CHAPTER 1
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;...
