Prologue to the rainy night's flight into darkness....
This is such a tangled mess of manipulation and deception. I sit here and wonder how can I coherently share this with others. How can I fully explain? I think to best tell it, I must first tell about the characters involved. So I shall begin there.
The Mother: Jennie Baker Allen Jones
Jennie Baker Allen bore four children: Nette Marie (Nan) 1935, Frank Eugene 1937, Virginia Rosalee 1940 and Linda Lu 1942. She would remarry (Dean Jones) and bear three more children: Eunice, John and Cathy. Of all her children, she first gave away Virginia and Linda. The next to go was Frank. (All these stories will be told.) She did not give away any of the other children,
The Father: Wilson (Red) Haverkate Allen
Wilson Allen was born the eldest child of sharecropper Joseph Allen and his wife Frances Haverkate Allen. According to the Muskegon, Michigan Historical Geneology Records: Joseph H. Allen married Frances E. Haverkate in March 1, 1911. (I will cover their history, st a later time.) Wilson was not accepted into the armed services because of his age, and the number of his children, so he worked three jobs during the war, to provide for his family: Electrician journeyman, security guard, and part time police officer. He was a reluctant groom, but a hard worker to provide for his young family.
The Aunt: Dora (Doris) Allen Seewalt
Sister to Wilson Allen, Dora was a buxom young woman of questionable morales. This woman was filled with deceit, greed and manipulation. I have tried to find one good thing about her, but I am reduced to sadly admitting I can't find it. This didn't prevent me from praying for her, and treating her with respect. It was all to no avail. Her selfishness and hatefulness hung over her like a shroud. She died when she was 88, just an older version
of herself, an oppressed woman living a lifetime in darkness. To be sure, she attended church every Sunday. She had her own story, and blamed her father for her follies. There is a heinous story there, she was freed of him when she was 17, with the opportunity to choose good over evil. She was rescued by a wonderful man, but she didn't was "good"; she wanted "excitement". By the time she married him, she had already been picked up on numerous occasions for prostitution. Wilson would receive word, while working as a police officer to go pick up his errant sister. There was a strain, a curse in our family, which began in the 1800's, as far as we can ascertain: A great-great aunt who was a madam, and an uncle who was a thief and bigamist.
of herself, an oppressed woman living a lifetime in darkness. To be sure, she attended church every Sunday. She had her own story, and blamed her father for her follies. There is a heinous story there, she was freed of him when she was 17, with the opportunity to choose good over evil. She was rescued by a wonderful man, but she didn't was "good"; she wanted "excitement". By the time she married him, she had already been picked up on numerous occasions for prostitution. Wilson would receive word, while working as a police officer to go pick up his errant sister. There was a strain, a curse in our family, which began in the 1800's, as far as we can ascertain: A great-great aunt who was a madam, and an uncle who was a thief and bigamist.
The Uncle: Harold Seewalt
Harold Seewalt was a beautiful, if ineffectual man of God, who happened to fall in love with Dora Allen. He could have been her knight in shining armor, but she had other plans, and soon grew tired of him.
The Stepfather Dean Jones
The second husband of Jennie Baker Allen. My stepfather. An iron fisted man, an alcoholic who adored the ground Jennie walked on. No matter how much he drank, he always respected her and treated her as a lady. It was not the same with his step children.
So,these are the characters in this scene played out on a rainy night. The flight was to Flint, Michigan area, to a relative. I never learned her name, but I am forever grateful for that brief encounter. I slept at her home like I had never slept before, and to this day I love home made bread in warm, creamy milk, butter and sugar.
This is the series of events which led to that fateful night.
My father, Wilson was busy, working three jobs during the late Depression and the early years of World War II. My mother, Jennie was busy raising her brood, and trying to make ends meet. They both agreed on this. It was about the only thing they agreed on, as she was a complainer and nagger, with little idea how to budget money. This caused many disagreements, as you can imagine. They also had a wide difference of opinion on how to raise children. My mother didn't discipline. My father did; he felt children needed to learn their boundaries. But he wasn't home, much, and between jobs he began going to a local cafe for coffee and pie. It was there he met a waitress, Linda, and they became friends. I suspect he fell in love with her, and she with him, but that is merely conjecture. At any rate, it was at least a flirtation.
In 1942 my mother became pregnant with me. She was not happy about it, as she had enough children and household to manage. She grew more dissatisfied, especially during this pregnancy, and she began to resent the baby. So much so that she had not even prepared a bed for me, nor a layette. After giving birth to three blond haired, blue eyed children, she wasn't prepared for me. She was appalled when she saw me, she thought I was a changling, that perhaps I wasn't even hers. I was not a healthy baby. And I had black hair. My father came into her room at Hackley Hospital in Muskegon, Michigan as soon as he could get away from work. This is how he tells it (she refused to talk about it):
[Father, to me in 1993: You were the most beautiful baby I had ever seen; you had black curly hair and emerald green eyes. I had never seen a baby like that! Your Wynter reminds me so much of you, even as she gets older - she bounces when she walks, and laughs and loves life. You were like that.]
In the hospital room, the conversation went like this:
Mother: Well, have you seen her?
Father: Yes, I have..
Mother: And what do you think?
Father: I think she is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen.
Mother: Since you love her so much, YOU name her.
Father: I want to call her "Linda"
Big mistake, naming me Linda. It would open the door to distrust, misery and untold nightmares. Enter Aunt Dora.
She visited my mother nearly every day, alluding to an "affair" between my father and a waitress called "Linda"". Suspicion was ignited. They both, together wondered why he would choose the name, unless there was something going on? My mother was a devout Christian, attending church regularly, but she allowed my aunt to pour poison into her ear. She never sat down and talked with my father, but instead listened to my aunt's gossip. One day, my aunt told my mother she [my mother] should teach him a lesson.
My mother thought about this in the days that followed. But she hesitated. After all, she loved him. And what could she do to teach him a lesson, anyway?
As it happened, my father came home earlier than usual one night. when he happened upon Nettie standing over me and urinating on me. He hauled Nettie from the bed, roaring his anger, and waking my mother. Using his belt he whipped the backs of Nettie's legs, all the way to the outhouse. He warned her she would get worse if he ever caught her doing this again. Then he set about cleaning everything, while scolding my mother. It seems Nettie had been doing this nearly night, telling our mother that she couldn't help wetting the bed. While my father, silent now, but still simmering was cleaning up the bed, Nettie ran to my mother, sobbing and angry. My mother was furious, not with Nettie, but with my father.
Again, my aunt intervened, offering words of comfort and suggestions for retribution. She persuaded my mother to file for divorce. "That way," she urged "He will see the folly of his ways, you will bring him to heel, and you never have to go through with the divorce!"
It was March 30, 1944, my father's 32nd birthday. As he left the plant where he worked, he was met by a man. The man asked to talk with him, then served him with divorce papers. He instructed my father he was allowed, by law, to go home and collect his things. But he must not spend that night, or any night in the house with my mother. She had filed the papers that morning. The marriage was over
My father returned home. When he walked through the door, he found several family members and friends. "Surprise!" They shouted. My mother was throwing him a surprise birthday party. He looked at them, then at my mother. "You're kidding, right? I already have my birthday present from you." He waved the papers at her, and stomped off to their bedroom. He grabbed his clothes, throwing them into an old suitcase. My mother came into the room. "What are you doing?" She asked. "What does it look like?" He countered. "You filed for divorce, and I am restricted by law from being here. I can only get my clothes, and leave. Some happy birthday."
He thanked everyone for coming, walked through the door, and quietly closed it behind him.
It may have been the loudest noise my mother had ever heard. She was stunned. This was not how she and Dora had planned it. She looked at my Aunt Dora, who only smiled.
Now, this is where it gets really interesting. My mother had, some weeks before, begun accepting rides home from church from a charming man, Dean Jones. She could talk so easily with him about her suspicions concerning my father, and Dean, who was most definitely courting her, could commiserate with her. And, he was such a gentleman, always walking her to the door, and sometimes spending time with her, drinking coffee and chatting. Best of all, he loved us children, laughing with us and bringing little treats. This was put into overdrive, once my mother filed for divorce. My father had already been warned about this relationship. Can you guess by whom? Aunt Dora. My father was not allowed, by the courts to see us or our mother until the court hearing, but this stranger was allowed into our house any time. That's why, when on a Sunday afternoon, my mother made a special dinner for my father, she had not just him there, but me, as well. I remember that day as one of joy in seeing my daddy, having a great chicken dinner, and having my mother hold me on her lap as she rocked in her chair talking to my father. I was her shield, and her lure, for my father loved me, dearly. She asked if he was coming back, and he told her no, she was just too expensive and hurtful. You could only muck the waters, and point fingers for so long in a relationship (I came to learn later), before you killed it. It was over.
As soon as possible, my mother married Dean Jones. At their reception lunch, the entire family was happy and excited. My mother was happy, and Dean, who had always been a kind and generous man to us all, could not keep his eyes off my mother. Except for one thing. We were all stunned at Dean's sudden change in demeanor. Virginia, who was four years old, with white blond hair, and big blue eyes was eating, using her left hand. Harshly, Dean told her to stop using her left hand. Startled, Virginia stared at him with her big blue eyes, and continued to hold her spoon in her left hand. Dean had a knife in his hand, and he swung it down had on the back her hand. Tears welled in her eyes, and she cried out "Don't". With a movement so swift, it was hard to believe it was happening, he half-stood, and swung the back of his arm across the table, straight into Virginia's head, knocking her backward, tipping her and her chair over. My mother stood to help, but he gently insisted she keep her seat, and let him handle it. He asked my sister if she was ready to behave and do he asked, which would mean she could have the rest of her meal. Or she could go sit in the car by herself. She returned to the table, and never again used her left hand.
But Dean would use his hand and belt, without warning, relentlessly over the next few months.
Enter, once again, Aunt Dora. She clucked and fussed over my mother, who was by now thoroughly upset with Dean. Aunt Dora was unable to have children, and was surreptitiously eyeing Nettie (who looked like a mini-Dora) or Virginia, finally settling on Virginia. She zeroed in on her mark, which was to continually bring up the fear factor she had for Virginia and Dean's hands. She suggested Virginia come to stay with her and Harold, where my mother could see her, whenever she wanted. Once again, my mother succumbed to Aunt Dora, and agreed to let Virginia go. However, the caveat was that she take me, too. This held up production of plans quite a little bit, as Aunt Dora didn't want me. My mother didn't want me. My mother stood her ground, and arrangements were made. We were to be take after we were asleep, so there would be no weeping.
In the meantime, there was the darkness.
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| The people who walk in darkness hope for a light |
ISAIAH 59:7-10
Their feet run to evil,
And they hasten to shed innocent blood;
Their thoughts are thoughts of iniquity,
Devastation and destruction are in their highways.
And they hasten to shed innocent blood;
Their thoughts are thoughts of iniquity,
Devastation and destruction are in their highways.
They do not know the way of peace,
And there is no justice in their tracks;
They have made their paths crooked,
Whoever treads on them does not know peace.
And there is no justice in their tracks;
They have made their paths crooked,
Whoever treads on them does not know peace.
Therefore justice is far from us,
And righteousness does not overtake us;
We hope for light, but behold, darkness,
For brightness, but we walk in gloom
And righteousness does not overtake us;
We hope for light, but behold, darkness,
For brightness, but we walk in gloom
We grope along the wall like blind men,
We grope like those who have no eyes;
We stumble at midday as in the twilight.
We grope like those who have no eyes;
We stumble at midday as in the twilight.
