DNA: Do Not Assume

By Teri Pizza and Lynne Merrill

DNA: Do Not Assume will appeal to many different interests: DNA researchers, romantics, true story and cozy mystery enthusiasts, plus readers of God centered accounts.

Drusilla intended her lie to die with her, but that changed when the author's sister called with the results of their DNA search. They did not share the same father. This knowledge stirred-up decades of rumors along with the once buried question, "Who is he?"

Now, in the 21st century, seventeen years after her mother's death, her author-daughter is left to ask and answer the nagging question from long ago.

Part One—The author uses commonsense and family recollections to create a biography of her mother's early life that reads like a Debbie Macomber novel except, the facts are real!

Fifteen-year-old Drusilla meets a good-looking sailor. They quickly marry and have two children. Their happy life seems to end with Bill's discharge from the Navy in 1946. Bill deposits his brood with his parents in Ohio and leaves for a three-month electrician course in Chicago.

Fun loving Drusilla is a fish out of water in this small town. She is expected to provide childcare/housekeeping duties for the eleven residents. In exchange, she and her children are given free room and board until they can move into a home of their own.

Probable events place the author's parents together as strangers, watching a dance competition. Drusilla succumbs to a romantic fling. This decision creates a story filled with tension, violence, and wrecked lives.

Drusilla plots how she'll convince her husband, Bill, that the baby growing in her tummy is his. Bill has good reason to doubt and grows desperate to know the truth but Drusilla isn't talking. Face-offs go beyond name calling. A rifle is grabbed, fists fly, and bones break in an effort to beat the truth out of a pregnant Drusilla.

Drusilla calls him and reveals their baby's first two names, "Tarry Lee," but not its gender. The significance of this omission becomes clear as the story progresses.

Bill wins custody of their first two children in the divorce. Heartsick and destitute, Drusilla tries to commit suicide and but lands in a mental institution; the newborn goes to foster care.

Throughout this part, the author refers to her birth father as "he," placing all references to him in italics, taking the reader with her on the journey to find him.


Part Two is autobiographical and tells the story of the author's life with her mother, Drusilla. The story continues when a revived Drusilla has regained mental and physical strength, goes to work, finds a home, and regains custody of her baby. Drusilla sets new goals to remake herself. Soon a tall, blonde man enters their lives and later, Tarry is adopted and renamed. Mission accomplished, Drusilla files for divorce.

At this point, daddy number four, enters the picture. With him, Drusilla's blue-collar existence takes an upward turn. Several chapters deal with Drusilla's new popularity, along with the author's own coming of age.

The chapter, "My Prince Arrived in a 1969 Pontiac Grand Prix!" introduces the author as a young twenty-year-old longing for love and searching for God. When she finds her love, her life, like her mother's, evolves into a soap-box opera. The author marries, finds God (again), has children, raises them, lives her life, buries her mother, and retires thinking she knows all there is to know about her mother's life. Until that fateful phone call when Drusilla's well-crafted house of cards tumbled down.

Part Three— The last and final part is a memoir, written alternately by two first cousins found through a DNA website. Piece-by-piece a mother's web of lies; a daughter's quest for truth; found family; and, his name is revealed; fit together by God the mystery is solved and the puzzle completed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098315849

Book preview

Frasure.

Part 1—1926–1950 Drusilla’s Biography

Depictions and conversations in Part I take place before and shortly after my birth. I’ve used commonsense and family recollections to reach reasonable assumptions based on facts. With these clues to go on, I began sleuthing to unravel the past and track down ghosts in my effort to reconstruct my mother’s early life. I believe what I found to be very close to the truth.

Drusilla Garland Hobbs

Drusilla was a Florida child, born on July 14, 1926. On September 18 what came to be called the Great Miami hurricane wreaked havoc in that city and eventually across the state to the Gulf of Mexico. Its hurricane-force sustained winds beat down on the area around Pensacola for more than twenty hours. The massive storm ultimately misplaced 38,000 people, killing close to 500 U.S. citizens. Today, the damage from this hurricane would amount to about $164 billion!

As Drusilla recalled to a granddaughter, the early 1900s gave Florida citizens no forewarning about bad weather. People escaping from a threat were sometimes the only indication of impending danger. The storm made its first landfall in Miami; no one knew it would become a monster. The Miami Weather Bureau Office reported, At the height of the storm surge, the water from the Atlantic extended all the way across Miami Beach and Biscayne Bay into the City of Miami for several city blocks.

Flora, Drusilla’s mother, told Drusilla about the evacuation from this horrific storm. The family was living in Miami right after Drusilla was born. Gale-force winds and floods started. Flora and Drusilla’s father, Harold, rushed to escape the hurricane’s clutches. Safety, it occurred to them, could be found in Pensacola, a coastal town on the other side of the state in Florida’s panhandle—far away from Miami. They hurried to grab their meager possessions, along with two-month old baby Drusilla, stashing everything in the back of the car. There was no way for them to know they were about to drive a trajectory identical to the terror they were attempting to escape.

Winds howled, shook the car, and ripped the cloth roof off their convertible. Somewhere along the way, Harold asked Flora about the baby. Flora, looked into the back of the car but wasn’t able to see Drusilla. Flora asked Harold to stop but, she told Drusilla, he said they needed to continue regardless… whether the infant was with them or not!

As it turned out, in their haste to depart, Drusilla was wrapped in a rug, presumably for protection, and placed on the floorboard in the back-seat. This story, retold to Drusilla by Flora as the caring parent, no doubt haunted my mother and may have been an omen predicting the chaos and horrendous events of her future abandonment, loss, and worthlessness.

The family stayed in Pensacola. They didn’t have any money; Harold worked wherever possible, sometimes as a sign-painter. There would be lots of signs to repair and repaint.

There’s an old black and white photograph, circa 1929. The image is of a little girl about two or three years old, standing all alone under the arched carport of a small, putty-colored stucco house. Attached to the ankle of the child’s foot is a ball-and-chain, the kind you’d see in an old-time television cartoon or Keystone Cops’ movie. I asked about the shackle. My mother said, Your grandmother put it on me so I wouldn’t run away. Telling words.

Drusilla talked about one childhood friend; a black girl close to her own age. They would walk home from school together. Drusilla really liked her. Flora found out about this friend and grew furious. Flora forbade Drusilla from talking to any darkies, ever! Drusilla spoke wistfully about her friend, but with age, she sadly became a bigot. A black hole forms in a person when hate replaces love.

Drusilla never gave any indication what her father, Harold, thought of Flora’s unusual ball-and-chain child restraint. Nor do we know how he reacted when Flora confronted Drusilla with a note from Drusilla’s teacher, which was found hidden under a rug in the front room. Drusilla cried and threw herself down on the carpet. Flora bent down, grabbed Drusilla’s head, and banged it several times on the floor.

Perhaps it was because of Flora’s harsh ways, I’m not sure, but Harold grew tired of his common-law wife. In 1939, prior to America’s entrance into WWII, Harold walked out of their lives. Drusilla was twelve-years old.

Regardless of how Flora painted the picture, Drusilla loved her dad and felt her love reciprocated. Flora had other children, but Drusilla was Harold’s only child. I’m sure Flora resented Harold spending more time with Drusilla rather than her. Jealousy isn’t pretty.

My mother spoke about her father as a smart, entrancing storyteller. She said she loved sitting next to him, happy and mesmerized by the wonderful stories. Maybe Flora’s version of the hurricane story was an effort to tarnish Drusilla’s love for Harold. What I do know for certain is that when Drusilla’s daddy departed, he took with him every ounce of love Drusilla knew. The hole in her heart began to fill with shame and mourning over his loss.

I wish I had known more about the hurricane and Flora’s abuse. It would have helped me to better understand why my mother spent her lifetime lying. I get it now; she was trying to find ways to leave abuse, poverty, and sad memories behind her. She told lies to escape feelings of being alone, without anyone who cared about her.

Before Harold’s departure, Drusilla’s newly married brother, Jimmy, moved across the street from the sad stucco house where the tiny Drusilla once stood. Demoralized as an abandoned, unwed-mother, the forty-two-year-old Flora left Drusilla in Jimmy’s care while she relocated to Philadelphia. The Great Depression was upon the country, but she had family living in Pennsylvania and hoped they could help her find work—or at least give her a place to live—rent free. Secretly, I believe my grandmother wanted Drusilla to stay in Florida, so Flora wouldn’t have a nearly grown child attached to her hip!

Reacting to the loss of both parents, Drusilla disobeyed Jimmy’s rules by skipping school, staying out late, lying, and stealing. In short, she behaved as bad as possible—perhaps to force her father’s return. Jimmy’s wife, Flo, was about to deliver their first child, giving Jimmy the perfect excuse to get rid of his kid sister. He contacted his mother about the baby-to-be, her first grandchild, and his need for Drusilla to vacate the bedroom before the baby arrived. Somehow, somewhere, Jimmy found the money to buy a one-way train ticket to Philadelphia for Drusilla.

Drusilla didn’t resent Jimmy sending her away. She always spoke of him and Flo with great love and kept in touch with them throughout all her years. Shortly before his death, Drusilla’s father, Harold, returned to Pensacola to find her, showing up at Jimmy’s house. Flo called Drusilla to tell her that her daddy wanted to see her. Before Drusilla got a flight down to be with him, he died. At least she knew: he hadn’t forgotten her. I believe this consoled her until her dying day.

Prince Charming #1

Loving aunts have played an important part in my life; it turned out that it had been the same for Drusilla. Although unhappy circumstances brought Drusilla to this Northern state, it was in Pennsylvania Drusilla found caring, loving relatives. Aunt Daisy, Flora’s half-sister, showed interest in her young niece, bought her clothes, and treated her with respect.

In her new location, she blossomed into a beautiful young lady. However, she kept a few of her wild ways about her as she continued to hope for complete escape from her mother’s heavy hand.

Trenton, New Jersey, is as they say, a stone’s throw from Philadelphia. Pennsylvania prohibited drinking alcohol on Sundays. If you were in the Navy, thirsty for a beer, docked in Philadelphia on a Sunday in 1942, your craving would be quenched in Trenton.

There, Drusilla worked at a bar my grandmother, Flora, managed. At the bar, a gathering spot for sailors on leave, Drusilla washed glasses and wiped down tables. She often had a wistful expression on her face, daydreaming about her prince. This is the setting where the futures of Drusilla Garland Hobbs, age fifteen, and Billy Joe Frasure, age eighteen, collide.

Drusilla’s prince, Bill, as she called him, showed up on a Sunday afternoon fresh from the naval yard in Philadelphia. He ordered a cold beer and watched Drusilla work. Bill had been in the service about a year and just transferred to the Philadelphia Navy Shipyard.

He stood five-foot, nine inches tall to Drusilla’s five-foot, four-inch height, which meant he was tall enough for her to wear her favorite high heels—should she ever have the need. She found his slightly wavy dark hair, brown eyes, and straight nose attractive.

Soon Bill was smitten by Drusilla’s vivacious, edgy personality. Her face contained soft, adolescent fullness. Her brunette colored hair, styled like Ava Gardner, was rolled back from her forehead. Its soft, loose waves fell around her shoulders, framing her delicate face. Staring at her, the edges of Bill’s mouth turned upward in a slow smile. It was evident, he liked everything he saw. Most of all, his attention was drawn to Drusilla’s unique, aqua-colored eyes, set below dark, pencil-thin, Ava-like eyebrows. And, those eyes weren’t afraid to stare back at him.

By all accounts, Bill had a moody personality. Perhaps being small-boned and lacking the girth of most men had something to do with it. Or maybe growing up with a father and brother who bullied and intimidated others—Bill included—developed his aloofness and general distrust. Regardless of the reason, he made it clear he didn’t enjoy camaraderie, walking away if he grew bored or frustrated with small talk.

However, once he met Drusilla, he brightened and grew gregarious, wanting to make her give him one of her beautiful smiles, wanting to see her eyes sparkle. To keep him near her, he’d talk about things he’d read. Drusilla liked learning interesting facts. Soon, her vitality rubbed off on him and his intelligence rubbed off on her. It was a symbiotic relationship. If she looked his way, he would flash her a smile. Drusilla found the attention intoxicating and soon became entranced.

It wasn’t long before for their sexual chemistry began to boil. Bill and Drusilla immediately planned to wed. Many of their peers gave into this impulsive, emotionally charged recklessness. Threat of death hung over their heads; its reality printed in each day’s newspaper as the list of dead young men killed in action grew.

Three months before Drusilla’s sixteenth birthday, they sought Flora’s permission to marry. Permission granted, they excitedly recited marriage vows before the nearest Justice of the Peace. Their April 1942 head-and-shoulder’s portrait shows a happy, bright-eyed, handsome couple. He looks sharp in his navy uniform. She, having no money for a dress, is wearing a simple, striped-smocked blouse. She’s pinned a gardenia in her hair—a typical Drusilla way of adding flare to the occasion.

Drusilla, one of many military teen-brides, began a new chapter in her life. The war years presented her with an almost perfect opportunity to live out all her unfulfilled, romantic fantasies. Her favorite times no doubt were the homecomings, as she watched his ship slowly come into port. You may have seen pictures of sailors who disembark, sweeping their sweethearts off their feet, big kisses planted on waiting lips. Bill and Drusilla could have posed for any of those homecoming photos. Laughing, they’d rush home to re-live wedding nights of passion. The drama of it set Drusilla’s heart pounding.

Drusilla also enjoyed being married to a Navy man because, along with hours of personal freedom came financial gain—a military allotment of twenty dollars a month. What a delightful bonus! Back in the 1940s, this amount of money represented a fortune to most of these young women, Drusilla included. It was the first time they had money to spend without being told how to use it.

Young war wives, who lived among or with other military spouses, would fill the long, waiting hours at the picture show and then try to emulate the dress, hairstyles, and manners of Hollywood starlets. They grew adept at fixing each other’s hair, giving manicures, and listening to and singing love songs. Often, they would dance together to tunes playing on the radio or a phonograph record player. The girls spent money on Coca-Colas, cigarettes, records, make-up, and movie magazines. And, of course, they blushed when they were caught daydreaming about the next reunion with their men.

Because of his loner, bookish ways, Bill appeared to be ostracized by his fellow shipmates. Photos taken aboard his ship show him standing alone, away from the other men, with an expressionless face. There are no buddy photos with his arm slung over another sailor’s shoulder. No reminiscing about a Navy shipmate. He quietly stayed out of the way and did his duty, but on shore leave, he would walk taller and parade Drusilla on his arm for a night out on the town.

From a letter Drusilla sent to my daughter about Bill, she wrote He wanted men to notice me and they did; it made him feel superior showing me off. He showed her off as if to say, Look you, chumps, this beauty belongs to me. She thinks I’m smart and likes me the way I am. He counted on her to lift his mood and boost his ego. Drusilla was Bill’s equivalent of today’s Prozac, lightening his mood.

When the men were in port, a big party would break out until the inevitable: emotional highs took nosedives and nights of passion became morning tears of parting. Drusilla acted as if each goodbye was the last. In fact, each goodbye could well have been the last; for many it was.

Even though the war was real, Drusilla’s shameful drama-queen-self loved all of it—the homecomings and the goodbyes put her in the spotlight as if she was starring in her own movie. While Bill was sailing, Drusilla was a great letter correspondent. Oh my, was she ever! With perfect, manicured fingers she wrote poems and letters long into the night to warm Bill at sea. More than likely she perfumed each letter. Before sending it off to the Fleet Post Office, I’m sure she sealed every envelope with a large, red kiss from freshly applied lipstick lips. All this was part and parcel of her duty as the perfect navy wife she envisioned herself to be, not to mention silver-screen magic. It’s not pretend, if you’re living it, right?

The press referred to these military-teen brides as cuddle bunnies. John Costello in his book, Love, Sex and War wrote that these cuddle bunnies had their lives brightened by the attention … they found an outlet which was not only a contrast, but a definite compensation for the dullness, poverty, and sometimes unhappiness of their home life. Mr. Costello’s words rang true for Drusilla.

In 1943, the happy couple traveled from New Jersey to Connecticut for Bill’s submarine training. Drusilla was now pregnant. Shortly before their first baby arrived and he was sent back out to sea, Bill arranged for his youngest sister, Alice, to be with Drusilla for the birth of their first child. There, in Connecticut, on December 3, 1944, daughter number one entered their lives.

Drusilla spent hours loving and fussing over their first child: bathing, dressing, feeding, and tying ribbons in her little girl’s hair. Bill, busy with submarines, left Drusilla with lots of opportunities to show off the baby. She traveled with Alice and the baby to visit her mother in Pennsylvania. The three of them went on to Pensacola to visit her brother, Jimmy, and then later she drove to Ohio to deliver Alice, Bill’s sister, back home and introduce the baby to the rest of Bill’s family.

Married to Bill during wartime, Drusilla delighted in the freedom her situation gave her to indulge her fantasies. For her, all was happy and light. She refused to realize her current circumstances were surreal. War is a bloody conflict never meant to last. But Drusilla didn’t give a thought to her make-believe world evaporating. I wish someone had said to her, Movies always end… so do most wars!

Drusilla’s Prince Charming #2

Before the war with Japan ended in 1945, Bill transferred to Maine’s Portsmouth Naval Base and they soon began expecting baby number two. The war ended the second week of August. Soon after celebrating America’s victory, Bill started shore patrol duty. Drusilla’s life took on a drastic change with Bill around. Gone were Drusilla’s carefree days hanging out with other young military wives—wives the press called, Allotment Annies.

Drusilla had problems. Bill began asking about their financial situation. Had she saved any money? How were they going to survive after his discharge? I am left to assume her unsatisfactory answers spurred him to re-enlist for another year in an effort to obtain enough money to help ease them back into civilian living.

Then, there was the monotony of having Bill around. His dour demeanor began to annoy Drusilla. Bill’s solitary personality made him a conscientious sailor at sea, but a lousy marriage partner on land. He enjoyed his own company far more than anyone or anything else. Drusilla, baby included, infringed on him when he was off-duty.

Another annoyance was Bill’s jealousy. It was bad to the point of paranoia. With so many men around again, Drusilla couldn’t help flirting, causing Bill to become livid. Always the romantic, no doubt Drusilla initially thought Bill’s ire synonymous with romance, interpreting his anger as a sign of undying love. Oblivious to the storm starting to brew, she continued flashing her bedroom eyes, as she said many men called them, to everyone. The more she thrived on this attention, the more bitter Bill became.

With Drusilla’s new pregnancy, Bill must have decided babies weren’t his thing. The Navy offered free vasectomies; Bill was one of the first in line. Perhaps he had reasons for not telling Drusilla: Might she want more children and oppose the procedure? Or could it be she might be playing around? Or, maybe he, himself, was contemplating an affair and wanted to make sure no one came knocking at his door sometime in the future? His reasoning is unclear; he kept this crucial information to himself.

Bill was discharged on October 26, 1946. The family, with the addition of their newest daughter born in July, headed to St. Mary’s, a predominately white, blue-collar factory town in mid-western Ohio. If Drusilla thought things in port with Bill were a drag, everything came to an abrupt halt in Ohio. They moved in with Bill’s parents until a rental property, which Bill’s dad found for them, became available in mid-November.

The stay at the Frasure’s home was crowded; it currently housed Bill’s parents and his sisters, Alice and Anna Mae, plus Anna