BJ LeCrae

This book is inspired by a true story.

Though many of the places described in this story are recognizable, some of the names of people have been changed to protect the privacy and innocence of those still living.

Cover Sculpture info:

Angel of Grief by William Wetmore Story

Protestant Cemetery, Rome, Italy

The Accounts of Mr. LeCrae -- 1

A woman snickers at the unlikely pattern formed by the random teardrops on her sweatpants as she sits in her bedroom alone when she hears her husband and children arrive at home. She rushes to the adjacent bathroom to tidy herself up. Her name is Danielle (Danni), after her grandmother, whom she never knew. Today may very well be Danni’s birthday, and like every birthday since she turned sixteen, she spent the first part of the day doing two things: one—reading old hand-written papers she’s got rolled up like a scroll and bound with a piece of thick, red string, and two—bawling like a little girl. The second part of the day she spends with the people she loves—enjoying the life which she believes, with all her heart and soul, she doesn’t deserve.

Her husband, Beau LeCrae, a simple yet understanding man, knocks at the bedroom door—he knows she’s been crying—she always does on this day. “Sweetness, are you in there?” he asks solemnly of the bedroom door. He knows this time is precious to Danni. He knows the transition from careful to carefree is slight and fragile. He knows he needs to let things happen in their own time. What he doesn’t know is… why.

You’ll have to excuse me—you see, I had planned on writing this story as a narrator, but I don’t think it’s possible to continue without letting you know what’s really going on. I’m Beau. Danni is my wife. You see, there’s a reason for all of this. I’m no writer, yet here I am. Yesterday, I was made privy to the most amazing story I’ve ever known and I have to tell someone, everyone. For years I’ve had a poem in my mind which tells of Danni’s tear-filled birthdays. I’ve never been able to write it down because I never really understood it. Now I do. It’s much bigger than a poem, and truthfully, I’ve got no business even attempting to tell the tale. At the end of it all, it’s a tribute really—a tribute to three, most courageous women—three women I’ve never met—to whom I owe everything. It’s difficult to express how this story has changed me. Of course, I realize the fact that you don’t know me; so, why should you care about anything I have to say? A lot of sacrifices were made, however, so that my family could even exist, so whether you find yourself sympathetic or apathetic toward me—toward us—I sincerely hope you will still appreciate the extraordinary weight of the information we’ve decided to share, and perhaps be inspired yourself. Yet, even if I miss my mark, I owe it to them, at the very least, to tell their tale.

This project started as... almost a knee-jerk reaction to the information, but, having done a great deal of research since then, I think the most poignant--I'll call it, profound--thing, to me, is that it is not a rare thing. I originally thought the uniqueness of the story made it extraordinary, but it's actually the frequency that's so extraordinary. The rarity is in the fact that these relatively common stories are so seldom told--and that's just a tragedy, it's an injustice.

I cannot share with you the sheer depth of the story's relevance without sharing with you at least some minor inference of how beloved my family is to me, so please accept the introduction of my wife and children—they are the reason these pages mean so very much to me, and perhaps soon, they will mean much to you as well.

Some of the story is broken at best, poorly punctuated, or quite difficult to comprehend in its original, written form. In an effort to preserve the originality, especially that of the young woman who specifically notes her effort to write the way she talks, I’ve marked some sentences with a single asterisk, indicating that I have made minor modifications, such as punctuation. Those marked with two asterisks are more severely modified for comprehension. I’ll talk with Danni about making copies of some of the originals in case people are interested in seeing them. They're really quite something to see.

Danni and I have two beautiful daughters, Kendall and Ashley. Kendall turned fifteen this year and Danni’s been promising for years that when Kendall was fifteen, Danni would share with her a secret that would change her life forever. Kendall has been nagging her for months—her birthday was a few months ago, in February—it’s been an eternity for a teenage girl with the desire to possess the knowledge of a glorious predestined secret. Danni kept telling her, “Be patient, it’ll mean more when the right day comes.”

It just so happens that yesterday was the right day. To tell you the truth, I had kind of assumed that this whole secret thing was something mothers and daughters shared, but honestly, I’d been dragged along by “the promise” for so long that I wanted to know too. I had my suspicions that this secret had to do with the scroll, but I had asked her about the scroll twice before only to have her shy away. I never asked her about it again, and now, since she promised to share it with Kendall, there was no way I would ask because I was just sure it was some kind of a “girl thing.”

Kendall’s younger sister, Ashley, turns eight next month, in June, and cannot wait to get her ears pierced. If she keeps beating up the boys at her school, I’m going to do it myself. By the way, no one is allowed to refer to Ashley as Kendall’s “little sister” because—let’s just say—Ashley doesn’t take kindly to the word “little.” So, last year, “little” was forever replaced by, “younger.” Nonetheless, I knew that someday she would also be made privy to the secret, and I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous that this “secret” was going to end up being shared with everyone but me—but such is the role of the man living amongst women and their secrets.

The girls both have their mother’s beauty—a fact that I, as a father, am not thrilled about. Ashley is an unstoppable tomboy with the unending energy of a white water river, yet the pleasuring demure of a small mud puddle. Kendall is just coming out of a time in her life when—I’ll save you the trouble and just say it—she’s been a tremendous pain in the butt; and if Ashley’s going to be anything like Kendall when she’s turning thirteen, I may just have a bomb shelter installed where she can live until she’s… wait a minute… maybe I could stay in the bomb shelter. Now we’re talking! Getting a little ahead of myself… I was talking about what happened yesterday.

“Sweetness, are you in there?” I could hear Danni rustling around in the bathroom but I always give her plenty of space on this day—can’t just walk into the room.

Danni cleared her throat with a little cough and happily said, “Yeah, come on in.”

I walked in and smiled, as I always do. Danni designed--decorated, I should say--a masterpiece bedroom. I won't go into too much detail, but there is one feature that mustn't go without mention. Under our magnificent bed, and atop the laminate wood flooring which matches the wood of the bed almost perfectly, lies the most ridiculously thick, deep-shag area rug which we affectionately call, Shaggy. Its color is slightly lighter than the comforter adorning the massive bed above. Shaggy extends nearly three feet from the sides and I must admit, it makes stepping out of bed each morning delightfully soft and squishy.

It extends past the foot of the bed at least seven or eight feet toward a slate-tiled gas fireplace complete with slate hearth and mahogany mantle. The fireplace sits perfectly opposite the bed, roughly the same width and reaching to the lower height of our vaulted ceiling which peaks above our heads while capitalizing on one of the more commonplace functionalities of the bed—sleeping. Its appearance is quite majestic, but it was only this time last year when Ashley was able to climb aboard without getting a running start--an important detail, because beyond its grandeur and beauty; this bed is also quite versatile. It functions as a ship on the high seas, a precipice overhanging rivers of flowing lava, a magic carpet whisking through the skies over distant continents, and a secret hiding place when Ashley decided to scare the bejesus out of us by jumping out from under the mass of superfluous pillows one almost-intimate evening about a year ago.

Many memories have been made in here, and every one of them makes me smile every time I walk into the room, but the most priceless part of it is undoubtedly Shaggy. Every Thursday evening, Danni attacks the entire thing with a shop vac (no ordinary upright could possibly compete with the forest of abnormally lengthy pile). She undertakes this mission because she is a freakishly tidy person, and because it has become something of a tradition, on Friday or Saturday evenings, for the four of us to gather there on Shaggy, in front of the fireplace, and express to one another how utterly terrible this life is and why.

It’s like our little UN—a wonderful way of peacefully expressing and resolving our frustrations with each other... and with the troubles we face at work or at school or anywhere. We help each other find different ways of looking at our situations. The tradition started years ago when Danni and I were sitting there discussing a problem I had with a coworker. She helped me step back and see, from a different point of view, the situation that confronted me. Kendall was very young and overheard us from the doorway—she volunteered her own problems she had with a girl at school, with her teacher, with me, with her mother—we worked out a lot of hidden issues that night which Danni and I never even knew existed, and it just sort of… became a thing. This rug, Shaggy, as bizarre and impractical as it is, has created strength in our family. We can’t even imagine doing away with it. Ashley joins us now too, and our little family, unlike so many others, has no secrets… except for one.

“Sounds like you picked up the girls…” she said.

“Yup!” I entered slowly, but spoke quickly to keep spirits high. “I ran, I ate, I picked up thuuuh…”

Danni was standing in the bathroom doorway looking more beautiful than ever, in her hand, the scroll, bound by the red string. No shoes; just socks. She was wearing a pair of those light-blue, tight, stretchy jeans that do such wonderful things to accentuate a certain curvaceous part of her anatomy. A long, white frilly blouse draped from her shoulders with tails extending down far enough to cover up what I like so much about the jeans; she hadn’t bothered buttoning it up before walking out toward me—hair down, perfect face, and between the blouse’s silken drapes, enough skin exposed to make a man forget how to breathe. She came directly at me, tossed the scroll toward the bed, and before it hit the comforter, her arms were around me in the kind of embrace that says Thank you as much as it says I love you. I held her, kissed her gently, and then held her some more.

She spoke softly, “Any chance you stopped and picked up a huge box of donuts after picking up the girls?”

“I… most certainly did… not.” I was a bit taken aback by the random question.

“Well, that’s going to have to be our first stop,” as she turned and began the dreadful buttoning. “I’ve been craving donuts since I got up this morning. I want a Boston crème, raspberry jelly-filled, and at least one more, but I’m not sure right now what it is.”

I quickly gathered my bearings. “Shall I inform the runts or should we keep it a surprise?”

“What do you think?” she asked sarcastically.

It seems a few of my bearings were yet un-gathered. The last time I told Ashley we were going to get donuts, she disappeared for half an hour until we got a call from the manager at the donut shop saying Ashley was already there waiting for us. Apparently, she couldn’t wait for us to get ready to go, so she had sneaked out the garage and ridden her bicycle three miles to the donut shop to wait for us there. Unbelievable! We all had a long chat about boundaries and communication that day.

“I think we’ll keep it on the down-low,” I said sheepishly.

“Good plan,” she said before flashing a playful smile.

“So… donuts and…?” I hinted for some insight into the day’s agenda.

“Donuts and… I’ve made a decision,” she responded coyly.

“You have?”

“I have.”

“Write it down?”

“Write it down.”

“Pen or pencil?”

“Pen.”

It was decided—when you can put it in ink, the decision stands. Now, if only I had any clue what we were talking about. This is one of those moments when a man needs to be careful. If I’m supposed to know what we’re talking about already, I need to figure it out quick! If I’m not supposed to know, then this is all just playful banter and she’ll be expecting me to play along so she doesn’t feel like an idiot.

I asked in a serious tone that could be either sincere or sarcastic, “So this is serious, then? There’s no going back, you know?”

Her tone turned as well as she walked up to me standing at the foot of the giant bed—now, I didn’t know if she was being sincere or sarcastic. “I know,” she said, “but I’ve thought about it… and this is what I want.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I took her hands in mine and looked her squarely in the eyes. If she laughed, it would mean we were playing… and… I was in the clear. If she hugged me sincerely, it meant we were being serious… and I was in big trouble. She did neither. She just looked right back at me; and for some terrible four or five seconds, I struggled to read her—completely scrambled inside. She looked at me with soft eyes—it was as if she could see right through me. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Not a clue,” I admitted.

We hadn’t moved, but it was clear now that it was she who was holding my hands. “I want you to know… everything there is to know,” she said, “I’m going to tell you everything.”

With another sweet kiss from my wife still tingling on my lips, I glanced down at good ol’ Shaggy—bearing witness to yet another pivotal moment in the LeCrae family history.

“So what’s the plan for the day? I have to imagine you have a time and a place picked out for when, ‘I want you to know everything…’ turns into, I know everything,” I probed as if it were no big deal.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m still working out the details,” she replied.

“I could help you with that if I had some hints,” I added.

“I got it. I’ll do the planning; you do the driving.”

“Hey, whose idea was it to celebrate your birthday at midnight, huh?” I reminded her coyly.

“Whose idea was it to let the girls spend the night at their friends’ last night so we could celebrate again this morning?” she retorted.

“You… you maniacal, calculating, sexy beast!” I applauded, “you do the planning; I’ll do the driving.”

“You’re a sick bastard.”

“You have no idea,” I said slyly, “So really, I need a shower so… should I hurry?”

“No, you’re good. I’m gonna go say hi to the girls and then I’ll figure out how we’re going to play it out.”

One more smooch and she left the room, and didn’t bother putting away the scroll. She’s never, in seventeen years of marriage, left that damned scroll unattended or unsecured, but this time, she just walked away leaving it there on the bed. I thought to myself, “She really is going to tell me.”

Next chapter-- https://theprose.com/post/564097/the-second-rape-of-dr-emily-pershing-c2

Chapter 2

I took my time in the shower so they’d have plenty of time to work out the day’s agenda. Thinking about the donuts got me thinking about karaoke and before I knew it, I was belting out “You Aint Never Had a Friend Like Me” with all the pizzazz I could muster without slipping and killing myself. I wondered if other grown men… you know, straight guys… ever sang Disney tunes in the shower. I stopped singing—couldn’t help but continue humming though as I wrapped a towel around myself and made my way to the mirror. I stepped to the vanity and caught, from the corner of my eye, my entire family sitting on the big bed only a few feet away staring at me like I was the biggest idiot on the planet. At that moment, they were right. My first instinct was to keep humming and dancing, flip them all the bird, and kick the door shut. That was plan A. Plan B was to stare right back and suck in my gut so the towel would fall off—that would teach them. I went with Plan C—I grabbed the toothpaste and brush, worked up a quick lather, paused for a few seconds in the mirror, and before they realized I knew they were watching, I turned and roared at them like a frothing wild man. I got the desired screams and shut the door.

Danni had already grabbed my clothes from the closet before I even got home with the girls. She’s like that—always making sure I’m well prepared. I got dressed and headed out; I knew it was time to make it happen… whatever it was. Danni and Kendall were still on the bed when I emerged from the bathroom. I glanced around the room for Ashley and said, “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“Ah, no,” she said coolly.

“Tell her what?” inquired Kendall with a hint of hope.

“Nothing,” replied her mother.

“Tell me what?!” squeaked the eavesdropping Ashley from the living room.

In a fine trio, we all yelled back simultaneously, “NOTHING!”

Kendall whispered “What is it?”

“We’re going to grab some donuts on the way out… that’s it,” Danni explained.

“Oooh, wow, big deal,” she said sarcastically, “…can’t wait to get a donut!”

“I told you it was nothing. You had to go and get all excited.”

“Whatever.”

“Alright!” I interrupted, “So what’s the plan?”

These innocent little battles between Kendall and her mother don’t really amount to much now, but it wasn’t that long ago when such a simple thing would somehow escalate into days of Kendall not speaking to anyone. I know we’re past those days now, but the memories are fresh enough in my head that I still interrupt when the signs start showing.

“Geez, Dad, chill,” I heard (from my therapist daughter), “we’re just joking around.”

I can only imagine how “Geez, Kendall, chill” would have worked out a couple of years ago. Still, it’s refreshing to see her taking the high road.

Never missing an opportunity to put a sharp stick in my eye, my beloved Danni joined in, “Yeah, Dad, relax.”

I wasn’t about to try to explain my overreaction. Instead, I just squinted and pointed at each of them as if they were the troublesome teenage girls my wife pretended to be. They both looked back at me; again as if I were an idiot, and then burst into the same type of giggling we often hear when Kendall’s friend, Jaime, spends the night.

I surrendered, “Alright, so what do you two hoodlums have planned?”

The giggling casually ceased. “Well, husband o’ mine,” Danni began, “Ashley has her rehearsal for the talent show with Avra and Jinny this afternoon, and I told her she could spend the night at Jinny’s afterward. So, since she won’t be able to celebrate Mommy’s birthday with the rest of us this evening, I told her we would spend some time together—just the two of us—until she has to go to Jinny’s.”

“Ah! So that leaves Tripper and me with hours of father-daughter fun time!” I went in for the customary high five. “Home Depot, here we come!”

“Yeah!” added Danni with a happy nudge.

Kendall was not amused. I got the silent stare with the raised eyebrows—the famed, “Seriously?” look.

“Car wash?” I suggested.

Not a blink.

“Toss the old pigskin?”

Still not amused... I decided to see if those eyebrows were at max height.

“Dump run?”

They were not. She managed to raise them just a tad higher at that suggestion. She used to love going to the dump when she was about ten—those precious days are over now, I guess. Ah… to have a son… if only to share the treasured stench of father-son-landfill moments like my father shared with me. Oh well. I know I’ve still got what it takes to be my little girls’ dad.

I let her off the hook, “You, ah… You don’t want to go shopping at the mall do you?” I asked with the cool, confident look that can only be found on the coolest dads.

“NO!” she rifled back, “I’m not thirteen, Dad!”

I was petrified. That used to be the sure thing, and now I was standing there, again… like an idiot, wondering if I was in the right house. I played it off like I was still joking.

“Well,” I looked away sullenly, “I guess there is no pleasing you. Nothing to do but… practice driving,” I added with a shoulder shrug.

“YES!” Kendall agreed subtly.

“I want some!” yelled the living room.

“You’re not old enough to drive!” Danni yelled back. “Oh man!” replied the dejected living room.

“You understand she doesn’t have a permit yet,” warned my wife.

“Mom!” whined Kendall.

“It’s okay; we’ll stay on the side streets. I just don’t want her getting a license to drive when she’s only had a few months of practice,” I added confidently.

“What if she hits something?”

“That’s okay, we’ll use your car,” I joked.

“Funny,” she said seriously, “I don’t think so. I’m taking my car.”

“What happened to the giggling?” I asked light-heartedly.

Kendall saw her opportunity to change the subject while we were ahead. She grabbed for Danni’s midsection and tickled like there was no tomorrow. “Yeah, Mom, what happened to the giggling?”

Amidst the ensuing battle, Ashley ran in to save her distressed mother from Kendall and me by offering herself as an alternative ticklee.

Next chapter-- https://theprose.com/post/564098/the-second-rape-of-dr-emily-pershing-c3

Or start at the beginning -- https://theprose.com/post/564095

Chapter 3

“Hey, Super Star!” Ashley casually sung out at the tall, slender man behind the glass case filled with rows of fresh donuts.

“Hot Wheels!” he returned with an exuberant smile.

Luckily, there were no patrons in line—if there had been, I’m afraid it wouldn’t have changed the attitude of little, boisterous “Hot Wheels” at all. Still, she had caught the attention of the few people who sat quietly enjoying their coffee—’til now.

“Got a donut for me, Boyfriend?” asked the seven year-old diva.

“You know I do. What kind are you looking for?”

“Hmmm… you got anything good, or just this stuff?”

Chuckles came from every table overhearing such boldness from such a tiny voice. Kendall could not be more embarrassed. She slyly sat down at a nearby table as if she’d never seen any of us before.

“You know, it just so happens that I’ve been working on something new in the back. You wanna try it?”

“Let’s see what you got,” answered the tiny donut critic, and off went Super Star Coleman—Jack Coleman—donut slinger, Karaoke master.

It was another typical, abnormal trip to the donut shop. Jack and Ashley became friends on that wonderful day last summer. That day, he told us a story about this remarkable little girl who came prancing in late in the morning with gusto no different than what we all just witnessed a minute ago. He had just started working there after transferring from the east side location and she was his first tough customer. She acted as if she had the world on a string and nothing and nobody was going to stop her from getting what she wanted. He said she marched right up, inspected the whole case with a discerning eye—occasionally looking up at him to see if he was paying attention. Every now and then she would stare at one particular tray of donuts, and then shake her head with disappointment as if she had been confounded by the notion that anyone would ever eat such a thing. After a good three minutes of inspection, she took two steps back, crossed her arms, and with a grunt, she focused directly at the center of the case for just an instant. Then she immediately turned her silent deadly gaze upon Jack who froze like a deer in the headlights, not expecting to suddenly have every bit of her attention set on him.

“See something you like?” he asked politely.

“Seriously?” she retorted without blinking an eye.

Jack’s eyes squinted and he leaned forward with one elbow on the counter, “I can see you’re no ordinary little girl on a donut quest.” Ashley shook her head. “Do I know you?” Another shake. “That your bike outside?”

Without even acknowledging the last question, Ashley explained, “The way I see it, Mister, we got us here a donut shop. I just rode my bike half-way across town to get me a donut, and I don’t see one single donut here that makes this whole trip worthwhile.”

Jack was dumb-founded. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a situation.”

“Looks like it,” she agreed.

“You know what? I just came here from another store to try and fix this very situation—and until now, I didn’t really think it was that much of a problem. Luckily, I’ve been working on expanding the selection and the truth is: I’ve been holding out…”

“Holding out? What’s that mean?”

“Well, ‘holding out’ means that I’ve been keeping some a secret. There aren’t enough for everyone, so I didn’t want to put them out here for people to see yet,” he answered, “but for you… I may have just the thing to justify your coming all the way here.”

“I’m listening,” she said as she cautiously approached the counter.

“Wait right here and I’ll bring you something called, the Boston Crème.”

Jack turned to go to the kitchen but was halted by a squeak. “Hey!”

“Yeah?” Jack said as he spun back around.

“Before we do this, I only have twenty-eight cents and some Gummy Bears—just so we’re straight,” she bargained strictly, “but my family should be along any minute and they can pay you the rest.”

“Gummy Bears, huh… You got red ones?” Jack asked.

“Of course,” Ashley said with a growing smile. She liked anyone who appreciated the quality of the red ones.

“We can work something out,” he smiled right back.

Jack brought out the chocolate-covered, crème filled, freshly baked delight and presented to

Ashley, who had already plopped the change down and sorted out seven red gummies on the counter.

“I found all these red ones for you, and here’s the twenty-eight cents—that’s all I got,” she said.

“Okay, what do you think of this?” asked Jack as he slowly presented the chocolaty masterpiece to his new friend.

“Uh-huh,” she forced herself to respond, and in way that allowed her to keep her mouth open the whole time.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Jack said as he raised the donut out of her reach, “You get the donut, we’ll split the bears, I’ll wait for your parents to pay for the donut, but I need to talk to them first to make sure they’re headed here to pay for it before my shift ends. Deal?”

Ashley contemplated the terms… “Donut first.”

“Nope. Parents first,” bargained Jack.

“Fine, deal,” she agreed.

That’s when we got the phone call. We were hysterical. Danni, Kendall, and I had destroyed the house looking for Ashley, we searched the yard, the street; we called the neighbors once Kendall discovered Ashley’s bike was missing. Everyone on the street knew Ashley—she’d made sure of that over the years. We were absolutely panicked. The last time we had seen her was about half an hour ago, and we’d been searching for about fifteen minutes—that meant she could have been gone for fifteen minutes before we’d even realized she was missing. Fifteen to thirty minutes—an eternity for a kid to get lost—but nothing compared to the eternity of searching frantically for even five minutes when your kid is gone. The phone rang. Danni lunged so quickly that she said hello before she even picked up the phone.

“Hello?” she fumbled, “Hello? —Oh God, Baby, where are you?! It’s her!”

“Is she okay?” I demanded.

“WHAT?! You’re kidding me?!” It seemed every possible emotion came to a crescendo when Danni started laughing and crying all at once. “She’s at the donut shop!”

Exhilaration and fear rolled into jubilant laughter in the streets as the news quickly spread that all was well. Tears flowed in every household for the pure joy of knowing little Ashley was alright.

We raced to the shop to collect our missing little girl. I drove because Danni would have nearly killed us all just to get there two seconds sooner. It took everything in her person to keep from jumping out of the car and running when we hit one red light. Kendall held her hand from the back seat and belted out, “Mom!” whenever Danni squeezed it too tightly. There are almost three miles and exactly fourteen “Mom’s!” between our house and the donut shop. Danni hit the pavement running and blasted through the glass door to find Ashley, face just covered with chocolate and crème filling, sitting on the counter next to the register.

In seconds, Danni’s face was also covered. Of course, Ashley was startled—to her, this was all part of the plan—get donuts and wait for the family, which had now arrived. By the time Kendall and I got inside, it looked like the both of them had been eating liquid fudge for hours. Ashley, by then, had figured out that she might be in trouble though she didn’t know exactly why; but, she knew her punishment would, for some reason, include being kissed and squeezed to death, and perhaps even being eaten alive, by her own mother.

After the emotional reunion, I looked at the man who was standing on the other side of the counter with a proud grin. “Thank you for keeping an eye on her.” I extended my hand.

“No problem at all. She’s a real neat kid,” he replied as he shook my hand.

I turned to Ashley, still smothered in her mother’s arms, “So you just rode your bike here… couldn’t wait for the rest of us… just git the donut?”

Ashley gave me the universal shoulder shrug, letting me know that rhetorical questions are wasted on seven year-olds.

“How far away do you live?” came the voice from behind the counter.

“Just about three miles up,” I answered.

“That’s a pretty good ride, Hot Wheels,” he told her with a smile.

She threw out a bold thumbs up and exclaimed, “It was worth it!” Ashley’s got a knack for saying just the right thing to lighten the mood.

“Come on, Hot Wheels, let’s get you cleaned up,” offered Kendall, who was doing a great job of keeping composed throughout this ordeal. “Um, Mom?” Kendall hinted to her mother, who was also in desperate need of a towel.

“Oh! Right! Coming with… got it.” Danni’s emotions had subsided back to within the realm of humility.

“Well, that was fun,” said the slender man.

“Yeah!” I started, “Hey, I’m Beau.”

“Jack.”

“Jack, what do I owe you here… you know what, we were coming here for donuts, so we’re getting donuts! I’ll wait for the girls to come back.” I was rambling nervously and didn’t even really know why.

“No problem at all. What can I get you to chew on in the meantime?” he asked with a rescuing man-to-man voice.

“You got anything with alcohol in it?”

It wasn’t a particularly funny quip, but we laughed like little girls at one of Kendall’s slumber parties. Hardy laughter is a man’s S.O.P. when a public display of emotion is about to happen. It was actually quite convenient to help mask the pesky tears that showed up. A few minutes later, the girls joined us, we ordered up a baker’s dozen with a round of chocolate milks, and Jack and Ashley told us their side of the story. Danni had asked him what we could do to repay him for his kindness. He told us he was starting up a side business doing karaoke at kids’ parties and that we could help him by just spreading the word. In the months since then, he’s done four parties on our street alone—not a bad set of pipes on this guy—and he does a bang-up job on “You Aint Never Had a Friend Like Me.”

By the end of our little visit, Ashley had realized what everyone had been through on her account and had cried along with her mom and sister as they relived the recent events along with our new friend, Jack. It was a heck of a start to a Saturday, that’s for sure. On our way out, Jack had gone to the back to gather his things—his shift had ended a good half-hour ago. Ashley made us stop and wait for him to come out. She insisted that she had to give him something before we left. Of course, we all knew she wanted to give him a hug, so we agreed to wait as we piled her bike into the back of our SUV. When Jack came out, Ashley went over to him. We watched with an endearing anticipation.

“Hey, Hot Wheels, did you forget something?” Jack asked as she approached.

We could see from inside the car that she reached into her little fanny pack, pulled something out, and gave it to him. Turns out she really did just want to give him something, though we couldn’t tell what it was. We were all a bit disappointed that it wasn’t what we’d thought it was going to be. I thought, for sure, she would show some typical, little girl affection for her new buddy. Maybe she’d had enough affection for one day.

“Hey, Hot Wheels, did you forget something?”

“No, it’s just that… I said I only had seven red gummies for you… and well… I was holding out.”

Next chapter-- https://theprose.com/post/564099/the-second-rape-of-dr-emily-pershing-c4

Or start at the beginning -- https://theprose.com/post/564095

Chapter 4

Kendall and I dropped Danni and Hot Wheels off at the house and took off for the nearest cul-de-sac for what would begin, what I predicted would be, a series of weekly doses of sheer automotive terror. Kendall’s giddiness gradually turned into grave trepidation—which was good as far as I was concerned. Comfort is the ultimate goal, but in the meantime, I wanted to know there’s a degree of respect for the potential for tragedy, so I would take fear over cockiness every time. I picked a nice, easy spot from which to start and… we traded seats.

“What are you doing?” I asked as Kendall sat motionless in the driver’s seat.

“Shhh… I’m saying a prayer,” she said quietly.

She was way ahead of me. I hadn’t realized this was going to be a religious experience, but who was I to pass up an opportunity to get the Lord’s attention before embarking on our epic journey to the end of Wilson Street and back. We took a minute to ourselves and once we both had our composure, she was ready to begin her “pre-movement” ritual. Since she was very young, Kendall has always taken a moment to plan her trip, whether it was a bike ride down the street or just a walk from her bedroom to the bathroom. Danni and I had figured she was gathering up the will to commit to the idea of expending energy; but, eventually she divulged that she was just making sure that wherever she was going was really the place she wanted to be. It’s baffling to think about how much time would have been saved throughout my life if I only possessed such wisdom and self-discipline. Hubris perhaps, but whatever form of pride it is, I still find myself wasting trips to places that hold nothing in store for me other than the reminder of Kendall’s insight.

Teaching her now, I couldn’t help but think back on the day we spent learning to ride her bike for the first time. She was so small. Kendall’s always been a quick learner, and stubborn like her mother; she was up and riding within fifteen minutes—no training wheels—she would have nothing to do with them. I remember having mixed feelings because she took to it so quickly, and because I enjoyed it so much that I wanted it to last much, much longer—what a proud moment. Now, as I watch her from the passenger’s seat of the family Expedition, once again, she seems so small. She adjusts her mirrors, she studies the pedals, the instruments, her surroundings. It’s always fun to watch them processing information. Sometimes I take a bit of pride in just knowing that there’s anything going on in there at all.

“Takin’ it all in?” I asked to break the tension.

“Jus… you know what… okay… I’ll…”

“Alright.” I backed down.

Sometimes it’s really amazing how much she’s like her mother. With another minute or so of contemplation, she was ready to go. She gave herself a quick nod and reached for the key.

“Hold on a second…” I interrupted, “… you’ve got a plan?”

“Yup,” she said confidently.

“That’s good,” I agreed, “but having a plan is only good for knowing where you’re going and how to get there. There’s a lot of stuff you can’t plan for though.”

“I know,” she assured me, “that’s why I want to have the easy stuff out of the way before I go. I don’t want to be one of those people Mom always yells at cuz they don’t know where they’re going. They end up driving around like idiots and then they’re not paying attention to the road anymore—just the buildings, and trying to figure out where they went wrong. Mom already taught me!”

“You see how upset you’re getting—and we haven’t even left yet.”

With squinted eyes, she said, “Touché, Father.” A newly composed Kendall quietly gathered herself.

“You are wise, young Tripper,” I said in my best Shaolin monk impression, “Now, you are ready.”

We spent about an hour driving to and fro, all around the neighborhood. There was only one time when I seriously considered jumping out to save my own life, and we did have to go back and talk to the Mollenheimer’s after Kendall’s attention had briefly switched from the road to the “cute boy” who was waxing his fender over on Linden—they were very understanding and quite inspirational. Randy Mollenheimer had pulled a brilliant evasive maneuver and rescued Kendall (and more importantly, me) from a low speed fender bender. All in all, it was a pretty good lesson. Any one you can walk away from… right?

Afterward, we went back to the house and, of course, I got out and kissed the ground—Kendall was not amused. Danni and Ashley were gone, as I had suspected. Kendall tossed me the keys with a perfect no-look, behind the back pass that hit me square in the chest because I was doing the no-look, not paying attention, what the hell just hit me in the chest, pass reception. She hustled off to pee and I grabbed a beer from the fridge—but didn’t open it. I put it back on the shelf and waited for her to emerge.

“Hey, Tripper,” I said as she was turning the wrong way down the hall, “Come here a minute.”

She reluctantly came into the kitchen and plopped down on the stool at the bar. She said nothing—just looked at me and raised her eyebrows as if to say, “Well? I’m here.”

“So…,” I began awkwardly, “you’re a… uh…”

“Girl?” she added.

“Yeah. One of those,” I confirmed.

“Okay…” she said cautiously.

“And… well, you’re mother…”

“Also a girl,” she interjected supportively.

“Yeah, well, here’s what I’m thinking: You know our anniversary is coming up, and I was thinking about doing something…”

“Weird?”

“No… it’s a good plan—I just… I could use your advice,” I said innocently.

“Really?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“Really.”

“What’s the plan?” she asked as she reveled in her newfound authority.

“Let’s go,” I said and motioned to the door.

She jumped off of the barstool and grabbed the car keys off the counter.

“Ah, we’re actually leaving the neighborhood for this,” I warned with a crushing blow to her enthusiasm. She reluctantly handed the keys back to me. “Fine, but I may have to charge you a fee for my advice, you know.”

I looked on at her whimsical attempt at a power play. “You know, your mother doesn’t have to know about the Mollenheimer incident…”

“Hmmm… now that I think about it,” she surrendered, “it would be insulting to try to put a price on my advice anyway.”

We drove to Breckenridge Park, which is a pretty “sizey” park—as far as parks go—they say it’s a couple-hundred acres with lots of trees, ponds, a little amphitheater, winding paths, and as Ashley figured out years ago, lots of places to get lost.

“I haven’t been here in years… not since Ashley was… probably three,” she said. “You used to go to work, and Mom would take care of Ashley during the day before picking me up after school, and then we’d hit the park to discuss all the wonderful things I learned in school.”

“I remember it well,” I replied, “My work day almost always ended with a rendezvous at Breckenridge with you girls—not bad living. I loved it, actually. But then your mom started working again and you guys had child care service right in her building so evenings at the park got less and less frequent until it was eventually just a memory.”

“Yeah, that sucks.”

“Man, I used to love coming to the park when we first moved to the new house. You were eight when we first came, and Ashley was hardly a lump in your mother’s dress.”

“Gross.”

“We were on our way to the movies, remember, because you wanted to see ‘Nemo,’ and on the way, we drove by Breckenridge.”

“Nemo rocks!”

“Agreed. You’d been yapping from the moment we left the house about how Mina and Rachel and that ‘stupid boy’ had already seen it, and how you couldn’t wait to see all the fishes and the sharks and the star fishes and the… then all of a sudden you were quiet. Your mom and I looked at the back seat simultaneously to see if you were hurt or something. You had seen the park and all the trees and green grass—couldn’t take your eyes off of it. You could see the first pond from the street with its fountain and all the ducks and geese and kids running around, remember?”

“Yeah, that was awesome.”

We’d come to the Midwest from a little railroad town south of Albuquerque so she hadn’t seen anything like that before. She was mesmerized. Danni and I glanced at each other and we both knew the plan. After Nemo and his new friends were in the ocean, we headed straight for Breckenridge. Now we were back again. As always, we immediately started off walking toward the big, “main” pond with the fountain—it was as if nothing had changed. I used to hold Kendall’s hand to thwart any running off, as children sometimes do in a place like this. She’s only a few years older now, but so many things have

changed about Kendall since the last time we were here—including the fact the she no longer requires a restraining hand to help her control herself. As we began the walk toward the pond, we were curious to see if there had been any changes; my mind was concentrating on the surroundings, ready for the inherent disappointments that come with the “upgrades” to an otherwise familiar place. I couldn’t help but notice, however, the emptiness of my hand. That was the first thing I noticed they had changed.

We joined the numbers of people who strolled along the waterside. “Dad?” she broke the silence.

“Tripper,” I replied.

“Have you ever noticed that wherever you go: school, work, the mall, restaurants, and stuff; people are always in a hurry? They’re always walking really fast to get to the next place they need to be, right?”

“I know what you’re saying,” I confirmed.

“But when they go to a park, everyone just seems to…”

“Stroll?” I said.

“Yeah, stroll.”

We both instinctively looked at our feet as Kendall began to exaggerate the “strolling” in her walk—I couldn’t help but join in. We strolled. We talked. We strolled some more.

“Wow,” she said, “It seems like we just started walking and I just realized we’ve done a complete lap around the pond!”

“Whoa, you’re right. Hmmm… did I say anything important?”

“I don’t think so. Did I?”

“Probably,” I joked as we continued strolling.

A toddler with a bag of popcorn was being accosted by a hoard of ducks and laughing uncontrollably as his mother fumbled with her cell phone to try to get pictures. Kendall had hers out in an instant and within moments had enough footage to run it on the six o’clock news. She went up to the lady and told her she could “send the pics” to her since she had clearly missed the opportunity. The woman gratefully accepted. After all the waterside data transfer was complete, the woman thanked her again, and then looked at me with another word of thanks.

Kendall began to walk toward me and said, “So, Mr. LeCrae, why have you brought me here today?”

I thought it was cute as she turned to her advisory role, but I noticed the woman’s look of gratitude had suddenly turned to that of one who is quite appalled. She quickly scurried away.

I anxiously escaped with, “Well… Miss LeCrae…” It was too late; the damage was done. “Your mother and I,” I continued, “Have an anniversary coming up!”

I hoped I got through to the suspicious lady with that proclamation, but she was too far off. I turned my attention back to Kendall.

“Yeah, we covered that,” she said without a clue about the drama she had innocently created.

“Right,” I shook it off and gathered myself, “so here’s what I’m thinking: I want to do a second honeymoon.”

Kendall’s eyes widened. I couldn’t tell if it was because she was excited about the idea, or if she was excited because she instantly knew that meant we’d be leaving for a weekend.

“Dad, that is so sweet,” she said. Of course! The woman is long gone, and now she calls me dad. “Where are you going to take her?”

“Well, that’s just the thing. I want to do the honeymoon thing, but you know how tight we are on funds right now.”

“You’re gonna take her to the park?” she asked, deflated.

“No,” I demanded, “I’m not going to take her on a honeymoon in the park. I was thinking that, instead of a honeymoon, we could just re-do our vows… in the park.”

Again, the eyes widened.

“Come with me!” she said with a newfound enthusiasm.

We walked with all the effort we could gather without actually breaking out into a run.

“What happened to strolling?” I pleaded.

“I have… look… just c’mon,” she insisted.

“You don’t think it’ll still be there if we walk too slow?”

“Fine! We’ll ‘stroll’ if you can’t keep up,” she said, chagrinned, “I have this place. When I was a kid,” (apparently she’s not a kid anymore), “there was this place and nobody knows where it is, well, probably a lot of people know where it is but, I used to pretend that nobody knew where it was, and I would pretend that I was getting married in this awesome, grassy, hidden place with all of my friends.”

“Really?!” I followed her fervor, but I couldn’t help but wonder why little girls so often fantasize about getting married. Who does a six year-old marry in her mind?

“Yes, really,” she continued, “and I know exactly how we’ll do it.”

“We?”

“Yeah! We! C’mon,” she demanded as our pace gradually grew back to a near run.

She led the way, for about six miles—it was probably less than a mile actually, but it seemed like at least six with the hurried gait and all. We headed toward a thicket of small evergreens with a faintly worn path heading into its forefront, and what looked like a densely treed area at its rear. I began to think maybe she was right when she said nobody knew about this place. As if she’d been there just yesterday, Kendall led me through the smaller trees and well into the larger ones as well. I imagined how a little girl’s imagination must have been running wild in a place like this, with everything so huge to such a small person.

“Everything’s so much bigger than I remember it,” she exclaimed to my surprise, “It’s like it’s all grown since the last time I was here.”

“It’s only… been… a few years,” I explained. I was awestruck. I never would have imagined that such a place existed so close to our home. It was like another world.

“How is it possible you found this place as a kid?” (suggesting she was once a kid.)

“I came here with Mina and her mom,” she explained.

We walked a few hundred feet through the large tree trunks and just when my thoughts were beginning to turn from marveling at the beauty of this place, to being concerned about how far we’d gone, we took a hard left between two towering pines and there it was—a small field, maybe half an acre in size, surrounded by trees, virtually untouched by others. I was stunned, not only by its splendor, but by its solitude. I stood there, quiet, amazed. Kendall looked at me the same way Danni and I looked at her when we first drove by the park years ago.

“Dad,” she said softly. She looked up at me, there between the piney, sylvan entryway, with a proud look on her face, and told me, “I know exactly what’s going through your mind.” She went on, “Here’s what you’re gonna do: you get rid of me and Ash for the day. You tell Mom you’re taking her out to dinner—something lame.” (Damn. We’ve always gone out to dinner.) “But tell her you found this really neat stuff and you want to show her because… you know how much she likes nature and stuff. Tell her that a couple days before, your boss has you… researching tree rings or something, so anyway, you came out here to find the biggest trees you could find and saw this weird purplish mossy stuff growing all over the side of this one tree. You bring her out here, get down on your knee, and propose to her… again… and you present her with a magical popcorn necklace,” she paused in a sort of daze.

“Or a ring,” I suggested.

“Yeah, or a ring,” she snapped out of it, “then, you bring her around the corner to the entrance and there we are!”

“We? Again?”

“Yeah, me and Ash and all your friends.” She danced into the open field. “It’s all set up with rows of white chairs, a big pretty arch with vines and flowers, a gigantic table filled with all kinds food and drinks, and then a carriage will take you away to your new house,” she described.

“Tripper,” I said solemnly, “This isn’t some crazy fantasy.” She was silenced, her enthusiasm completely deflated. “There’s no way,” I explained, “that we could ever get a carriage through these trees…” I could see her holding her breath. “But we are definitely going to make everything else happen just the way you described it!”

She screamed with excitement. The plan was solidified with a hug and we got to work on the details immediately. We spent a good two hours discussing the intricate details of the wedding. I couldn’t help but get that sinking feeling that someday we’d be going over details of Kendall’s wedding and not my own. It’s hard to even think for a moment about handing her over to some schlub someday.

I remember, like yesterday, the day Danni told me she was pregnant. Kendall was… well, let’s just say she was a surprise. We hadn’t planned on having kids for quite a while, but there we were…

“So, how was work?” Danni asked once I had settled in on my favorite relaxing spot.

“Fine,” I replied slowly. She had never asked me that before, so I knew something was up.

“That’s good,” she said as she built up the courage to tell me.

“You?” I volleyed back.

“Good, good!” she returned.

“Ssssoooooo…”

“So…” she said, “I’m… pregnant.”

The next thing I remember is… I was thrilled. We both had our careers in our forethoughts, but everywhere we went, we’d see kids playing with their parents. It was a small town, so we often got invited to baby showers, birthday parties, graduations, and the like. The birthday parties were what really got me thinking. For Danni, it was the baby showers. Now it was her turn to have a shower. Everything changed… and we couldn’t have been happier.

Kendall showed up about two weeks early and took us all by surprise again—February 21, 1995—seven pounds, eight ounces. There were some complications with the birth and I wasn’t able to be with her. Everything went okay, but as you can imagine, I was terrified for my wife and daughter. We were at the hospital in Albuquerque—my parents drove all night—and Mr. and Mrs. Kelly had been there almost from the start. Percy and Luke weren’t far behind. We got the word that everything had gone just as well as it could have gone, and Danni and my new baby girl were doing fine.

Keeping my parents up to speed, I had been describing to the Kelly’s the symptoms, the water breaking, the contractions, the rush to the hospital, the complications, and all the procedures. I’ve always been fairly verbose. There hadn’t been an event that I couldn’t describe at the very moment, giving any standers-by the play by play as things unfolded, but as soon as the nurse held her up behind the infamous glass wall for us all to see, my dad said I was speaking in gibberish. I was a wreck—we all were. He said, for the first time he could remember, I was completely tongue-tied—tripped up by a tiny baby—and thanks to Dad, “Tripper” had her nickname… even before she had her birth name.

Fifteen years later, Tripper was planning our second wedding. She and I had agreed on how everything would look, sound, smell, and even taste. Once it had been decided, we started walking back, and this time… we strolled. On this walk, she took my hand, proving once again, she knew exactly what I had been thinking.

We cleared the thicket, hand in hand, and who was strolling by but the lady and her young son. Nice… just perfect. We kept walking. Funny how this time the walk back seemed so short.

As we walked past the big pond, Kendall started giggling to herself.

“What’s so funny?” I pried.

“That lady totally thought you were a child molester.”

The little runt knew exactly what she was doing the whole time.

“Yup,” I agreed subtly, “Yes, she did.”

I paused as she giggled on.

“I hate you, Tripper,” I said lovingly.

She kissed me on the cheek and gently said, “I hate you too, Dad.”

Next chapter-- https://theprose.com/post/564103/the-second-rape-of-dr-emily-pershing-c5

Or start at the beginning -- https://theprose.com/post/564095

Chapter 5

Once we got back into the neighborhood, Kendall took over driving. We pulled a Chinese Fire Drill in the middle of the street and just as we took off, Danni came driving up behind us in the Jetta. We casually drove home, pulled into the driveway, and got out like nothing out-of-the-ordinary had happened at all. Danni was a little taken back when she saw me get out of the passenger side, and gave Kendall a little, “Not bad, Girl,” as she walked up to greet us.

“Where’d you guys go?” Kendall asked.

“I have been sworn to secrecy,” Ashley replied stoically.

Ashley often has little secrets that she reveals in a day or so when properly bribed by Kendall.

“Mom, just tell us. You know I’m going to get it out of her anyway,” Kendall bargained.

“And she’s looking forward to it,” Danni countered along with an about face back toward the garage. “Where did you guys go?”

Kendall and I looked at each other behind her back and smiled.

“We did some driving around the neighborhood, and we went to the park,” I answered.

Danni turned and sternly looked Kendall in the eyes. “You went to the park?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yup,” she said confidently, “we walked around the pond, took some pictures of a kid getting mauled by some ducks—that ended well, then we just walked around the park and talked.”

Danni looked at me this time, searching for a chink in the armor. “Hmph,” she grunted, “that sounds nice.” She found no weakness although she clearly suspected something was amiss. “What did you eat?”

“Uhhh…”

“You didn’t feed your child?” she asked.

Kendall chimed in, “We were gonna wait for you.”

“Oh,” Danni replied sheepishly.

She had saved me—not good. Now I owe her one.

Kendall continued her assault, “So, you already ate without us?”

Danni was stuck. I thought to myself, “This girl is good.”

She went on, “Well, that’s okay; I can make us some sandwiches or something.”

Man, this girl is good! She rescued her new ally, me, trapped her mother, then let her off the hook again, rescuing her, and made herself look like the considerate, generous child I always thought she was—but suddenly my concepts are shaken—I’ve seen the master at work. All of a sudden, I’m starting to pity the poor schlep who asks this girl to marry him. I followed the girls into the house with a far greater (and fearful) understanding of just how tightly wound around my daughter’s little finger I actually am.

Danni disappeared into the bedroom while Kendall and I grabbed our quick lunch in the kitchen. We occasionally stole a glance toward one another in our new pact of conspiracy. We adjourned into the family room, where we would normally sit and watch TV, but neither of us grabbed for the remote—we knew the evening held something extraordinary in store, and those events would soon begin to unfold.

Danni came out of the bedroom just as Kendall was finishing up her lunch. I was in the kitchen, ridding myself of the paper plate that formerly held mine. She motioned for me to join her and Kendall in the family room. I took a seat on the couch next to Kendall and Danni posted herself, with her socked feet folded under her, on the recliner, which swiveled to face us. She took a deep, deep breath and exhaled with a sigh.

“Well,” she began, “there’s no easy way to tell you… to let you know the story… my secret, but I need you guys to know; and, I think the best way for you to find out is to do it the way I found out.”

She was unnerved. If not for the fact that they made perfect sense, her words would have seemed almost… rambling. My curiosity had the best of me. My presumption was not accurate at all—this was no “girl” thing—she didn’t even know she had a secret until she “found out”? I went from stoic to uneasy in one sentence.

She continued, “Kendall, I’m going to show you first—for two reasons: first, it’s more important for you know; and second,” she said with a smile, “your father will do a better job of waiting for you and me, than you would do waiting for us.”

“That’s true,” Kendall agreed.

“So, you and me are gonna go sit with Shaggy and learn some stuff.” Danni stepped out of her chair to take Kendall by the hand. “I want you to know that… if you decide, at any point, that you don’t want to know any more, you can just stop. I’ll understand. Believe me; it took me a few tries to get through it all.”

They started for the bedroom and I stayed put on the couch, mind racing, still taking it all in.

“What’s this all about anyway?” Kendall asked.

Danni paused. “It’s about your grandmother,” she answered solemnly.

At that point, I would have given everything in my wallet, and refrigerator, to have not heard that. See, Danni was adopted. The girls know that, but “grandma” to them has always meant either my mother or Danni’s adoptive mother, Grandma Kelly. Since we all already knew about her adoption, and it couldn’t be something regarding my mother, that meant it was something about her mother—her real mother. Danni was right when she suggested I would do a better job of waiting patiently than Kendall would have, but that little nugget of information would have me reeling until it was finally my turn to “learn some stuff.”

While the girls are in the bedroom, I’ll tell you a little bit about Danni.

I met her, Danielle Kelly, when we were both just out of high school. I had decided to become a railroad engineer and, growing up in Phoenix, I knew I would have a great shot at becoming a big fish if I went to a small pond. My parents weren’t exactly thrilled, but they were supportive nonetheless. I packed up a few bags and took off for “Hub City,” Belen, NM.

I got a job working for the railroad right away—they were always hiring kids who were willing and able to carry heavy stuff. Percy Kelly worked as a switchman and we became friends right away. After a month or so, he told me, with some degree of confidence, that I was officially cool enough to be introduced to his sister. The announcement came from out of the blue—I didn’t even know he had a sister—truth is, I wasn’t terribly thrilled about the implied offer anyway. Percy Kelly was an abnormally large young man. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was Samoan. At the site of this mountainous being, the last thing on the mind of a skinny, broke kid is, “I wonder if he has a sister.”

I didn’t want to insult him, so I casually agreed, “That’s cool, thanks.” To my dismay, he invited me to his parents’ house for dinner that very night. He knew, quite well, that I had nothing better to do, so I hesitantly accepted.

There was a lot to be learned that evening with the Kelly’s. When I knocked on the door, I expected to see a man at least remotely similar to Percy in stature. What I saw was a man not much larger than myself. I told the man that I was looking for the Kelly residence and he said, “You must be Beau! C’mon in!”

It turns out young Percy was adopted. His parents could not conceive children so they adopted instead. Percy was the oldest, Lucas (Luke) was the youngest, and Danielle was the saddest. Her demeanor epitomized “melancholy.” Equaling her sadness was her extraordinary beauty. She was truly radiant. I played it cool—I was Percy’s guest, after all. By evening’s end, I was part of the family. They had a rare appreciation for a young man out on his own, away from his family, and this was certainly a family unafraid to take in rouges.

Mrs. Kelly, after dinner and few rousing games of Canasta, made a point of asking Danni if she would like to take me along to walk Stray, the aptly named family dog. I felt suddenly uncomfortable as this night appeared to have been a set-up all along. My discomfort wasn’t because of any unwillingness to talk with her; it was because she certainly didn’t seem like someone who would require any outside effort to find a friend.

Mr. Kelly created an opportunity to speak with me man-to-man in private. “Son, you ever eat so much your pants don’t fit when you leave the restaurant?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Exactly! It’s because you’re still a young man. You see, later in life, your stomach won’t hold itself in so nice, and you’ll find yourself unbuttoning your pants once you’ve left the restaurant. Then as you get older, you’ll unbutton right there at the table—might even do a pre-emptive unbuttoning before you even go in. Well, then it won’t be long before you’re sitting in the car and realize how much better things would be if you unzipped as well, then you can really let it hang out. Are you following me Son?”

“I guess so…”

“Good. See Son, my father is a man of considerable age, and when you get to be as old as he is, you’ll probably find that you’re sitting at a restaurant table unbuttoned, unzipped, and not giving a squirt who sees it! Do you understand what I’m trying to say to you Son?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said confidently—having no idea what he was talking about.

“Good,” he nodded approvingly, “you go out and have a good walk.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He was absolutely right; and, one of these days I’m going to ask him what all that meant. I think of that conversation almost every time we eat out… and I unbutton myself at the table.

Danni and I walked for hours—but it sure started off slow. It was a good four or five minutes before either of us spoke. It was awkward at first, but then it actually seemed kind of nice. There wasn’t much to see since it was pretty dark, but I still looked around to try to get a handle on the area. I caught her occasionally looking over at me just for a second, as if she wanted to say something, but she never did. Eventually, I was going to have to say something.

“What kind of dog is Stray?” I asked, hoping to break the ice.

“Yellow one,” she said briskly.

Her answer was cause for reflection. I tried a different approach. “I write poetry.”

“Yeah? I like poetry.”

“Hmm, too bad,” I replied.

“Why?”

“Nothing around here rhymes,” I said smoothly.

It was another few minutes before either of us spoke. This time, she broke the silence.

“Can I ask you something,” she asked.

“Anything.”

“Why did you come here?” she asked—and she asked with a look of true sincerity.

“You mean, why did I come to Belen?”

“Uh-uh. Why did you come to my house tonight?” she clarified.

“I don’t know—Percy invited me, so I came,” I said plainly.

“He didn’t tell you nothing ’bout me?” she asked without looking at me. She expected an answer that I wasn’t going to give.

“Nope. We’ve been friends since I started at the railroad, and this morning he just told me I was invited for dinner. He knows I aint got nobody… no friends, I mean… ’round here, so I guess he figured I could use some company, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know. Reason Percy’s so big is cuz most of him’s all heart,” she said, “My mom and him have been trying to find me someone to talk to since all of my friends are either gone or… think I’m gone.”

“They think you’re gone?”

“Not gone, gone, but like… loopy gone,” she explained.

“Hmm. You don’t seem loopy to me,” I assured her.

“Yeah, there’s nothing wrong with me like that, I guess. It’s just that… a couple years ago I kinda freaked out over something personal that happened and I… well I guess I didn’t handle it very well—not that anyone would. But still I treated people pretty bad and I actually ended up leaving school for a while because of it.”

“Wow, what happened?”

“Can’t tell you,” she said sadly, “I don’t like talking about it anyway—don’t even like thinking about it really.”

“Well, if it makes you sad, then I don’t want to talk about it either,” I said.

She stopped and finally looked directly at me, “That’s the right answer, Beau. ’Bout time somebody figured that out.” She smiled. “What kind of a name is Beau?” she asked.

“Beau LeCrae!” I said confidently, “It’s French—probably means something,” I proclaimed, which earned another of her brilliant smiles. “But my grandparents (my father’s parents) came here from Andorra, which is a tiny little country between France and Spain that nobody’s ever heard of.”

“Isn’t that Samantha’s mother on Bewitched?” she asked snidely.

“That’s Endora, this is Andorra.”

“Hmm. I think you’re making this up,” she jested.

“I might be,” I jested in return.

I’ll spare you the boring details of the rest of our walk, but obviously, it went well. We got back to the house about two hours later and found the whole family sitting out on the front porch drinking coffee and cider. Danni walked up ahead of me and Stray led the way, happy to finally be home again. She and Stray jumped up the porch steps and merely said, “We’re back,” before ducking inside the house. Everyone stopped everything. Mrs. Kelly nearly dropped her coffee cup.

“Did you see?” Mrs. Kelly asked of the other three.

“I did!” replied Mr. Kelly as I stopped at the base of the steps.

Everyone seemed to be quite amazed that she and Stray made such an incredible leap up the three stairs. Percy stood up and walked toward me as it was clear I had intended to say my thank you’s and goodbye’s as it had become a bit late. He walked with me back to my truck after everyone had sung out their nice-to-meet-you’s and such.

“Really, I appreciate you having me over,” I said as I shook my large friend’s hand, “It was nice to be around people without carrying brake parts the whole time.”

“You’re welcome,” the big Samoan said proudly with a huge smile, “You gonna call her?”

“Ahh, she didn’t… um…” I was lost for words.

“She likes you,” Percy said with a laugh, “I can tell.”

“What, because she jumped up those steps?”

We heard the screen door close and we both looked back the house to see that Danni had come out. Mrs. Kelly immediately pulled her over and started talking to her—no doubt interrogating her about where we’d been for so long.

“No, dude, she always jumps up the steps. She smiled and said, ‘We’re back’.” he explained.

“Ahhh, that explains it,” I said sarcastically.

“Trust me, dude, I can tell.”

Danni yelled, “Hey Beau!” as she walked out toward us.

“See ya at work, Bro,” Percy said as he headed back to the house.

Danni came up and assumed Percy’s position in leaning up against the truck. She asked, “So, when we were walking, do you remember me smiling?”

“Yeah, many times… you know… not that I was really paying attention or anything,” I answered awkwardly.

She rebutted almost angrily, “Well, you smiled a lot too!”

I wasn’t quite sure why it was important, but I concurred, “Yes, yes I did.”

It was horribly awkward. She was clearly having mixed feelings about something and I didn’t have a clue what to say or do.

I changed the subject—“So, Percy thinks I should call you.” I didn’t realize how stupid that was to say until after I said it.

“He does?” she replied, “but otherwise you wouldn’t?”

I scrambled, “Actually I was just going to come by again, but if you’d rather I just call…”

“No! I mean, sure, you can call… or come by… or call and then come by,” she blushed.

“Okay, so I’ll call you.”

“Okay… oh, do you have a pen?” she asked.

I scrambled in the truck for the pen I saw in there a few days ago.

“Here it is,” I exclaimed triumphantly.

She took the pen, and my hand, and wrote her number on it—it was stupid, but at the time, it was magical. I still remember the feeling of the ball point rolling across my palm. My heart was beating—we were really quite pathetic, and not just because we were being cute. Fact is, I had her number already. She had clearly forgotten that I was already friends with Percy… and honestly, I had forgotten too.

“I’ll call you tomorrow night,” I said as I piled into the truck.

“See ya,” she said quietly.

I started up the old Chevy and began to pull away when she hurried back to the passenger window.

“Hey, Beau,” she said with a stern sobriety.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for walking Stray with me.”

“It was fun, huh?” I replied.

“Yeah… it was fun,” she said—and off I went.

The next day, at work, Percy explained what was happening. He had known she liked me because when she bounded up the steps, she smiled. That was it. He told me she got some news about her real mom a while back and it made her pretty crazy for a while. She really did drive her friends away by acting like a crazy person. She was over it now, but her friends had written her off and Belen being a small town, there weren’t too many options for building new friendships—except for with a newcomer who was also looking for new friends. Percy told me his mom had charged him with finding any new people who came to town. She was especially happy with him for finding a potential suitor as well. He also told me… he told me that nobody in his family had seen her smile for over two years. That’s what her mother had told her when she walked out onto the porch—she had smiled. Suddenly it all made sense.

“My mom blames herself for what happened to Danielle. She thought it was time for her to know what happened with her birth mother, but it definitely wasn’t time yet.”

“So what happened?”

“Don’t know,” he shrugged with his giant shoulders, “Only her and the parents know that.”

“Huh. Well, what made your mom think it was time for her to know?”

“It was her sixteenth Kelly-day” he said.

“Kelly-day.”

“Yeah, we don’t really have birthdays, so we celebrate the day we each became Kellys,” he

explained, “Dad’s adopted too. Mom became a Kelly on their anniversary, and we all joined in along the way at some point. I know my real birthday, but Danni and Luke don’t even know for sure. So… Kelly-day.”

“I get it. So she got some news about her birth mother, tripped out a bit, people steered clear from her and now she’s smiling again.”

“You got it, Bro,” he said, and back to work we went.

She showed me around after work that day and before long, we were nearly inseparable. We got married after about a year. I quit the railroad for a research company and Danni had already decided she was going to become a pharmacist. My company paid for my college while I worked for them full-time. It was a schedule that would challenge most couples starting out in a youthful marriage, but Danni really loved me for some reason, and I didn’t deserve her at all. It didn’t matter what hoops we had to jump through individually, as long as at the end of the day, we were together.

We honeymooned in Hawaii—the Big Island. It was there I learned a piece of advice that I’ve often dug out to help me through difficult times. The advice: Eddie would go. When things seem too dangerous, too impossible, I remember: Eddie would go. I used to think about doing cool stuff. I would daydream for a moment about how neat it would be to just pull over and go climb a hill to see what there might be in a little cave I might see from the road; then I’d dismiss the idea and go on my way. Now, I take the time to actually fulfill the silly notions that occasionally come to me. Danni often finds herself joining me on these little adventures; and now, where most people have only thoughts and daydreams, we have memories and stories to share. Why? Because… Eddie would go. No fear, no excuses, just go.

Now it was my turn to go again. Kendall and Danni came out of the bedroom—Shaggy knew yet another secret. Kendall was visibly shaken. They had been crying. It took about an hour and a half for them to emerge. Perhaps that was all the time needed for the story to be told—or maybe she had taken Danni up on her offer to quit when she didn’t want to know any more. Whatever the case, it was my turn now. My legs were weak but they found their strength as I rose to my feet. I hadn’t felt this nervous about anything since Kendall was born. She looked at me from across the room. Her face was sad, but still comforting. As I walked, I heard Kendall sobbing in her room. I began to dislike Eddie.

“She’s uhh…”

“I know,” Danni said, “I’ll check in on her. You don’t need me for this. It’s all in there.”

“She got through it?” I asked quietly.

“Uh-uh. She’s pretty tough though, she got through a lot.”

“She’s a trooper,” I said, easing my own moral.

“I’m gonna see if she wants to go get some ice cream,” Danni said, “that’s what I did. Good luck, I’ll see you at the end.”

They did go for ice cream—I could hear them leave as I had finished piecing together the unraveled scroll. There were many pages comprising the scroll, which I now have trouble saying because it’s not a scroll at all. I had always imagined it as just a couple of long pieces of paper, but there had to be fifty. There were at least three different types of paper included, and two very different types of handwriting. Once I had it reassembled, I took up a comfortable spot on the bed and began reading.

The following pages are transcribed from the papers which comprise the scroll. Again, they are almost exactly as they were when presented to me. They’re not meant to be entertaining or persuading; merely a compilation of personal notes, reflections, and transcripts. I’ll leave most of the spelling and grammar alone. It’ll be cleaned up bit, punctuated, deciphered from hand-written scribbles into keystrokes on a computer; nothing will be “translated” however, so the original meaning of the authors will remain raw and unchanged. I think of these papers simply as historical documents recounting the events of a few moments in some people’s lives. My job is to present them to you, to tell the story. You are free, of course, to make of it what you will. Having been briefly introduced to my family, I hope you will, at the very least, appreciate what the story means to us. Good luck, as Danni said, I’ll see you at the end.

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Chapter 6

The Accounts of Dr. Emily Pershing

August 5, 1972

War Memorial Hospital (WMH) - Leesville, Louisiana

My name is Dr. Emily Pershing. I am forty-two years old and have been a nurse for almost twenty years. I’ve been a doctor for almost three months now, having graduated after years of studying to become such. I have been hired at Piedmont Hospital in Atlanta. Today, I am twenty-seven days late for work. Some eight months ago, while I was on duty as a nurse here at WMH, a young girl was admitted. She’s been back in several times since then. With the help of her medical files, I’ll do my best to recollect the accounts of her visits. She won’t be here much longer. Could go either way. But one way or the other, I’ll be here with her til she’s gone. Right now, all we can do is wait. I have specific instructions in case things go bad. This is Gabby’s story.

December 13, 1971

WMH

Gabrielle Martaugh was admitted by Vernon Parish Sheriff’s Deputies Warren and Shatemer at 20:34 hours the previous night, Sunday. Deputy Warren, a female, stayed with Gabrielle as long as she could. I remember her shift ended at midnight, so she stayed with her. Held her hand. She was able to get a birthday out of her. 16. It was a slow night. We couldn’t reach her parents to get consent to treat her. It wasn’t for lack of trying. She wouldn’t give us any information other than her own name. The deputy and I explained to her that we couldn’t do anything for her unless she told us how to get ahold of them.

Somebody had beat her up pretty good. Scared the pants off her I thought. We both feared the worst. The deputy wanted nothing more than to figure out what happened and go get the SOB’s that done this. I don’t know what all her motivation was, but as far as I was concerned, I wanted them caught even more than the deputy did. Good thing she had the gun and I didn’t.

Deputy Warren asked me if we would need consent if she were eighteen. No. She suggested that we must have misunderstood what Miss Martaugh had said when she gave us her date of birth. She thought Gabrielle said April of ’53. Thinking back, I definitely heard April of ’53. I called the doctor in and we began to treat her immediately.

She’d been curled up in a ball since she’d come in. Now when she was moving around more, I could see the bruising. It was well after three in the morning when they had her stitched up. Cleaned up. Still not saying much. I could see the pain in her eyes. It wasn’t the physical pain. I had to step outside. There was no sign that she’d been raped and she wasn’t saying anything, but I recognized the eyes. I had my fears and this whole thing was drumming up some real bad memories.

Deputy Warren was still there. She’d been waiting in the lobby all this time waiting for her chance to get some answers. I told her she wasn’t saying much still. Told her it was common for female beating victims to hush up for a day or so. Told her there was a recovery process and emotions that come with that sort of thing. She guessed I might be talking from experience. Guessed right. She said she was attacked once on her daddy’s farm too, but she got out a couple screams and her daddy shot and killed the SOB before he could do what he planned to do. I wasn’t so lucky. Knowing what she knew now, about the both of us, she laughed a bit, and I could tell she was looking forward to paying a visit to the Martaugh residence.

We went back in and talked to Gabrielle, the both of us. We told her a bit about our own experiences with violence and how she wasn’t alone. The deputy done her very best to convince her that the sooner she talked to her, the better chance there was of catching the boys that done it… trying to get her to say something, anything about who done this to her. Still didn’t say nothing that would help though. Eventually, she fell asleep. *Frustrated, the deputy left soon after to do the same. Gave me her card to call her if anything worth while came up.

My shift was over now too. I stayed with her anyhow because I knew what was coming. The worst part was yet to come. The dreams. Oh I remember the dreams. Still have them now and again. They don’t scare me anymore but they sure used to. Scared the dickens out of me. I remember the faces. I remember thinking there was something I could have done. Or maybe something I shouldn’t have done. The first three nights I’d take a shower til the water run cold. Couldn’t get clean. My arms and throat hurt so bad. Sometimes I’d cry out in my sleep in the night. Hard sleeping at first.

Miss Martaugh just bawled. Sound asleep, but bawling like a child. It was painful to watch. Thought to wake her up just to help her end the memory, but her body needed sleep, so I just kept watch. Next thing I knew I woke up in the chair and she was setting up in her bed watching over me.

*“You should get on home,” she told me, “You prolly got family waiting on you. No sense carrying on here on account of me.” Couldn’t believe my ears. She was more concerned about me than about herself. Told her I’d stick around a while longer in case she needed anything. “Only thing I need’s a ride,” she said. I asked if she had any place to go, if she lived nearby. *“Been thinking on that all morning,” she said. “Figure I should prolly just go on home.”

We got her shined up pretty good and before we knew it Deputy Warren was back with a change of clothes for Miss Martaugh. Right Christian of her I think. I got her up to speed on what Gabby wanted to do, going home and all. She offered to give her a ride if she didn’t have one otherwise. That deputy sure took a liking to her right quick. Guess I did too. She took that ride home and I was glad to hear that she would. It would be better to have a deputy there, just in case whatever had happened, happened there. Maybe Gabby would tell Deputy Warren more about it. Maybe even who done it.

December 14

WMH

Deputy Warren came back to talk to the doctors after dropping Gabby off at home. Then she came to talk to me. I’ll never forget what she told me. She said Gabby’s daddy called the young girl a whore and told her to go inside and get supper ready. My jaw dropped nearly all the way to the floor. She said he didn’t say thank you, or ask who done it, or is she all right... nothing. Just get in the house and start supper. There was no question in her mind that her daddy had been the one to beat her up like that. He told her Gabby gets in fights now and again with some kids from school. Usually happens when one girl’s getting too familiar with another girl’s boyfriend. *She told me he said, “Sorry if I don’t look shocked. You get used to it.”

Gabby hadn’t said nothing about who was responsible for it, where it happened, nothing. Warren said it was all she could do not to pull Gabby out of there and take her home with her. That was about the least loving family she’d ever even heard of. She’d given her card to Gabby on the way, in case she remembered anything or just wanted to talk about it. I told her I done the same. The deputy’s boyfriend had gone out to the city that evening with some friends to see the new James Bond movie, so the two of us went to dinner that night and talked about Gabby, and what to do.

December 17

My home

Got a phone call late in the morning from Gabby from school. She’d been having trouble sleeping and wanted to talk about “stuff.” Said she didn’t want to talk to the school nurse about it. She asked me to come meet her at a the cemetery out toward Burr Ferry, near her house. Told her it might be a good idea if Deputy Warren could meet us but she said this wasn’t about “legal matters.” I had my suspicions. We planned to meet the next day at 10:00.

December 18

Plunkaway Cemetery - Burr Ferry

Gabby wasn’t hard to find under the old oak tree in the center of the small cemetery. Guess she figured she’d stand out better there. She wore blue jeans and a red sweatshirt with boots and a red bandana. That would have been pretty normal clothes that time of year, but I remember that December was real warm. Too warm for a sweatshirt. She wore her hair long. Natural, not like the other girls with their bops and wedges. She was a very pretty girl. Didn’t need to fancy herself up with the latest trends, just a pony tail tied with two red hair ties holding it in place, which were about the fanciest things about her, all in all.

We talked for a spell while we walked around the cemetery. Some old ones in there. Asked where she went to school and how long her family had been there. Asked her lots of small talk things to make sure we were both comfortable. Eventually she started asking the questions. Wanted to know if she could get sick from what happened. My heart just sunk like a rock. I was sure, right then, that she was saying she was raped. *“Yes, you sure can,” I told her.

Told her what Deputy Warren had told me about when she dropped her off. How her daddy called her what he did. Asked her about her mama and if she helped her at all. She said yes. Said she talks to her mama about just about everything. Lots of nasty things going around these days. I had to find a way to get her back to WMH to get her checked out. Thought maybe her mama would bring her down so I asked her where her mama was right then. Gabby pointed behind us. I turned, expecting to see someone waiting off in the distance, but I saw no one. **“You live over there?” I asked Gabby. She said no.

But that’s where her mama was—corner lot. Didn’t think my heart could sink any lower, but it sure did. We stopped and walked back to the end of the row. Gabby stopped at the foot of a grave which was marked only by a wooden stick. **“My cousin, Tad, showed me where they buried her,” she said. “Daddy was real mad at her when she died. Real mad. Says he deliberately marked her grave with this old stick on account of she wasn’t deserving of a real head stone. I wouldn’t even know about it, where she was or nothing, if Tad hadn’t shown me. Don’t know what she done to make him so mad, but he’s still mad I think.” Asked her how old she was when her mother died. Three… maybe… she thinks.

Her daddy’s brother and his wife raised her up with their kids after that. They lived over in Newton County, Texas just across the river. Years later she got into trouble at school and had to move back to Burr Ferry when she was 13. Been there ever since. Cooking dinner and doing chores in a house with no mama, and a daddy who always saw her as a reminder of a woman he cared so little about that he marked her grave with a plain old stick. *“Could have left it with no marker at all,” Gabby said, “Then people would have just thought the marker was worn away. But he hated her so bad that he made sure anyone who saw it would know, whoever was buried there wasn’t worth any more than just that.”

WMH

Gave Gabby a ride in, even though it’s against the hospital’s policies. Dropped her off in the parking lot and she was an emergency “walk in.” She complained about being sick and explained to the nurse on duty about what had happened. News was already all around the staff from days ago, so the nurse knew all about Gabby being “18” already. Got her in without even talking about insurance or anything. Good folks at this hospital. I hate to leave. They took some blood and checked her over. Not much more we could do at that point. Met her in the parking lot and drove her back to the cemetery where she wanted to be dropped off.

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Chapter 7

December 23, 1971

WMH

On this morning I got a call from Nurse Willers. **It had become general knowledge that, with Gabby’s father’s attitude toward her, I was her best shot at reliable communication. When Gabby had asked if she could have got sick, I thought she must have meant STD’s. Turns out Gabby was actually getting sick. I had to find a way to tell her.

Decided to call and pretend that I was a friend. Feels weird saying “pretend” since we’re such good friends now, but right then, our acquaintance was more professional than otherwise. She answered the phone right off anyhow. Asked her if we could meet again on account of this was the kind of information you just don’t give to a child over the phone. Said we’d meet in an hour under that oak tree.

Plunkaway Cemetery

Got there before she did this time. Saw where she come from, but I made like I hadn’t. She didn’t move very quick. Asked her why and she just said she didn’t feel like moving fast any more. She’d been in a fight with her daddy over something. Had the bruises to show for it. **Had a mind to send that Deputy over there to talk some sense into him, but I know how those things end up. Always comes back on the child later on.

*“Gabby, we need to have a talk about some things. I know your daddy don’t want to talk to you about this and you prolly don’t want to talk to him either anyhow. And with your mama being passed on and all, well I guess you can just talk to me if you want.” I remember her response to all that as if it just happened yesterday. She looked right at me, smiled and said “You’re nice.” That’s it. That was all I needed to hear.

*“Gabby, now you need to be just as honest with me as you can be because there’s something real important that came up in your blood tests and there are certain things that will have to be done depending on what you say.” Okay she said. *“Okay, now the other day you asked me if someone could get sick on account of what happened and I said yes. Now, the reason I said yes is because I got it in my head that the person that beat you up the other day… also had his way with you. Do you know what I’m asking you?” She nodded. *“I need you to say the words now Miss, and trust me, it aint gonna be any easier for me to hear them as it is for you to say them. Somebody beat you up, we know that. Did he rape you?” I asked. No.

I sighed such a sigh of relief it actually brought tears to my eyes. *“Was it your daddy that beat you up?” She nodded again but I just looked at her sternly because again, I needed to hear it direct. Yes, she said. After that, I don’t know which one of us cried more. **We just held onto each other like mother and daughter, except she didn’t have a mama and I didn’t have a daughter, still we held on as if we were all each other had. Wasn’t far from the truth.

When all the blubbering was done, I still had more news for her and this… well I just didn’t know how she would take it. I gathered from what Deputy Warren had told me that she was prolly knocked up by a boy at school, so if this was going to be good news, now was the time to share it, Christmas and all. But if it was going to be bad news, well I guessed that was still just as good a time as any. Besides, she wanted to know why she was getting sick.

*“Miss Gabby,” I said, “so, you knew that you weren’t getting sick because of getting beat up. That means you got your suspicions about something else, haven’t you?” Yes she said. “Well, your suspicions are correct, Miss. You’re with child.”

It was not good news. It’s best, under most circumstances, to have an expecting minor inform the father of the baby before notifying her parents. These are not normal circumstances. Gabby’s daddy might do just about anything. No brothers or sisters. Mama’s passed on. She was crying pretty good now and started walking around almost hysterically. I asked her about maybe going out to talk with her Aunt and Uncle first. Just then she started running back to where she’d come from. *“Gabby!” I called to her but she only turned around once and said, “You go on back now.”

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Chapter 8

Later that day

WMH

I stopped at the hospital to see the test results for myself before calling Deputy Warren to let her know what Gabby’d told me. She burned with such anger I could smell the smoke from through the telephone! Louisiana has recently enacted child abuse reporting laws and it was time to make the report official. It didn’t matter any more. I had earned Gabby’s trust, but I had no choice now. Wasn’t just her wellbeing that was at risk.

The deputy showed up with her partner, Deputy Shatemer, who warned us both about this being too personal. He explained that if they went to collect Mr. Martaugh, and it turned out Gabby was lying, we’d all be in a heap of trouble. *“She might have been beat up by her boyfriend. She might be protecting him and blaming her father. She might have actually been raped by some boy on that night and she don’t want to say who it was, or that she had been raped at all, and now if she changes her story and says she was, it’s gonna be hard to convince anyone she’s telling the truth about anything. Now, you two are in enough hot water for treating a minor without her parents’ consent as it is. Look, I don’t doubt he’s abusive, but if she’s using what happened to her as an opportunity to get her father into trouble, once the dust settles on this, her father’s likely to give her the whooping of a lifetime for blaming him for what some other kid might have done. Now this is a serious accusation and normally, I’d say let’s get her out of there while we figure all this out, but if it turns out she aint telling you the truth, this whole thing’s gonna get real messy.”

Deputy Warren decided they should go have a talk with Gabby, in person. Shatemer suggested I should come along, and I was glad of that. I knew I’d betrayed her confidence and now two sheriff’s deputies would be showing up just an hour after we had talked. At least this way I could explain why. Sometimes doing the right thing sure can feel awful wrong.

Martaugh’s Ranch - Burr Ferry

Gabby was throwing hay to a couple of horses in front of her house as the deputies pulled in. She saw them round the corner to the drive but she just kept throwing hay. As I followed them in, we all drove right past Gabby, she nodded hello but kept working like we were just passing through. I noticed a little smirk on her face as she worked. It was a devious grin. She knew why we were there. Started wondering if maybe she expected us. Suddenly I started to understand Shatemer’s warning a little better. Could she have played me and Deputy Warren for sympathetic fools? Well whatever was set in motion was certainly in motion now, and nothing was going to stop it. I stopped and backed up to where she was throwing hay. Thought it would be best if I was there with her. It was a ways up the drive, but I could see the house. Honestly I was glad to be further away. Bill Martaugh stepped out of the house as they were pulling up. He seen us coming too. Gabby hadn’t been surprised, but he sure seemed to be.

The deputies hurried out and confronted Mr. Martaugh while I went over to talk to Miss Gabby. No sooner than I had got over to where she was feeding them horses, I turned round and saw Deputy Warren putting handcuffs on Mr. Martaugh. He stared over at Gabby with what the Deputy said was the meanest gaze she’d ever seen. Even though they were all the way over at the house, I swear I could feel the heat coming out of that stare too. They had to be two hundred feet away, but if they were ten feet closer, his gaze alone might have set her afire. But Gabby, she never batted an eye. Didn’t even look his way.

Shatemer walked over to us once Mr. Martaugh was secured in the truck. He asked Gabby to accompany him inside the house to make sure everything was locked up, and that she would have to come to the sheriff’s office to sort things out. She asked if she could ride with me instead of with them and he said that was up to me. Once the house was locked up, we headed out, and the sheriff and deputy with Mr. Martaugh soon followed after.

Vernon Parish Sheriff’s Dept. - Leesville

I told Gabby along the way what had been explained to me before we left the hospital. Told her they would have to make a report about suspected child abuse and that she would have to go into the state foster program unless she had any kin in Louisiana that would take her in. Told her she could stay at home if maybe her Aunt and Uncle from Texas would stay at the house. She just said no. Told her it would be a lot easier if we could just ask them if maybe they would just take responsibility for her until this mess was done. NO! That was the end of that.

Mr. Martaugh was taken in for questioning and I’m sure Deputy Warren gave him what for in there. Another deputy whose name I don’t recollect took Gabby for questioning too. It was a long wait and my shift was going to start soon. Had my concerns about what would happen to Gabby so I asked one of the deputies as soon as one appeared. She wouldn’t need a ride, turns out she wasn’t going anywhere except with a social service worker anyhow. Mr. Martaugh had been charged with child abuse. He wasn’t going anywhere with anyone.

I left a message for Deputy Warren to please call me, even though I figured she likely would. Right at that time I didn’t know what to think any more. Didn’t know for sure just who Gabrielle Martaugh really was. Things were looking like the victim in all this was actually the one running the show. Figured I’d better steer clear while things got worked out.

WMH

I got a call from the deputy as expected. **Told her I had to split before because my shift was starting and I only did after I knew Gabby didn’t need a ride. Didn’t bother her none. She told me Bill Martaugh was going to get what was coming to him. She hadn’t spent too much time with his interrogation, but did speak with Gabby for quite some time. Apparently the abuse was nothing new. She’d had many lessons beaten into her over the years.

They were going to put her into a foster care program where she’d be looked after by better people than her father. That wasn’t saying much but it was still relieving for me to hear. What I didn’t hear, however, was a bit unsettling. I didn’t ask Deputy Warren if she knew because she would have brought it up if she had known. So for now, it looked like Gabby and me were the only ones who knew about the baby, and apparently, she wanted to keep it that way.

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Chapter 9

New Year’s Eve - 1971

There were no medical records of this meeting, but I recollect the event being it was New Year’s, and because this was the day Gabby and me really became friends.

Gabby’s new foster family, the Devereux’s, had invited me to their New Year’s Party at her asking. Mr. Pershing and I obliged, but only to stay for a short time. We have something of a tradition that would lead us to our own destination for the ringing in of the new year. I wanted to see Gabby again since her daddy’s arrest anyway.

The Devereux’s have a great little ranch right on Vernon Lake. It had been such a warm winter that this would likely be a great time to visit the lake in the evening. I found Gabby straight away. I should say, rather, that she found me. I still wasn’t sure about everything that had taken place the other day, and I wanted to get a few things answered. Hated feeling this way about anyone. Especially a young girl.

Never seen a child so in need of good, loving parents, but Gabby had none. She needed a mama more than anything right now, and Mrs. Devereux would not fill that role. Gabby had only been with them for about a week and already they’d made it clear that this arrangement would only be temporary. Turns out the Devereux’s prefer younger children to troubled teenagers.

Mr. Pershing headed off to discuss football with some of the other men while Gabby pulled me down toward the water to speak privately. There were four things Gabby told me that night that stick out in my mind today. First, she told me that nobody knew she was pregnant.

The pregnancy part I recollect because it was the most important thing on my mind. **There were a lot of responsibilities to get in line for a young mother-to-be, especially one in her situation. She asked me straight away if I’d told anyone about it. No. That was a real relief to her. **I said something like, “Look, you got a child on the way and there are a lot of things that need to happen starting real soon, and I’m willing to help you; but, first I need to know some things about what happened that night when you got brought into the hospital.”

*She took me by the hand the way a mother might take her daughter’s hand and she looked me straight in the eyes and said, “It aint his.” *“It aint whose?” *“My daddy’s. It aint his. My daddy may be a lot of things, and he is a sonofabitch and I’m glad he’s gettin’ his come-uppin’s, but don’t you think on him like that.” That didn’t seem, at first, to help much since she’d already said she wasn’t raped.

OK I said. Miss Gabby has a skill for saying things that don’t have anything to do with what you’re asking, but at the same time, she makes you think she answered your question just the same. One of the most likable young ladies I’ve ever met, which unfortunately, makes her very easy to believe. I asked her if she planned to tell the father of her baby that she was pregnant. She shied away from that and eventually said that she hadn’t figured out just how, or even if she was ever going to. Told her there were certain responsibilities a man has when something like this happens. Even if he’s a real SOB, a woman still has the right to have her child taken care of. *“Oh, he’s an SOB alright. He’s the worst kind of SOB,” she said. Told her I could help her if she decided to tell him. Left it at that.

The second thing she told me about was her life’s dream. She said when she was nine or ten, she had looked through a magazine and seen a picture of a beautiful tall waterfall surrounded by green trees and plants and things. It’s called Victoria Falls. She had no idea where it was, but that was where she was going someday. She said that when God created the Earth, he did it pretty quick. Just a day. But there are some places where he must have gone back later and made something real special. Victoria Falls was one of those special places.

Ever since she’d seen the pictures in that magazine, that was the place she’d go to in her mind when things got bad with her family. Apparently her Uncle Reb had also been abusive. Not just to her, but to his wife and sons too. Reb’s wife, Marion, had three sons: Tad, Will, and Robert who everybody called Big Buddy. Buddy was the youngest and still four years older than Gabby. It was after a particularly bad night of yelling and cursing that Tad had had enough. Reb had been drinking and took out a fair piece of his life’s frustration on Marion and Gabby. Tad was eighteen and more than a match for his daddy. The two wrestled until Reb was just too tired to go on. The next morning Tad drove Gabby to the cemetery. Showed her the old stick that marked her mother’s grave. They talked for a couple hours that morning.

Talked like they’d never really talked before. Drove her to her daddy’s place and had a word with him too. That was the last time she saw Tad.

Will was gone too. Gone off to find a better life. Only Buddy stayed with them there in Texas, they all called him Big Buddy, but Buddy wasn’t nobody’s friend. He took after his daddy, bullying people. Buddy learned from his daddy when he was little, that big people hurt little people, and eventually, Buddy got big, real big.

Between Big Buddy and Reb, Gabby told me she went to her special places in her mind many many times. She’d been to all kinds of magical places since she was just a little child, but when she saw Victoria Falls, it became a light at the end of the tunnel. This place was real, and someday, she would really go there. Until that day, she’d do her chores. They were hard, but not as bad as what came to her if she didn’t finish them. Sometimes, she got both anyway.

She told me she started getting into fights at school. She’d hadn’t been a bully like Buddy, but she quickly learned that when you can finally win a fight, there’s nothing you want to do more. Only difference between her and Buddy is, she didn’t start fights, she just finished them. The real trouble happened when a boy at school had picked on her one time too many. She said she beat him up pretty good and as she was hitting him, she was telling him he needs to go to his special place. She was crying for him, beating on him, and eventually she just sat there crying and holding onto him. For a lot of reasons, that boy was never quite the same.

That’s when she came back to Burr Ferry here in Vernon Parish to live with her daddy. The chores were just as hard, but the beatings weren’t nearly as often. Gabby said she’d rather take a good whooping sometimes though when her daddy talked to her the way he did. His words stung worse than Reb’s backhand any day. Told her she was worthless, just like her dead mother. She never got to know her mama like most kids do, but she loved her like nobody’s business just the same.

We talked for a good couple hours out by Vernon Lake. She told me an awful lot about herself that night. Things she’d been keeping inside all her life til she found somebody she could tell. I don’t know what exactly came over me, but I did some talking too.

Told her about when I was twenty-one going to school over in Austin. I don’t know for sure if it does any good to retell that story here, but in case it does, I’ll tell it. I was going to UT during the Spring of ’62. My daddy and his daddy before him are alumni of UT, so it was decided long before I was born that I would attend UT as well. I’m the oldest of five children in my family. That puts some pressure on me. My younger brother, Alvin, had been sent to Vietnam in January. That put pressure on the whole family.

In May, I took it upon myself to relieve some of those pressures. Alcohol was easy to come by and I had recently discovered what so many other people have discovered over the last decade, marijuana. Now, this night in May, a whole big bunch of people were at a party near campus and some of them decided we should all go up in the tower over at UT. Most of them went. They never even made it to the tower. I had self-diagnosed my condition as being unfit to travel by foot, so I stayed behind.

What happened in the following hours, I don’t recollect. All I remember is their faces. I’d gone numb. I knew something had happened. You can tell that much. What I didn’t know was who it happened with. I’d woken up on a couch downstairs from where we’d been partying. There were a few bodies laying around, but nobody I knew. My friends had all gone home.

A day of worry and regret went by and none of my friends knew anything about who I might have been with that night. It was the next day when the stories got round to my girlfriends. Turns out some guys were telling stories about a girl who had passed out Saturday night and a bunch of jocks had “run a train” on her. My girlfriend, Jamie, heard the story as some boys were laughing about it, not really believing that it was true. Jamie got scared and came to me. Told me what she’d heard.

All at once I started seeing the faces again, just as I remembered before, but knowing now what had happened, the faces became distorted and grotesque. I was mad. Scared and mad. We didn’t know for sure that this story was about me or if it was even true. Didn’t take much work to find out more about it. It was me alright. Jamie and me put so much thought into how to find out more information that after a while, it didn’t seem like this had anything to do with either one of us. It was research. By evening, we knew who was there, who did something, and who did nothing.

Couldn’t sleep that night. Tried, but just couldn’t. Kept seeing the faces in the dark. Next day Jamie and me went straight to the dean’s office with our lists and facts. On the way to the office, it hit me that I might be pregnant. Started crying as we walked. Jamie was wonderful, or at least she was just then. We went right up to the secretary’s desk and demanded to see the dean. She said we had to have an appointment. Jamie showed her what it was about and that got her to act. She called into the dean’s office and she explained that there had been a rape on campus. He was wonderful too… until he heard that it all actually happened in a house just outside of campus. It didn’t matter that they were students at the university, he ushered us out and told us to go to the police. There was nothing he could do.

I didn’t want to go to the police. It was all I could do to keep from running on back home. Jamie said she didn’t want to get involved with the police but that I should go ahead on and tell them what happened. I was scared to go at all and now I had to go alone. Couldn’t do it. Another night of faces. **Slept for some time though. Next morning I went to the police. Brought all the paperwork and decided to admit we were smoking marijuana and just face up.

They were no help at all. Told me if I carried this thing through, the families of those boys would make me look like a lying whore. Said I had been stoned and couldn’t prove anything at all. They’d make a laughing stock out of me and even if one of them admitted it, he’d have been drinking and smoking too so it wouldn’t matter anyway. Told me if I wanted to press charges, I could, but it wouldn’t make no difference in the end. That was all I cared to hear. Called my parents straight away after that. Told them everything. What I expected was a far cry from what I heard. My daddy told me to finish out the semester and then I could come home to figure out what to do. A girl expects her daddy to take care of her, not tell her to finish out the semester and we’ll deal with it later. I might have been pregnant for Pete’s sake! I was devastated.

I dropped out, moved out of the state and into the smallest community I could find. Packed up everything I could and hitch-hiked my way until I stopped in Rosepine, LA. A few weeks later after I missed my period, I bought a ticket to Beaumont and had an abortion. It wasn’t an “abortion-friendly” time or place, but under the circumstances, folks seemed to be willing to make an exception. That child growing inside me was a reminder of that horrible night, the days that followed, and the terrible things my own parents had said. I’m sure it was the right thing to do, but I still think about how old he would be, or she would be. Don’t think about it any more than that at all. Haven’t spoken to my parents since then either. Alvin come back from the war a couple years later. Chloe, my sister, told me he come back, but he wasn’t the same. It was good to hear that he was home just the same. Our brother, Jared, didn’t come back at all.

“That’s just awful,” Gabby told me. She had a neat way of looking at the world. She couldn’t understand why Jared had to die. People don’t always get along, but that don’t mean people should die just because other people can’t steer clear of one another. Hard to disagree with that. Gabby had it in her mind that if people can’t get along, they should work out their problems themselves rather than getting other folks killed who they don’t even know. I guess the world would be a different place if all the old men who run the governments did their own fighting. But that was the way Miss Gabby had it figured. Thinking back on it now, I guess that day at the lake was what got Gabby thinking. “You know what Miss Em? I think whenever all the bad stops, something good just has to come out of it. You watch and see. Something good just has to come out of all this bad.”

I guess Gabby felt a connection with me then. I know I did. She told me that there was a way to get out of the foster care system and that all she had to do was get her daddy to sign a piece of paper which would basically give her custody of herself. She asked me if that didn’t work if I’d think about adopting her for a year or so until she was 18 and would be off and out of the way. We cried and hugged like best friends and I told her yes. Of course yes. Told her anything you need, I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you get it. *She looked at me as kindly as anyone ever has before and said, “Yes, I believe you will.”

Turns out her daddy signed that paper anyhow, so it was all for naught, but I still appreciated the asking. I can’t tell you how much I’d like to have a daughter like Gabby. Anyway, that was the third thing she told me.

*The fourth was that the night she had come into the hospital, she had, in fact, been raped. Said she went home to her daddy afterward and he was drunk. She told him what happened and he beat her up for being a lying whore. *Said she ought not tell no one because everyone already thinks she’s just a whore—the way she acts. I knew every word she was going to say before she said it. Gabby didn’t want people to know anyhow. Said her Aunt Marion would take it too hard and be real ashamed. *So she wouldn’t say who done it, but she knew, and in time, she would tell. It had never occurred to the deputy or me that she might have been raped at one point, then beaten by her daddy later on. Maybe we just didn’t think of it because it’s really just too terrible to think of at all.

Told her tomorrow was a new day and a new year. Held onto her while she cried. *We walked back up toward the house and she told me, “Ms. Pershing, that’s the closest I’ve ever been to having a real mama, since my mama died, anyway.” In fact, from then on, folks just assumed we were mother and daughter. We certainly looked enough alike for it to be so. Must admit it made me proud. *She started laughing, too, and said, “With all this bawling, this is the closest I ever got to the falls too.”

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Chapter 10

January 13, 1972

WMH

I recollect I had the day off that day. Nurse Stephens called me to let me know Gabby had been beaten up pretty bad and was in the E.R. **I had come in right away along with Mr. Pershing and Gabby had multiple lacerations, bruising, two cracked ribs, and her face was badly swollen. Hardly recognized her. She was already stitched up where she needed it by the time I got there. The rest of her injuries just took time.

We went in to see her immediately. Nurse Stephens told me what her injuries were. *Nothing life threatening, but you can never really be prepared to see your friend, especially a young girl, in the condition she was in. She was awake. Couldn’t talk, but she could see me and I held her hand. She looked right at me and I feared the worst again. I glanced down toward her privates and back to her face again. She shook her head to tell me no. That hadn’t happened to her.

We weren’t there five minutes before Deputy Warren rushed in and nearly collapsed seeing her there. The Deputy had grown fond of Gabby just as I had. We were quite a trio the three of us, but with a nurse and a sheriff’s deputy as friends, you’d like to think we could have done a better job of keeping her out of such messes. *“Do you know who done this?” she asked her. I’ve come to notice that Deputy Warren is a woman of very strong emotions, but she can turn her emotions from one to another like turning a dial. When she walked in the room, it looked like all the energy was sapped from her legs. But she found her legs in an instant and now she was just mad. Gabby nodded yes. The deputy pulled out a notepad and pen for Gabby to write on. She wrote two words: Big Buddy.

*She read it aloud, “Big Buddy?” and she looked over at me. *“Her cousin, Robert, over in Newton County,” I told her. “They call him Buddy.” Gabby nodded. The deputy was mad as hell. She said they could still get him arrested but it was out of her jurisdiction.

Gabby squeezed my hand. I looked at her and she shook her head. I told the deputy to give her back the notepad. Two more words: Burr Ferry. *“Is he at your daddy’s ranch?” she asked her. Gabby nodded yes. As quickly as she had come in, she was gone. We could hear her in the hall. *“This is Deputy Warren. I’ve got a positive ID on the suspect. Please tell me there’s no one available for back up.”

The Deputy is not a very big woman, but I’d just bet if she’d been the first to find Big Buddy Martaugh, she’d have torn him right in two.

The sheriff hisself came in to ask Gabby some questions. His name I don’t recollect. He asked her all sorts of questions and hardly got any answers at all what with her being unable to talk. I guess more than anything, he was just trying to make Gabby feel like she was important. Thinking back, it’s likely he was trying to make Deputy Warren feel like Gabby was important. He told her to just concentrate on getting better. They’d haul in her cousin and make sure he couldn’t hurt nobody no more. They’d talk again later when she was feeling better and able to tell what happened. Mr. Pershing stepped out with the sheriff as he left.

Gabby watched the men leave and then squeezed my hand again. She looked down toward her feet and back up at me again. It wasn’t her feet she glanced at. My heart sunk. *“Buddy did rape you?” I asked. She just stared at me for a few seconds. She shook her head no. She put my hand on her stomach. Oh. Told her that this wasn’t a good time to have an abortion what with her being beat up like this. She needed to recover first. She threw my hand off of her stomach in anger. She couldn’t talk, but managed to say No! She eked out a bit of a smile too.

She said no. Had a pretty good idea of what that meant, but it couldn’t have meant that. I handed her the notepad Deputy Warren had left behind as she quickly left. Gabby scratched out some words and tore off the paper. She wrote: Is the baby ok? I backed away from her holding the paper in my hand. Is the baby ok? What the hell was she trying to say? I don’t know how to explain what I felt at that moment, but I can assure you it wasn’t good. Once I gathered myself enough to talk at all, I told her I would go check with the nurse as I walked out.

I felt like two cents. Felt like I was the one who just got knocked around and hit in the stomach. Just two weeks ago I poured out everything to her. Told her what happened to me. Told her what happened down in Beaumont. Told her I would take her into my home if she needed. Now she’s lying there all beat to heck and asking me if the baby’s ok! We were raped! And she’s worried about the baby. Now I knew all the while what she really thought of me. I killed my baby. That’s what she thought. Nobody but nobody was gonna tell me that what I done was wrong, and now she’s laying there like she’s the Queen of England all concerned about the baby. We both knew it might as well have been mine. Little miss holier-than-thou gonna ask me, ME of all people, is the baby ok?

I was sitting in the car in the parking lot and Mr. Pershing was running to catch up because it certainly appeared to him that if I had the keys, I would have left him right there. He got in and shut the door. Started the car almost too afraid to ask where we were going. “I wanna go home.” He wasted no time. “Stop.” We didn’t even get out of the parking space. I just sat there in the car staring at the hospital sign. I’d been studying for years to become a doctor. I had taken the Hippocratic Oath as a nurse and I would take it again once all my schooling was done. *“…that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug.” I stared at that sign thinking about the words. Then we went back inside.

Nurse Stephens had been looking for me and saw us walk back in from the parking lot. She came up to me in a hurry with another of Gabby’s notes in her hand. I asked her what was wrong. *“It’s Gabby,” she said, “I went in to check on her and she was terribly upset. *She was able to say your name, ‘Em.’ I asked, ‘What about her, Dear?’ and she handed me this note that said, ‘Is she ok?’ Is everything alright, Emily?”

Told her everything was ok. Just needed to step outside and get myself together. Couldn’t stand to see Gabby like that. Mr. Pershing knew better. *“You’d better go talk to her,” he said, “Take your time. I’ll wait here long as it takes.” He’s a good man. Would have made fine father. I asked nurse Stephens as we walked to Gabby’s room. She said the baby’s fine. The baby’s fine.

Miss Gabby was laid up in that hospital bed for ten days. She was discharged on January 22nd. I recollect she was ready to go two days earlier, but on account of she didn’t really have anywhere to go, they kept her on for “observations.” The court processed her custodianship paperwork while she was recovering. Giving her the news that she was free from her father’s authority was something special. Her lip split open from smiling at the news but she didn’t care about the pain at all. Just kept on smiling.

Also Gabby just asked me to mention that she asked me about why people say “I’m hep” when they mean they understand. She’s taken to writing some things down as well.

January 18, 1972

WMH

Deputy Warren had come in to ask Gabby some questions. She’s allowed me to include a transcript of that conversation for my story in case it might help.

Interrogation of Gabrielle Martaugh —Unofficial Transcript

Vernon Parish Sheriff’s Deputy Warren —18 Jan. 1972

(START RECORD)

DW: Now I’m just turning this on to keep a record of what we talk about today. I don’t want you to be… be intimidated by it. You’re not under arrest and you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, okay?

GM: ’kay.

DW: Okay. This is Vernon Parish Sheriff’s Deputy Annabelle Warren, today is…

GM: Annabelle?

DW: Yes, Annabelle Warren…

GM: That’s a beautiful name, Annabelle.

DW: Thank you. Today is Tuesday, January 18th, 1972. The time is 14:21 and I am here with Gabrielle Martaugh at War Memorial Hospital in Leesville, Louisiana. Miss Martaugh, you understand that you are not under arrest and you are not obligated to answer any of these questions, but I’m hoping to be able to piece together what happened to you on January 13th earlier this month, do you understand?

GM: Yes.

DW: Okay. Now please tell me what happened that day. Just start from the beginning and tell me everything you can remember.

GM: Um, well, I don’t really know what to tell. I don’t… my daddy kinda started it all. Is that what you wanna talk about?

DW: Okay. That’s fine. You’re referring to the night you were brought into the hospital… that was December 13th of last year… after you had been beaten up by…

GM: By my dad.

DW: your father, William Martaugh?

GM: Yes.

DW: You know, Gabby, the last time I saw you, you were pretty banged up… couldn’t even talk. I didn’t… I didn’t know what to expect when I came here today and I… I’m just so impressed with the recovery you’ve made so far. I just know you’re gonna be right back on your feet again in no time.

GM: I got lots of practice healin.

DW: Now… tell me, Gabby, what happened when we brought you in last month? Why did your daddy hit you?

GM: I told him… I told him… (unintelligible) I’m sorry.

DW: That’s okay, girl. You just go on and cry all you want. I know it’s hard. Let’s just go ahead and turn this off for a minute. (RS) Okay now… now tell me about it… what… what you had told him.

GM: I told him… that… ‘cause Buddy dropped me at home ‘bout fifteen minutes before he come home and… he seen me there and just started yelling ‘bout “Where’s supper?” and “What are you doing just settin’ there?” and I told him… Buddy took too long driving back to drop me off. There wasn’t time to get supper ready. He come at me and said “get in that kitchen!” And that’s where… that’s when it all started up.

DW: He beat you up like that just ’cause you didn’t have supper ready?

GM: Wasn’t the first time neither.

DW: I’m so sorry.

GM: Yeah, well… you get used to it. Can you please pass me that water? The one behind you there.

DW: Here you go, Darling.

GM: Thank you, Ma’am. I wish they had one of these tables on this side so I could set stuff here instead of having to reach clear over there.

DW: That’s alright, Dear, I don’t mind getting it for you. Now, tell me about how you came to be in here today…

GM: Oh my gosh!

DW: What is it, Darling?

GM: You said this is the 18th!

DW: Yes. Today’s the 18th.

GM: I missed the Superbowl! That SOB made me miss the Superbowl! Mr. Devereux said he might be able to get us in to see it on account of he’s got friends over there in New Orleans and I’m laid up in here! Can you believe that? Who won?

DW: The Cowboys I believe.

GM: Well great gumballs Miss Annabelle! The Cowboys won and I missed the whole thing!

DW: Do you think you’ll be okay Darling?

GM: Yeah… I suppose you must already know I’m pregnant…

DW: Uh… no… I didn’t know that.

GM: Well it’s true. That Nurse Stephens says it’s just fine though. Buddy went to town on my stomach pretty good but it didn’t hurt it none. Too small I guess… or maybe just lucky.

DW: Gabby, I…. I don’t know what to say…

GM: Don’t have to say nothing. What’s done is done.

DW: I’m hep. So… do you want to talk about that or… you know… who’s the father?

GM: That ain’t police business now, you’re just fixing to gossip I know.

DW: No, Gabby, this isn’t gossip. I’m just curious, girl to girl, and you never know if something’s gonna help in the case later on, you know?

GM: Okay, well anyhow, I’d rather not say right now just ’cause of what Aunt Marion would think. She’d think it was all her fault and it ain’t, you know?

DW: Does she know him?

GM: Yeah, well, she knows him…

DW: Oh…

GM: let’s just say she’d be real disappointed to find out… lot of people would.

DW: Hmm… you know, sometimes… see, your Aunt’s probably just looking out for you. She wants the best for you instead of… you know, someone who’s a junkie or a free-loader or someone who’s…

GM: or someone who’s …

DW: Married?

GM: You guessed it.

DW: Now Gabrielle, no wonder she’d be disappointed… cheating men are a dime a dozen but you need to understand we’re talking about statutory rape now, you’re still a minor.

GM: Yeah, I talked it over with Ms. Pershing… the whole rape thing… and I gotta do what I feel in my heart is best, you know.

DW: That’s true, you do… and… well, you’re your own woman now so I respect your decision even if I may not agree with it… and I’m not saying I don’t agree with it… I’m just saying that I respect you as an individual and it ain’t no business of mine what you do, you know… one way or the other… unless you decide to make it my business, then I can help you if you want it, you know?

GM: Okay… I… Okay.

DW: So anyway, what about the… you know, how you got here?

GM: I don’t know, do we have to do this now?

DW: No, we sure don’t. We don’t have to ever do this, but it would sure help me… and it might even help us find him.

GM: Find him?! What do you mean, find him? Ain’t he locked up? You ain’t got him locked up?

DW: Now just don’t get too upset now, Gabby, we’re gonna find him. He wasn’t at your daddy’s ranch when we went out there the other day and the sheriff over in Newton County’s looking for him there too, so he’ll turn up and it don’t matter where ’cause people are looking for him.

GM: You won’t find him. He goes trapping for days and days up in those woods, only…

DW: Only what?

GM: I was gonna say… only my other cousins would know how to find him in there and they’re all long gone so it don’t matter nohow.

DW: Well… believe it or not, your cousins ain’t the only trappers in Texas. If he’s hiding out in those woods, they’ll find him, don’t you worry.

GM: I ain’t worried for Buddy. I’m more worried for the person who finds him. He ain’t no push-over… and if he’s got his rifle with him… you know what… he always said the Army made a big mistake not letting him (in) on account of he’d be a better killer than most the boys they got sent over there.

DW: The Army wouldn’t take him?

GM: Wouldn’t take him or Will. Both of ’em gots this disease… has something to do with making them pee… but the Army said no thanks to all of them on account of they might have seizures or something.

DW: That’s weird.

GM: Yeah, but they ain’t never had no seizures since I known them… anyhow, I wouldn’t trust Buddy coming in without putting up a fight is all I’m saying. They all of them used to go play Army out in the trees… they’d paint up their faces and pretend to be over there in Vietnam.

DW: Well… we’ll be careful. You don’t know where he might have gone now do you?

GM: uh… no… I mean… y’all don’t even know if he’s in Louisiana or Texas. Heck, he could be in New York for all y’all know.

DW: Well, that’s… that’s true, but you know what, we’re gonna start looking for him ’round here first, so if there’s anything you can tell me that might help us find him...

GM: There’s not… could you please hand me that water again please?

DW: Sure thing, Darling.

GM: Thank you Ma’am. Thank you. Goll… I’m just always so parched… I hate it here.

DW: They treat you alright?

GM: Yes Ma’am. They treat me real alright. Everyone says I’m Ms. Em’s… I mean, Ms. Pershing’s little friend. They’re all real nice to me, I just don’t like being stuck in here… not like I got anywhere’s to go anyhow.

DW: I know exactly what you mean. But you got to be looking forward to chasing your reason, right?

GM: My reason?

DW: Of course, Sugar, everyone has to chase their reason.

GM: Ma’am…

DW: Yes, Sugar?

GM: I’m sure I have no idea what it is you’re talking about at all.

DW: You are so funny… I’m talking about your reason… your purpose… your reason for being put on this Earth. Everyone has a reason to be here and at some point, you got to go out and chase that reason. Otherwise… you know… what’s it all about?

GM: What if I don’t know what my reason is?

DW: Well that’s ok I guess… You’re still awful young… I don’t suppose you should know already what your reason is. That’s why you need to go chase it.

GM: That don’t make much sense… how am I supposed to chase something when I don’t even know what it is I’m chasing?

DW: Well, Sugar, let me ask you this… you’ve been here twice now in the past few months pretty badly beat up. Was there ever a moment when you got to thinking that you might not make it out of here?

GM: You mean dying?

DW: Yeah.

GM: Not really… there was one time when the pain just all of a sudden went away and I thought right then that I must be dying, but then I thought that it was probably just the medicine kicking in. I see what you’re saying though about having a reason for living… I guess I just don’t really have one yet is all…

DW: Well, that’s what I mean… even if you don’t have your own reason yet, what do you think other people’s reasons might be?

GM: Um… I guess some people might live to just have fun…

DW: yeah…

GM: but I think a lot of people kind of not having much fun at all.

DW: That’s the truth.

GM: Some people live for their children. They give them all their love and attention and stuff…

DW: Mmm…

GM: Lots of folks live for God too. They say life is supposed to be all about honoring God… so I guess they do things God would be happy they did, you know? Course most folks spend most of their time doing things God probably wouldn’t be very happy they did.

DW: You can say that again.

GM: Yeah, and I guess people live sometimes for… to be involved with something… you know?

DW: Yeah, like to be a part of something bigger than what they are…

GM: Yeah, like my neighbor… she spends every day working to help the church. I swear if there weren’t no church, she’d likely shrivel up and drift away in the breeze…What’s y’all’s reason, Miss Annabelle?

DW: Oh, geez… well, Darlin… I guess it would be to help people.

GM: Well I think God’s probably pretty happy about you doing that… that’s a good reason.

DW: Well thank you, Sugar. That’s awful kind of you to say… I just… I just think that when you’ve lived your life and you stop and think back on the kind of life you’ve lived, you ought to be able to just smile and say, “You know what, it was worth it… my life was worth living because I had a reason to live it and I gave all I could to chase that reason.”

GM: I’m gonna find me a reason today!

DW: I’m hep. But you gotta get your rest still… doctor says you got a few more days of healing to get done before you can go.

GM: Yeah…

DW: Well, do you want to take a break from all this or do you want to tell me more about what happened with you and Buddy?

GM: Ain’t really much to tell… really. I gone out to check on Lacey May, that’s my horse, since my dad got locked up…

DW: You went to your daddy’s ranch…

GM: Yeah.

DW: Okay. How’d you get out there?

GM: I hitched most of the way and rode my bike.

DW: Okay… so what happened when you got there?

GM: Well, I heard Aunt Marion was taking care of the horses and such while Uncle Reb and Buddy was taking care of things over at their place… so I ‘member… I saw Lacey May and… all of them were almost plum out of water and they was all kicking at the panels when I come up like they was hungry so I went and threw hay to all of… them… and… I was mad… real mad. I ‘member thinking, how could Aunt Marion let them go like this and I was calling for Aunt Marion up at the house ‘cause I figured something was wrong, you know, because she wouldn‘t just let them go without feeding... and… and Buddy come out… and I asked him is Aunt Marion okay… I guess that’s when he hit me ’cause I don’t recall anything more.

DW: You don’t remember him hitting you?

GM: Oh I remember him hitting me plenty. I just don’t remember the first punch. Buddy’s beat on me plenty of times and I pretty much always remember the first punch ’cause that that’s the one that scares you, you know, ’cause you might have expected it or not, but… when you see it coming… that’s … I just… I don’t remember seeing the first one coming this time.

DW: So Buddy’s hit you before…

GM: Ma’am…

DW: You can call me Annabelle if you’d like.

GM: Ms. Annabelle… you know that feeling you get when there’s gonna be a fight…and you know you ain’t gonna win… but there’s gonna be a fight still anyway? Well… that’s what it’s like.

DW: That’s what what’s like?

GM: Um… life… I learned a long time ago between my dad and Uncle Reb and Big Buddy that you… you do whatever you gotta do to make it so there ain’t no fight… You do the chores, don’t speak out of turn, you don’t never talk back… but every now and then there’s… there’s gonna be a fight, you know… only thing you don’t know is if you’re gonna be in it or not. Well if it’s just you and one other, then you know you’re gonna be in it… only thing you get to decide is…if you’re gonna fight back.

DW: That’s just awful… so you…

GM: You get used to it I guess. Thank you. What is this? There’s something underneath here… oh it’s just the sheet getting wadded up.

DW: There you go, Sugar… well I’m just so sorry you’ve had to go through that. That’s just awful.

GM: Well that’s just… it’s just the way it is I guess… or the way it was anyway… ’cause I ain’t gonna go through it never again no more, you know… ’cause I got custody of myself now.

DW: That’s right now. You do.

GM: That’s right… Ma’am…

DW: Yes, Darling?

GM: You know… you and… Ms. Pershing are about the nicest folks I ever did know…

DW: Well thank you, Gabby, that’s real nice to hear.

GM: Yeah, well… I just wanna let you know that… ’cause I don’t have too many folks nice to me, you know.

DW: Well I think you’re awful nice too, Gabby… you… you just get rested up and… you know what… I think we’ve got enough of this to keep track of what we need… now you’re sure you don’t know where Buddy might be hiding?

GM: No Ma’am.

DW: Alright then… The time is 14:41 and this concludes the interview with Miss Martaugh and thank you again, Miss Martaugh for your cooperation.

(END RECORD)

It hurts for me to read this now as I know things would have turned out different if I’d been there during this conversation. Glad to have it here though. Gabby had asked about doing blood tests on the baby to make sure everything was going alright. Having read this, I know now that she was concerned about the disease her cousins carried. Told her there was no safe way of doing fetal blood tests. It had been done before, but it was very dangerous for both the mother and the baby. That type of test would have to wait until the child was born.

I recollect when Gabby was discharged, Deputy Warren agreed to give her a ride to the jail to see her daddy. They told him Gabby had been beat up pretty bad and she wanted to let him know she was alright, so the Deputy took her to see him. That’s the kind of person Gabby is. No matter how bad he treated her, she still did right by him.

Next chapter-- https://theprose.com/post/564581/the-second-rape-of-dr-emily-pershing-c11

Or start at the beginning -- https://theprose.com/post/564095