A Mother Reformed

Chapter 18

A Mother Reformed

Pa and I soon learned that these people that had made themselves right at home in our hay and cornfield weren’t going away anytime soon. Our house was on a long to do list as we continued to help our neighbors.  (As I said, I did a way better job painting it my series. Not everything was fiction.)

I attended school in a one-room tent schoolhouse three days later after the picnic had officially started. I learned it didn’t matter where you went to school; you still walked away with a good education. It was just different having kids that were in different graded levels all in the same room. The dress code was a lot different, too; as boys and girls came dressed in either Kitenge gowns like mine and even went barefoot. Some of the kids were so poor that their clothing seemed mostly rags, and hadn’t seen a tub of water in a long time.

The smell alone during the summer heat would gag you. Until Aunt Lizzy put her foot down canceling class so we could swim in the nearby pond; with a bar of soap and washtub inside a tent set up for bathing in privacy. Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore made sure each child was clean and healthy with free examinations with a new dress for the girls and Kitenge gowns for the boys. Each child was given a pair of sandals and some small clothes. So they had at least something to wear when they came to class.

The dress code may have been relaxed; our or studies were anything but. To say the school board monitored every scrap of work we did was an understatement. Sometimes they would send down school teachers from various schools to teach the harder subjects. Which in turn became a nightmare for some students who were lucky enough too even attend school in the first place; having little or no education at all.

Later on, the list was amended and a bus would stop near the farm requiring Robert and Will and the Whitmore boys and others to attend regular school. Due to my injuries and my clothing requirement being what they were; a simple Kitenge gown, nothing more would not be appropriate in any of the local schools. I was unable to attend until I could wear a pair of jeans, shirt, and sneakers. Back then students weren’t allowed to wear shorts or sandals of any kind to school and remained so until I had graduated from high school a few years later. Now it seems it has relaxed as I watch students of all ages attend school in shorts and sandals and flip-flops even in most colleges today they are allowed them.

Disease went ramped with so many people in close quarters in our hay field that kept Payson Hospital so busy, to the point they ended up setting up a doctor’s tent staffed with local nurses with two doctors on staff. Doctor Whitmore ended up moving his family to Santaquin so he wouldn’t have to travel back and forth to Salt Lake City so often making a more permanent transfer to the Payson Hospital. Doctor Hatfield and he worked side by side most days, for it seemed they never ran out of work. Pa had his hands full keeping the peace; as he rode up and down the tent blocks with Aunty M and his small posse of deputies that he had handpicked. (If you are looking for more of a story than cliff notes you can read it in my series.)  To say everything went smoothly would be a lie.

Some people were so lazy and refused to help their neighbor or even pitch in running the camp; it came to brawling in the streets. The food was always free for those that worked building new homes and worked in the camps and for those that decided to stay in Santaquin. While others were told to move on if they weren’t going to contribute. Some people tell a different story the way Santaquin population grew and other nearby towns. Who is to say that Aunty M and our little floating town didn’t help them along the way? Small towns have to come from somewhere. Other than the old Pioneers when they came across the plains in the early eighteen-hundreds; which was more than two hundred years before I was born. No, this took place in the early nineteen- seventies.

It came down two choices, as Pa looked outside our window at the large pile of dwindling wood. Either send them all packing or help establish roots in our community. Pa chose to help the community of farmers than our own needs. Ma and we were very proud of the decision he made as we watched Aunty M give him the biggest bear hug. He figured the people out in our field needed a home more than just a tent. But there was no way he could each build them a home of their own. So once more a meeting was called as Pa and the Mayor and some of the city folk planned out how to use the resources that we had at our disposal.

Aunty M made a quick call to Mike’s lumber mill somewhere in Heber City, Utah. She had them send down enough lumber to build barracks that would house the people that had their mind set in staying. The Mayor officially closed the farmer’s picnic so folks that decided to go home before winter set in could. (Again cliff notes)

Needless to say, it was a sad day to see our new friends depart as the tents came down and we said goodbye until the next farmer’s picnic would be held. (Now called Santaquin days.) Pa with the help of the remaining farmers; built several temporary barracks that could be quickly be put up and taken down. Theses barracks had everything they needed to live comfortably in until a permanent solution came available. They also built few smaller houses with as much lumber he could get his hands on. Santaquin grew as the outskirts of open land became rich farm land; new orchard trees to wheat fields and cattle.

Ma was keeping a secret from Pa; she was hiding a new brother for Sam, another child to replace the one she was losing. His name is Ted and he was seven years old at the time and now an orphan. Apparently, his parents died from yellow fever when he was five and had been passed around among groups of parents in the camps, hoping to find a home among them. He was nothing but skin and bones. Ted wore rags that hung loosely on his body with a rope in lieu of a belt. Ma took him in her arms and brought him home. She gave him a bath and all the food he could eat. He was dressed in some of the clothes that Aaron and Sam had outgrown.

His wavy blond hair needed to be cut so everyone could see his bright baby blues. When he smiled it lit up his whole face. He was short for his age at three feet and had a laugh that warmed your insides. It didn’t take long for the rest of us to fall in love with him as he joined our ever growing family. But Ma didn’t now how to tell Pa that she attended to adopt him as she kept quiet, as she was dealing with the loss of my brother Aaron. 

We were running out of options in keeping him out of foster care or out of my parent’s home. Grandma s health issues were just adding to the problem in keeping Aaron safe in his own home. Aunty M’s old age and losing Mike didn’t help matters since she was not considered young enough to raise a child on her own. Nor did she have strong family ties being a distance cousin on my father’s side since she was married in and not a blood relative.

Believe me when it comes to politics; blood is a lot thicker than water. Pa had too much going on being the sheriff and going place to place helping out our neighbors. With crops or building new hay barns and new fencing for cattle so our food supply wouldn’t run short. He was too busy to notice another child on the farm or at our table among so many others that my sisters and Ma attended throughout the day with the other parents. 

Who’s to say that he didn’t belong to any of them? But she hated keeping it from him until a better solution presented it self. She questioned if this was going too far; wanting more children other than one she was having and me. When I asked about it after seeing the worry on her face as she and I watched Ted bond with us; she kissed my cheek saying “I am sure Pa will come around, you let me worry about that.”

Aunty M did whatever she could regarding our state’s loop holes, but we seemed to run into dead ends more often than not. My mother with the help of her shrink and medication seemed to improve by leaps and bounds. To the point that they arranged a meeting to see if they could resume visitations rights. I know what you are thinking. How stupid can people be? You get no argument from me on that one. You might have heard the term. ‘The left-hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing.’ In this case, it was truer than not. We may have the proof and government may have the proof, but someone got missed along the way by not having any or very little proof that this is a bad idea. Some higher ups in Congress, only want to see what they wanted to see or chose to ignore it altogether, so once more Aaron was sent home to an unstable home.

Aunty M never gave up the fight as she monitored the situation with surprise visits; either by the Police Chief or a caseworker from (DDS) Department of Developmental Services. A brunch off’s the State Foster Care System; that monitors the development of children and families in the home before they are placed into the system. This was known as preventive care. While parents and their children undergo counseling; either in the home or by a shrink or both to evaluate the living conditions in the home instead of the office; this was one of Aunty M’s best ideas to date when it came to my brother’s welfare.

Like I said she knows people in high positions and how to get around the obstacles. Needless to say, my parents were not happy with her meddling and having strangers come in the home anytime they liked. It did not improve matters or having them on her good side even if was for her and the families benefit. Yet it left a great big hole on our farm when Aaron wasn’t here. Every time Ma heard a child’s cry. It tore her to pieces thinking it was Aaron and finding it was another child instead; while their mother comforted and soothed the child.  We were miserable without him and his bright baby blue eyes and the laughter and love he gave us, it put us on the edge.

Sam and the rest of us were very depressed and there seemed little we could do, but count the days that we would have him back into our arms. Even though it was a weekend a month, it was better than nothing at all. Which my mother constantly forgot having Aunty M or my Grandma to remind her often enough.

Aunty M did her best keeping tabs on what was going on in my parent’s home. But the state and my mother were not satisfied. My mother kept insisting that she had the right to have all her children home. Not being raised by a stranger when she felt she could provide for them better than quote “A substitute mother or family.” She hated the Downing’s with a passion; she hated my Grandmother and worst of all she hated Aunty M.  Nothing in the world brought the anger out when someone mentioned any of their names. The mere thought of apologizing to any of them for her actions didn’t sit well, but she wanted what she wanted: Aaron and I under her thumb and she wasn’t about to leave us alone until we were back under that control.

Aunty M and my Grandmother tried to reason with her regarding how many times they have beaten me within an inch of my life. How many homes they have placed me in. Not forgetting how they tried to sell me to drug addicts. Not for money, but to prove to Grandma and myself that I meant nothing to them; that I was only a piece of property for them to use at their discretion. Asking her why go to all the trouble to get rid of me only to bring me back and repeat the process as soon as their back was turned? They argued it would far better to put me and my brother up for adoption than having to live in constant torment.

Stating they are happy right where they are. Just leave it at that. She would either blow a gasket as her eyes filled with anger, but she had to show she could control it in front of company that was monitoring her every move; she’d put on a pretty face stating. “That was then this is now. I have changed; we have all changed.” Then she would look squarely at my father. She was hoping to sell the lie at face value until everyone’s backs were turned again. My mother was as manipulative as they come; it came with years of practice lying. The government officials bought into it every single time.

It all came down to one thing. "I was ill and had an anger problem, but now after being under a doctors care for the last six months and have learned to control my temper and as long as I take my pills. I am ready to and prepared to raise “all” my children; like a loving mother should, not a fake substitute."  She would blink her eyes with a fake believable smile and repeat how sorry she and her husband were and would really like to go on with their lives. Stating with the DDS providing assistance now unlike before; they were now ready to take the next step.  (And to think that people are so gullible to believe this with all the proof stating otherwise.)

Notice, my father never said a word to prove that he had changed as well. It was always my mother stating everyone has changed or made improvements. She didn’t dare let them speak. For if they did, and proved otherwise; she would beat the living hell out anyone that said differently. She was the bully in the schoolyard and my father followed her example. The rest of us did not believe it for one minute. For some reason, her bad history was all the proof we needed that said she was playing us, but those state b******s fell right into my mother's hands. 

While she put on a pretty face and took Aaron away from a life of happiness and reached out and wanting to do the same for me. That’s where Aunty M drew the line said. "Not so fast, we want proof that you can handle being a mother. This time things aren’t going to be so easy as long as I am alive. He’s not going anywhere near you."

My mother actually broke down and cried saying over and over. How they have changed asked. “Why don’t you believe me? All I want is to be a family again.” (I ask you do believe her after all she has done?) Apparently, Family Services did or I wouldn’t be sitting here typing my memories of every time the church and state let this happen; defending the parents not the child. 

The LDS church spouting; “Families are forever,” crap. It makes me so angry every time some brainwashed kid and parent stands up in the church. Quoting ‘that we should love our parents and forgives them for the things they had done; stating that the vows they took when they were married and sealed in the LDS temple; that their children will join them in the afterlife.’

I tell you this better not be true; and will make damn sure I go straight to hell before I become part of their family again if this wasn’t hell enough. No, I will do whatever it takes; break any covenant that has been placed on me. To avoid being in their family. They say time heals all wounds. Hasn’t yet, it has been more than forty years and time has healed nothing but the physical wounds. My mother was the queen of manipulation. You don’t take what she says at face value. My sisters are the same way.

Susan prides herself manipulating her own children, and making damn sure I am not around so she can spread as many lies with as much sugar and honey without me contradicting her and the lies. But I have one secret that she doesn’t know. No one believes her, but they do nothing to stop her and my father from spreading them. They prefer to ignore what my father and mother have done over the years as they put their arm around them and talk about the good old days. How they could stand to have them in their presence with the knowledge and proof within their grasp I will never know.

Ma finally broke down and told Pa one night as they were saying goodnight to each of us. I heard them standing in the hallway waiting for my night terror drugs to kick in. Ma was right. All Pa said was there is always room for one more, and nothing more was said. Pa and Ma signed the papers uncontested. Ted was officially a Downing.

If I only it been that simple for me. I loved him regardless and considered him one of my brothers. Even though it tore my heart out seeing my brother only one weekend a month, it bothered me knowing he wasn’t happy or loved. It showed every time he came to visit and every time he left that things were not ok at home. They never raised a hand on him, and I am sure that was because they knew they lived in a glass house; where they watched for any sign of abusive behavior with surprised visits from Aunty M or the DDS

I did my best trying not to be afraid of my mother when she showed up dropping off Aaron and would spend an hour or two trying to get me to sit alone with her. Hell, I wouldn’t let her touch me, as I backed a safe distance away from her. It didn’t matter having the DDS nearby or my Ma or Pa sitting in the room. It didn’t matter as the hidden cameras rolled recording every movement my mother made. I wouldn’t come within ten feet of her. Every time she reached out. I backed further away into a corner, and she would breakdown crying. Telling me how sorry she was. Hoping I would believe her one more time.

Nothing changed. I could not get the images of her and my father beating me to a pulp as I laid there on the ground bleeding to death from the two-story fall after I’d jumped through the window to save my life. Or the time my father beat me right here on our porch, proving nobody could stop him. Not my Pa, not the police, and certainly not the state. To him, I would always be touchable as far as he was concerned. Nothing in his mind would ever change that. 

My only hope was to become bigger and stronger, so I could fight back. Even though he was not allowed to come within fifty feet from the farm, and wasn’t with her during these short visits; I did not trust her. She was dragged out by the DDS often enough so Ma and Pa would calm my fears as I cried in their arms over and over how scared I was.  It was going to take more than that before I even let her near me.

Reviews

[M Garcia]

I just keep shaking my head as I know what's coming. Great chapter.

[Shep]

thanks for the review