Stopping Inertia

By Gayle Schliemann

When a baby is born a complete surprise to her parents, particularly her father, who is only days away from retirement, Henderson and Rebecca Sampson do the bare minimum to care for their daughter. Their lack of safety precautions sends the baby flying from their car when her father swerves to miss the family cat.

Found in the woods by a beautiful recluse, Grace, who has a tortured past and an unrequited secret, the baby is named Inertia, and Grace cares for her as if she is her own, aided by a friend, Betty Anne.

Twenty years later, only weeks away from her college graduation, Inertia receives a call from "Aunt Betty" informing her that Grace's life rests on Inertia's shoulders. Sifting though her mother's past, she finds an old journal detailing Grace's intense romantic affair with a thieving gypsy performer named Reynaldo, which resulted in an extraordinary curse that continues to threaten her. Inertia must quickly save her mother and all of those around her, including Gina, Inertia's new best friend.

Set against the backdrop of Saddle Mountain, Stopping Inertia takes us on a journey through the past and into the world of gypsies, circus performers, and unanswered love. It values the bounds of friendship and questions our perception of true love and true parentage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gayle Schliemann
• Release date: Oct 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310791116

Gayle Schliemann

By day, Gayle is a quirky marketing manager for a major Swiss sewing machine company. By night she is an aspiring acrobat. Weekends often find her dressing up in costumes pretending that she is dancing with the Goblin King.Originally from Arlington, Virginia, Gayle graduated with a BFA in Theatre Performance from Virginia Commonwealth University in 1995. Her first novel, Stopping Inertia set the tone for her subsequent writings in the Inertia Chronicles. She never meant to have anyone actually read her stuff, see it or touch it. Writing was Gayle's home remedy for insomnia and dealing with being a metropolitan transplant who quickly had to adapt to small town living after moving from Richmond, Virginia to Montpelier, Vermont.Having moved once more to the friendly mid-west, Gayle has easily adapted to life in Chicagoland and is focusing on finishing her installments revolving around Inertia Hanks, the redheaded, thirty year old virgin.Contact her on social media, she likes that.@stoppinginertia@gayleschliemann

Book preview

Prologue

I cannot see why your sister had the gumption to get herself killed in the city then be buried in the country. Now every cotton-picking Christmas, we have to drive 150 God damned miles to put lilies on her grave. You’d think she’d have some manners and, at least, make it convenient for us and bury herself in Arlington.

Daddy, we also have to put the lilies on momma’s grave. It’s only noon. Can we please go back to Nethkin Hill and look for Clarence?

Mommy, I am not going back for that God damned cat! As daddy yelled at mommy, her eyes were tearing up, not because she was crying but because she was mildly allergic to the pollen in flowers. She was used to daddy’s yelling and rarely cried when he lashed out at her. And I will never understand what it is with the women in your family and their fascination for fresh flowers. Next year, we’re putting out plastic ones and skippin’ a year or two.

But that cat is my baby.

Yeah, well, look at that baby on the seat right there. Ya got that one to take care of now. I still don’t know how ya managed to get yourself in that condition. She’s your responsibility, not mine. It’s not my fault ya went and got yourself pregnant.

Daddy, I love Jane. But Clarence is a member of our family too, and I don’t think it’s humane for you to leave him there at the cemetery like that. He’s going to freeze to death in this awful weather.

You’re gonna have to face the facts, mommy. That cat is gone and you’re never gonna see it again.

Why couldn’t you just wait a few more minutes to see if he was coming back? She was actually starting to cry a little now. She was sternly angry at the fact that daddy had such blatant disregard for the well-being of her and everybody she cared about. Daddy had never said a kind word to her parents who were both gone and her only sibling was recently laid to rest with only the fresh lilies to comfort her spirit. Mommy was alone. She would mourn the fact that she would never see her cat again. She wished it was daddy who had been left at the cemetery, not Clarence.

Because we’re gonna hit traffic when we get out of the country. I’m not gonna be stuck in traffic for the rest of the night. And you better just dry up before I give you something to really cry about. I’m tired of you messin’ with that thing. He runs away all the time and you’re fussin’ after ’eem and I’ve had eee-nuf! It’s as mean as a snake and he’s snapped at Jane and that’s the way it is. You’re lucky I didn’t do this a long time ago. I’m lucky the damned thing ran away on its own.

As the old couple drove down the single lane highway, mommy hid her face in a bouquet of lilies, choking back tears while daddy pulled a pack of Winstons out of his left shirt pocket. Both were agitated and tired. Mommy’s wrinkles had deepened, and the full hair that once covered daddy’s head was thinning, showing his pink scalp. It wasn’t long ago that the two of them experienced something that would change the vision they had of their twilight years.

***

They had not expected the recent arrival of their nine-pound bundle of joy. Rebecca thought she was going through the change of life. At the age of fifty-two, she never expected to be a mother for the first time. She had skipped her periods often in her youth, and as the years progressed, her menstrual cycle developed a mind of its own. So, after five months of no monthly visitor, she figured that her childbearing days were over and that was fine because she never really had the will to be a mother.

Rebecca had no idea she was with-child until 5:00 A.M., March 15, 1973. She went to bed incredibly tired. She tossed and turned all night until Henderson made her sleep in the spare bedroom. Her moaning was keeping him up and being one week from retirement with the Arlington County Police Force, he didn’t want anything to spoil the joy of a relaxing seven days at a desk. When she got up and shuffled into the spare bedroom, he drifted into la-la land.

Lying on the small, twin-sized mattress, Rebecca felt excruciating back pain. She tried lying flat on her back and studying the cracks in the plaster ceiling to get through the twinges of pain. She tried rolling to her side, she tried rolling to her back, but any position she found was the wrong position. The pain would subside after a couple of minutes only to return stronger, sharper, and longer than last time. Eventually, pain was all there was. She was trying desperately not to wake Sleeping Beauty, but the throbbing and cramping was too much for her. She had to call him for help.

Henderson! Get in here! There is something wrong with me. I think that I’m having a baby!

The mattress squeaked faintly, Henderson grunted, coughed, and drifted back into dreamland in the other room. After several sets of chirps from the living room cuckoo clock, Rebecca stood on the bed holding onto the curtains for support. In the most primal position a woman could be in for such an event, she yelled at the top of her lungs—the first time in her entire life. Get in here now, Henderson, you selfish, chauvinistic, old fart! I am in serious pain and, for once in your life, stop thinking about sleep and get in here and help me! As Rebecca belted out additional explicative language, it happened—the baby came out.

Clarence had been watching the spectacle all night. He sat in front of the door watching mommy. He usually slept with her when she used the spare room on nights when Henderson snored. Jealous that he wasn’t getting enough attention and bothered by the shouting, he scooted out of the room and into their basement, behind the dryer, where he stayed for the next sixteen days.

Thump! Henderson reluctantly stumbled into the room scratching his belly and coughing. Henderson always coughed after a rough night of sleep. He repeatedly blamed the coughing on Rebecca and she would continually apologize for leaving the window open or the fan on at night, but she knew cigarette smoking was the real culprit.

Dammit, woman! You’d better have a good excuse for your language. Wakin’ me in the middle of the night is bad, Rebecca! Let me tell you one thing, if you ever use that kinda talk around me, to me, or…

Henderson stood looking at the mess on the bed. He saw what Rebecca was holding, but he didn’t recognize that she held a baby girl that was covered in blood and afterbirth. To him, the mess looked like a small pumpkin covered in syrup and still attached to the vine. He was speechless. The longer he stood looking at the mother and child, the closer his bottom lip hung to the floor. A rush of blood streamed to his head, and he hit the carpet just as Rebecca asked, Dontcha wanna cut the cord?

***

Jane was swaddled so tightly that she could only roll her eyes. She managed, however, to blurt out a coo or two while the car moved gently down the road. She was placed on the armrest that folded down in the middle of the beige turtle fur bench seats in daddy’s Chrysler Custom Newport. It wasn’t the safest arrangement for a nine-month-old baby, but daddy refused to invest in anything that the baby would grow out of. Mommy looked through her tears down at her child with concern. How would she continue to care for her?

The past nine months had not been easy. Henderson never took Rebecca and Jane to the hospital. Rebecca had to drag herself into the bathroom while the baby was still attached to clean up all of the evidence of childbirth. She actually did a great job of cutting the umbilical cord. Nine months later, Jane’s belly button was formed into a perfectly round dimple.

Since Rebecca gave birth to Jane without the comforts of a hospital, midwife, or any other human beings around them, Jane’s existence was simply between Henderson and Rebecca. Jane had no birth certificate, no documentation, and no vaccinations or examinations. Rebecca feared what had happened was illegal. When she expressed her concerns to Henderson, he scoffed and said that there wasn’t any need since Jane wasn’t planning on getting a job or leaving the country any time soon. Rebecca still worried. She planned on sneaking out of the house while Henderson was sleeping to get a birth certificate.

Jane was able to see the tears in mommy’s eyes. She cooed and sputtered at her while the old man fidgeted in his pocket for his cigarettes. Daddy popped the cigarette into his mouth and his nicotine stained fingers passed over Jane as he pushed in the lighter on the dash of the car. Jane was curious about the button and wished that she could free her arms to touch the shinny, silvery disk that covered it.

Pop! The lighter was heated and daddy reached down for it. When the car hit a pothole, the lighter jumped out of his hand and landed on Jane’s chest with the hot coils facing her. She stared into the bulls-eye shape and cooed. Red thought Jane. Daddy quickly snatched the lighter but grabbed the wrong end and cursed it as he burned his hand. By the time he was able to get the lighter to the cigarette, it was no longer hot. He put it back into its housing and muttered at Rebecca. Mommy, didn’t you see that pothole? Don’t you know you’re supposed to watch out for things like that when I’m trying to light my cigarette?

I wish you would stop smoking, daddy. It’s not good for you, and I think that the smoke bothers Jane. Maybe you could wait to have a smoke until after we get back home?

I can’t wait that long. You’re trying my nerves with your nagging.

Mommy looked out the window and thought that she saw a black shadow chasing their car. She squeezed her eyes together and shook her head before taking another look. She must have been imagining things. She turned to look at Jane and wiped a few ashes off her blanket where the lighter had been. Sweet, she thought. I’m glad that the blanket protected your delicate skin from the heat, Piglet.

Ever since Henderson and Rebecca left Nethkin Hill Cemetery, Clarence had been running alongside of their car. He had managed to keep up with them for more than two miles. The black cat was like a miniature cheetah chasing an antelope. Rhythmically, it raced to catch the vehicle. When the car slowed down and started crossing the double yellow line, Clarence zeroed in on his prey. Sprinting as fast as his paws would allow him; he passed the car and briefly sat on the edge of the road, instinctively knowing that Henderson was distracted.

Pop! The lighter was ready for the second time. Daddy seized it and put the hot end to the cigarette. Mommy was able to get a brief glimpse of Clarence on the side of the road. This time she knew she wasn’t seeing things. He was there licking his lips. Shocked and overwrought, she couldn’t speak.

Watch out, daddy! was all that mommy was able to get out as Clarence dashed in front of the car. Daddy turned the wheel as fast as he could to the left and the car was sent into a whirling dervish. He was never able to achieve control. Thankfully, mommy had rolled down her window in anticipation of daddy’s smoking, because when daddy hit the brakes, Jane was sent flying off her pedestal and out through the window. She landed on a tuft of leaves covered in snow twenty feet from the road.

Mommy and daddy weren’t so lucky. Along the left side of the road, the guardrail was missing due to an accident exactly two days prior. When the big hunk of American-made metal stopped fishtailing, the rear of the car was left dangling over the edge of the mountain. Having breathed in the pollen of the lilies in her lap for the past five minutes, mommy sneezed giving the car the momentum it needed to plummet down the side of the mountain. The couple may have lived if daddy’s cigarette hadn’t ignited the gas that was leaking out from the severed fuel line.

One

Ring! Ring! The receptionist was tired. She had only five more minutes before she could go home and relax. Since it was Friday night, she was ready to enjoy a glass of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill wine and put on some Eddie Arnold records to escape. She wanted to forget about the loneliness she felt since her husband died. Alcohol and music were her way of filling the empty place in her heart.

Two weeks ago, her husband had finished making deliveries in Elk Garden and never made it back. The brakes on his rig malfunctioned, sending his truck out of control and racing down Route 50, crashing through the guardrail before falling down the rocky side of the mountain road. She had been sitting at the desk in which she was sitting now and answering the same phone when two West Virginia state policemen walked through the front door of the hospital to inform her that her husband had been fatally injured.

Potomac Valley Hospital, how may I direct your call? the receptionist answered.

Betty Anne, it’s me Grace. I need your help, the woman on the other end of the line said.

What do you mean? Are you hurt?

No, nothing like that, said Grace, sounding worried. I’ve gotten myself in a real mess. I think you might be able to help me.

Oh, Grace. I’m so tired and I’m not gonna be any good for anyone right now. Can you call me tomorrow at home? Betty Anne suggested.

No, I need your help right now, but I can’t tell ya over the phone.

I get off in five minutes. Do you want to meet me at my house? We can have some wine. Even after eighteen years, Betty Anne never gave up on trying to get Grace to leave her secluded house in the outskirts of Elk Garden.

No, I think you should meet me out here. Boy, have I got something to show you.

***

Betty Anne and Grace had been friends since childhood. They remained thick as thieves through the years. In high school, some people even thought they were twins since they dressed alike; they both stood exactly five feet tall, and shared the same Miss Clairol platinum blonde hair color. The two women were always there for each other. Betty Anne married her high school sweetheart just before graduation and Grace fell in love only once and was left with her parents’ dilapidated homestead in the hills, surviving on goat milk and her garden for the past eighteen years. Both ladies were childless and that was fine with Betty Anne, but Grace always dreamed of a daughter to share her life with.

Betty Anne pulled her Ford Mustang onto the dirt road that led to Grace’s house. Because it was dark and snowing, she crept at a snail’s pace. The winding roads had become slick and the last thing that Betty Anne wanted was to end up in a ditch along the side of the road. In Keyser, she was known as the Ditch Lady by her fellow coworkers, and with Jerry gone, there wouldn’t be anyone to pull her out quickly.

She stopped the car at Grace’s makeshift mailbox. Grace had turned an old lard can on its side and nailed it to where the mailbox used to be. The can had started to rust out a bit, giving it an earthy look. Betty Anne was a fan of Grace’s artistic visions and inventive resourcefulness. Grace was simply tired of replacing the mailbox each time a bunch of hooligans decided to use it for batting practice.

Betty Anne smiled when she looked down at the sign under the mailbox. With her keen artistic eye, Grace had made a lighthearted sign from an old wooden serving tray, which read: THIS IS NOT A TRASH CAN. Most of the words were painted in dark green oil paint, but Grace wanted NOT to stand out. Lacking a contrasting color in oil-based paint; Grace used water-based lavender interior wall paint. The lavender color washed away after only a few short months. So, quite often, there would be Twinkie wrappers, cigarette boxes, and every other type of garbage one could find sticking out of the mail-can. Only once a month, when her public assistance check came, would Grace journey out to the edge of her property to snatch all the junk that she eventually would pay a dump to take.

Betty Anne rummaged through the trash and scooped up the flyers from the A&P, newsletters from the local fabric store, and one very important-looking letter from McGee and Browne, attorneys-at-law. Betty Anne thought that maybe this letter had something to do with why she had driven through the snow and hazardous conditions to Grace’s on a Friday night. Immediately, Betty Anne thought that Grace was in some kind of trouble. Although when her husband Jerry got a similar letter from Sullivan, Steinberg, and Steele, it was to inform him of a small inheritance owed him from his Uncle Enoch.

The years had been better to Grace than they were to Betty Anne. Grace had changed her hair back to its natural shade of brown, while Betty Anne’s hair turned from platinum to white. Grace didn’t have money for clothing, so she wore recycled leftovers from her mother’s closet. She managed to add her personality to the old garments. Betty Anne never thought she looked odd; she thought she looked eccentric.

Grace thought her life was over when her parents died. Her mother went first, followed quickly by her father. Betty Anne was Grace’s rock when she was orphaned at seventeen. She had no money and a house that was virtually falling apart. Betty Anne not only provided a shoulder to cry on, but also the strength Grace needed to start a new life.

Showing up one day armed with a Bernina sewing machine and a book on quilting, both purchased at Mrs. Menzer’s yard sale, Betty Anne thought that with Grace’s artistic talent, she could have a decent go at selling quilts at the local fair. Little did Betty Anne know that she had created a monster. Grace put all of her sorrows into her quilt making. There were few moments in the daylight hours that she didn’t spend sewing. Tirelessly, she produced no less than three completely finished quilts a month. She would have made more, but she had her goat to milk and gardening to tend to in the spring and summer months.

Through the pitch-black night, Betty Anne gingerly stepped around ice patches and garden gnomes, which lined Grace’s walkway. The dim light glowing from Grace’s living room window guided her to the house like the North Star. Her nostrils burned with the scent of a freshly scared polecat. She took her eyes off the glistening path for just a moment to look around. She couldn’t see any skunks, but one could never be too careful—skunks visited Grace more often than she did. When Betty Anne raised her foot to make it up the first step of Grace’s porch, she felt something soft walk in front of her legs. Oh, no, she mumbled to herself. Betty Anne breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was only Remus, Grace’s newly acquired black cat. At that moment, Grace opened the door, holding a pink bundle in her arms.

Grace, what on earth do you have?

Grace looked over Betty Anne’s shoulder. She whispered lightly, Come inside first.

I don’t think that the skunks and the cats are going to care what you’re doing back here, Grace. Betty Anne shook the snow off her shoes and stood in front of the door.

You can never be too careful, Grace took a deep breath. Now, try to understand and keep an open mind.

What is it, Grace? Betty Anne asked.

A baby. I found her. Isn’t she precious? Betty Anne followed Grace inside. Betty Anne walked to the sofa in the living room without taking her eyes off the baby. The three of them sat on the tattered twenties-style settee, which happened to be draped in a double wedding ring quilt—one of Grace’s first creations. Betty Anne reached her arms out for the fuzzy pink bundle and she obliged by grabbing Betty Anne’s blonde spit curl that was hanging down the side of her heavily made-up face. Betty Anne picked up the infant and looked into her eyes. She had never seen such a beautiful shade of blue. The baby’s thick red hair was the perfect complement to the periwinkle eyes that shined up at Betty Anne.

Who is she? Betty Anne asked.

I don’t know. She was swaddled along the side of Route 50 when I found her. She belonged to that old couple that was killed in that car accident last week. That’s when I found her. Grace took a soft linen napkin and dabbed some spittle off the baby’s chin.

You’ve had this baby for a week? And you’re just now telling me? Betty Anne seemed as if she was scolding Grace. But she was also holding back tears because that old couple had slipped down the mountain where her Jerry had seen his death. She couldn’t imagine why Grace had kept this a secret so long and why she hadn’t gone to the police.

Well, Betty Anne, I didn’t want to tell you because you were only days into bein’ a widow. And with the accident occurring at the spot where Jerry’s rig took out the guardrail, I thought it might be too much for ya. Then I was afraid that you’d try to talk me into going to the police, so I didn’t call you. But now, I need to tell you so that you can help me fix this. I’ve been feedin’ her milk from Nelly and mashing up veggies for her to eat. It’s been so long now that I just figured she was meant to stay with me. All the newspaper articles said nothin’ about a baby in the car, Grace claimed.

As Betty Anne held the baby, Grace unwrapped her from the fuzzy pink blanket. Betty Anne chuckled when she saw what the baby was wearing. The outfit Grace had fashioned for her was a clown suit from a large teddy bear Betty Anne had given Grace when she and Jerry went to the World’s Fair in Austin. With her fiery red hair, the baby looked like a little clown doll.

You can’t keep her, Grace. You’ve got to give her to the authorities. There’s gotta be someone out there who’s missin’ this sweet thing, her friend advised.

That’s just the thing. I don’t think there is. I have read every single news article in every single newspaper from here to Washington, DC, and I haven’t found a single thing about no missin’ baby. That couple lived in Arlington, Virginia. I read their obituaries and they had no surviving relatives. Then I called the newspaper to see who placed their obituary in the paper and it was the old man’s boss. Apparently, the old man’s name was Henderson Sampson. He was a retired Arlington County policeman. His wife, Rebecca, was the other one in the car when it crashed. She was a housewife, Grace narrated.

Grace, maybe this baby didn’t belong to them. Maybe she is unrelated to that accident. Maybe somebody else left her there. You know, there might be a distraught and confused teenage mom out there who couldn’t raise her so she left her. You know, I think Betty Sue Rogers’s daughter was lookin’ a little thick through the middle the last time I saw her—and she runs with those Wetzel boys… Betty Anne offered a wild guess.

No, Betty Anne, I saw that accident happen. I was foraging off the side of the road for berries and dandelion leaves and I saw this baby come out of that gold Chrysler Newport. It was like magic. She sprang out of the car when it was doin’ three-sixties in the road. She landed without a scratch about fifty feet from me. Besides, my angel here is no newborn baby. I looked it up. I got out that old baby book my mother kept of me. According to the things I was doin’ and the amount of teeth I had at this age, this baby is about nine or ten months old, Grace recalled as she tried to dispel any doubts introduced by her friend.

Jesus, Grace. What am I supposed to do to help you? Betty Anne couldn’t believe that she was sitting in Grace’s house having a discussion about stealing a baby—or at least it felt like Grace was stealing her. Somehow, Betty Anne thought that the circumstances were too crazy not to do anything. It would be rough going to the authorities after a week of keeping the child a secret. Maybe Grace would be arrested for withholding evidence. But Grace was not doing anything wrong by taking care of a child that no one was looking for, unless the old couple wasn’t her parents. Grace, maybe that old couple kidnapped this baby.

Grace didn’t answer. She took the baby from Betty Anne and laid her on the dining room table. She proceeded to change her pants. Using Kotex pads and her own panties, Grace put a fresh sanitary napkin into a clean pair of underwear and slid the garment over the baby’s bottom. Then she pulled off a sheet of cling wrap and wrapped it around the panty area so that the odd looking diaper couldn’t spring a leak. Grace held up the baby so that Betty Anne could see her ingenuity at work. The baby cooed and laughed as Grace put the clown outfit back on and carried the baby back to the sofa.

I’ll bring you some diapers from the hospital, Grace. Ya don’t have to use that stuff.

She doesn’t seem to mind, though. Do ya, Inertia? That’s right. She’s just a happy little perfect bupoonutter…goo…goo… But some diapers would be great. Oh, and could you pick up some onesies too? Grace looked up at Betty Anne smiling. She knew that she could wear her down and get her help.

Inertia? Betty Anne looked puzzled.

That’s what I named her. An object in motion tends to stay in motion. Isn’t that what we learned in physics? Inertia Agatha—after my mother—Hanks, Grace explained.

Grace, I think that you’re in way over your head. What are you planning to do with, Betty Anne swallowed, Inertia a year from now, or six years from now when she will need to go to school? What about clothes? What about shots and health care? What about a birth certificate? Betty Anne asked her as she wiped some sweat from her brow.

That’s where you come in, Betty Anne. I need you to get me a birth certificate. That’s all I need. I’ve figured out everything else. I want you to help me get one and make me the birth mother. I haven’t seen another person ’cept you for almost a year. No one in town will know that I wasn’t pregnant. If anyone asks who the father is, I’ll tell ’em it’s none of their business and I’d rather not talk about it. This can work, I know it can. This little girl deserves to be loved and I promise you, Betty Anne, I will love her with every part of my soul. Grace reached out and held Betty Anne’s hand. Grace’s heart was racing. Betty Anne stayed silent as she looked back and forth between Grace and her daughter.

Betty Anne was feeling hot and very nervous. She walked to the front door to step outside for some fresh air. Grace kept her home heated with an old pot belly wood stove and Betty Anne, being a little on the plump side, frequently withered in the warm environment. She could feel the draft from outside coming in from under the door on her ankles and it felt so good. When she stepped outside the cold wind on the back of her sweaty neck helped her to relax. She sat on the aluminum glider and started rocking it back and forth until a rhythmic squawk reverberated off the mountains around the house.

Eddie Arnold and some Boone’s Farm sounded awfully good to Betty Anne. She thought about her life and the fact that things weren’t so well. With Jerry gone, Betty Anne didn’t have much to look forward to. She missed their Friday night dates after work when they would go to the bowling alley, drink a pitcher of beer, and razz each other over who was the best bowler. She would bend over and roll the ball down the lane seductively—sometimes, when no one was looking, he would slap her bottom with a ball towel. Betty Anne had thought about just taking a bottle of sleeping pills and chasing them with some Boone’s Farm to join him faster. Jerry was a good man and Betty Anne was half a person with him gone.

Contemplating the possible repercussions of forgery, baby stealing, and fraud, Betty Anne said, Screw it! Then she got up and marched inside. Grace, I’ll do it!

Grace yelled from the bedroom, I knew you would. I love you, Betty Anne.

I love you too, you crazy ole loon! Betty Anne smiled and flopped on the love seat. The thing is, it’s gonna cost ya.

What do you mean? Grace came into the living room. She had just put Inertia down for the night and was starting to clean up and get ready for bed. Betty Anne could smell the lavender water Grace rinsed her face with.

Well, I am awfully lonely in that house in Keyser. I was thinkin’ if I sold it and moved in here, we could raise the baby together. We could use the money I’d get from the house for fixin’ up this place and Inertia’s education, clothing, and so forth. I, of course, want to be the godmother.

Two

Grace Hanks was the kindest soul anyone could have the pleasure of knowing. As a baby, Grace was very quiet, ate well, potty trained early, and never gave her parents an ounce of trouble. She was their only child and they doted on her. She performed well in school in all areas, but she was particularly fond of art class. Her drawing skills were maturely developed by the time she was ten.

In the spring of 1955, the Keyser Fire Department held a poster contest for fire prevention. Grace’s rendition of a baby being rescued from a burning home by a female firefighter brought scandal to the town. Fortunately, for Grace, her artwork was so amazing that her art teacher submitted her design to a New York City school. The Norman Rockwell-like style and poignant subject matter caught the attention of Columbia University’s summer art camp directors. A grant that allows one student a year from a low-income area to attend the summer program for free allowed Grace to be instantly enrolled. Grace was hesitant to go. She was afraid to leave her sheltered home in the woods for two weeks of intense studying in the Big Apple.

That spring just after graduation, Grace scraped together her emergency money that friends and fellow members of her Methodist church had given her for graduation, packed her best clothes, including the bridesmaid dress she had worn at Betty Anne’s wedding a week earlier, and headed to New York City. Her father drove her to the bus station in Cumberland early that morning. She kissed him on the cheek and told him not to worry. She convinced him she would be back in two weeks.

Her mother was devastated with the idea of her going by herself to New York City, but her father saw no harm in it. He knew Grace had a good head on her shoulders and he thought that maybe some of the sights of the city would have a positive influence on her. Grace’s father did not share the same beliefs of most Appalachian men. Most Appalachian men believed that women belonged in the kitchen, having babies, and waiting on their man hand and foot. Mr. Hanks had