and rope.
“Here we go,” Brian said as he started pulling things out of the truck bed. “We got a generator too, so we can start making things to sell again.”
A few hours later, Samantha and I were put to work with picks and shovels to clear the sagebrush, so we could start building a small shelter. Brian helped some, but he would use the truck and a chain to pull the debris out. I was only eleven and Samantha was only nine: the tools were heavy.
As dusk fell, Brian came out and said we could come in for the night. We had only cleared five square feet but could do no more. Mamma gave us some soup, and we collapsed on our blankets and fell asleep to the lonely howl of coyotes that seemed to say, “You are all alone, so very alone … and defenseless.”
It took us nearly two weeks to clear a chunk of land fifty feet wide by fifty feet long. While working, Samantha and I stumbled upon an old piece of cement that was sticking up from the ground. It turned out to be part of the basement to a house that had been on the land in the thirties. We were excited with our find and ran down the cement steps into the underground room which was only ten feet by ten feet. Of course, there was no hidden treasure, but it was still fun to see how old it looked. We did find a few mason jars of canned plums that still had their seal. Brian seemed pleased with our find and even let us eat the fruit. They were surprisingly delicious, even though they had been there at least sixty years.
Brian decided that we would construct a small building on top of the basement and stay the winter there. However, lumber was expensive, so we would have to sell a lot of our crafts in town to buy the needed supplies.
It was May and a rainbow of different colored flowers covered the mountains. They nodded their pretty heads in the warm spring air and brought a smile to my otherwise sad face. Wild cherries were blossoming along the country road; there were miles of apple, cherry, and peach orchards down in the valleys. All the way to Wenatchee, all you could see was orchard after orchard. When they were all in bloom, it was a masterpiece to behold. Springtime made everything look alive and beautiful, but there was also a sense of urgency in the air. We had to prepare for the oncoming cold that would kill every form of life if it were given a chance.
That first week of May, we loaded our wares into the truck and headed to Wenatchee to pick up Mamma’s government checks. They did not come to the post office in our little town because the P.O. box had to be in the same city as her fake address. Every month, Mamma and Brian made this trip to pick up the checks and food stamps. Since Mamma did not have a job and the government did not know she was making money on the side with crafts, we qualified for all kinds of government aid.
Just a few miles outside of Wenatchee, Brian and Mamma set up our table with Amish dolls, Amish cookbooks, and Brian’s music boxes. A lot of people set up stands to sell their vegetables, so Mamma thought it might work to sell our items.
We did pretty well that day and sold more than half our things, and Brian was able to buy some of the much needed lumber for our winter shelter.
As the summer progressed, Mamma and Brian started bringing home goats and other farm animals from the auctions. Samantha and I loved playing with the goats, but we did not get much time to do so as our list of chores seemed to grow with every day.
Samantha and I would now have to get up before the adults. We were to heat up water for coffee, make breakfast, put Brian’s shaving things out and then wake them up. After breakfast, we would clean the two tents and then help Brian and Mamma with building, pull sagebrush or take care of the animals.
My sister and I were in charge of virtually everything since Mamma had complained to Brian that she did not want to be stuck with the work around the tents. She believed that we were capable of doing more than we already were.
As early fall approached, old Jack Frost revisited the mountains. A shiver ran up my spine as I watched the geese fly south and the goats’ fur become fluffier.
Life in the new shack was tight, and Samantha and I were only allowed inside to sleep, cook and eat. Everything else was done under the giant cottonwood tree, which had a lean-to tarp nailed to it.
While Samantha and I worked, Brian and Mamma often argued. Mamma would then storm off in the truck and go into town, leaving us alone with Brian, who would look for reasons to beat us. When they were not fighting, Mamma would often bury herself in a romance novel while Brian would call me to the loft for a massage. This was often used as a pretext to molest me. My legs would shake as I climbed the ladder. I would sometimes push Brian off me, but he would then get angry, and for the rest of the day he would walk around and find things to beat me for.
A lot of times, he would scream at me and tell me I was worthless. I would never amount to anything. Once, when I was ten, he told Mamma that I was seducing him and that she should tell me to stop. I remember how my face burned and how I blinked back tears as Mamma told me it was wrong to seduce men. I wanted to tell her that Brian was molesting me; I wanted her to believe me and hug me and tell me it was going to get better. But I felt she already knew, and if I said anything, she would blame me. I don’t know how any mother could look into a ten-year-old’s tear-filled eyes and tell her to stop seducing her fifty-something-year-old stepfather.
And so, as I climbed the ladder to the loft, I would let my mind travel to a better place. I had learned to drift away to pleasanter places when things around me got to be too much. Most of the time, I was a missionary doctor saving AIDS patients in Africa. Sometimes, my daydreams were so real I could almost smell the rain forest and hear the monkeys chattering to each other as they swung from tree to tree. It was a great fantasy, but not one that was attainable for a girl no one even remembered existed.
One day in October, Mamma came back from the welfare office with a worried look. She told Brian that, because she had filled out her government paperwork stating that Samantha and I were being homeschooled, the state wanted us to come in for standardized testing. Mamma and Brian argued for a couple of days. Mamma then dusted off math and spelling books for Samantha and me. We were to study between chores. Brian was angry and accused us of being lazy, sitting around looking at books. Mamma, though, seemed worried that they might go to jail for not having us in school.
Brian reluctantly consented for us to study and allowed for no more than an hour a day; we had to get as much done as possible in that time.
While we tried to follow the instructions in the books, it was difficult, and we got most of the problems wrong. Unfortunately, our school sessions only lasted about two weeks; Mamma somehow got around the state testing.
We continued to do lessons sporadically in case someone from the state started asking questions or wanted to see our school work. I do not know how much it helped since we were not doing the lessons correctly or regularly.
The last week of October brought snow flurries and a cold north-easterly wind that whistled through the ravine and up the mountains as if it were a herald announcing the arrival of old man winter. I looked forlornly at the flurries and wrapped my thin black blazer tightly around my shoulders.
Even though it was the end of October, the thermometer dropped to the mid-twenties in the early morning hours. A thin layer of ice could be seen on any standing water, and my teeth chattered constantly.
I had low blood pressure and poor circulation, which made me sensitive to the cold. I began developing first-degree frostbite on my hands and feet. The tops of my feet and hands itched terribly, and I scratched them until the skin came off. My feet hurt badly. I put cotton balls on each bloody toe before putting on my thin socks and my thin black canvas shoes. Thankfully, Samantha was not sensitive to cold and did not have to suffer the ridicule from Brian for being a weakling.
One
