Death by Vaudeville: A Journey Back From the End of the World

By Frances White

He only wanted the family he lost at the age of ten. His young bride wanted to be a star. So, when opportunity knocked, this young chauffeur took his wife out of Deadwood and headed for Los Angeles to make their dreams come true. Only after a few short months on the road Robert learned his wife Violet has turned her head toward a Vaudeville agent, who promised her fame, fortune, and expensive gifts, turning his dreams into a nightmare. This is not just a genealogist's tale, but the untold story of love, betrayal and murder of the vermin who would destroy everything. Now, a.k.a. Zane R. Southern has to fight not only for his wife, but also for his life. However, facing the gallows doesn't seem as hard as the thought of losing her. This story is based on the real life of Robert Lawrence Victor Smith, and the events that led to his journey back from the end of the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662426285

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Death by Vaudeville

A Journey Back From the End of the World

Frances White

Copyright © 2021 Frances White

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-2627-8 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-2628-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

In loving memory of Randy James Ervin Sept. 8th, 1983–Mar. 21, 2021

I wanted to dedicate this story to my husband, Jerry White.

Thank you for putting up with me through all my researching

and endless weekends writing.

To my father, Charles Edgar Publow, his grandfather’s namesake,

who by hard work gave his own family all he had.

To my mother, Mary Cecilia Jerore-Publow, who instilled in me the beauty of family and genealogy.

To my daughter, Natasha Bouchillon; my son, RJ Ervin;

and my grandchildren—

know that there are many interesting tales in your family tree.

But most of all, you are a story in progress.

Make the most of your life. Do the right thing always,

and life will be easier, kinder, and less complicated.

Know that you are loved and I believe in you.

Special Thanks

Iwant to thank those who helped me get through this book preparation experience. You made it a little easier for me. To my sister Cindy Lincoln, who sat up all night listening to me read my story out loud. And to my friends Mary Quehl, Sharon Miller, and Deborah Sandow, who all helped read through my manuscript, editing and advising details before sending it to the publisher. I couldn’t have done this without your help.

Prologue

Ican still see her sitting up against the headboard of her antique bed with an old Western novel in her hand. Her long fingernails were polished red, a color that matched her zest for life. Her thick long gray and auburn hair pulled back into a bun told her age, as well as the deep stern wrinkles of her brow. Her equally deep-set eyes always seemed to be full of mystery to me. I pondered on her as I stood in the hallway next to her bedroom door, listening to her. It was then she looked at me and told me about her family.

She mentioned her father, her mother, and her siblings—all people I had never heard of before that day. She had never talked about them, at least not to me. For some reason that day was different. Perhaps, because she had just settled into her new trailer home next to my parents’ house, where I was able to visit her more often on my own. Now she had someone new to tell her stories to.

I think this was when I realized she even had a family of her own, or that she had memories of a childhood, or even secret stories. That was the day she had my full attention. Especially after her conversation of family, turned to her brother who she said went to prison for murdering his wife.

I was ten years old at the time she captivated me with her stories about her family, especially Robert. She didn’t say much about him that day, other than his name and where he lived and that he had a daughter. The fact that she said there was a murderer in the family and that he went to prison was quite surprising. However, it would be several years before I would discover the truth about what had truly happened.

I would always wonder why she said he killed his wife. Whatever the reason was for saying so, this was what she told me, and nothing more. I suppose, looking back on it now, it might have been to avoid having to explain to a young grandchild about an adult situation that led to its circumstances. It might have been just easier for her to say he killed his wife.

Vague as the information was that she gave me about her third brother, I was determined to learn what had happened to him and his wife. After several years of investigating her stories during my genealogical research, I discovered what had happened on that November day in 1924 in Los Angeles, California, that put her brother in Folsom Prison for a life term.

I would discover several newspapers from across the country that explained in great detail his ordeal. I would come to understand then just how notorious his story was. Perhaps this was why she kept it to herself. Nonetheless, I found his story to be both unfortunately heart wrenching and worthy to be told in full to those in the family who didn’t know his story.

As horrific as the event was that occurred that Saturday afternoon in the center of Hollywood’s theatrical world, I found that his life still had great worth. Many people reading this might not understand how I could make a statement about anyone who had taken another human being’s life. But unlike those who had written about a man turned murderer, I am writing about a murderer who was first a man.

I learned on my journey to find my great-uncle Robert and his story that no one grows up saying, I want to be a murderer! However, sometimes circumstances evolve by no choice of their own. One that pulls a person into a dark place in their mind, where snap decisions are made. Decisions that will forever haunt them for the rest of their life. I believe this was Robert’s case.

Many newspaper reporters during the 1920s had made their speculations as to what made Robert snap. Their presumptions came from bits and pieces of his recent life. None of them knew his full story, all the elements of his life that brought him to that moment. They didn’t know the pains and sufferings that compounded into a big ball of desparation for him. This is why I want to tell his story.

I had discovered after years of research a treasure trove of information that helped me fill in the gaps with those missing pieces of his life. And so, to tell his story, let me first tell you about my grandmother’s memories of her family. It is my hope that in telling his full story, from the time of his childhood to the ends in his adult life, that you will understand what led him to that day that changed his life—forever—exposing his sins to the world as a vile and bad man.

This story isn’t just about endless genealogical findings based on boring birth records, census records, or death certificates. Death by Vaudeville is a story based on true life events. It was written with nearly 250 newspaper articles in mind, printed as far away as Hawaii to New York, Washington to Georgia, and published in two national magazines, each explaining a little more about the event that occurred—a life lived during the roaring twenties that could have been suitable for the silver screens of Hollywood. It is a tragic love story, one that developed in his search to fill a great void, and the circumstances that had gone so terribly wrong for one young man and the woman he loved.

When I discovered his story for the first time, I realized I had his story to tell. And though I am not a writer, I hope you find my storytelling intriguing enough to keep reading to the end.

Introduction to Robert’s Family

First of all, let me introduce you to Robert’s parents, Charles Edgar Smith and Jennie Amelia Mirers/Smith. Charles was born in Dansville, New York, in 1859. The earliest thing known about him is that he served in one of the Indian wars in the Dakota territories.

My grandmother always told the story that he was a water boy on the battlefields. This gave me an image of a twelve-year-old boy wandering through a blood-soaked field, carrying a bucket of water and a ladle. After finding at least one military document for his registration for war, I discovered he was of the age of twenty-one. He enlisted for war in Watertown, New York, a town she always mentioned, where he came from. I concluded from this document this is most likely him and that he was a cook who served the troops in the field.

She said after his death, he was buried with honors in Beaverton, Michigan, where she lived. I believed, due to hardships, he was buried in the family plot of the Hall family. The Halls were the owner and operator of the funeral home.

Charles’s grave is marked by a stone. It was once pointed out to me by a groundskeeper.

Jennie Amilia Mirers was born and raised in St. Helena, Nebraska, where Charles first met her. Most likely after his service in the territories, he stayed on in that area. They married on the seventh of May in 1887, at the courthouse of Douglas, Nebraska. Then together, they left Nebraska and headed east for Michigan, where they would build a life for themselves. And it is there where they started a family of their own. Jenny would leave her mother and father and seven sisters behind.

Charles would support his family as a carpenter. He was known to be a painter, especially known for painting the intricate crown molding inside the theaters. Census records also show he was a home decorator, wallpapering homes and businesses. Charles was artistic. It was said that he could draw with both hands at the same time. He baked bread and was very musical.

Charles and Jennie would have six living children in all.

Alfred Edgar, the eldest son, was born April 9,1888, after his parents arrived in Michigan. They would settle in a town named Hartford.

After 1904, Alfred would leave on foot at the age of sixteen for Montana. He would find work as a sign maker. He later moved to the mountain range, where he worked as a cowherd. He became friends with the ranch owner’s son, enlisted for WWI, and would go to the Texas border. After returning with his future brother-in-law, who was shot in the head, he cared for him and later married his friend’s sister Agnes Arneson.

Together they had two daughters, Beverly and Jewel. He then moved his family to Washington State, where he worked as a mechanic the rest of his life. They attended the Catholic Church. Alfred was well involved in the Masonic Scottish Rite. He too, was very musical, playing many instruments.

He died in 1947 of thrombosis in the superior mesenteric arteries. He was fifty-nine years old.

* * *

Gracie Etta, eldest daughter, a.k.a. Baby Gracie, as my grandmother so fondly called her, was born after Alfred. She lived only to the age of seven. She died on July 8, 1896. What is known about her death comes from my grandmother’s stories. Grandma most likely heard stories of her eldest sister from her father and siblings over the years, being she wasn’t born for another ten years. Gracie was buried in Honor, Michigan, with no tombstone.

* * *

Frank Benjamin, second son and brother of Robert, was the third child born on December 18, 1891, in Chicago, Illinois. The Smith family had recently moved to Chicago, some 102 miles from Hartford, Michigan. The family remained there for a year and ten months before returning back to their Hartford home.

After 1904, Frank lived with an aunt and uncle in South Dakota, until he was of age. He learned his skills from his uncle on the family farm and garage.

He later moved on his own to Iowa, where he met his wife, Marianne Roeser. Together they raised a family—one son, Lawrence, and two daughters, Frances and Dorothy.

Frank was very musical; he played the fiddle and was known to strum the wires on the back of a piano to entertain. Frank had patents of his inventions, one being the bondelum during his very successful welding career. He was well-known across the state of Iowa as their top welder. After his death, several newspaper articles accredited him with this honor.

He and his wife raised their family in the Catholic Church. It was after finding his granddaughter that I discovered he and my grandmother had written over the years, exchanging photos of family.

Sadly, Frank died an early death in 1941 at the age of fifty.

* * *

Robert Lawrence Victor, later known in his adult life as Zane R. Southern, was the third son born, fourth in the birth ranks and the third and youngest son. He was born on October 10, 1893, in Hartford, Michigan, after the family returned back from Illinois.

In 1904 Robert went with his brother Frank to live with an aunt and uncle in South Dakota. He too learned several skills from his uncle working on vehicles. He left on his own at the age of sixteen, working in a Livery Stable, and later became a chauffeur for the same man who turned his livery into an automotive dealership in Deadwood.

Robert played in a band with his brother and cousins. He had a passion for playing music and was known to play several instruments.

It was forty years after my grandmother’s stories of him before I ever saw his face for the first time. It would be forty more years from the time my grandmother told me about Robert that I would be able to tell his story.

Death by Vaudeville is about his life and his journey back from the end of the world. I will tell you his story once I have introduced you to the rest of his siblings.

* * *

Nina Beline was the second daughter and second sister to Robert. She was the fifth child. She was born September 23, 1898, in Grand Traverse City, while the family was living in Crystal Lake, Michigan, two years after Gracie’s death.

I never knew much about Nina, though she played an important part in my grandmother’s childhood. What I learned about her was she married at the age of nineteen to Charles Beech, of Shiawassee, Michigan.

They had two sons, Frank and Charles, and a daughter, Luella, whom I was able to write some years back to learn about this Smith family. Unfortunately, Luella Beech Henry knew very little of our Smiths. It wasn’t until recently that I was able to connect to Nina’s granddaughter from Hawaii. That was when I learned a little more about her.

Nina and Charles took their family west to Twenty-Nine Palms, California, where they lived out their lives. After Charles died, she remarried. Nina was a very caring individual who set up three convalescent homes. Nina was a licensed nurse and was a very witty person.

She died at the age of seventy-four in 1972.

* * *

Ada Mae, the third daughter and youngest sister of Robert, was my grandmother. Ada was born on the eighth of September 1903, in Grand Traverse City. She lived in Michigan all her adult life.

After 1904 she and Nina lived with another aunt and uncle in St. Helena, Nebraska, separated from their brothers. She and Nina were taken back into their father’s custody and raised by their father from the age of six until her teenage years. She left home at the age of fourteen after Nina married, over a bad relationship with a stepmother.

Ada would take care of their father in his old age. After he died, his funeral was held in her home where he was laid out, in Beaverton, Michigan. She kept in touch with her siblings over the years by letters and phone calls. How often she communicated with them is not known.

My grandmother married my grandfather Harold Francis Publow, of Midland, Michigan. They raised seven children: Dorothy, Beatrice, Grace, William, Richard, Ilene, and Charles Edgar, my father. My father was her father’s namesake.

She was a very musical individual herself. She would play her electric organ for hours. She loved swimming like a ballerina, ballroom dancing, and reading novels, when she wasn’t working hard on her farm milking cows and raising chickens.

She passed away on April 1, 1994, at the age of ninety-one. Part of this story about Robert comes from her recollections of their family. As for the rest, they come from decades of genealogical research. It is by these facts I am able to tell his story and the circumstances that led to the writing of Death by Vaudeville and his journey from the end of the world.

* * *

Violet Ruth and Robert Lawrence Smith

a.k.a.

Violet and Zane R. Southern

CHAPTER 1

The End of the World

An eer ie sound came from the wrought iron gates as it stammered shut behind him. It gave him that same uncanny sensation it did when he first arrived fifteen years earlier. For every man who ever stood on the inside of those gates, they’d come to be known as The End of the World. Once inside, not many would ever expect to see the outside. He especially didn’t think he would be standing on the outside again.

Folsom Prison was constructed to hold the worst of the worst of criminals in California. Fashioned to resemble a fairy-tale castle from some childhood nursery book, it put little of its neighbors at ease. And for those who found themselves living on the inside of this rock fortress, it was known more as a medieval stronghold for the vile and most hideous of minds. It was made to be inescapable for that very reason, and most who resided there would never leave it, unless by natural death, suicide, stabbings, or executions. Not only was Folsom known for holding some of the most notorious criminals, but it was also known for some of the most heinous crimes committed on the inside. It was those acts that gave it an odious reputation.

Robert Lawrence Victor Smith, also known in Los Angeles as Zane R. Southern, arrived at Folsom on May 3, 1925. He and several others, including a nineteen-year-old Los Angeles man by the name of Ed Montigo, walked in chains together. Ed Montigo, who after only two months on the inside was put to death by hanging, he was also charged with murder in the first degree as did Robert. The only difference in their cases was, Ed Montigo shot and killed a cop in an attempt to escape for other crimes he had committed. Robert shot a man who tried to destroy the sanctity of his marriage, in a moment of blind rage.

For Robert to find himself standing outside of this hellish place, standing on the cement walk that day, was surreal. This had become the only life he had known in some time. He had seen things that no one should ever have seen. What he came to consider normal on the inside made life on the outside seem all too ambiguous.

On the inside of this infamous place, Robert learned to keep his head down, or be in danger of being pulled into its diabolical schemes and plots, to hurt or be hurt. He had to learn how to live another day or be relieved not to. He must have thought that day while waiting for his sister outside of Folsom’s realm, Now what?

How could he acclimate back into the outside world? When in prison, settling an argument over a piece of bread or the top bunk was dealt with by a blow of a fist or a shank. On the inside, he had learned to face his fear of death, but now on the outside, he was uncertain if he could survive the fear of living.

Ironically, freedom seemed to scare him more than incarceration. How could any man return to civil life and be accepted after living in a beastly world of prison life? Especially now that he earned a new suffix behind his name, Ex-con. This title would only draw unwanted attention to himself once again.

Robert waited anxiously for Nina to arrive to take him home. Even though he was scared to start over, he truly wanted to get as far away from that place as soon as possible. And yet, having been inside the pen for so long, he didn’t know how to behave once he was in his sister’s world. At least he had Nina’s home to go to. He knew there he could adjust slowly to any of his uncertainties while being in the safe place with someone familiar. His biggest fear really was, how would people treat him once they learned he was in prison for murder? And how would he respond to any negative reactions?

He almost expected the response from the civilized world to be as cruel as those on the inside of prison, and rightly so. The one thing Robert had discovered in those fifteen years behind bars was most people react to fear in the same manner as those in prison. He understood that no matter where they were or who they were, the effect of adrenaline was the same. It sent a person into flight or fight mode; they would either run from what they feared or face it. And in his case and others, they killed it.

Now that he had to face a whole new world of suspicions, he hoped to stay on his square like he had done during many prison riots. He hoped he would keep from overreacting to their bad response to him, to save himself. One thing was for sure—he wasn’t going back to hell. He would do everything in his own power to survive the outside world. But to do so, he had to sort out what had put him in prison in the first place.

The fact that Robert killed Rudolph E. Mack, a Vaudeville agent, was never the complete answer to that question. He had to go deep into the labyrinth of his mind to understand the particulars of his state of mind. He had to understand what led him to that moment. Not everyone who gets angry kills. There had to be something deeper in the well of his emotional being that caused him to give in to the urge to kill.

With fifteen years to wander through Folsom’s pathways, Robert had time enough to discover some of his deepest secrets. Secrets that were buried so deep, that they were hidden even from his own heart and mind. After fifteen years of confinement, he had time to learn some of those reasons. And it took him way beyond November 22, 1924, when he first stood inside the doorway of the Golden State Vaudeville Exchange, where he shot Mr. Mack dead. He had to go back home to Grand Traverse City, to a time even before he was a child of ten. It was there all his trauma began in his life.

CHAPTER 2

The Beginning of Sorrows

It was a long, hot ride on the wagon that first week of July. Charles was making good time for the past few days and wanted to make it to Crystal Lake before the weekend. The dirt roads were making it a rough ride for everyone on the wagon. The children were tired of being jilted about. Jennie, his wife, insisted they stop long enough for everyone to stretch their legs. Charles agreed and said it would be a good idea to prepare lunch before moving on. So, pulling back the reins on the team of horses, he pulled the brake of the buckboard. Exuberantly he said, We aren’t far now, Jennie darling. We’re almost there.

The boys were glad to jump off the wagon and took off running through the sunlit field. Alfred came up from behind Frank, tapping him on the shoulder, calling out, You’re it.

Alfred, being older, darted off ahead of Frank to prove he had the fastest legs. Effortlessly, Frank caught up with Alfred, then tagged him back before jumping on top of a large boulder in the field, yelling, I am king!

Alfred, not wanting to be second best, jumped up on the same boulder and pushed Frank from his newfound position. Then, with his arms lifted into the air in celebration, he tauntingly yelled back even louder, "No…I am king!’

Charles grinned at the sound of the boys playing, then grabbed Gracie from the back of the wagon and placed her on the ground. She hesitantly wandered after her brothers, but only after she picked for herself some wild blue chicory flowers that were growing along the roadside. When Alfred and Frank saw her, they called out to her to join them.

Though she was born between her two rambunctious brothers, she really didn’t want to play. Mostly because she feared getting her new white dress dirty. Alfred insisted she join them in playing hide-and-seek. But it took his volunteering to count first before she would join in on the fun. Then both Frank and Gracie ran in different directions to hide, while Alfred counted backward with his eyes covered. Frank hid behind an old hollowed stump that rested near the tree line, while Gracie, still uninterested, went and stood quietly behind another large boulder.

From the wagon Charles could see the children playing in the open field. He could see Gracie clearly from the road, standing in the tall grass out of view of her brothers. The sun was shining down on her golden locks and her pretty white dress, lighting her up like an angel. The sight of her made Charles smile. He knew he made the right decision to stop for lunch. The look of relief on his little Gracie’s face alone made it worthwhile, after a long hard ride. It pleased him to see his children playing instead of bouncing about on the hard floorboards of the wagon. Seeing the children running and hearing them laughing under the big open blue sky was a perfect image to behold.

Satisfied that his children weren’t far from sight, he turned back to Jennie to take little Robert from her arms. Jennie’s hands now freed, she grabbed the basket and pulled out a small tablecloth to spread over the tailgate. Reaching in again, she pulled out the bread, jam, and cheese that she packed for the day. And with great care she started making sandwiches for everyone.

While she prepared lunch, Charles reached into the wagon with his free arm and grabbed the container of water to place next to Jennie. She then dipped three tin cups into the water and sat them next to the sandwiches. She knew the children would want to rinse down their meal once they finished. Charles again looked back toward the children. Bouncing Robert in his arms, making him giggle, they watched the older children play and carry on.

Gracie was growing bored waiting for Alfred to finish counting and soon wandered away from her hiding spot. Drawn away toward a cluster of bright yellow daisies in the grass, she walked farther away from her brothers. The idea of picking a bouquet for her mother seemed more gratifying than playing boys games. She could imagine a beautiful combination of yellow flowers bundled up against her blue chicory blooms. It would make a delightful assortment of colors, she thought. So, she reached down into the grass at their roots to pull them up from the dirt. As the roots began to give way, so did death. Lurching out from its hiding spot, it struck her.

Gracie let out a wretched screech that prompted her father to put Robert on the ground near the wagon. Taking off running as fast as he could, Charles went in the direction of her voice. In a nervous response to Gracie’s screaming, Jennie picked Robert up off the ground, then called out to Charles as he ran. What is it? Is she alright?

Charles still hadn’t made it to her side and withheld his answer. After the boys got there first, he finally reached her. All out of breath, he began to inspect the situation. Alfred and Frank were bewildered by what had happened and looked to their father for his explanation. Everyone was anxious to learn if she was all right.

Charles had no idea what made Gracie scream out and continued to look her body over carefully, inch by inch. After several minutes he still had no clue as to what was wrong. There was no blood, no scratches, no broken bones, which was a great relief to him. He couldn’t see what was wrong. However, Gracie kept screaming for pain, prompting him to pick her up off the ground. Again he insisted. What is it? Are you hurt?

Not sure what caused her to scream so loudly, he noticed Gracie was grabbing her belly, rubbing it. Quickly, he lifted her clothing and saw two small marks on her belly. The worst thought crossed his mind as he realized she had been bitten by a snake. Immediately, Charles ordered the boys to run back in the wagon as fast as they could and to get inside. Then, he too ran with Gracie in his arms, yelling ahead to Jennie. Get in the wagon…now! Charles knew he had no time to lose. He had to get help immediately.

Jennie tossed everything back into the basket and into the center of the wagon. And as soon as the boys reached her, she helped them into the wagon and passed little Robert to Alfred, to hold on to. By the time she got herself positioned in the front of the buckboard, Charles reached the wagon. Handing their daughter into her arms, he then jumped up into his place and called out to everyone, Hold on tight.

Abruptly, he turned the horses around and bolted down the road. Not knowing the territory well, he knew Beulah was only a few miles back. Having just come through that town earlier, he believed there was a doctor there.

The sound of the horses’ hooves beating the ground gave everyone hope. Charles whacked the reins over the rumps of his steed, while the children held on tight to the sides of the wagon to prevent themselves from falling out. The wheels dipped and jarred into every hole in the road. The family had never seen their horses run this fast before. It almost made them feel confident that once they got to Beulah, Gracie was going to be all right.

Charles wasn’t as confident. He had seen men bitten by snakes before. Some died after only minutes. He knew it would take everything his team of horses had to make to Beulah. If not, Gracie would die. It was better to lose his team than his little girl. With that thought he cracked the reins hard over their rumps again to speed them up. He worried he wouldn’t make it in time. And if he did, would there be a doctor in town? Doubts of his decision to turn south stirred his mind. Should he have gone farther north instead of turning south? He wasn’t sure of anything and pressed on.

The horses obeyed his command. They ran hard while pulling everything behind them. Lathered in a white foam around their harness, they huffed heavily to give it their all. Soon, they tired considerably, slowing down to a steady gallop to catch their breath. Charles demanded they give him more.

Jennie, realizing the hopelessness of the situation, began to cry. Hanging tightly to Gracie in one arm while holding on to the seat with the other, she sensed life was slipping from her daughter’s body. Gracie’s skin was growing cold as they neared town. Once in front of the doctor’s office, Charles jumped off the wagon, taking Gracie from her mother’s grip. With one quick glance into Jennie’s face, Charles knew, but he couldn’t give up hope.

What had started out to be a wonderful day of sunshine and games quickly turned into a day of torrential sadness for the entire family. Everyone was in shock. All they could do was hope Gracie would be all right.

The boys watched helplessly as their father and mother rushed her limp body into the front door of the office, and watched the door closed behind them. Stunned by the change of events of the day, the boys looked at each other with tear-filled eyes. They stood in the back of the wagon as ordered, while they waited for word about their sister.

The doctor met the Smiths at the door to find an unconscious child. He listened to the parents as they explained in sync what had happened. They showed him the fang marks on her tummy. The doctor accessed the wounds, agreeing it was indeed a snake bite. Grabbing his equipment, he listened for her heartbeat. He pulsed for a moment with his stethoscope in his ear and waited for any faint sound. Unable to detect her heart or lungs, he looked at her parents. And with great disappointment on his face, he said, She’s gone.

Paralyzed by the news, Jennie dropped to the floor. The thought that their little girl had just died was all too horrific to believe. Taking in a deep breath, she gave out a mournful groan. Then she looked up at Charles for help. She knew, there was nothing he could do, but she was desperate. How could it be that just a few hours earlier, their Gracie was running and playing? Then suddenly she was gone. How could it be that everyone was having a good time? And now it was as if she was caught in a nightmare.

Jennie wanted to wake up from this terrible dream. Instead she was reminded it was all too real when she looked back