We cannot get into this world without the help of a mother and a father.
Most of us also had a first love. Who we are, how we interact with others, the person we become, are impacted by these entities. Each contributes to the creation of a permanent mark on the indescribable place deep inside us, a place referred to in poetry and song as our heart and soul. From birth to death, the warmth of love and the ache of loss emanate from that illusive place.
My goal for readers of my book is that they internalize the characters’ joys and heartaches as though they personally lived them, that their illusive place becomes alive with emotion as they turn the pages.
The book begins with the main character as a young child when home and family are her whole world. The reader is then led through the ensuing years with the highs and lows of life, with emphasis on a first love and the effects this love created, the heartaches encountered, the babies born, the life lived, until the final breath is drawn.
Margaret Hawley
PART I
IN THE BEGINNING
PROLOGUE
One final push then I heard a baby wail. “Is that my baby? Let me see my baby.” I struggled to sit up, but I could not see around the nurse. “Oh, please let me see my baby, please,” I pleaded. No one spoke; they went about their business of cleaning the newborn baby. Then a nurse carrying the crying infant swaddled in a blanket rushed out the door without me getting a glimpse of what was in the tiny bundle.
“I know I can’t keep the baby, but surely I can have one look at it. Please let me follow that nurse and see my baby.” I began crying hysterically. “I don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl. Someone please tell me.”
The doctor came over to me and took my hand. “Your baby was a boy, Marcie. You agreed to give the baby up for adoption, and it’s best that you don’t see him. You will only feel worse and possibly doubt your decision. I’m going to give you something to calm you down now.” He put a needle in my arm, and I drifted off into a peaceful blankness.
When I heard my baby’s first cry, for an instant my heart was filed with joy, knowing my baby had entered the world. However, that joy quickly turned to heartache when I was not allowed to see him. I realized when he was whisked from the room that, although he had entered the world, he had not entered my world, that I would never see him nor know anything about him, that his adoptive parents would nurture and love him in my place. Little did I know that one day in the future this baby would be an instrument of great sorrow for me and my family.
Growing up in a secure and loving home, I was totally unaware of the crucibles I would have to face in the years ahead. My childhood years with my parents and the responsibilities that were often placed upon me for the care of my younger sister and brother helped to develop the resilience I would need to endure those crucibles.
CHAPTER 1
I was born in a small town in Missouri, and this is where I begin my story because those early years helped mold me into the person I became. In later years when adversities were forced upon me, I would long for the peaceful, secure and carefree days of my youth. However, because of the experiences of those early years, I was able to put such longings aside and trudge forward.
The environment where I lived during my childhood years was a life at the end of an era.
In our home as well as many others, indoor plumbing was unavailable; kerosene lamps were used for lighting; children walked to school on dirt roads. In spite of what might have appeared to be a deprived life, with my parents’ love surrounding me making my life safe and
secure, I felt I had everything I needed. At this tender age the future was only tomorrow filled with happy times with my family.
The town in which I lived the first years of my life was a safe little hamlet tucked in among rolling hills dotted with small ponds where grazing cattle stopped to quench their thirst. The population was only one hundred ninety townspeople, but farm families came there to shop, go to church or to the picture show, as movies were called back then. In the small towns of the 1940s children could stay out long after dark without fear, playing tag, catching fire flies or wading in puddles in the summer and playing the snow or sledding in the winter. Life was good, especially for the children.
Saturday night was when the farm families came to town and intermingled with the town folks. The women purchased a week’s supply of groceries and then spent the rest of their time sitting on benches along the walls of the grocery store visiting and swapping stories and recipes.
The men met in the Café sharing tales of the past week, some drinking beer and many smoking, which caused the air to be thick with smoke. When I would go into the Café to ask my father for a nickel to buy some candy, which he always gave me, he would hurry me outside where the air was clean.
Almost every Saturday night most of the children through high school age went to the picture show. When we entered the movie house, the smell of fresh popcorn dripping with
butter greeted us. Inside was an isle down the middle with seats on either side. There were bleacher-like seats in the back near the entrance, and that is where high school couples sat and watched very little of the show. We younger ones would steal an occasional peak and giggle at what we saw going on back there.
Besides the movie of the week, there was always an exciting serial that continued week after week with the hero going over a cliff, getting hit by a train or some other tragedy but miraculously always surviving in the next episode, although I left the show thinking he or she had perished.
After the show everyone went to the drugstore. Near the back of the room where people gathered were several ice cream tables and chairs. Usually a ceiling fan was slowly turning to help keep the room cool. In the center of the room was a soda fountain where sodas and ice cream cones could be purchased. Near the front was a glass candy case that contained many
different candies. A favorite candy of children was what was called a Penny Grabber. It was wrapped in brown paper, cost one penny and had a piece of candy inside as well as a little toy or paper game.
Once I came to the store with a play penny. I told the druggist what I wanted and gave him the fake penny, knowing it wasn’t real. Without a word he smiled and handed me the Penny Grabber. I was amazed as I expected him to tell me my penny was not a real penny.
When the show was over, we young girls would run all around the town with the young boys chasing after us but never catching us. This was not true of the high school boys and girls. They usually ended up together, either in a car or some secluded spot in the park, which sat on the east side of the business district.
Every Saturday night in the summer there would be a dance above the Feed Store with a piano player and some violin players. Everyone gathered there at ten o’clock for square and round dancing. Often my father would ask me to dance with him. How proud I was waltzing around the floor with my father while my friends watched.
When the night came to a close and we piled into the car to go home, totally exhausted from out “night on the town,” we would unbutton our clothes so we could instantly shed them and climb into bed, going to sleep almost immediately.
For such a small town there were quite a few businesses. On one street was a bank, the
grocery store,
