Dust of Lies

Chapter Four - Going to Texas

    A week later  I found her. Emma A. Anders, born 1867 in Marlin, Falls County, Texas. The name, location and age were right for my Emma.


There was only one conclusion: Viva and I would have to go to Texas. I hoped she was up for the trip. It would be a long one, but I was too intrigued now to back up … and only Viva knew what I was looking for.


    Viva was as excited about going to Texas as I was, but I admit I was more than a little concerned about her ability to make the trip. This ninety-year-old woman, who’d once stood a proud five-foot-three had now shrunk to a mere five feet in height. Her skin hung loosely about her frail frame. Each step she took was with halted gait as she struggled to ignore the arthritis that attacked her joints and bones.


But I could see that the fire of determination still in her watery blue eyes.


    We left early the next morning, driving in my car, against Darrell’s better judgment. The scenery was beautiful as we made our way from Arkansas, through what was once known as Indian Territory in Oklahoma, and finally into Texas.Viva talked non-stop for the first hundred miles. Strangely enough, she seemed to strengthen as we progressed. I felt as if I were watching a butterfly emerge from a cocoon.


    “I didn’t remember how beautiful Arkansas is.” Viva said as she looked out the window.  “When my husband and I traveled, I took it all for granted.  I haven’t seen this country in over ten years” 


      I had never thought about that.  I guess when people get old we assume they are content to just sit.  I felt awful that I had not taken Viva on a trip before.


      “Where did you travel?” I asked.  I wanted to keep her talking. I wanted her to enjoy the trip.


      “We went all over, don’t you know. That is until we got Darrel.” She added.


      “ I guess you had to quit travelling when you got pregnant”


      “Pregnant? Oh, Lordy, honey. I was never pregnant.  I couldn’t have kids.  Darrel’s adopted, don’t you know.”


        NO! I didn’t know.  Why wouldn’t he tell me something as important as that?


        “Oh, yeah” I said weakly. “but I don’t remember all of the details.”


        “Let’s stop for a minute and let me stretch my legs and go to the restroom.  And I sure could use something to drink.”


        While Viva went into the Quick Stop, I filled the Jeep with gas.  Soon she emerged with a bagful of candy bars, chips and sodas. I do believe this is my first gift from Viva.  I couldn’t help but smile.The minute we hit the highway I was back on the story about Darrel.


        “Tell me how you came to adopt Darrel.”  I hoped to sound nonchalant but I was struggling to contain myself.


        “Why, he was Joseph’s boy. You know, the one I told you about. Ora’s son. Ora was Darrel’s grandma.”


        “Ora’s grandson?” The words spurted out of my mouth.


          “He hasn’t told you anything, has he? Well, we’ve got lots of time so I will. You need to know !”


          Viva finished her chocolate and took one more drink of her soda before she began.


          “Remember when I told you about Cowboy? How he ignored little Joseph from the beginning?  Well, it got nothin’ but worse. Cowboy would whip the boy for no reason.  Once he came to the house with red whelps across his back. When asked what happened, he couldn’t have been more than five at the time, he said that he had touched Cowboy’s prize fiddle.” Viva’s shook her head. “When Cowboy would get drunk he could be very mean.  I suspect that he was drunk and playing his fiddle when little Joseph got in his way.”


          My eyes teared just a little. How could grownups be so cruel to children? I was raised by a mother that never wanted a child.  Cruelty can come in many forms. Physical abuse was just one of them. 


      “What did Ora do about it?” Surely a mother’s instinct was to protect.


        “Nothing! Absolutely nothing.”she said.  “She was afraid of Cowboy herself so she just let it be.”


      My perception of Ora was not good.  It appeared that she always chose to anchor her life to the soul of another and just hang on for the ride. First, there was Ben Townsend, then Ezra Hacker and now Cowboy. But I had to ask myself if I am any different. Am I doing the same thing with Viva and Darrel? Have I given up myself to please others? I have a nagging suspicion that Ora and I are not that much different.


      “Joseph left home at thirteen and went to live with his Grandpa Hacker over in Magazine. I don’t know if his life got my better, but he was with his own people. I think they treated him a little more kindly.”


      “So, was Joseph living in Magazine when Darrel was born?” I asked.


      “No. The whole kit and caboodle of Hackers moved to California in the early thirties.  Times were really hard in Arkansas, don’t you know. No rain. No crops. A lot of folks picked up and left. Off to pick crops in the promised land. Joseph went with them.”


        “Then Darrel was born in California?”


        “Yes. I really don’t know much about what all happened out there, but I do know that he married a lady and they had two children.  When Darrel was  two, the house burned down, killing his mother and baby sister.  Joseph wasn’t home at the time.  He worked the graveyard shift for some shipping company.  A neighbor managed to save his son, but everything else in the world was gone, burned to the ground.” Viva fell silent.


      I felt a great sadness at Joseph’s loss. I can’t imagine the pain he must have  suffered. Why some lives are so plagued with tragedy, I will never know.  This man suffered more than his share. The bigger question in my mind is why has Darrel never shared this with me? I felt betrayed by my own husband. 


      “What caused the fire?” I quizzed.


        “I asked Joseph that same question. He told me it was the “Hacker Curse” and that his Papa’s doins’ would haunt him until the day he died. I knew then that Joseph just plain lost his mind!  He handed me his baby boy and asked me to raise him. I would have thought he would want Ora to have him – but he said no.”


        “Then Darrel never really knew his father” I said.


        “We never heard from him again.  I did get a letter from an asylum in Illinois saying Joseph had died a few years later. But that was it.”


        Ora was visibly tired.  The trip was long and the afternoon sun was high.  It wasn’t long before Viva was napping, giving me a chance to absorb the events of the trip.


        I had much to think about.  The mysterious poem on the wall was now twisted into my personal life.  Darrel’s whole life was immersed in this saga of Jesse Cole James and I had hit a nerve that shot pain throughout his entire being.  My commitment to the story surrounding Cowboy was stronger than ever, but I would proceed more carefully.


    We were both tired by the time we arrived at Marlin, a tinyTexas town about seven miles east of the Brazos River. The county was named for the large falls that disrupted the gentle flow of the river on its way to the marshy bayous on the Gulf of Mexico. I could see that we might be better served if we continued on to Waco for accommodations. But we settled for the first motel we could find and crashed for the night.


I thought Viva might sleep in a little the next morning, but the spirited old soul arose early. I heard Viva turn off the shower and a few moments later she emerged from the bathroom.


    “Could you fix my hair in the back, dear? I gets so flat when I sleep on it and I forgot to bring my silk pillow, don’t you know. So I am sure it’s a mess.”


    She was right.  Her hair was smashed in the back making the sides billow out like two ear muffs.  I used my pick and began the task of fluffing and flattening until I had restored the perfect globe that framed her head.  I thenwent to the motel lobby to pick up coffee and two blueberry muffins to tide us over, smiling all the way.  It was somewhat endearing to see her fuss about her appearanceAge had nothing on vanity. I hurried back with the makeshift breakfast and then we were off.


    First stop was the courthouse. It was a large Greek revival structure embellished with concrete columns that flanked the entrances located on all four sides. The stairs looked formidable. How would Viva ever make that climb? She must have shared my concerns, because she quickly suggested that she wait on a shaded bench in the courtyard. I agreed with her and hurried to the court clerk’s office to do a record search for anything pertaining to the Anders family. It only took a short time to exhaust any clues that the court records could supply. I made copies of some old land records and hastily retreated to check on Viva. There she was, just where I had left her, and a woman of approximately the same age had joined her; they seemed to be engaged in a lively conversation. As I approached, Viva spoke.


      “Kay, I want you to meet Elizabeth Allen. Her parents were good friends of the Anders.”


    Good going, Viva! I’d been methodically searching for bones while Viva went straight for the flesh.


      “Elizabeth has agreed to join us for lunch and an afternoon of visiting,” Viva said, her voice matter-of-fact.


      She was beaming at the prospect and I too could hardly contain my excitement. “She lives at 1303 Anders Street,-just up the hill and I told her we pick her up there at one o’clock.” So the deal had already been struck, but I was game.