Midnight Memory Lane: Memory Holds the Key

By Donna Anderson

This is the first book of a trilogy about a woman named Jeannette who tired of being hurt, manipulated, and mentally, physically, and emotionally abused. She is very unhappy with how her life has turned out. This was not what she had planned. Something went terribly wrong for her to be so broken. So, to figure out where she took a wrong turn in

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gotham Books
• Release date: May 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798887759692

Book preview

1

The year was 1960 . . .

A very young Jeannette was coloring pictures on the floor of an old farmhouse with her sister, Beth, while their mother was having a cup of coffee with a close friend. Suddenly Jeannette knew her brother, Leroy, was hurt. She got up and went to her mother and, interrupting her conversation, said, Mom, Mom! Leroy is hurt! He’s crying.

What? How do you know? Can you hear him? She looked at Jeannette with questioning disbelief.

No, but I know he is hurt.

Leroy, Jeannette’s younger brother, was five years old at the time. The older boys living on the farm had taken him along with them to keep him occupied. They had some fence work on the south forty acres to do.

They all rushed out of the house and listened for Leroy. There was no crying or any sign of the boys at all. Jeannette’s mother began to call for him, and her friend chimed in.

Leroy! Leroy! Where are you? Answer me! There was a slight panic in Jeannette’s mother’s voice as she called out.

The boys were still nowhere in sight. There was only silence. Now she began to panic.

Where is he? Jeannette’s mother questioned as she wrung her hands and looked from side to side of the acreage. Together, they kept scanning the area, trying to get a glimpse of the boys but saw nothing. Then in the distance, they could faintly hear crying from a young voice. It grew louder. Around the side of the barn came a sobbing Leroy and an older boy with his arm around Leroy’s shoulder.

Leroy! What happened? Are you hurt? Jeannette’s mother was shouting as she ran to Leroy.

We were working on a barbed-wire fence, and Leroy’s foot got caught on one of the barbs. It tore his shoe and cut a gash in the top of his foot, explained the older boy, looking very concerned for Leroy. He stooped down to one knee to look Leroy in the eye to tell him, You will be just fine, Leroy. You are a brave little man.

Leroy was sobbing as their mother tried to comfort him.

Let me see. Okay, it doesn’t seem to be too bad. Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.

Jeannette and Beth stood close by and watched quietly. Their mother quickly turned to Jeannette.

With a sharp snap of anger in her voice asked, How did you know he was hurt? Her eyes seemed to flash horror as well as shock.

Jeannette shrugged her shoulders, hung her head, and replied, I don’t know. I just did.

Jeannette’s mother held the look of horror and shock as she stared at Jeannette while ushering Leroy into the house. Her mother’s friend had the same expression. Both were trying to calm Leroy while staring at Jeannette.

Had she done something wrong? Leroy was hurt and needed help. Wasn’t that the right thing to do? Why were they so mad and afraid of her? Jeannette thought it was best to keep her mouth shut. After all, she didn’t know how she knew he was hurt—it just popped into her mind.

The two women hurried into the house with Leroy in tow. Beth followed quickly behind. Jeannette brought up the rear, slowly shuffling her feet and kicking up dirt along the way.

I don’t get it. Wasn’t I supposed to get help for Leroy? What did I do wrong? Boy, am I going to get it when Dad gets home? I wonder what he will use this time to spank me with. An arrow? A paddle? His hand?

The ladies cleaned Leroy’s foot, put some iodine on the gash, and bandaged it up.

You will be right as rain in no time. But I can’t say the same about your shoe. We will have to get you a new pair. For now, we won’t lace it up.

Leroy jumped down from the chair he was sitting on where he had watched every move his mother made as she tended his wound. He was fine. Leroy and Beth went back to the coloring books and crayons that were abruptly left on the floor. Things had settled down and were back to normal for the two of them. But not for Jeannette.

Jeannette felt oddly uncomfortable with her mother, as well as her friend. The eyes of her mother never met hers the rest of the day. Instead, if she spoke to Jeannette, her face was turned away and spoke into the air. Jeannette could sense the fear also coming from her mother’s friend.

She felt so alone—so scared. She sat and watched everyone from a chair that sat in the corner. There was nothing for Jeannette to say, so she was quiet, with dread and not looking forward to the time her father would be home from work. She was in real trouble. The question remained. What did she do wrong? It was a mystery to her.

That evening, when Jeannette’s father came home, her mother immediately told him about the strange happening of the day surrounding the incident with Jeannette. The couple always talked in the kitchen, and often, their conversations were overheard by the children who were in the living room which was just outside the kitchen.

Jeannette could hear her father very plainly exclaim, She did what?

"She told me Leroy was hurt. She hadn’t heard a thing. None of us had. She insisted—she just knew he was hurt," Jeannette’s mother recanted.

Oh, my goodness! She is bewitched! She is the devil! We can’t tell anyone about this! Everyone will think we are raising a demon spirit. I always knew there was something about her that wasn’t quite right. The church will kick us out. The town will shun us. I am going to have to make her toe the line! I will not allow this to happen anymore! Will your friend keep her mouth shut? Jeannette’s father exclaimed as he paced back and forth, rubbing his face with both hands.

Yes, she will. Jeannette scares me! Could she have a demon inside her? Is she the devil? What are we going to do? Her mother questioned with a great deal of worry on her face.

For now, nothing. Just stay calm, use caution around Jeannette, and try to act normal. We will have to keep an eye on her, Jeannette’s father decided.

Both parents wrung their hands with worry and fear, knowing their daughter was not an ordinary child. To Jeannette’s surprise, she did not receive a spanking or get yelled at, but she had heard their conversation. That was enough punishment. She had been called the devil.

The devil? I’m not the devil! Am I? I am just like everybody else. Don’t other people know things? Jeannette questioned silently in her mind.

Dinner! Wash up! her mom yelled from the kitchen. The blessing was said, and the family dinner was eaten more quietly than usual. There was chitchat from Beth and Leroy. No one looked at or noticed Jeannette during the meal. The family ignored her, and that was okay with Jeannette. Today had been eventful enough.

______________________

The little blond-haired, blue-eyed girl named Jeannette was born on the first day of summer in 1953. There was always a smile on her face and a gleam in her eye. She played mostly with boys and didn’t mind getting dirty. Jeannette liked dresses and lace, but she was also a tomboy. She was the middle child of three and stood several inches taller than her older sister. At times Jeannette was mistaken for the oldest sibling, which made Beth, her sister, angry.

Jeannette was not old enough to do the things Beth did and too old for Leroy and his friends. Besides, she was a girl, and according to Leroy and his buddies, ‘girls are not allowed.’ There was no one her age living close by. Being in the middle made her feel like an outsider.

Beth was older than Jeannette by two years. She had a round face with cheeks that made you want to pinch them and sported thousands of freckles. Her hair was auburn with natural curls that fell all the way down her back. She stood slightly shorter than Jeannette and had big brown eyes.

Leroy was the youngest. He was two years younger than Jeannette and the only boy. The old saying at the time, he is all boy was, in this case, accurate. Meaning, in general, he played in the dirt, shot pretend guns, played cowboy and Indians with his buddies, and was dirty most of the time. He was blond like Jeannette with his hair cut in a butch flattop. After a few years, his hair was allowed to grow out slightly to be slicked down and combed to one side. His build was stocky and robust, according to their father. His eyes were brown, just like Beth’s, but because he was male and the youngest, he was the special one.

In those days, boys were treated differently and with more respect than girls. It was a double standard way of life. Opportunities went to the males. The females sat on the proverbial sidelines.

All three of the siblings resembled one another, so there was no doubt they were a family unit. The family was considered religious and God-fearing. Their parents never smoked and, above all, never consumed alcohol. Every Sunday the family was in church for Sunday school and morning worship and sometimes the Sunday evening service. On Wednesdays, they were back for evening services. When Jeannette and Beth were old enough, they sang in the church choir and were expected to attend choir practice after school on Wednesdays.

After church on Sundays, their mother made a big Sunday dinner usually consisting of pot roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, a vegetable, bread, and whatever else she decided to cook. They were a typical country family except for a child named Jeannette who knew things.

When Beth and Jeannette were old enough to stand on a chair and use a dishtowel, they were expected to do the dishes. The girls never looked forward to the big dinners on Sunday because it meant double the amount of dishes. Holidays were the worst. There were always extra people. Every pot, pan, plate, and cup in the house was used and needed to be washed, dried, and put away.

For Beth and Jeannette doing dishes took hours. To them, it was an agonizing chore that took longer than it should have because of so many, much-needed, breaks which included water fights, towel snapping, or tattling on one another. They knew it was time to stop the nonsense when their father marched in the kitchen with teeth clenched and shouted: Straighten up! The dishes were then washed and dried with whispers between the two about whose fault it was that got them into trouble.

Their respect for their father was in the form of fear. In other words, they fearfully respected him.

The only chore Leroy was responsible for was to take out the garbage.

The town they lived in was a rural farming town with a population of 295 souls with more residents living in the country. It was named Stokes Landing and consisted of a small grocery store for basic needs, one gas station, one tavern, five churches, and a school. The town got its name in the 1800s when the settlers came west on the Oregon Trail and camped near the Columbia River. They formed a new settlement. It was dubbed Stokes Landing by the man who had decided this was where he, and his band of settlers were going to make their home and turn this place into a new town. His name was Orville Stoke.

During the early years when Jeannette grew up, the entire town turned out for the monthly PTA meetings in the school cafeteria. Since the homes were scattered and some neighbors lived as far away as two miles from one another, it was a time for socializing. It didn’t matter if the adults had children attending a school or not. They always came to the meetings. It was a time for getting and giving news about what was happening with the outlying citizens.

The annual Christmas program, performed by all the students, was considered a night on the town. After all, it was the second biggest social event of the year. The biggest, naturally, was graduation. The lunchroom was the largest room in the school, so the performance was held there. Men wore suits and women dressed in their Sunday best dresses with gloves to match and a hat.

The best part of the evening, in Jeannette’s opinion, was at the end of the Christmas performance, each child received a brown paper bag filled with goodies. The principal always had a few announcements to make and gave acknowledgments to the teachers and participants. With the anticipation of the treats to come, children became restless, and the lunchroom became noisy with talk of what kind of deliciousness was in those bags. Waiting for one to be handed to them was unbearably exciting.

Those beautiful, plain brown paper bags were filled with sugary treats consisting of hard candies (unwrapped and usually stuck together), a few walnuts, and always an orange. After receiving a bag filled with those heavenly goodies, each child compared the contents with others to make sure everyone had the same thing and possibly offer to trade a piece of candy for a more favored one.

The evening always ended with cheers and laughter. It was a happy time at Stokes Landing.

______________________

2

Jeannette’s early years were difficult to remember, but she needed to. There had to be a clue where her life went awry, and she was going to find it through her memories. When she began this journey, she had been sobbing uncontrollably from heartache and sorrow.

Well, in my mind, the incident of knowing wasn’t evil or a bad thineg. Odd, maybe, but not wrong or evil. How could my parents have thought of me as the devil? Why couldn’t they have just accepted me as I was? I didn’t ask for this sixth sense. I was born with it. They created me. I can still remember that feeling. Out of innocence, I told them what my thoughts were telling me.

She let out a big sigh, got up from the floor, and plopped onto an overstuffed rocking chair. Her eyes stung from the salty tears that made them red and puffy. She was emotionally exhausted. Her mind began to wander, again, in search of more memories.

I must have been around nine years old…

They don’t seem to be afraid of their dads at all. Is that what a dad is supposed to be like? Why can’t my dad be like them? Jeannette wondered as she watched some of her friends laughing, talking, and playing with their fathers at the annual All Church Picnic.

Their dads seem nice. Mine is not the nice kind. He’s always mad. I can’t do anything right. He’s always angry, and it’s usually with me. I am always being yelled at or spanked for whatever I did to make him upset. I’ll bet their father never spanks them or gets angry with them. I wish I had a dad that loved me like that, and then I would do everything right.

Jeannette always felt out of place. She didn’t belong. Public gatherings were the worst. The children were having fun, laughing, and playing games with each other and their parents. She could tell they all got along with each other. Then she looked at her family. Beth and Leroy were getting attention from their parents, but she wasn’t, which was not unusual.

Well, maybe the McDonald’s will let me play with them? she thought. Off she went in search of joining in.

Hi. What are you doing, Jill? Jeannette asked.

Dad was giving us piggyback rides. Now he is going to push us on the swings.

Would you ask him if he would push me too? Jeannette inquired.

Where’s your dad? Jill questioned.

He’s busy with Leroy and Beth.

Jeannette pointed at her father and brother fixing a toy cap gun that broke while playing with some of the other boys. Beth and one of her friends were watching the operation while giggling and teasing the young boys.

Sure. I’ll ask, Jill said.

She proceeded to ask her father about the swings only to get the answer, I’m sorry, there are not enough swings, Jeannette. Maybe some other time.

Okay. Thanks for asking, Jill.

Jeannette trotted off to find something else to do. She ended up climbing a tree with some of the boys. Being a girl, she had on a dress, of course. This was unacceptable behavior for a girl.

Get down out of that tree, Jeannette, this instant! Act like a lady! her mother shouted, looking straight up through the branches. Jeannette climbed down to meet her mother at the base of the tree.

She was a mess. The barrettes holding her blond hair out of her eyes were no longer doing their job. She had smudges of dirt on her face, her shoes untied, and she had a scrape on her arm. The dress Jeannette was wearing had a few small tears in the skirt along with dirt spots. She was in trouble, again.

What do you think you are doing climbing a tree in a dress? You need to act like a lady! Not a tomboy! Wash your hands and face. It’s time to eat. Stay out of the trees! Jeannette’s mother scolded as she pulled her along behind her by the arm.

What else am I supposed to do? No one else wants to play with me, Jeannette muttered as she slowly walked to the bathroom after her mother released her arm.

While washing her hands, an anxious feeling swept over Jeannette without warning. She rushed out to see what had happened but found nothing at all. Suddenly there was a loud thud resembling the sound of a watermelon hitting the ground. A scream rang out, which sent a shiver down Jeannette’s spine.

Every parent present raced to the baseball diamond. One of the players had been hit by a bat that flew out of the designated batter’s hands and met with a crack across a teammate’s nose. The boy’s nose was broken. Blood was everywhere, girls were screaming and crying, and parents were trying to console traumatized children.

Jeannette just stood and stared at all the commotion around her as if she were in a dream. She had known something was about to happen—again. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. She could see with each beat of the boy’s heart it pushed more blood from the now-swollen nose of the unfortunate young man. Mothers were holding their children in their arms to shield them from the sight of such a bloody mess. Church elders gathered to pray for the boy. The bats and balls were collected and put away. The game was over.

The boy’s parents placed him in their car and raced him to the nearest hospital thirty miles away to have his nose set and check for other injuries.

Well, I’m glad I didn’t say anything this time. Now nobody can be mad at me for knowing. It wasn’t my fault, she thought as she watched the family speed off.

The picnic went on but with a lot less laughter than before. The accident put a damper on all the activities, so the picnic ended early.

In the car on the way home, Jeannette voiced, Maybe if I weren’t in the bathroom, I could have stopped that boy from getting hurt.

It was not her intent to have spoken out loud. But she did, without thought. No one said a word to her comment, thank God. The words came out of her mouth involuntarily and was not meant for anyone else to hear.

Could she have prevented it? Maybe. Would anyone have listened to her? Probably not. If she had said something, the whole town would have seen what her family was hiding—her ability to know, her work of the devil, and she would have become even more of an outcast. She already felt unimportant, so what difference would it have made? For one thing, it would have sent her dad over the edge! The repercussions from him alone would have been too numerous to think about and too scary to ponder.

______________________

Jeannette was rocking herself ever so slightly. She drifted once again into a sleep-like state as more memories began to flood . . .

3

Jeannette! Get up! Beth yelled very close to Jeannette’s ear.

With a jolt, Jeannette woke out of deep sleep and sat straight up.

Is this a dream? Tell me this is not my reality! My life is not like this! It is a bad dream. I am rich and live in a big house. I wear dresses every day. I go to the beauty salon. My purse matches my shoes. I travel…

Oh, good grief! You’re dreaming! Get up. Mom has breakfast ready. You’ll be late for school, Beth ordered impatiently.

I wish your dream were real, and then we would both be out of this one-horse town, Beth muttered. You are ten years old, and you are not rich! Get over it! What makes you think you can have a life like that? We live in a tiny town in the country. We are not rich people! We don’t even know anyone rich! Let me tell you when I am old enough, I am leaving this town! Now, get up! Beth demanded.

Jeannette’s mind raced, This has to be the dream! I don’t live here. I don’t belong to this family. I will wake up, and this will all go away. It is a dream! It has to be! She was perplexed as to what was real and what a dream was.

Jeannette! Are you out of bed? her mother yelled from the kitchen.

Yes, Mom! I’m up.

She wasn’t actually out of bed, but she wanted her mother to think she was so all the yelling would stop.

If you want to catch a ride to school with Maude, you will have to get a move on! her mother’s voice shouted one more time.

I’m coming! Be there in a minute, Jeannette yelled back impatiently. She had gotten out of bed but only stood to try to pull her thoughts together. "Dream over. Crap! It is real. It sure would have been nice to live my dream. People were kind to me, and I could do whatever I wanted. Everyone liked me. No one was angry with me. It was okay I knew things. Dad wasn’t around to yell at me or whip me, and Mom didn’t treat me differently than anyone else. It would have been heaven."

With a big sigh, she flopped backward onto the bed and resigned herself to the fact, this was her reality. Why didn’t she belong to this family? Maybe not just this family, but any family? Would anybody want her?

She rolled out of bed, quickly got dressed, ran a comb through her hair, and made her way to the kitchen. Mom, was I adopted? Jeannette asked over her bowl of oatmeal without making eye contact.

What? Of course not! her mother shrieked as she spun around to look directly at Jeannette.

Are you sure? I am not like Leroy or Beth.

Yes, of course, I am sure, Jeannette! Why would you ask such a question?

I’m just not like everybody else in this family, she replied, staring down at the bowl of oatmeal, not wanting to look into her mother’s eyes.

Oh, for heaven’s sake! You were not adopted! There’s Maude. Grab your books and get going. Jeannette pushed away from the table and made a dash for the door and the awaiting car.

Beth had been just outside the kitchen listening to the conversation between Jeannette and her mother. Giggling, she hurried out the door on Jeannette’s heels with Leroy close behind. It was a long walk to school, and they didn’t want to miss catching a ride with Maude, the school cook.

After piling into the backseat, with a grin and a roll of her eyes, Beth whispered, Adopted? Really? That’s a new one. How did you come up with that?

Shut up, Beth! Jeannette hissed and shot Beth a glare.

Looking in the rearview mirror at the girls, Maude asked, What are you giggling about, Beth?

Jeannette pursed her lips and shot Beth another glare, but it didn’t stop Beth from telling Maude about the whole conversation.

She thinks she was adopted and asked Mom if she was. Mom, of course, told her she wasn’t. But I think she still thinks she was. With that statement, Beth gave Jeannette a smug grin.

Why in the world would you think you were adopted? Maude asked.

I don’t know, Jeannette replied, not knowing what else to say.

Jeannette couldn’t possibly tell her about feeling different or being treated differently than her siblings because she knew things before they happened. Maude would go right to her mother and tell her everything she had said, believing Jeannette was telling tall tales. Then it would be all over town. It would be the same old story: Mom would tell dad. Dad would whip her, and Mom would stay in the kitchen while he did. For Jeannette to avoid that scenario, she sat quietly in the backseat after giving Beth an elbow in the side for telling Maude.

Beth leaned into Jeannette and whispered, I’m telling Mom when we get home!

"Oh, great. Another reason to get in trouble," Jeannette thought and shot one more glare at Beth for good measure.

Leroy was oblivious to his sisters’ conversations.

The car came to a stop, and Jeannette jumped out, hoping the day would get better. It didn’t. The bell rang, and the school day began.

Class, get out your reading books and turn to page forty-seven. Kevin, you can start reading the first paragraph, the teacher, Mrs. Smith, directed.

Jeannette stared at the pages of her opened book, and her mind wandered. She could hear the class reading, but she was in the story. Jeannette became part of the story. She was the character they were learning about in the story.

Jeannette had an uncanny talent, or weirdness, of becoming part of a story or even a character in a movie she was watching. If the character ran, she had the sensation of running, and her heart would pound. Jeannette felt the same fear the character did. It didn’t matter what the situation was in a movie or story, she felt all the same sensations the character felt.

The story today was about a young girl who had lived centuries ago and was learning the ways of her people and how to survive in the wilderness. She could feel the muscles in her arms working as the girl ground corn into flour. She could feel sweat start to bead on her forehead. The smell of fire filled her nostrils as the sun shone warm on her face while she worked. Muffled conversations were going on all around her, but she could not make out what they were saying. She could hear a baby crying in the distance. A dog was barking. A small breeze kicked up dust . . .

Jeannette! Mrs. Smith raised her voice to snap Jeannette’s mind back to the reading class. She jerked her head up and looked directly into Mrs. Smith’s eyes. The look she was giving her seemed to burn directly into her brain.

Pick up reading where Jackie left off.

Jeannette fumbled with her book. She kept flipping pages trying to figure out where she was supposed to read. Panic was setting in. With a pleading look of helplessness, she looked to neighboring students for help. No one was willing to assist her in finding the paragraph she was to read. They were afraid of Mrs. Smith.

After what seemed like hours, but was only a couple of minutes, Mrs. Smith said, We are on page fifty-two, the third paragraph. Now pay attention and stop gazing off into space! There will be a test on this story!

There was total silence in the classroom. It was difficult for Jeannette to concentrate on reading after such scolding. She was embarrassed, her face was red, and she felt like everyone was staring at her. She was not wrong. Nobody wanted to be her right now. Mrs. Smith was not known as a friendly teacher but as a strict one. When translated by the students it meant she was mean. A parent’s translation was, she kept the class under control and made them learn.

Halfway through her paragraph, the bell rang for recess. Jeannette could not get her book put away fast enough. She wanted out of that room and onto the playground to feel the fresh air on her hot cheeks. Jeannette raced for the swings. She wanted to fly high into the clouds. To be free. Her classmate, Jackie, jumped into the swing next to her.

Jeannette, did you fall asleep in class? You know how mean Mrs. Smith can be. You’ve seen how she treats Kevin. You’ll be next. She will put you right up front to watch everything you do. Remember when she threw an eraser at Kevin? He ducked just in time before it hit him on the head! You don’t want that.

I know. Guess I just got bored. Jeanette quickly changed the subject, Look at those clouds! Let’s see if we can touch them!

She couldn’t tell Jackie she was in the time they were reading about, or she was the girl in the story. Jackie wouldn’t understand, and Jeannette could not explain it to her when she couldn’t even explain it to herself. It was just the way Jeannette was born. That was her life, her secret life.

The bad feelings drifted away as the girls laughed and soared high into the sky. Their swings failed to touch the clouds. Nevertheless, they tried. The bell rang, and recess was over. It was back to class and back to Mrs. Smith. Much to Jeannette’s dismay, Mrs. Smith was waiting in the doorway of the classroom and tapping her foot.

Jeannette! Mrs. Smith raised her voice to make sure there was no doubt she was unhappy.

Yes, Mrs. Smith? she said politely but thinking, "Oh crap! What did I do now?"

If you ever leave this classroom again without me dismissing you first, there will be a price to pay! You will lose your recess privileges for one entire day and be assigned extra work to keep you busy. Do you understand?

Yes, Mrs. Smith. I will not do it again. Jeannette hung her head in regret and headed for her desk.

As she made her way down the aisle, Jeannette thought, Well, parent-teacher conferences are not going to go well . . . Again. Mrs. Smith will tell Mom and Dad, ‘she doesn’t follow instructions.’ I will get yelled at and probably spanked . . . Again. Man! Why can’t I do anything right? Jeannette plopped down at her desk and pulled out her spelling book with the rest of the class.

Okay, I followed those instructions. Bet she won’t tell them that! Jeannette muttered.

The day dragged on until, finally, the school day was over.

Thank God! School is out! Jeannette whispered.

She put away her books, paper, and pencil along with everyone else and waited for the word dismissed to come from Mrs. Smith. She was not going to risk her recess privileges and certainly did not want extra work. Mrs. Smith waited a few extra seconds trying to bait Jeannette into leaving too early so she could punish her. Jeannette did not take the bait. She paused to hear Mrs. Smith say the magical word, dismissed before she made a move to the door.

Jackie caught up to Jeannette in the hall and said, That was a close one! She wanted you to leave early. I am glad you didn’t. It really showed her! Besides, who would swing with me if you had to stay in? She shot Jeannette a grin, and the girls began to laugh as they walked out of the building.

4

Being young wasn’t fun. Not only did the teachers have it out for me, but Dad was always on my back about something. I worried and scared all the time. There were very few times I was happy. I had forgotten how many things, thoughts, and feelings I hid. It’s a wonder I didn’t explode. I wanted desperately to be happy. Jeannette thought. She shook her head and rose from the chair. I didn’t realize just how unhappy and stressed I was all those years.

Jeannette walked to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water and took a long pull. Her throat and mouth were sore and dry. The cold water was just what she needed. It soothed her throat and cooled her down. She stood in the kitchen holding the cold bottle of water against her cheek while leaning with one hand on the counter looking out the window.

It’s dark outside. Humph. I have been dreaming for quite a while.

She had been rocking for a couple of hours, but it seemed like a few minutes. The memories were so vivid as well as the feelings. She was living her life all over again.

With a shake of her head, she said out loud, "This is not making me feel any better, although it is opening my eyes to what I lived through: the condemnation, the fear, the sadness, the knowing, and the pain of being whipped— but not happiness. Did I ever experience happiness? Or feel like I fit in?"

Back to her chair, she went. Once again, she curled up and sunk into the soft overstuffed chair, trying to make herself feel more secure. Her body and heart still aching with sadness.

How will I ever trust anyone again? Trust did not get me anywhere except for people taking advantage of me, using me. Mom told me she loved me, but did she or anyone mean it? How would I know? I have been lied to and taken advantage of so many times. Everyone only wants to use me. I don’t think they ever really cared about me. I don’t know if my family cared. They were afraid of me. They thought I was evil and treated me that way.

She looked up at the ceiling and said, Oh God. Where are you? Please take this pain from me. Calm my spirit. Help me with my memories so I can figure out why everything feels so wrong in my life?

Jeannette closed her eyes and felt a calmness wash over her. She could feel the memories start to flood her mind . . .

______________________

Come in! Jeannette yelled from across the room at the knock coming from the front door.

It was a natural and a common occurrence to respond with a come in after a knock at the door. Everybody knew everybody who lived in the tiny community of Stokes Landing. There were no strangers in town—until now.

The door opened. To the family’s surprise, the face smiling back at the family was not familiar. There was a man about six-foot-tall with a round face sporting rosy-colored cheeks. There was a mole on his left cheek, and his eyes squinted as he smiled. He wore a gray suit and hat that had seen better days. His stature was large, and he carried a suitcase in his left hand.

Good evening! the stranger said as he tipped his hat. I am here in town to sell the best pots and pans ever made. May I come in and demonstrate these amazing tools?

Jeannette’s father jumped up quickly from his chair, stuck out his chest, pulled up his pants, and crossed the room to the salesman but not before he shot a glare at Jeannette.

Yes, I guess you can come in and show us what you have.

Thank you, sir. My name is Stanley, he introduced himself, took off his hat and reached out his hand to shake hands with Jeannette’s father.

Jeannette’s father shook his hand and introduced himself, I am Warren, and this is my wife, Rebecca. The salesman politely tipped his hat and nodded toward Rebecca.

There is something creepy about this guy, Jeannette thought. His eyes aren’t right. No, that isn’t it. There’s something . . .

At that moment, Stanley turned and looked directly at Jeannette. A cold chill went down her spine. Something wasn’t right. No, he wasn’t right.

Please, have a seat, Warren said as he pointed to the couch. You kids go on to your rooms and do your homework.

Leroy and Beth left the room willingly, but Jeannette moved a little slower. She felt Stanley was watching her as she walked down the hall and he was able to somehow look through her. Jeannette turned and left the room. She looked back and saw she was correct about Stanley staring at her. He was a bad man. She wanted to warn her parents about her feeling, but they would ignore her, and later she would get yelled at, or punished, for saying anything.

In the bedroom, Jeannette whispered to Beth, He’s creepy. Didn’t you feel it?

No! You’re crazy! He’s just a salesman. Don’t be weird. Do your homework.

Jeannette could not concentrate on her homework. She felt uneasy and couldn’t sit still. From time to time, she stood by the doorway that led into their bedroom and listened to the conversation between her parents and the salesman. Each time Beth would tell her to mind her own business and get away from the door.

Stanley was in their home for an hour, making his sales pitch. In the end, he was successful. Warren bought a set of expensive pots and pans for Rebecca.

The price was three hundred dollars. That was a substantial sum of money for Warren to spend at one time, especially in the 1960s, but Stanley was a gifted salesman. He left with some cash in his pocket and the balance in the form of a check.

One week later Warren and Rebecca were arguing in the kitchen over the pots and pans Warren had purchased from Stanley.

He was a crook! Warren yelled. "We let him in, and he sold me a phony set of pots and pans! I got hoodwinked! He made me a fool! He