Abandoned

Lonely sentinel bestriding a hill--
Abandoned home overlooks our thriving town.
Deserted plains rebuke a howling wind.
Winter's weight will plummet sagging eaves.
Dreamy thoughts return to its thriving past:
Fireplace embers once mesmerized the mind.
Lovers danced by a hearth with glowing fire.
No feet now abound to tread on organ pumps,
Nor waifs to romp in the leaning playhouse oak.

Dirges of pain are trapped in wailing walls.
Ochre paint, once yellow, peels away
Like dangling streams of tears on Ides of March.
Old planks rip loose evoked by whistling winds.
Rattles and squeaks soon mimic ghostly cries.
Banging shutters crack a window pane.
Cobblestones lead pattering feet to graves.
A cringing sentinel awaits its doom.
Let a mason's love restores this abandoned home!

Forsaken Roots

Sweet revenge took Carla back to the small delta town of Vinton, Louisiana, but not until she had explored the west side of Texas with a widowed spouse and given birth to two children. The children loved to cuddle up to Betsy, her stepdaughter, a gift from Helen the widower's deceased spouse.

Carla Higgins had been left out of her Louisiana heritage and was as angry as a hornet's nest. She had left the family plantation in 1918 to apply for work as a practical nurse following her devotion to caring for aging parents. It seemed like the only skill she had at that time. Placing an ad in the work wanted column of the local newspaper brought an immediate response from Helen Benton, a victim of tuberculosis. Mrs. Benton had been diagnosed and warned. "Your days are numbered Helen ... unless you can settle out west where dryer air has less mold and mildew." explained the clinic's doctor. This terminal disease gave Helen no time to move in any direction. Her fight for breath quickly ended, leaving a two year old daughter, Betsy, and Will, her infected husband to grieve over her passing.

Carla, having been hired the last-minute, tried to comfort her faltering charge. She chocked back tears as she donned a black chemise to attend Helen's funeral service and wait for further orders from Will. Her plan for avenging the inheritance still lay in back of her mind like a coiled snake.

* * *

"You are a 4F, sir. The army is sending you to Albuquerque to recuperate. You will be growing beans for the overseas soldiers."

This conscription command was from the regular army recruiter, the United States having been persuaded to help beat back the Germans in Europe. Prussian intent upon world domination, or at least, a confederation of European states, served to rally defensive world powers in general. Supporting those attacked was mandatory; patriotism had no alternative.

What a dilemma, thought Will, who expected to be a boatman on the Mississippi and spend a happy life with his small, delicate Helen ... And Betsy. He determined to lick this disease out west. Consequently he approached Carla with a proposition, his bleary eyes cast off in the distance. "I know we both loved Helen. You took great care of her. Would you consider taking care of Betsy and me?"

"I grew up on a plantation, so maybe I can help you plant beans ... and also care-take you two wherever you have to live. Sure."

She was bent over a sink full of dishes, but whirled around to face him squarely, "Sure, I can! we'll give it a try, but I'll need to take a trip back home sooner or later." She wiped her hands on her apron and added, "I do love Betsy ... and you."

Carla had few personal effects to pack, less important than folding Betsy's lacy gowns and packing the dolls and gifts from well-heeled relatives. She frowned at Will's jaunty sailor-like togs and cap with its brim turned-up ... fishing boots? she wondered if they were fit for the dry west. Will's alternative to conscription had obviously been firmly denied!

* * *

Stepping off the puff-a billy was like stepping onto another planet. Their cabin was mostly logs, army issued all the way with help from Hogan dwellers. Primitive facilities included a hand rope for drawing water from an artesian well not far from a privy.

Will's application for permission to marry Carla was accepted at the nearest field of operation. A simple ceremony by a Justice of the Peace followed the permit.

Will noticed that Carla loved being a mother, producing a child every two years, all happily adjusting to continuous moves for work in saw mills and lumber yards long after the two-year conscription ended. She was a stern taskmaster with a quick temper, once slapping Betsy too hard for running a pink finger over the thick frosting of her birthday cake. She had allowed Matt to swim all day in a tank until he arrived home. Did she know or not know that he was unable to climb out?

He noticed that the children were soundly thrashed for visiting their friends after school. Was she projecting some secret bitterness onto an innocent family?. Subservience was always to a religious figure, so the pastor's visit for dinner meant that the children would devour left-over scraps after the visitor left.

At length, after reflecting on her outrages, Carla proffered a plan. "I'd like to take a trip back east for a visit; a train comes through Pyote ... I could take Bob and Betsy. Betsy loves to hold his hand and help dress him.

With Will's consent and good wishes, she eagerly mounted the iron horse. Pushing her two children along, she headed for the coaches, waving good-bys to onlookers, all unaware of her secret, vengeful motives.

The rail trip took two days, and when the picnic-boxed food ran out, nothing more was purchased, leaving the children to cry from hunger. Finally the trip ended at a massive two-story adjacent to a grocery store.

Betsy was startled by the harsh look on Aunt Faye's face, standing on the staircase and glaring down at the trio entering through a frosted glass door. Bob clinging tightly to Betsy with one hand and with his other to his mother's leg, Betsy was thinking that one night at Aunt Faye's was more than enough. Thank goodness there were more places to visit ... this chilly greeting spoke of something deep and dark hovering over the whole family.

* * *

Aunt Tally's home was an unpainted tar paper shack, a shotgun design housing five scrappy children. Cajun music with its banjo and stomping wasn't to Carla's liking as she had a different religious attitude about music. Finally someone shouted, "Let's go to the river; it's been rainin' and the crayfish are hoppin' ... the river meant supper with crayfish eaten fresh from the water after a little blackening over a beach tripod stuffed with seaweed.

The next day was Saturday, the day for washing clothes in a ringer-type washer. Children were expected to hang the clothes on a line. Betsy was ridiculed for not knowing how to hang a pair of overalls. "You stupid dummy, hang them up!" An order not met with, as she was too short to reach the line; however, a tall cousin pushed her aside. "Let me help you, small fry."

Bob thought he could climb the scrub oak tree, but slipped and fell, breaking his arm near the elbow. He wailed incessantly until a doctor was finally contacted. A treatment was ordered, "Soak the whole arm in vinegar and soda; it may be just a sprain."

The soak seemed to soothe his arm, but resulted eventually in a curved, double-jointed arm.

* * *

Uncle Ben's farm was the best place to stay with its cornfields and assortment of vegetables. Betsy loved the children here who played hide and seek and gathered old corn for corncob dolls. Then came the showdown with Mama Carla's temper uncontrolled as she shouted, "What is left for me? You have everything our parents left."

"You gave us up without a song," Ben hollers back.

"Faye has a store, Tally a truck and a house, and you, Ben, have the farm ... I have nothing! You are all crooks!"

In her fury, she grabs a hand full of Tally's sparse dishwater blonde hair. Ben, in turn, grabs Carla and ties her arms with his belt.

Faye cranks the wall phone and shouts to authorities. Carla is returned to Pyote in a state-owned auto, then farther on, to an asylum.

* * *

The children grew up with a single father who never visited his former wife. Her escapade induced amnesia that lasted the remainder of her life.

Some kind of judgment is at work, thought Will. Some thrive on change; others bend like twigs, snapping into. He decided to leave unanswered questions alone and hope that none of the children follow her bent.

Equal Rights

Human skin from black to white
Relishes pride in brogues and drawls:
We patch up cracks
In Berlin walls,
Trade our goods, our network sites.
Landing jets in open ports,
We sponsor games, Olympic Sports.

Envy and pride
Has weathered the tide
Ship to shore
Shaking hands en rapport,
Fellowship doth abide.

Cinderella's Daughter

It was bad enough to be the daughter of a Mom stricken with a contagious, lethal disease, the dreaded scourge of TB before it became almost wiped out, and then, to become a half-sister to four brothers and two sisters. The Cinderella daughter of a step mother: was how I felt for almost half of my life, but hating the thought of moving elsewhere to live. Virginia was a long way from Pyote, Texas. One of my deseased Mom's cousins wasn't able to conceive children when she wrote to Dad ... We would love to have Betsy make her home with us. We would take good care of her and send her to a private school.

I learned the hard way that I would only add more logs on the fire, adding friction to a fiery marriage ... you will learn to cook and keep house for your board and schooling explained Cousin Beatrice with husband, Phillip nodding over her shoulder. This was not a blow to me as I had been doing this anyway without anyone eyeing my bed for further services as my trunk was shoved inside.

At twelve I had only three more years of public school as this was the last year of the eleven grade system, then I would be eligible to attend Radcliff and work on a degree in library science. I was a born bookworm who would covet such a career, and independence!

The Cousins planned a trip for me abroad with Dr. Kyle, the family's medical missionary. I sent a picture to my Texas family: I am standing on a portico in Yokohama holding a silk flowered parasol ... hoping they would not be too jealous of me, for I loved them all, especially my Dad.

Dr. Kyle explained the dark world of my confined stepmother. Betsy, those whippings and severe rulings were unjust, but she has a mental condition called paranoid schizophrenia. I am sorry that you had to be an opus operandi, but not the only one. The other children suffered also.

When the time came for me to matriculate, both Cousins complained of ill health, but Dr. Kyle interceded, assuring them that I needed to make a living for myself ... our family will see to financial arrangements, perhaps woking part time--we will all be proud of her, so let's keep on sending gifts to Texas during holidays.

I clapped my hands gleefully, having been called a jolly good gal with enough enthusiasm to master whatever comes my way; this is not to say that I don't brood over mixed metaphors that seem to domnate my life. I write to my old family constantly and keep a jorurnal, trying to scoop away the snow and turn it into fields of white daisies and Queen Anne's Lace; maple leaves become Indian blankets along side fields of bluebonnets. Texas blood still flows through my veins, but by the time cherry blossoms fill the trees, I have my eyes on the White House and the technical library where I eventually work. But first I am honored to serve as dean of girls at Radcliff. This was a boost for the Pentagon where I met and married Andy, a book buyer and auditor.

Andy and I took care of Cousin Bea and Phil who were now in their seventies, soon passing on and leaving their house to us with a mountain of antiques and a basement full of old photo albums. When the children were born, each had a private room beneath the dormers. Cotton-headed Nellie's room had pink walls surrounding Priseilla curtains and bedspread while Andrew, Jr. became a dark-skinned pirate in a secluded coven.

I continued sending letters to my siblings, to any who felt sympathetic to my complaints about respiratory problems, thanks to the cold climate. My letter were sent to a Houston address where Dad had moved his family so that he could become a part of the building boom. Unprecedented expansion loomed in all directions--the university, medical center, the Hofheinz stadium, Ellington Field, another airport--all synchronized with Dad's skills and his relations who were master builders.

Managing one trip to visit my estranged family, I had an overwhelming welcome by Dad's sisters and their children who remembered me from childhood. I felt so alive and happier than I'd been in years. Returning home, I felt better able to cope with Andy's drinking bouts that had no environmental history other than being an only child--a spoiled brat whose mother thought he could do no wrong, so he expected to be waited on because of phlebitis that grew worse along with his temper. The children happily trekked elsewhere for schooling. I was not happy to even consider a divorce. A legal separation was friendly enough; in fact, it helped me to manage our two gadabouts, incessantly visiting relations, and having children of their own. Their early alliances had led to legal marriages.

I am now living with my daughter, Nellie, helping her to rear two children and writing to a half-brother to express sorrow for Dad's passing from a heart attack precipated by an accident. I am told that his old Plymouth was hit from behind by a truck on the highway.

Although I am still alive, I feel that I am in another world believing that my life has already been lived according to a design, but now lacking a final fruition.

Around Texas

Longhorns graze on grain
And winter rye--Pecos plains
Devour flash flood rains

Jostling shrimp boats moored
La Porte's barnacled harbor
Attracts manatees

In Old Laredo
We tarry in gazebos
Sipping tequilas

Whirlpools crash and roar
Stair step falls fill Ingram creeks
Where dinosaurs tracked

Wild rose, plum blossom,
Dogwood ... wafting Big Thicket
Blend with scent of pine

Pain soon disappears
Muscles relax in Otine's
Warmest sulfur springs

Bighorns stake plateaus
Mist devours Big Ben peaks
Gravity has thinned

Does lead fawns to graze
In meadow dew--their shadows
Defying sunrise

Texas Trails

My family made frequent trips on Texas trails attempting to cover this whopping state's many attractions. We loved camping out boy scout style; however, preparing for cold and heat, wet and dry gave us pause to occasionally wind up looking for a vacancy sign and snuggling in motel beds, or better yet, staying overnight with relatives in Lubbock or Waco. Lubbock meant watching prairie dogs dig their holes; Waco meant fossil hunting near river beds.

Upon leaving Garner State Park after a camp-out, the oldest child nicknamed Freddie a recent Eagle Scout, looked out the back window of the Chivvy. "Look Mom, the Adirondack chair you were sitting in has sailed across the patio!"

This camp out had ended in a hurry when a flash flood made its debut from behind a Davis Mountain range, the proverbial hiding place for such downpours. Frosted rocks in Pied Piper reds had been a happy hunting ground for meteorite fragments, petrified wood, arrowheads, lava rock, honey topaz, as well as a smooth, black stone an inch thick and resembling a free-form sculpture of a Texas map--my treasure from this western range near Big Ben State Park.

Leaving Geology behind, but still driving west, near Kerrville, I became aware of the power of a rapid stream; I had to be rescued mid-stream reeling on a two-foot rock. My broad-shouldered husband, nicknamed Ernie, did the honors. The occasion had been an inspection of homo-sapiens footprints embedded for centuries next to behemoth prehistoric denizens, giving pause to the diversity of ancient stomping grounds and giving me a new respect for the power of flowing water.