lillian, "so you ain't her! No offense, ma'am!"
He grabbed Dulcie and hugged her close. "I've always wanted another daughter," he said. "You will do just fine, child, just fine."
finis

BEWARE, MARJORIE

2009-12-30T16:38:00.000-05:00

There, in front of her, lying atop several spaced bales of hay or straw hard to tell in this light was a full sized truck cap, standing out white in the fading daylight.

The bales were covered with a blue tarp, flapping slightly in the cold, brisk autumn wind.
During the past spring and summer, in spite of all the rain, Amy managed to find a dry spot here and there in the city, but living on the streets was growing dangerous of late.

There was always someone a little stronger who wanted her spot and she was unable to do battle. She was getting too old and too tired and her body took too long to heal of late.
In the city last night to get out of the rainy weather, she crawled onto the bed of an old pick up truck and into a fairly clean dog box, pulling the small door shut behind her. Air came in through the unobstructed vent holes at the back, but very little cold and blessedly, no rain.

Wrapping her dirty blanket around herself, she fell asleep and even the start up of the engine and the motion of the truck failed to wake her almost a full week had passed since she felt safe enough to do more than catnap.

At the break of dawn, she finally awoke, cautiously opening the door of the box to find she was no longer in the city.

The truck was parked under a tree behind an old weather beaten unpainted house, with no lights coming from any of the curtained windows.

Squeezing herself out of the box, every muscle aching, she knew she would feel better when she stood erect and moved around a little, as the cold had settled in her bones. She
groaned.

A dog barked, and he sounded close! She was afraid of dogs, and this one's barking might waken someone. May looked over the side of the truck. There it was, straining at its chain, a blazing eyed old lady eating monster!

Quickly, she grabbed her blanket and plastic bag, going to the opposite side of the truck. Jumping out, she headed down the driveway, dodging behind bushes on her way.
The dog was still barking as she reached the road a dirt road! Where the heck was she? Looking down, she saw the marks the truck tires made coming into the drive. She turned in that direction, mostly because there were bushes to hide her retreat down the road.

She walked all day, and as it grew colder, wrapped her blanket closely around herself, one hand holding her bundle outside the blanket. Damn, it was getting colder still! When she came upon a drive, partly overgrown, leading off to the left, she followed it, hoping for an abandoned building of some sort.

That was when she had spied the truck cap in a break in the weeds.

The wind seemed to blow a little stronger as she neared the cap, and she shivered. Looking under it, she saw no spider webs, no wasps nests. It seemed to have been placed on bales because the door at the back was longer than the sides. She found it was a good deal warmer under the cap, when she crawled in.

May was able to stand almost erect, and studied how the bales were arranged for a few minutes. By moving two of the bales, she could cut off all the wind. But to move more, she must lift the cap. She moved the two, standing them on end at the front of the cap, and could not have wished for a closer fit. There was still a small hole near the door, but she stuffed it with weeds.
She wiggled the blue tarp free from over the bales and laid it over the stunted weeds
under the cap.

It surely seemed a lot warmer now. Light came in the side windows, which had screens, and the small window in the door. Grasping the door handle and giving it a turn, it came open like a door to a little house.

She was tired and hungry from her all day walk, having eaten only several apples she
found under a tree. Although hungry and thirsty, she was out of the wind. She rolled up in her blanket and slept. Some time during the night, she pulled half the tarp up over her. Ah, that made it warmer.

This night's sleep surpassed the quality of last night's. There was enough straw mixed with the weeds under her to make her bed much softer than the wooden floor of the dog box, and having a tarp over and under her kept in her body warmth. When mother nature called, she went out into the cold, but hurried back, spread the tarp, and was just rolling up in her blanket when the
door opened.

"Good Lord, woman, what are you doing out here?" A male voice interrupted her doze and the flashlight gleam blinded her,

"I was sleeping, and a fine place to sleep it turned out to be!" she declared.

"It was darned cold last night, not fit for sleeping out!"

"Ah, but much better than the night before when I slept in a dog box on the back of a
pick up truck!" Amy sounded proud of herself.

"Nonsense." Somebody's mother having to spend her nights like that! "Come with me, you're going to have some breakfast."

"And where would that be, and how do we get there, I see nothing out there," she replied, looking out the windows.

He opened the door and beckoned.

"Sorry, I have a natural function to perform, the sooner the better." she said, hesitant to follow him.

"My bathroom is at your disposal. Right this way." He took several steps toward what looked like a big mound of dirt, three steps down, and there was a door, which he opened. "Welcome to my underground home." He stood aside so she could enter.

The warmth hit her in the face, engulfing her. It wasn't dark, light seemed to come from all over. There were no shadows. She stood with her mouth open until he mentioned the bathroom, then she was right at his heels.

It was lovely. There was a sunken tub, a shower, with the stool visible through an open stall door. There were no shadows here, either. She pushed him out and closed the door. As she did, she caught sight of herself in a mirror on the back of the door a nearing fifty woman with hair snarled and filled with straw and other dirt, in rags and pieces of clothing, faced her.

"Oh, God," she thought. "This low in three weeks!"

The young man's voice filtered through the closed door.

"I'll get you some clean clothes. The towels are behind the closet door with the shampoo and bubble bath."

"I have clean clothes in my duffle under the cap." She called back.

Several minutes later, she was shampooing her hair in the shower, the rest of her already pink from the heat and the scrubbing. The shampoo smelled heavenly. She braided her long hair quickly, letting the braid hang down her back.

In clean jeans, tee shirt under a sweat shirt, clean socks on feet thrust into worn shoes, she opened the door. Nothing had ever smelled so good! What was it? Coffee? That was easy. Waffles and sausage took a moment longer to identify. A full plate was on the table beside a cup of steaming coffee when she approached it.

"Please sit. You look great. After you eat, you can tell me all about why you're here. But eat first."

She ate, slowly, savoring every bite, every sip of coffee, the tangy syrup, the rich waffles. She ate herself into a warm, rosy glow! How sweet life was at this moment in time. She didn't want to remember the past, she just wanted to melt into this second, savor it forever. Finally, full to the bursting point, she pushed her plate away, moved her coffee cup into its saucer, and gave a long sigh.

Her host filled her cup for the third time and sat down opposite her.

Looking him squarely in the eye, she asked, "Have you ever been conned? Really conned? To the breaking point? Past the breaking point?"

"Nope, and by the way, I'm Tom Kiting, and every thing I have, I've earned."
"And I'm Amy Wittaker, everything I had I earned. The con lady never labored a day in her life, but she sure worked me over GOOD!"

"Her name?"

"Marjorie McAddams, or that is what she called herself."

"What was Marjorie's con?"

"Let me start at the beginning. I had a beautiful – well beautiful to me, daughter Lydia. My husband and I raised her the way we were raised; to be honest, to help those in need, to trust in the Lord, and be hardworking. It started out fine. Lydia was a worker. She worked hard to make good grades in school. Her friends were nice kids, they all grew up together, went to a good school in a nice neighborhood, their parents were all still together when the kids graduated. But, like most youngsters, they couldn't wait to try their wings. Lydia got a modest scholarship to the State college and several of her friends enrolled with her. They all came home on holidays and vacations. It was a little lonely at other times, so we looked forward to the kids being around. Our house was a big one, four bedrooms. We weren't poor, we welcomed our daughter's new friends as well as the old ones.

"Marjorie was one of the new friends. She was an inquisitive young lady not too worldly, I thought. But she fooled me. She would drop questions that were none of her business in a way that you couldn't refuse to answer, like where do you bank? Could I get a check cashed there without inconveniencing you? Does the bank require funds on deposit before you can get a free checking account? We never held back on general information. The questions seemed harmless enough.

"Lydia and Marjorie both began jobs with the same company when they finished college. Lydia had a designing degree, Marjorie one in business. Marjorie worked in personnel, Lydia for the design engineer. Soon, they were in an apartment together; whenever Lydia came to visit at home, Marjorie came, too. We always made her welcome.

"Lydia bought a used car, on time. Once or twice, Marjorie borrowed it to make overnight trips, Lydia told us. She made no effort to help with the insurance nor upkeep, and only took the car when the gas tank was full. Several times I overheard Lydia remark that they did sell gas at other than their neighborhood station on her, Lydia's, charge account. Marjorie always apologized and said she would catch up on pay day. But I never asked if she had.

"Six months or so after they moved in together, my sister-in law passed away. She left Lydia a small inheritance, and Lydia bought a new car.

"Marjorie borrowed it, was in an accident, the car totalled and Marjorie spent some time in the hospital. She came out in a wheelchair. Her lawyer sued Lydia's insurance company. Marjorie moved out into an apartment with wheelchair ramps. She sent Lydia the moving bill and the bill for first, last and security deposit. Lydia, who felt guilty because Marjorie said the car's brakes were defective and caused the accident, paid them.

"Lydia, now that she had no roommate, felt the pinch in her budget, and her visits home lessened.

"But my husband, Jack Wittaker and I, now that Marjorie was gone, felt free to visit, and when we did, we saw that Lydia's cupboards and refrigerator were never bare when we left. Jack stopped at the gas station where Lydia had her account, paid her 'up to date.' Lydia was always grateful.

"During one visit, Lydia received her charge card billing. She gasped when she opened it, and only when her father insisted, did she hand it over to him.

"Over $500 in one month, for clothes?" he gasped. "Child, do you need all these clothes?"

"I didn't buy the clothes, Daddy, Marjorie did!"

"How did Marjorie get your card?"

"I don't know, Daddy, but all you need is the number."

"Change it!"

"I can't, unless I am paid up to date, and she always runs it up past what I can pay!"

"Let me have your card, dear. I'll handle it. Do you need another card?"

"No, I got that one when I got the car, we had planned to travel weekends."

"Jack got on the phone, went to the nearest bank handling the card, paid the balance and had the teller run the card through the shredder and told her no further charges would be accepted.

"The insurance company settled for the loss of Lydia's car. She and her father picked out a small economy model at a very reasonable price.

"We went home feeling we really had helped Lydia.

"Two weeks later, Lydia was found dead at the foot of the stairs leading to her apartment. Her death was ruled accidental. But her apartment was thoroughly ransacked. It was impossible for us, in our grief, to sort everything out. We just put all her loose things in big boxes, shipped them home, gave her furniture to the Salvation Army, and went home to mourn.

"Jack didn't make it through the winter after our loss. His heart gave out. Loneliness closed in on me."

"After a Sunday afternoon at the cemetery about a week later I arrived home to find a strange car in the drive. It was Marjorie. A very sympathetic Marjorie, who invited herself into my home.

She took over the kitchen, commiserated over my loss, and before I knew what was happening, things that would change my life were occurring.

"I just couldn't seem to recover from my double loss. And somehow, during my worst time, Marjorie obtained power of attorney to help arrange my affairs. It seemed so much easier to just let her handle things.

"The cars needed new licenses, and at the time, I was dreadfully sick, the flu, Marjorie said, so why not just sign this and I'll get them for you. I signed.

"The tax bills came. Marjorie made out the checks for me to sign, explaining that every piece of property needed a separate check. I signed four. There was always something new to sign, and I did.

"Four months after Marjorie came to commiserate, she left. Evidently, she had remained packed. I took a nap at three every afternoon, awakening around four. On the day Marjorie left (in my car), I did not awaken until after six and Marjorie was gone.

"The refrigerator was empty, as were the cupboards. I took my purse and went in Lydia's car, which was in the garage, to shop.

"At the cash register, I found my check book was gone. I had only three dollars and some cents. My credit cards were gone. I picked out enough food to spend the three dollars very, very little, and walked back to the car. There was a policeman standing by the side of the car it seems the plates were out of date.

"I broke down, asked to be taken to the police station to tell my story. The officer took me. The Captain cluck clucked, took me to the bank, where I cancelled the missing cards and found my checking account contained only the interest for the past month, credited to my account that morning, and only $l000 remained in my savings account what was necessary to maintain cost free checking. I was shown my signature on the necessary papers to clean out the accounts. It looked like my signature.

"I called an old friend to get a ride home. She was aghast. Her son dated Marjorie. She would see the story made the rounds so Marjorie would be personna non grata with her former friends. "At home, I was determined to get back on my feet. I started going through Jack’s and my personal papers. Nothing seemed to be where it should be. Deeds were gone, investment papers were missing. Jack handled all our finances, but I went over papers with him enough to know whom to call in case we needed cash, it was all in the files. The files were also missing.

"The full horror of my plight hit me. I sat down in a chair and despair, black and frightening, closed in on me.

"As I sat there, a small light seemed to go off in my head, my vision cleared, I stood up, went to the library to the set of volumes on diets, herbs, nutrition and health. Volume number two on nutrition was just a shell, with the copies of papers I now needed, especially the little black book, inside it.

"It was three in the afternoon, I would have to hurry. One by one, I called our investment houses, only to find the accounts had been closed out during the past weeks!

"There were several things in the false book that were not recorded elsewhere and a sum of cash, my sister's will, which granted Lydia her inheritance, one of Jack's insurance policies, paid up years ago; a set of keys to our deposit box, plus copies of birth certificates, and a packet of other papers I knew little or nothing about. I put everything back when I was finished going through it.

"After a light meal, I went to bed, only to toss and turn until daylight.

"The sun came up, bright and cheerful, which I did not appreciate. At 8:l5 a.m., someone knocked at the door. It was a uniformed officer from the Sheriff's Office, who, without any formality but to ask if I were Amy Wittaker, served me with an eviction notice. It seems I was being granted seventeen days to vacate the premises owned by one Marjorie McAddams, as was stipulated in a deed filed by her with the Court.

"Now with a few dollars at my disposal, I called a cab, took along the papers to Lydia's car and got it licensed. Then I walked to the police station, paid my fine, put the plates on the car, drove to a storage rental place, hired a moving company, rented a fairly large storage facility and made arrangements to move out the next day.

"If it had not been for the cash and papers in the false book, I would have been forced to move out and leave everything behind! As it was, I kept an old bed and mattress, moved them down from the attic to the first floor, hooked up an old refrigerator we only used summers when the house was full. (What a long time ago that seemed!) It stood on the enclosed back porch, and brought up a hot plate of vintage age from the basement.

"As this was no longer my house, it seemed, I turned on every light. Why worry about bills. In order to be ousted, the bills couldn't still be in my name. Or could they? I got on the phone. Aha, they were still my bills. I asked to speak to the manager and asked his opinion.

"We will transfer them over to the new owner as of the date the deed was filed, will that be all right?"

"Fine."

"Consider it done."

"I left all the lights on.

"When everything was removed from the attic, basement, garage and yard and the rest of the house, into storage, I settled down to wait out the seventeen days until eviction. The phone hadn't been disconnected, I was going to use that to engage a private detective to check on Marjorie

McAddams, from her date of birth until tomorrow, in duplicate.

"My clothes and possessions were reduced to two suitcases, and a bag for dirty clothing which I put into the car early on the morning of the seventeenth day. I got a vicarious thrill from leaving the place a mess with no curtains or shades, no throw rugs, just dirty paper plates and cups strewn around the rooms the mess usually left by evictees in the city, I heard.

"At six thirty, I drove off, after disconnecting the phone and tossing it behind the garage. I didn't even glance back. On the seat beside me was the false book and the file on Marjorie McAddams.
"At the storage facility, I got my keys, put the false book and the "Marjorie" file into a drawer in a dresser I had to crawl over boxes to reach, paid six month's ahead on the bill, which according to the contract, gave me thirty days' grace thereafter.

“I took Lydia's car to the park, took a long walk, pausing to let the darkness settle before going back to the car.

There were pillows and blankets on the back seat, my two suitcases in front, my money and keys secure in a belt around my waist, my purse beside me. I went to sleep, intending to sleep only until after dark, then go back to the house and if Marjorie were there, kill her. Or go back every night until she was there!

"When I opened my eyes, the car was moving. How long I had slept, I didn't know. But when I sat up, there was a loud yelp from the front seat, the car slammed to a halt, I hit the back of the front seat and was just getting it all together when the doors slammed on both sides and I was alone!

"I swore I had locked those doors! But hadn't Marjorie driven the car? Probably had a set of keys to it! Why hadn't I thought of that? Stupidity was costing me dearly!

"My suitcases! They were in the front seat. As I swung my feet to the floor, I found the smallest at the expense of pain to my ankles! The other was jammed between the back seat and front, dented in fact.

"It took me a while to extricate myself from the back seat, crawl over to the driver's seat and lock the doors from the inside.

"When I went to start the car, I saw the tank was on empty. All around me were dark tall buildings, the dim street lights seemed miles apart. The air smelled foul when I cracked a window. Where had they left me?

"I spent the night wide awake, scared half to death, ready to panic at the slightest movement in the shadows. Finally, I dozed off, and woke at daylight.

"From a middle class family with a daughter, a house, car, money in the bank, investments, to this! Two small suitcases, one gasless car, very little pocket money. I was alone in a very poor section of town. My God, did I deserve this?

"Marjorie," I thought. "Marjorie McAddams. Just as I rue the day you came into my life, Marjorie McAddams, you are going to be sorry you ever heard of the Wittaker family. I swear it, on my daughter's grave!"

"I took the clothes out of the mashed suitcase and sorted the contents of both down to all fit into one.

"I left the car, walking back in the direction I came, because the neighborhood ahead of the car looked worse. Maybe I could get a room somewhere.

"Just as my legs felt they were giving out, I smelled coffee. Bundles of rags and piles of cardboard seemed to come alive around me. Heads popped up, I passed people doing private things in public, doorways came alive. I fell in line with rags moving in the direction of the coffee smell. Soon their line joined one already formed. It seems the Salvation Army was serving breakfast on the sidewalk.

"When it came my turn, a woman filled a plate and a cup, motioned me inside to a long table with very little empty space left. She found room for me, sat me down, put the plate and cup before me, asked if she might safeguard the suitcase, and at my nod, went through a door and came back empty handed.

"The food was good, the coffee hot, the smell of the people around was almost nauseating. As soon as I was finished, I took my paper plate and cup to the waste barrel and went to find the woman to get my suitcase. She was still serving meals.

"I asked where I might find a ladies room, was directed back inside, found a room with four stools and no privacy and four sinks. Mother Nature overcame my reticence. I washed my hands without soap.

"I lingered until there were no longer lines of people outside the building. The Salvation Army lady found me.

"You don't look like you need us. Not just slumming, are you?" she asked me.

"No, but I will soon look like everyone else, if having nothing makes you look this way!" In a few words, I told my story. When I came to the car part at the end, she asked where the car was parked. I remembered a street name, and she looked at her watch.

"It's probably been towed away already."

"Towed away?" I responded.

"Every morning. Too many people living in old cars."

"But I just put new plates on it yesterday!"
"Then maybe we can save it. Come on."

"We ran to the S.A. van and I directed her. A tow truck was just backing up to it when we drove up. The SA lady yelled for them to stop.

"Not unless it's yours, Ma'am."

"Tell them it is. Here's the title. I'll sign it over to you." I urged.

"It will be ours. This lady owns it and is giving it to us. It just ran out of gas."

"Get it moving in five minutes, then."

"I unlocked the car. We got in. I told her I could move it a block or two, maybe. Which way?"

"They've already patrolled behind us. Turn around and we may have an hour to gas it up."

"The car started. I turned it and headed in a rush back to where the SA Van had first been parked, the van following me. I coasted the last twenty feet, but I made it.

"I'm Laura Kaull," the SA lady introduced herself. "Nice work."

"Amy Wittaker." I hadn't volunteered a name with my story, but it was on the title. "And I am serious about you having the car."

"You're still in pretty good shape, Amy. Want to give us a hand here. We can sure use you."
"For a while, I guess. But I need a place to sleep."

"The benches were too hard, I slept in my former car in an old garage, which had a stool and a shower, and the summer passed quickly for me, even though it seemed time stood still. This might have gone on forever, but a fire put the building out of the food business and the garage lost its roof. That was three weeks ago. The SA lady, Laura, was transferred and I was reduced to doorways until I crawled in the dog box on the truck."

"I'm a little disappointed," Tom Kiting grinned as she finished her story. "Attractive older women usually fall prey to quick witted handsome younger men."

"For the 'attractive' remark, thank you. For the rest, there wasn't time for a quick witted man to come on the scene. I think, somehow, we'd have been taken even if Lydia and Jack hadn't died."

"Lydia could have been pushed downstairs, you know." Tom said quietly.

Amy's face turned white. "And then her room ransacked? By Marjorie?"

Tom nodded. And Amy's hatred took a huge leap forward.

"God help her if I ever see her again!"

"What does she look like?" Tom asked. "Wait, describe her and I'll try to draw her picture."
"You're an artist?"

"So some say. Let's see how good we are."

While the morning passed, Amy scouted out a very passable lunch, and the face grew more and more familiar. At four, Tom called a halt.

"I've got a few things to do in town. You want to come, or stay here. I'll not be too long."
"No, Tom, you're being too trusting, just as I was. Don't ever leave anyone alone in your house. I'll go along or wait outside."

"In the cold? No, come along, I like company."

They spent the time with Tom asking questions about Marjorie and Amy taking notes. Tom was beginning to form a picture of Marjorie's character, as well as little nuances Amy kept remembering and noting under her picture, which they brought along.

Tom wondered if he would have been able to withstand a conn by Marjorie. She sounded, except for those 'little things' like a nice girl.

In town, Amy suddenly yelled "Stop" to Tom. "Why?" he wanted to know.

"Lydia and Marjorie had their pictures taken there." Amy pointed to a studio now some distance behind them. Tom turned the car and went back.

Amy introduced herself at the counter, saying her daughter had her picture taken there with a friend. The daughter was deceased, and she wondered if he kept the negatives of the girls, as the original was a gift for friends and Amy would give anything for a copy of the picture.
The proprietor searched his records. Lydia's negative was still on file. Marjorie McAddams had taken her negative. But yes, she could have Lydia's negatives.

Tom held them up, one by one, to the light. "Tell you what, why don't we have one of each made, my gift to you?" He asked Amy.

"I'd love that." She smiled gratefully at him.

When the negatives and pictures were finished, the clerk came out, smiling. "I've got a surprise for you. The photographer made a trick negative both girls, one in profile behind the other. Your daughter is behind the other girl. Look."

Tom took the picture. Almost exactly as Amy portrayed her, there was Marjorie.

"Hey!" he whispered. "I know that face. But it isn't any Marjorie! That is Faye. Faye Dearing. I know where she lives, right this minute! Come on, Amy, let's go."

But Amy stopped him. "Pay the gentleman, Tom, and ask him not to tell anyone."

"Or we will come back and bust the place up," Tom added with a grin.

"Okay, okay." the clerk rang up the sale.

Amy got in the car. "Tom, let's make a plan before we face her. I'd like to get even, if its possible."

Tom sat very still, not looking at Amy for a long time. "I thought I had forgotten her, but it's been there all this time. Oh, we'll plan, Amy, if it takes years. And we will recoup what she took, more so, we'll strip her bare and send her to jail. That is what we will do!"

Tom offered to drive her to Westwood where her things were stored, if she needed anything. Amy opted for a small village store selling apparel. In the privacy of a booth, she took cash from her money belt. She bought underthings, a man's shirt and a pair of ladies' slacks. A jacket. Her shoes were still in fair shape and she had others stored she could get later.

Amy wore her new clothes out of the store. She also combed out the braid and rearranged her hair. At 46, Amy looked 35. Her figure was slim, and she resumed her former good posture. It would not have done to appear attractive while living on the street.

Tom didn't recognize her until she opened the door and spoke. Then he jumped, startled.
"Amy? You look twenty years' younger. I'd have passed you on the street and never recognized you! But I sure would have looked!"

Amy grinned at him. She didn't know it, but that grin made her look twenty, Tom thought. And she had been living unprotect ed on the streets!

"Tell me about Faye Dearing," Amy asked, once they were back in traffic.

"Her folks lived across the street from us in Norwood when I was a kid. I wasn't paying much attention to girls while she lived there, but she was always around somewhere. There were whispers about the yelling and screaming going on at their house. "Family squabbles, my folks said. Keep your nose to home."

"My brother Cal was fifteen, I was about twelve when Faye Dearing first became a name. She had been dogging my brother and his friends and one hot summer evening, my brother was arrested for raping Faye Dearing. She'd gotten pregnant, it seemed. My brother denied it, denied he even knew Faye Dearing, except having seen her across the street and in the neighborhood."

"My folks wouldn't hear of their getting married, my brother a father at fifteen? They paid for an abortion."

"Faye was back in the neighborhood.

"My brother changed. He was no longer the pleasant outgoing person, the older brother I adored. Cal went around white faced, didn't eat, couldn't sleep. One night, he came into my room and said he couldn't stand the looks on peoples' faces any more. He swore he never touched Faye, seldom even spoke to her, and could not understand why she did this to him. I believed him, and suggested my friends and I snoop around to see what we could see. He refused to believe kids my age could do anything. Maybe help, I argued.

"Two weeks later, just as our spying began to pay off, Cal hanged himself. It seems Faye was pregnant again. This time, she chose Franklyn Dace as her impregnator. I was there when she accused him, and I told his Dad that she and her brother were seen by six of us kids, performing the sex act in their garage every Thursday when their folks went grocery shopping!

"Franklyn's father marched her home, me and Todd Brace with her, to tell her old man. Then it hit me, she murdered my brother with her lies!

"I got the boys together, six of us, not one over half her brother's size, and we got him down and almost killed him. Every time I hit him, I said, "This is for Cal." He spent time in the hospital.
"Later, not knowing he was a reporter, I told my story to an acquaintance, who printed it. Faye and her family left town the day after the paper came out.

"She's guilty of Cal's death, that of my husband, and may have killed my daughter." Amy said, shaking her head over their losses.

"Maybe more my brother died sixteen years ago. She could have been up to a lot more mischief in sixteen years."

"I think, if she has, I know about it." Amy told him about the private detective and the file she had yet to read.

"We'll get it tomorrow," Tom said. "First thing." Tom invited her to stay in his spare bedroom, adding that he liked her company, they had a project in common, and she was a darned good cook!

The private detective's file contained a copy of Marjorie's college records, where he got the names and dates of her parents' deaths, and found Marjorie McAddams, their only daughter, died in an automobile crash sixteen years ago with both of her parents. He did not know who this Marjorie McAddams was.

But Tom knew. She was Faye Dearing.

Tom remembered all the young people at his school, Faye included, were fingerprinted at the time a young girl was kidnapped.

On the pretext of needing information for a class reunion, Tom contacted an old school chum and once close friend who had participated in the beating of Faye's brother. He copied Faye's entire school record for them, and copped her fingerprint card.

Meanwhile, Amy got copies of Marjorie's death certificate, which showed she was killed on the same date Faye Dearing was supposedly killed in a house fire, along with her parents. Somehow, Faye became Marjorie. Tom visited Marjorie's tombstone, took pictures of it, which
dates showing when she died.

Newspaper files revealed the circumstances of Faye Dearing's death, enabling them to obtain a copy of her death certificate. Armed with those and a copy of fingerprints supposedly those of Marjorie McAddams from her place of employment long after the date of her supposed death, they searched out Faye's brother Raymond.

He was broke, in need of a job, and easily pursuaded that Faye was still alive, and perhaps responsible for the death of their parents. He was only too eager to help in Amy's revenge on Faye. With little fanfare, Raymond Dearing proved that Marjorie McAddams was legally deceased, that one Faye Dearing for years had been using her name (evidenced by fingerprints) and was also deceased (the date on her death certificate had been struck over and was easily misread) and he was her legal heir.

As such, in a matter of days, he cleaned out her bank balance. closed her checking, had
her car put in his name, returned Amy's house to her, informed the credit card companies of her
decease, shut off any utilities in her name, and quickly left town.

Tom and Amy took their evidence to the police to prove Marjorie McAddams was really Faye Dearing, a suspect in the killing of her parents and setting their house on fire to cover the fact.
When the McAddams automobile accident was investigated, the police found evidence of tampering with the brakes, but as no one, to their knowledge, benefited from their deaths, the matter was dropped.

Faye Dearing's adopting Marjorie McAddams identity may or may not have been just a matter of coincidence in the eyes of the authorities, but they would look into it.

Meanwhile, she was charged with two murders.

Tom refused to allow Amy to live alone in her house until after Marjorie/Faye was sentenced, insisting she remain with him.

By the time the trial was over, Tom had no intention of ever letting her go. Amy sold her house and remained with him.

finis

Christmas Present

2009-12-22T14:14:00.000-05:00

Tom and Jerry (Max's choice of names for the boys it was his favorite drink) were without a father, his love, plus any contribution to their welfare in the way of child support ordered by the Court. Once gone, Max never once returned to see his boys.

As if all this weren't enough, Martha lost her job – ten years of seniority, benefits and insurance, all of which had biased the Judge in making Max's support payments miniscular all down the drain with the company's collapse.

Still staring at the empty refrigerator, Martha was so lost in her situation she didn't hear the knock on the front door until it was no longer just a knock, but a pounding.

"Okay, okay!" She was still in her robe and slippers having no energy and no reason to dress after getting the boys off to school. So what could this be, more bad news?

Imagine her surprise to see Max's snooty sister on her deck, the very sister who looked down her nose at her brother's wife when introduced at the reception line. During the eight years of her marriage to Max, Martha never saw this sister again. Her name escaped Martha Max never mentioned her. Everyone in Max's family were complete strangers to Martha, their names lost in the excitement of her marriage.

Martha resisted the temptation to just ignore her knock and go back to bed, instead, she opened the inner door, asking in a disinterested voice "Do you have the right trailer house?"

"Come on, Martha, let me in. It's cold out here."

"You will find it cold in here, too. In fact, it's frigid." Martha told her, as she pushed open the storm door.

"I don't remember your name, but I remember you as being HIS sister and that is no recommendation in this house."

"I came only to deliver a message " her visitor began.

"If it's from Max, forget it!" Martha turned her back and seated herself in Max's favorite chair.

"No, it's not from Max, it's from our mother."

"Ooh, the lady who looked me over carefully, snorted with disdain and remarked, "Why did Max marry you, you obviously aren't pregnant?"

At the time, Martha, a happy bride, ignored the question to say sweetly, "Oh, don't worry, I'll be happy to give you grandchildren."

Well, she'd foolishly done just that! What could Mrs. Ridley, her mother in law, possibly want.

The entire Ridley family ignored Martha and her sons as if they did not exist, never calling, sending gifts, or in other ways acknowledging them. It hurt, and when she mentioned it to Max once, he remarked they had surprised him by even coming to the wedding.

"My name is Helen, Helen Dexter, Martha. I am sorry for the shameful way Max has treated you." Helen broke into Martha's journey back in time.

"Then be kind enough to ask him to pay, at least once, the child support the Court ordered." Martha shot back.

"If I knew where he was, I would be glad to, for you and the boys. But we haven't the faintest idea of where Max might be."

"I don't know, either. If I did, he would be in jail. We would all know where to find him." If she hoped I could lead her to her precious brother, she was mistaken.

"The reason for my visit, Martha, is our Mother has asked you to tea this afternoon at four."

"I don't have a car." Martha said proudly, "And the proper clothes to attend a tea at the Ridley's aren't in my closet."

"I'd say, 'Come as you are', but your slippers might get lost in the snow." Helen smiled warmly at Martha, and Martha just couldn't stand the kindness in that smile, and quickly wiped away a tear.

"Wear what you do around the house or wear to work "

"Make it wore to work, Helen. I've been laid off."

"I could check your closet ..."

"Don't, please. Would a pants suit do?"

"Of course. I will be back to give you a ride "

"The boys will be home from school early today, it's the last school day before Christmas, and I have no sitter."

"We'll take them along." Her tone was final.

"Helen! Tom and Jerry are not two mild mannered boys, they are six year old hellions!"

"Serve Mother right for not getting acquainted with them years ago. The boys will come along. I'll be here at three thirty."

After she left, Martha sat for a while thinking about what Max's mother might want. Then smiled at the thought of that grim faced lady coming face to face with Tom and Jerry. Let's hope she didn't have heart problems.

The boys were impressed with Helen, Helen's luxurious car, that she greeted their introduction to her as one would an adult with a handshake, and no admonition about treating her Lincoln with respect. Just the smell of the leather impressed the boys to be on their best behavior.

Martha and Helen spoke about Christmas plans while they rode Martha answering Helen's inquiry as to whether she was going to decorate by putting up a tree, did the boys hang stockings, did she plan a turkey for Christmas dinner, quite honestly.

"The boys may use what decorations we have if they want to decorate, we have a small artificial tree in the closet. Without a mantle piece, we don't hang stockings. I doubt if we can afford a fancy Christmas dinner, I lost my job along with everyone else at Spirit Industries." Her voice was unemotional, and Helen didn't think the boys were listening.

They were. Tom and Jerry exchanged knowing glances. Without a father around, they didn't expect much of a Christmas. Mother's unhappiness was in her voice, and they caught her last sentence.

It had a very sobering effect, and a surprised Martha found both her hands held protectively by her sons as they walked from the car to the door of the Ridley's imposing residence.

Chairs were added at the tea table for the boys, and their Grandmother never stopped looking at her identical grandsons. Her scrutiny was returned in kind. When she asked one a ques
tion, the other answered. And they asked questions of their own.

To her "How old are you boys now?" Tom answered, "Six," and Jerry asked "How old are you?" (Their mother said it was an impolite question.) When she asked if they would like to call her "Grandmother", they answered together "We already have a Grandmother."

"But all children have two Grandmothers and two Grandfathers."

"Where is this Grandfather?" they asked in unison.

She answered "He died many years ago." After a pause, she asked, "Do you miss your father?"
Jerry answered "No more than he misses us."

There was another long pause. When Martha saw the boys were getting restless, and not wanting them to say anything they would be sorry for, she asked outright, "Mrs. Ridley, I was told you asked me here for a reason, may I ask what it is?"

"My mother, the boys' Great Grandmother, lives alone in a house not far from here. It's a big house. She has no wish to leave her house to a Grandson who never brought his wife and children boys, who will carry on the Ridley name, to see her.

"My mother in law does not leave the house, she is in her late seventies. As you have no telephone to allow her to call to ask personally, she is inviting you and the boys to Christmas dinner. She did not invite my daughter and myself. She has a full staff of servants, so will need no help. My son was not on her favorite person list, we do not blame you for the break up of your marriage, so have no hesitancy in accepting. May I please tell her you will be glad to visit her?

She is a lonely and very stubborn lady."

"Mrs. Ridley, do you have a phone in a quiet place where I may call your Mother?" Martha asked.

"Yes, please use my study, and thank you for asking."

"I'll need her number."

The study door closed, with Martha and the two boys standing just inside it.

"Tom, Jerry, I am going to call your Great Grandmother. She is an elderly lady who lives alone with just her servants. She wants us to have Christmas dinner with her. If we go, we must be on our best behavior. What should we do?"

Tom spoke first, "We heard what you said in the car, about not having money for a regular Christmas dinner. If you don't want to go..

Jerry broke in "we wouldn't mind peanut butter and jelly, as long as we have it together but I like old ladies.."

Tom added, "so do I. No one should be lonely at Christmas."

"Thank you, boys. I'll call her and say we would be happy to have Christmas dinner with her."

The elder Mrs. Ridley was overjoyed at their call. "Why not let me have all Christmas Day with you don't bother decorating at home, we'll have a big tree, presents under it how old are you're boys? Ah, six is a wonderful age. I hope they are noisy, have big appetites and can sing Christmas carols? Would they be up by seven? Breakfast at eight, Christmas morning then. I'll send the car. Thank you, Martha, you have made me very happy oh, and their names? Tom and Jerry? Were they named after members of your family? You let that rascal Max name Ridley heirs after his favorite drink? How preposterous! If they would like, we can change those names with no trouble at all oh, you think they are Tom and Jerry, well, I can see why you might think that. Martha, I look forward to a wonderful Christmas day, thank you!"

"Oh, boy," Martha put the phone back in its cradle, "I hope she still thanks me later, and not just because I am taking you two home afterward. Let's go watch our favorite TV program, boys, after we bid your Grandmother and Aunt goodbye."

In the spirit of the season, Tom and Jerry both kissed their Grandmother's cheek, which flustered her no end, took their mother's hand and followed their Aunt Helen to the car. All plans for Christmas Day made for them, Martha turned her thoughts to what she and the boys might wear. Their school had a dress code, white shirts and black pants, which should do nicely. Their shoes would need shining. Hadn't her mother given them bright ties for their birthday, still in the boxes? Time to tie them around their six year old necks if they misbehaved, she could always grab them by the ties and crack their heads together! Martha laughed at the idea.

Her sons were sensitive to her moods since early childhood, and the last six months, even more so. A frown had them running to her side to ask "What?" in unison.

When Martha asked what Santa could bring them to make them happy, she expected them to say their father's return. She was very surprised when they asked for a puppy. They knew where there was a whole litter of cute little ones, but they had to stay with their mother until New Year's at least. They were willing to wait.

"I don't know if we can afford to feed a puppy it will need shots, collar, leash, lead line if we put it out by itself when it gets a little older, a bed, flea powder..

The boys spoke together, "Gosh, we didn't know.."

"Puppies also eat shoes, gnaw furniture, wet the carpet, and they aren't allowed in the park! I'm sorry, sons, really sorry."

Tom punched Jerry on the arm. "You can be my puppy, Jere, if Mom will let me put you out on a lead line!"

"And you can be mine. I'll feed you kitchen scraps and make you pee outside!" Jerry retorted with a big grin.

"Okay, that will do. While you think of something you want and can have, I'm going to the beauty shop."

"What for?" they asked, in disbelief. And turned on the TV to watch Scrooge.

Martha couldn't believe how excited they were to be going to their great grandmother's to spend Christmas day. They woke at five, made their beds, showered, dressed in the clothes Martha laid out for them Christmas Eve and woke her at six, ready to go!

A chauffeured limousine called for them shortly after seven, and the chauffeur was pleased they were ready to go and seemed rather nervous driving out of the park.

While Martha sat quietly in her seat, the boys asked enough questions of the driver about the knobs on the dashboard to make the trip seem just around the corner.

The house was much more imposing than was Grandmother Ridley's, and the boys nudged one another when a butler came to open the door before they even knocked.

Martha caught the gleam of mischief in their eyes as they mimicked a TV movie, "Good morning is it Jeeves?" Tom asked.

"No, it's Walter."

"Good morning, Walter, and a very Merry Christmas to you." Jerry took over. "We trust your family is well. We're sorry to see you working on this Holiday." and Martha could have used the tie trick if she hadn't been behind them. "We hope your Christmas Bonus was sufficient to cover the occasion."

"Boys! You stop this nonsense immediately! I am embarrassed to have to apologize for your conduct this early in the morning."

Much to Martha's surprise, Walter turned to her with a wide smile on his face. "Madam, I look forward to a very interesting day a relief to the boredom of many days past."

When he opened the door at the end of a long corridor, the boys gasped in amazement. "Wow!"
Martha thought their Great Grandmother had outdone herself the tree was ceiling high in a very tall room, and there were three stacks of presents under the tree. As the lights twinkled, the boys pointed out to each other various ornaments on the branches. Their voices rang through the room, and Martha leaned against a chair, watching them in their excitement.

She didn't hear the approach of a small figure until she felt a hand on her arm.

"Merry Christmas, Martha. Aren't children wonderful? I have missed so many Holidays without them. Just look at their faces! They're identical twins! Oh, you are so fortunate, my dear. Do you think we should ignore breakfast for a while?"

"No, they won't know what they're eating but I find them much easier to handle when their stomachs are full. Boys! We go in for breakfast NOW." Martha ordered.

They backed away from the tree, each to a side of Martha, took her hand, and chorused "Have you ever seen anything like it, Mother?"

Martha had never met this elderly woman with the sweet smile, and now introduced herself as Martha Ridley, mother of Tom and Jerry Ridley.

"How do you wish the boys to address you, Ma'am?

"Well, Great Grandmother is a trifle stuffy. Mother Ruth would be just fine with me."

"How do you do, Mother Ruth." Tom and Jerry chorused.

"How do you do, Tom and Jerry." she answered. "Martha, would you call me Ruth, please."

"If you wish it." Martha answered, but thought there should be some title before it, like Dame. This was a very imposing woman, small, but she carried herself erect, and wore her hair piled on her head to give her height. Even then, Martha was almost two feet taller. On impulse, she bent and gave Ruth a hug.

"Thank you, Ruth, for making my boys happy this Christmas morning."

Ruth smiled warmly as she led them to the breakfast room, where a maid took the covers from enough food to feed an army. The boys had their plates filled several times, and Martha thought maybe she must have been starving them as she watched them eat.

Later, they confided to her they had overeaten because there were only four at the table, and all that food might go to waste. Martha explained in a big household, she doubted if anything went to waste.

When breakfast was over, Mother Ruth asked the boys if they would like to open their presents, and stood to one side as they raced back to the tree.

"The packages are clearly marked, Martha, sit for a moment with me, please, while the boys are otherwise occupied."

First, she complimented Martha on her children's table manners, their deference to her, the politeness to each other and their healthy appetites. Then she paused.

"May I be frank, my dear?" At Martha's nod, she continued, "The boys' father is a disgrace to the Ridley name no, don't try to defend him, if that was what you were going to do. His negligence in introducing you to the family was not because he thought you wouldn't be accepted but because we had long ago given up on him as a son and grandson. Max was a difficult child, and grew up to be a difficult human being. None of his interests ever lasted long. I am very surprised he remained a family man as long as he did. I, for one, watched him carefully during your first years together. He seemed to have changed, except for not letting his family mingle with his wife and children. Perhaps it was just as well, you seemed to be getting along splendidly and this family has a way of putting their noses where they don't belong. I thought Max had settled down.

"I knew you worked after the boys came, you both seemed to be handling matters just fine and then I saw the divorce notice in the papers. When I read the place where you worked was to close, I knew I must do something quickly. I did not want you moving away, either to your parents’ home or to some distant city looking for work, perhaps meeting another man who might want to adopt the boys and change their name. They're the last of the Ridley children I will see and I want the Ridley name carried on. What I really want is selfish. I want you and the boys to move here, with me. I will put my holdings in their names and make them my heirs immediately."

Martha was stunned. But not speechless. "Mother Ruth, do you know what you're getting yourself into? These two will race through your halls, jump on your lovely furniture, keep the servants busy cleaning up after them, drive you up the walls..."

"But they don't do that at home, do they?"

"No, I..."

"Of course, you don't allow it. And where do you think you will be? Certainly not working. You will be here every moment of every day, keeping me company while they're in school we can send them to private school if you wish "

"Definitely not!" Martha was vehement in her reply.

"And I have separate quarters where I can retire if it becomes too much for me. Martha, I am an old woman, and still in good health, I want you and the boys with me, now if possible." There was a pleading in her voice.

Martha was tempted to say yes. Her boys had friends at the school they now attended, friends who were allowed to visit even when it wasn't convenient. They came in the late afternoon, stayed for supper, rough housed in the boys' room but were always polite, and talked freely about Max's not being around. Those friends wouldn't feel free to enter a house where there was a butler, a maid to serve lunch....

A transition from a third hand trailer house to the Ridley Mansion seemed out of the question.
Martha talked long and seriously to Mother Ruth about what the move would mean to the boys. Ruth seemed to have an answer to them all a suite near the tennis courts with an outer door with just a knocker, a kitchen where Martha could cook if she pleased, bedrooms furnished for growing boys.

They were interrupted by Tom and Jerry after a considerable time.

"Mom, we thought you were coming with us. We haven't opened anything yet. Please?"

"Of course, children, right now." Martha could give no answer to Ruth until she discussed it with her children.

Except for some personal possessions the boys held dear, they really had no reason to even go home. But that was her opinion and this was not up to her alone.

Let the boys enjoy the day, get acquainted with their Great Grandmother, spend a few more days at home during the Christmas vacation, asking questions and discussing all the changes to be made and adjustments they would have to make.

It would be their decision. They would have to realize that, once made, it couldn't be reversed. Could her six year old twin sons handle that? Although Martha thought they adjusted well to their father's departure, less than a year had passed since he walked out without a backward glance. Had the wound even started to heal?

For the moment, Martha watched with pleasure as her boys opened their gifts. If this were any indication of Christmases to come, would Tom and Jerry remain the same unspoiled pair of rascals in the years ahead?

Ruth invited Martha to open the third pile of gifts with tags addressed in her name, and as the opened gifts surrounded her, she wondered if she, herself, could remain unspoiled.

finis

Visit at Christmas

2009-12-22T14:03:00.000-05:00

Janice didn’t really want to go home for Christmas, but her mother begged her to come, as she was lonely and wrote she missed her terribly.

She well knew why she didn’t want to go. Her father was a fault finder, not so much of her, but of her mother, and always had been.

If her mother, Mary, baked a pie, it was never good enough for him. He professed his love for lemon meringue, and in Janice’s opinion, her mother’s crust melted in one’s mouth. The pie was just tangy enough, the meringue always lightly browned.

But one taste, and her father complained – but every time, it was something else. It was either too sour, crust too crisp, meringue rubbery, always something.

Janice always praised her mother’ baking, and when she went to live with her Aunt Alice (her mother’s sister) and Uncle Ray, she found, indeed, that her mother’s baked goods were perfection.

Aunt Alice made card board crusts, lumpy lemon filling and her meringue WAS rubbery. But Uncle Ray smacked his lips and praised her to the skies.

Janice sighed. Uncle Ray and Aunt Alice had no children, he ran a thriving business and offered to put Janice through college, if she would work for him weekends and during breaks and summers. It was pleasant work, and the love her Aunt and Uncle shared rubbed off on her.

Why couldn’t her father praise her Mom occasionally, instead of always finding fault?

At the moment, she was wearing a slightly large sweater her Mom had knitted for her Dad last Christmas.

When he unwrapped it and put it on, his only comment was: “Too pretty, and the sleeves are too long.”

She was annoyed enough to ask, “Let me see it, Dad?” She tried it on, turned up the cuffs, stood in front of a mirror and told her father:

“I think it is BEAUTIFUL! I like large sweaters, and all those I buy have no cuffs. Make him another, Mom, I’ll take this one.”

Her Dad started to protest, but she cut him short. “You said it was too pretty for you, and the sleeves too long. It is perfect forme. Make him another one, Mom, I’ve got some dark gray yarn you can use.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I appreciate the time and effort it took to make it, and I shall wear it with pride.”

She remembered her father’s open-mouth at the turn of events.

To help her in her studies, her Uncle bought her a miniature tape recorder to clip on her belt or slip in her pocket.

She showed her gratitude for this and other gifts profusely, trying to explain that their putting her through college was gift enough. They kept on giving.

Her Uncle Ray bought a new car for business use, and give her the used one so she could visit her folks at Christmas. It was a three year old Tempo, and she argued that Aunt Alice should have the car, not her. But her Aunt hated to drive and refused to hear of it.

Janice would go home for Christmas, then, leaving Thursday night. Christmas was on Saturday, and she and her mother would have all day Friday to Visit.

When the offer came from home to bring her Aunt and Uncle along, they refused to go, saying they felt they had Janice for months at a time. She shouldn’t have to share her time with her parents with them.

Immediately upon her arrival, wearing the sweater her mother made and she loved, her Dad met her at the door with a remark about the car.

“Driving Ray’s old Tempo, huh?” he asked.

“Yes, he’s kept it in great shape, Dad.”

“Needs a good wash.”

“The road are full of slush. The semi’s cover a car with every passing. I”ll have it washed later to get the salt off.” She assured him.

“See you’re still wearing that sweater.”

“Still love it. Where’s Mom?”

“In the kitchen, baking.”

“Oh, yes, I can smell it now – pumpkin pie!”

“Smells like too much cinnamon.”

Oh, no, Janice thought. He’s starting already.

“Her recorder was taped to her belt, and she wondered how many faults he could find over the holidays and if she should record them?

From the state of the kitchen, Janice could see her mother had been there most of the day.
After a warm embrace, Janice asked if she could help, was told ‘no’, and so puit a stool in a corner out of the way.

She and her mother talked for almost three hours, quietly enjoying an exchange of news and views.

Then her father joined them.

“You women through taking everyone over the coals yet?”

“You and our neighbors finish with the neighborhood gossip?” Janice countered.

“We don’t gossip!” he said, indignantly.

“Didn’t I hear old Snealytelling you about the three boy friends Clarissa has now, and how he thinks Willie might have poisoned the Woodley’s dog? Not gossip? Come on, Dad.”

As her Dad reached for a Christmas cookie off a tray, Janice snapped on her recorder.
“Tastes like cardboard, Mary. You would think, after all these years, you could make a decent cookie.”

“All Christmas coodies taste alide, Dad, and that one tastes like anise.”

“Anise cardboard, then.”

“Did you make Christmas cake, Mom? I can’t wait to eat some.”

“It’s been curing since Thanksgiving, dear.”

“Why anybody would waste all that money on a Christmas cake, I’ll never know,” her Dad said.

“If I remember rightly, you ate the last couple pieces last year Mom saved for me.” His daughter remembered.

“Never did, don’t like it.” He protested.

‘Good, Mom, just wrap it allup and I’ll take it back with me. Uncle Ray loves your cake.”

Janice used her recorder over and over again and caught all her father’s negative remarks while she was there.

She was leaving on Sunday morning.

First, though, she asked her Dad to spend some time in the library with her while her mother was busy.

“Dad, seven kids in my class reported their folks are divorcing. I wonder if I’ll be the eighth?” she asked.

“What are you talking about? I have no intention of ever divorcing your mother?”

“I’d testify to that. But what about Mom?”

“Your mother divorce me? Why? We get along perfectly.”

“Listen to this, Dad. If I had a husband who did this to me, I’s sure get a divorce.”

Janice played the first five minutes of the tape, saw her father would listedn and left the room while it played out.”

She was all packed, had bid her father goodbye, kissed her mother soundly and thanked her for all she had done to make it a wonderful Christmas, then left in her Uncle’s used car, which still hadn’t been washed.

At her Aunt and Uncle’s house later that same day, she received a phone call from her father.

“Janice, I never realized . . .

“Mom and I did.”

“Your mother is willing to forgive me, will you?”

As long as you try with Mom. But I’ll never let you do that to us again. Remember, I don’t have to come home, but Mom lives there.”

“Give me a chance, girl?”

“Keep the recorder and play it back a lot, Dad. Remember, it’s hard to live with negativity, even when you love the person being negative. Bye now, Dad.”

See to Billy

2009-12-10T16:13:00.000-05:00

SEE TO BILLY
By I. C. Talbot

Dave and Sue Winton considered themselves lucky, with a capital L. Sue entered a drawing for a new van by dropping a form into a box, and doggone if she didn't win it!

The small economy car they owned was on its last legs, and crowding their six kids into it for a trip even to the grocery store was a chore. Not only was there a problem with where to put all the groceries they bought, but the younger ones wanted to sit by a window, or ride up front with Mommy and Daddy.

The latter was solved by letting the littlest, Billy, sit near his mother, because the minute the car got a good start and everyone was settled, Billy was off to dreamland.

To sit by a back window meant getting there first.

All six kids were born healthy, stayed healthy, weren't too hard on their clothes with three girls and three boys, hand me downs were common. No one said: "I don't like that," where food was concerned, all had hearty appetites, and Sue was a good cook, having been presented with cook books early in their marriage, with special sections on good, but nourishing low cost meals.

Today, they were taking their new van into the City forty miles away, for Christmas shopping.

They sold their old car to a young man in their neighborhood for enough to allow a shopping spree without dipping into either their Christmas Club or their savings.

Everyone enjoyed the shopping while Billy, the youngest, ogled at the toys, Santa, decorations, trees. He spent almost the entire day just looking. Billy was three, going on four quiet, not too talkative. He had little chance, with five others chattering all the time. He was an easy keep child, and Ellen, the oldest, Bobbie, Leeann, Davie and Chrissie all adored him.

He returned their affection.

For growing kids, they seemed able to function together with little friction. Their parents were grateful. Six kids could be an awful handful if they didn't get along.

When they were exhausted from shopping, Billy was still gawking at the windows of the stores when they reached their parked van.

The stroller Sue had taken along in case Billy tired, but hadn't, was loaded with packages.

They slid the van door open, loaded first the packages from the stroller, then the stroller itself. All the kids helped in loading, except Billy, who was still fascinated by the display in the window across the span of sidewalk.

"See to Billy," Sue directed without turning her head or speaking to anyone in particular as she entered the van. Everything was loaded, everyone seated, the doors closed. They were soon out in heavy traffic.

Billy stood against the telephone pole, deep in scrutiny of the window, attracted by a stuffed puppy. He turned to call his mother's attention to the window, only to find Mother was gone! The van was gone! Ellen, Bobbie, Leeann, Davie and Chrissie were gone! Daddy was gone!?

Billy hugged the telephone pole, tears as big as marbles sliding down his cheeks. His family was gone, and he was left all alone!

Minutes later, the store closed, and legs attached to the shoppers and then the store employees passed by his telephone pole. No one seemed to notice the little boy leaning against the pole, sobbing his heart out.

Millie's move to the City was just prior to the holidays on Thanksgiving weekend, in fact. She found an apartment, invested in a month's rent, deposit, utility connections, and had no trouble finding a job at one of the larger department stores. WalMart was a fairly new store in town, just down the street from the store next to the curb along which Dave had parked.

Today Millie had a question for her supervisor, and remained behind as the others rushed off on their way home. Now she, too, was ready for the walk to her apartment a few blocks away.
The apartment, like her job, was newly acquired. Millie had few possessions beside her warm smile and the ability to sell snow to the Eskimos. She was from a large family and this would be her first Christmas on her own.

As she explained to her mother, "I guess I either grow up and find my place in the world, or die by the side of the road."

Her mother laughed, "You may falter, my child, but I have every confidence in your making good even though we couldn't afford to send you to college. I know things will always go well for you."
So here she was, and here she would stay, until she could drive home in her own car, or invite her family to her neat apartment at some future date.

She stepped out of the doorway, and crossed the street at the light you don't jaywalk in the big cities, it costs you money.

Walking along the now deserted sidewalk, Millie heard some one crying it seemed to come from around that telephone pole, and she looked down.

A little boy's bright blue eyes, clouded with tears, met hers. Millie looked around for his mother, or someone but he was quite alone. She bent her head to his level. "Sweetie, where's your Mommy?"

Billy's tears welled afresh. "Everybody went away and left me!" he sobbed.

Oh, gee, thought Millie, opening her arms and the little boy walked into them.

Millie had dark brown hair like Ellen, she smelled good like Ellen, and suddenly Billie didn't feel so alone any more.

"Okay, its okay," whispered Millie in his ear. "What's your name?"

"Billy."

"What's your Daddy's name?" Whoops, thought Millie, that was a mistake, as Billy answered,

"Daddy."

"What does your mother call him when she wants him to come to dinner?" she tried again.

"Honey." The blue eyes looked directly into hers. No help there, thought Millie.

"How old are you?" He held up three fingers, "going on" four fingers.

He was still clinging tightly to her neck, and Millie grabbed the telephone pole to steady herself, stood up, and up came Billy, too, still clinging tightly.

"Billy, I won't leave you, but I can't carry you, you're too heavy. Shall we walk to my house, where its warm and we can get something to eat?" she asked.
His grip loosened, and Millie slid him to the ground. "It's this way," and started off, holding his hand.

Just what I need, thought Millie, is a visitor. My only furniture is a table and two chairs, one overstuffed chair, a bed, dresser, and a six inch, black and white TV, a clock radio, no telephone. But I do have the next two days off, my shopping is all finished and sent home, so maybe I can get Billy back to his family.

Meanwhile, Dave and Sue were well on their way home. Worn out from shopping, the kids were quiet for a change. Dense snow driven by a brisk wind, blew against the windshield, and as this was Dave's first experience driving a van in the wind, he drove slowly as heavy gusts hit the van.
It was fast becoming slippery, and although the tires on the van were new, they were not snow tires. Dave relaxed a little in his seat, confident he could control the vehicle despite the wind.
Suddenly he was passed by a truck, which cut him short. The van went into a spin, and before he realized what had happened, they were off the road, the van on its side, sliding down a hill.

"Oh, God, hang on kids." he yelled, unable to do a thing to stop it.

They banged hard against a tree, the front doors popped open when the van was lifted into the air, and Dave remembered no more.

The kids were badly shaken; the youngest two, Davie and Chrissie, began to whimper. They were asleep when they were dumped against the windows, which miraculously did not break. Leeann was crying. Ellen and Bobbie were trying to crawl forward from the third seat toward the open passenger door.

The sight of their parents, on the ground just outside the open doorway, unconscious and bleeding, stopped them.

The driver's door was also open and bent back. Bobbie crawled over the seat, shut off the engine, and lifted himself up and out the doorway to sit on the side of the van.

"Ellen," he called, "pass the kids up to me. Is anyone badly hurt?"

No one seemed to think they were. Ellen handed up Davie, then Chrissie, and although she was still crying, Leeann climbed out, too.

Ellen also handed out the two blankets lying on the seat. She knew there was danger
of fire, but her parents were in no position to be moved, and she prayed there would be none.

"Can you smell gasoline?" she asked Bobbie.

"No, and I don't see any leaking either. I guess the gas
tank is on this side and slamming into the tree didn't hurt it." he answered, calming her a little.

"Okay. Let's see if we can get someone to help us with Mom
and Dad." She was looking down at their bodies in their uncom
fortable position.

"Where's Billy?" she asked suddenly. "WHERE IS BILLY?" she
screamed, hysteria rising in her voice. "He's not under the folks, at least I can't see him. Oh, Bobbie, he didn't fall out, did he, and is under the van?"

"He's got to be here someplace. I'll get some help, Ellen,
you keep looking. Kids, wrap those blankets around yourselves to keep the snow off," he told the girls.

Bobbie had just gotten down from the van when he was asked
if he needed help by a deep voice in a tall body on the slope above him.

"Yes, my folks are unconscious and we can't find my three
year old brother."

"Where was he when you last saw him?" "He was riding up front with my folks." "Sitting up or lying on the seat?" "I didn't actually see him. I was in the very back of thevan it has three seats."
They followed the path dug by the van as it slid down from
the road, but found no trace of Billy. As they reached the roadway, they heard the sound of sirens.

The two girls and Davie were standing with a woman on the berm of the road when the EMT Unit drove up.

The man with Bobbie conferred with the driver briefly, as the others went from door to door of the unit getting equipment to carry down to the van. Soon they were carrying Dave and Sue up the hill on stretchers.

"They're both unconscious, but there's no sign of heavy external bleeding. You children get in that ambulance just pulling up and ride to the hospital to be checked out."

Bobby resisted. "My little brother is missing and I'm not leaving here without him."

"We'll find him," a police officer at his elbow assured him.

"The wrecker is here and we'll get the van out in minutes."

"What if he's under it, crushed. You could kill him lifting the van." Bobbie was crying openly now.

"Son, I'll see that every precaution is taken before we move it an inch, I promise you. Go along, you don't look so good."

"I can't, don't you see that? Billy needs one of us here to be with him. He's never been alone before."

"Okay, go sit in the cruiser where it's warm. I'll keep you informed so you can comfort your brother when we find him."

He opened the cruiser door, cautioning, "Don't touch any thing," and ran to the wrecker, asking the driver to shine his light over all the terrain near the van.

Bobbie watched from the cruiser, but he saw no sign of Billy, nor did the officer or wrecker operator, before or after they moved the van.

On the way to the hospital, Ellen asked the others, more to get their minds off their parents' condition, "When and where did you see Billy last?"

By the time they reached the hospital (as no one was seri ously injured nor bleeding they were not breaking any speed records nor even using the siren), they all agreed the last time they saw Billy, he was entranced by a display in a store window. Ellen remembered her mother calling "See to Billy" as she was helping load the car and packages into the van.

"Who saw to Billy? Bobbie was in the van helping put the cart in. Leeann? Did you help him into the front seat?"

Leeann shook her head. "Davie?" who shook his head, too. As she went down the line, she was certain that if Bobbie hadn't put him in the front seat with his parents or he hadn't crawled in by himself, either up front or in back with the packages (and was still there), Billy had been left back in town. When she got to the hospital, she asked to speak to a police officer. The officer who was with her folks came to talk to her. She explained about Billy.

He took her out to the cruiser and made a call to the scene of the accident. The officer with Bobbie had signalled the wrecker to go out into traffic when he took the call.

Bobbie heard it. "Yes, we looked in the back of the van for Billy, but it was dark and there were purchases everywhere."

They took off after the wrecker, and Bobbie was soon looking in the back of the van. No Billy.
"I think he somehow got left in town, son," the officer com miserated. "I'll call the police there and see if someone has turned him in."

By the time Bobbie got to the hospital, he knew no little boy had been 'turned in'.
Dave regained consciousness and was arguing with the nurse that he must check on his children. He was assured they were all fine, and would be taken care of, not to worry. They did not tell him the youngest was missing. They were all quite certain Billy would turn up safe and sound.

Meanwhile, Millie and Billy were in her apartment, Billy was curled up in her easy chair while she was making hot chocolate and toast for him. He was watching a Christmas program on Millie's TV, half asleep, warm and well cared for.

After Millie fed him, she got him out of his coat and boots, put a pillow under his head and let him finish watching his program. When he was sound asleep, she took off his shoes, socks, shirt and trousers, put one of her T shirts over his undershirt and shorts and tucked him into bed.

There was a pay phone at the bottom of the stairs near the door in the apartment building. Millie took her spare change and placed a call to the police station, where there had just been a shift change.

The officer on duty knew nothing about the call from the hospital, but he dutifully made a report of a boy named Billy found by a girl with no phone number. He advised her to keep him until morning when they would send someone to unite Billy with his family. Unfortunately, he inverted the street number on his report.

Both lost boy and his 'finder' slept in. Billy was looking for the bathroom in the wrong direction, calling for Ellen to get up and get his breakfast, he was hungry, when Millie woke. He looked at Millie with surprise.

"I dreamed I lost everybody. Did I?"

"You just mislaid them for a while, Billy. But we'll find
them together. While you're having breakfast, you tell me all about your family."

Billy did. Although Millie didn't know their ages, she heard all about Chrissie and Davie, Bobbie and Leeann, and Ellen. Billy certainly liked Ellen, her name came up forty times more than any of the others. She wrote down all the names and other information she could gather from his chatter.

Millie realized it was almost ten o'clock, and the police officer said they would pick Billy up around eight. Hadn't he been missed yet by all those people whom Billy talked of so fondly?! Could something have happened? Millie couldn't believe they just walked away and forgot him. She darned sure knew how to find them!

When Millie was living at home, the local radio station disk jockey was able to find the owners of lost dogs, so why not the family of a lost boy?

"Come on, Billy, I think I know a way to get you home." She picked up her coin purse and headed down the stairs.

The operator gave her the local radio station number, and she dialed it.
"May I speak to someone about a very special Christmas story?" she inquired of the receiver.

"What kind of a story?" she was asked. "About a lost boy named Billy." "Is this some kind of a joke, maybe?"

"Do you have a newscaster?"

"Yes."

"May I have his name and may I speak to him, please, let him be the judge of whether this is a joke or not?"

"His name is Jack Clark. I'll put him on." Jack Clark believed her story. In fact, he sent a taxi over to bring her and Billy to the radio station.

Millie told her story again of finding Billy, the names of his brothers and sisters. Billy said they all went to school, so someone might recognize a family with six children with the youngest missing?

"Tell you what, Millie, you two can go on the air if my boss okays it. Wait 'til I get him."
Soon Millie was speaking into a microphone. Jack told her to tell her story in her own words.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she began after Jack asked for his listeners' attention. "I work at Walmart in Pine Ridge. Last night I got off work, crossed the street, and heard a child crying. I looked down on the other side of a telephone pole and there were two bright blue eyes looking up at me through a veil of tears. He wore a bright red stocking cap, a blue jacket, blue sweat pants and brown four buckle artics. I stayed several minutes after work to talk to my supervisor, so the street was pretty clear of shoppers. There was no car parked near the little boy. He told me his name is Billy and he's three, going on four. We waited a while near the pole, but no one came looking for him. I live only a short walk from work, I took him to my apartment, fed him and he fell asleep. I tucked him in, called the police station, reported my find, gave my name and address to the Desk Sergeant. He said there was no report of a lost boy, could he stay with me for the night, and they would pick him up at eight this morning? They never came.

"From talking with Billy, I think he has two brothers and three sisters. Chrissie, Davie, Leeann, Bobby and last but most important to Billy is Ellen. You sound like a wonderful family, and I know something dreadful must have happened for you not to have reported him missing. I don't have a phone, so you can't call me, but if anyone knows Billy's last name and where he lives, will you please call Jack Clark at this station. Billy needs his family. Thank you."

As Jack Clark said later: "She handed me the microphone and the telephone rang. I think every student in every class those five kids attended and every teacher in their school called the station. But it wasn't until the tenth call or so that someone told us about the accident."

"It seems the officer at the desk who took Millie's call recorded her address incorrectly, and the Sergeant's report from the hospital was buried at the change of his shift."

Jack Clark took his phone off the hook long enough to get back on the air to report they now knew who Billy's family was and where to take him, and the calls could cease.

As Millie owned no car, Jack asked for a break long enough to drive them both to the Winton's.
The five Winton children were waiting at home, taken there by the police from the hospital, as no one was seriously hurt. Billy had the warmest welcome Jack ever witnessed. After everyone had hugged and kissed him, he sat on Ellen's lap, smiling contentedly at Millie and Jack. Ellen was not the sixteen or seventeen year old Millie had imagined, but a twelve year old whose responsibility rested heavily on her shoulders. When Jack mentioned he had to get back to the station,
Millie thanked him for his time, effort and support, said she hoped to see him again she certainly would listen to his radio station from now on but she was going to stay and help Ellen. Later, when she found Ellen in her room quietly sobbing, she was glad she stayed.

Ellen hadn't slept the previous night, she felt she had betrayed her mother's trust in not "seeing to Billy" and if something happened to her folks, how would they all stay together?

"Cry," Millie said. "It'll make you feel better. I'll get lunch and when you're cried out, let's check on your van. Better not let anyone make off with all those precious gifts. And your parents will need a vehicle when they get home."

Giving Ellen something else to think about, and with Millie helping, they found out where the van had been taken, that it was locked up, and everything inside was secure.

They could prepare an estimate of the damages for the insurance company, if Millie wished.
Millie questioned Ellen about car and hospitalizationinsurance her family might have.

Ellen said her mother kept all their records in a drawer in a filing cabinet. With five pair of eyes watching her (Billy was napping), Ellen slid open the file drawer. There were about fifty labelled files, and Car Insurance was clearly marked on one. The van was recently covered.

Millie called the Agency and reported the accident. They would send forms in the morning mail; meanwhile, an adjuster would look at the van. Their insuror would need a copy of the police report and the doctor's report on the injuries sustained, as they were covered, and 'thank you for calling so promptly.'

Next, Millie called the police department. When she identified herself, she was put through to the captain who apologized for his department's laxity, said he would be glad to put the accident report in the mail immediately.

"Merry Christmas to all the kids, their parents and especi ally to you, Millie, for your help."

Millie wasn't sure exactly what the insurance on the van covered, nor what injuries the parents had sustained. They had no hospitalization that she could discover, and she hoped Christmas wouldn't be grim for the family. She must get those gifts from the van. Who, she wondered, had the keys.

Millie was cleaning up lunch dishes when an ambulance with no lights blinking nor siren shrieking, brought the elder Winton's home. They both limped in surprised and happy that someone was with their children.

Millie asked if she could make coffee, if it wouldn't interfere with their medication?

"That would be fine," they chorused. "We thought we'd be coming home to starving and upset children just how do you figure in, young lady?" Mr. Winton asked.

Everyone started to explain at once until their father shushed them. "May I hear it from Millie, please?"

Between Millie and Bobby, the elder Winton's learned for the first time how Billy was lost, and how Billy was found.

When the story was finished, everyone except Millie was crying. She got hugs and thank you's from grateful parents and all the kids.

The coffee was poured, and Millie offered to make supper.

She explained she had tomorrow off, her parents were far away, she missed her large family and kids underfoot, and she was lonesome for company. She really would appreciate it if they allowed her to stay until she had to go back to work.

At dinner, she told Mr. Winton what she and Ellen did about the insurance and appraisers, that the van was locked and all their purchases safe.
"Millie, I always wanted a secretary. How are you at filling out insurance forms?" Mr. Winton asked.

finis

Where did it go?

2009-08-31T12:51:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, Sunday, I posted the happenings of the day and typed in another short story. But when I finished, I must have erroneously clicked the wrong button, because everything disa-ppeared forever. Now I have not the ambition to retype the short story. We very much enjoyed the visit Sunday of our two daughters. The eldest needed carpentry advice on putting beds in her newly acquired Ford Van. She and two female friends cooperate in garbering (making costumes ) for Medieval Faire participants. These Faires are held over weekends, and it is nec-essary to remain overnight on the premises in the out-of-doors. Motels are either miles away or too expensive. Thus the need for the carpentry work.

The short story: Occasion For Worry:

As she, her husband, and his friend Louie walked through the Patton Museum outside of Fort Knox, she found no interest in the machinations of war. The lighting was poor, and at 70 yrs., trying to read at less than 100 watt illumination made her stomach queasy.
Her husband sensed her restlessness, and handing her the keys to the car, suggested she wait for them outside. Gratefully, she took the keys.
A short visit to the Ladies' room, and a short walk in the fresh air, and she settled to wait in the warm sunshine and a breeze from her open window.
Lulled into a tranquil, half-awake state, she was vaguely aware of the sound of running feet behind the car, then was fully aware when a hand tried the driver's door. It was locked. Instinct made her snap the lock on the passenger side, and she had her window almost closed when a hand tried to come through the opening.
She applied pressure to the knob and succeeded in trapping the intruding hand at the first finger joints.
At a yelp of pain, she moved her head so she could look into the angry face at the window. Expletives flew, but she held the window firmly against his fingers when he tried to force the pane of glass down with pressure from the flat of his other hand against the glass.
A rush of footsteps sounded from behind the car and four MP's surrounded the trapped man.
"You can lethim loose now, Ma'am," an MP grinned in at her by lowering his face to the windshield, "and thanks, he ran us a merry chase."
She lowered the glass and the intruding fingers were pried from it.
"You lousy old bitch!" was her reward for freeing his fingers.
The group was long gone when her husband returned with his friend to the car.
"Sorry we were so long, but we watched a slide presentation in the Auditorium."
"That's okay, I enjoyed sitting in the April sun." was all she replied. Why make him worry the next time she spent time alone?
But she did wonder what might have happened if the driver's window had also been open. Mayve there would have been an occasion for worry.

Blog No. Two

2009-08-30T17:54:00.000-04:00

Today, Sunday, was quite a day, as both daughters joined us in a carpentry session. The older daughter wanted a bed built into her new vehicle, Ford HeavyDuty Van. She and Coletta are garbers for medieval faires and spend a lot of time at their events, and motels are costly, the van is spacious, and they pull a trailer to house their wares.. Roy has the tools, and they both came to use our shaded overhang as workshop. The weather was exceptional - cool and breezy, and all went well. Our two female hounds went bezerk over having visitors, but luckily the shock wore off quickly.

Here's another short one: Occasion For Worry.

As they walked through the Patton Museum outside of Fort Knox, KY, she was unable to show an interest in the mechanizations of war.

The lighting was poor, and at age 70, any attempt to read at other than the minimum of 100 watts made her stomach immediately queasy.

Her husband sensed her indifference, handed her the car keys, and asked if she wanted to wait in the car, as he and his friend, who had accompanied them, wanted to finish the tour.. She did.
First, she visited the ladies' room, then stepped out into the bright sunshine. A brisk walk in the spring air resolved the stomach problem, and once in the car, the warmth of the sun and the fresh air coming through the open car window lulled her into a tranquil, half-awake state.
She was vaguely aware of the sound of running feet behind the car, then fully aware when a hand tried to driver's door. It was locked. Instinct made her snap the lock on the passenger side, and she had her window almost completely closed when a hand tried to come through the opening.
She applied more pressure to the window knob and succeeded in trappint the intruding hand at the first finger joints.

At a yelp of pain, she moved her head so she could look into the angry face at the window. Expletives flew, but she held the window firmly against his fingers when he tried to force the pane of glass down with pressure from the flat of his other hand against the outside of the glass.
A rush of footsteps sounded from behind the car and four MP's surrounded the trapped man.
"You can let him loose now, Ma'am," grinned an MP, having sized up the situation through the windshield, "and thanks, he ran us a merry chase."

She lowered the glass and the intruding fingers were pried from it.

"You lousy old bitch!" was her reward for freeing his fingers.

The group was long gone when her husband returned to the car.

"Sorry to have stayed so long, Hon, but we watched a slide presentation in the Auditorium."

"That's okay, I enjoyed sitting in the April sun." was all she replied. Why make him worry when next she spent time alone?"

But she did wonder what might have happened if the driver's window had also been down. Maybe there would have been an occasion for worry?

Hey, I have a Blog!!

2009-08-27T10:57:00.000-04:00

Welcome to ICY Road.

I am a senior citizen, 86, who invested in a SONY Reader, and I would like to recommend it to all senior citizens or anyone who likes to read if not just for the adjustable print size, then for the fact that it fits in a purse or pocket. I use it for long waits in doctor's offices. Everything considered, I believe the price is reasonable for the Reader

There are numerous stories that can be down loaded for free - and I have found that Henry Rider Haggard wrote very interesting stories about the middle East which give an insight into their rulers, life styles, etc., that have not changed over the millenium. We are trying to force a democracy on a country which first should be educated to the extent that Christians are. People cannot be forced to change, they must desire it.

Now I have to learn what one does with a BLOG. I write short stories and perhaps I should put one here. It's really short and probably will draw a lot of criticism. Let's see: how about "America's Favorite Game":

Billy stood squarely at the plate the way his Dad instructed him, his bat on his shoulder, body turned slightly toward the plate, his eye on the ball in the pitcher's hand.

The hand moved, the ball flew, Billy's bat connected squarely. A low, line drive, right into Mrs. Walton's back yard where she sat on a bench in the shade, shelling early peas.

Splat!

The ball caught her on the back of the head. The peas fell to the ground, Mrs. Walton's lifeless body landing directly on top of them.

So much for America's favorite game! The End

As you can see, I'm a great sports' fan. Why raise youngsters with a yen to stand out in the hot sun for hours, waiting for a turn at bat? Doesn't sunburn cause skin cancer?