The Wild Rose Bush

By Doreen Brust Johnson

This is a fictional story based solely on the author's imagination. You will move into another life. One of them poor, but happy. The other filled with violence and abuse.

Two ladies doing their grocery shopping befriended each other. What is Wanda hiding?

After being kidnapped and abused, Wanda changes her name. She refuses to run any longer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doreen Brust Johnson
• Release date: Jul 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005091040

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The Wild Rose Bush

By Doreen Brust Johnson

The Wild Rose Bush

Copyright 2021 Doreen Brust Johnson

Rivershore Books

All rights reserved

Table of Contents

Dedication

To my Readers and Friends

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

My COVID-19 Life

Acknowledgements

Other Books by Doreen Brust Johnson

Dedication

This story is dedicated to . . .

To my mother, Elsie Frey, I am forever grateful for your hard work and determination you gave in order that Edwin and I could one day have an easier life away from the farm. It was not perfect, but I do appreciate you doing what you felt would be the best for us.

Had it not been for you I would not be able to author these four books. It is disappointing that you are no longer with us to enjoy the fruits of your labours. Being an author has given me numerous opportunities to experience the world of writing that I so long dreamed of. Sixty years it took, but like you I persevered even when the road got tough. Thank you.

Your determination to also give us a Christian education shall never be forgotten or under-appreciated.

Rest in your heavenly home. You shall always be remembered with love.

To my father, Rafael Frey, who each day showed me how a father should and could love his children. Each night as I cuddled with you before going to bed you ever so tenderly sang to me. I am thankful to have had you to share my difficulties with each day. You were also adamant that God be kept in our lives.

I shall always remember you with the tender love you so generously gave each and every day.

Rest in your heavenly home. I shall always remember you with love.

To my brother Edwin. I have so many memories of our growing years together. I cannot begin to list a little portion of them. Rest assured I think of you with much love. You were the best brother a little girl could have even when you whined about doing chores I loved you. My special memory is when we ran all over town visiting the forbidden train tracks.

I shall forever remember you with love.

Rest in peace.

To my Readers and Friends

I am forever grateful to each of you for your loyalty and dedication as you follow my journey through the writing process. Your endless support and encouragement will never be forgotten.

The historical stories of life in the early years mean so much to me as they bring back memories of both good and bad times. I am sure you too have either experienced or heard these stories. Their times were stressful, but yet so simple. These memories leave me in awe of how strong and resilient our forefathers were.

Let their experiences and those of our lives make us stronger. It is important that we share this past with the generations to come.

I pass to each of you God’s richest blessings as you and your loved ones continue to walk this path at times of uncertainty.

Best Wishes,

Doreen

Prologue

I could hear the wind banging against the door, trying as hard as it could to get in. The cold winter rains had come early. Together they were pounding on the clean clear windows with a determination that was sure to leave them looking as though they had not been washed for many a year. Now that is if they are not broken, lying in shreds on the long, wild, pale green grass, before they decide to move on to another unsuspecting area.

In my later years I have been thinking back over my crazy life that I have so carefully hidden in the back of my mind. While I have never wished to think of some of my previous existence, I feel that perhaps now is a good time to face it before it is so late I shall only be left with regrets. None of us can change our former times—some may be good, some sad, some happy, some private, some embarrassing—but regardless it is our history. We cannot have control of where our lives take us while we are young, only when we as adults leave home.

My name is Anna. I was born to Dwight and Ruby Barnes on Tuesday, September 27th, 1938 in our slab farm home near Sheffield, United Kingdom. My oldest child Susan and brother Tito shared their single bed with their little sister Lulu. Just like me they were baptized at the farm in the Lutheran faith soon after they were born. My husband is Bud.

Stepping back to when my mother Ruby was a young lady; she remembers wearing a dark blue dress with a low waist emphasized with a matching two-inch-wide imitation belt. The long sleeves nearly covered her hands. She wore her only pair of brown stockings and black flat shoes with a strap. Her shoulder-length hair was brown with a ripple of tight waves. For everyday household work, she wore a dark blue, short-sleeved dress with tiny white flowers. It had seen many a washday but was still holding together.

My father Dwight was a handsome gentle man of average height and build. His favourite, and likely only, outfit he had to go to town or visit was a pair of dark dress pants, a plain medium blue shirt with long sleeves, and a tan coloured home-knit button-down sweater with a shawl collar. He liked the pockets and long sleeves. His light brown vintage style hat went everywhere with him except the barn and field. For that he wore an old black one that he inherited from an older brother. Before he washed up at the well, he would remove his hat, giving it a few slaps against his pant leg to shake the dust off.

Some of my fond memories of my parents are when they dressed for church. My father, Dwight, wore a three-button suit with shirt and tie. With a neat short cut hairstyle and a well-trimmed mustache, he did look handsome. His attire was finished with heavy wool socks inside his much-worn ankle high-laced boots that my mother had polished the day before along with hers.

As long as I can remember my mother was a stout lady with dark hair pulled back into a bun. Her good dress was black, long sleeves, and a matching belt around her ample waist. She too wore her ankle black laced boots.

Around the farm my father was like other men wearing overalls covering his plaid shirt. My mother, like her mother before, wore a plain style dress of a dark print material as other ladies. Mother enjoyed walking through the fields of vivid wild blue bluebells.

My mother Ruby was born on September 30th, 1914, the year that World War I began. It ended on November 11, 1918. Records claim it was directly triggered by the assassination of the Austrian archduke and his wife. It was known to be the first truly global conflict.

It was Friday, September 1st, 1939 that Nazi Germany invaded Poland. This was the act that started World War II that ended on September 2, 1945. It was also the day that changed the lives of those around the world forever. World War II involved 61 countries and three quarters of the world’s population. 50 million people lost their lives during this terrible time.

Seeing an opportunity, my parent’s thought there would be a better life in America and so along with other relatives they managed to board the boat to America where their family stayed on a farm.

My father, Dwight, soon worked in the field as a farm hand. My mother, Ruby, worked both as a farm hand and a caregiver taking care of the farmer’s sick mother that was living with them.

Our home on a farm that we were working on was behind their house. Several young elm trees were growing tall and firm to the side of our place. Our place was actually a slab granary with no windows. The only way we could see the cherry blossom tree they were so proud of was to go outside. It was much too young to have many pretty pink blooms, but I am sure it will grow to be a beauty. The only thing that sticks in my mind is the apple boxes we used for furniture. Every time someone came to our house for any reason the adults all took a walk outside to check on this unusual tree.

Mother milked the cows, fed the chickens and pigs as well as helping with laundry all the while taking care of us three and a weakened frail lady that spoke no English. Together they came to care for each other. With smiles and signs they soon were able to communicate gradually bonding into a strange friendship.

Mrs. Lopez seldom spoke to anyone, but when no one was around to see or hear she smiled for mother. For some unknown reason she trusted Momma Ruby as she had become known. At the same time Momma Ruby never told anyone of their friendship. Years later she told me that there was something that had happened in that family no one was willing to speak of. It was not Momma Ruby’s way to pry into other people’s lives just as she was not willing to share our business with them.

One day as she entered the small barren room where Mrs. Lopez lay, wearing her usual thin green nightgown with tiny yellow flowers; in the corner of the back parlor, she heard a faint sniffling. Who was crying? Creeping over to the side of her bed, she gently laid her hand on Mrs. Lopez’s shoulder who turned her face into her thin pillow that was nothing more than two layers of an old threadbare towel. Momma Ruby felt she was embarrassed to be found crying. Whether it was to be from loneliness or physical pain she was not to ever discover.

No one was allowed to enter her room unless it was Momma Ruby taking care of poor Mrs. Lopez. One day she discovered that Charles, my brother, had quietly crept in without startling her. No one would have known except for his humming a tune that was only known to this special shut-away lady. He had been wandering around the corral as Dad worked, lost in his own world.

Suddenly Dad said he realized he should listen to the tune. Being a person with a natural gift for music he later hummed it to Momma Ruby. Where do you think Charles has heard that? he asked.

Stopping in her tracks with her heart pounding loudly in her chest, she knew. This could mean trouble for our family. To break this rule could mean that we would need to leave with nowhere else to go. With frightened tears streaming down her thin cheeks, she told her husband what she feared.

Following a short quiet discussion behind the straw stack where no one would see or hear, they decided Dad would talk to Charles. Being a quiet, gentle man who vowed he would never strike anyone, he first explained how and why we were able to live with the Lopez family and what this meant to our family. They quickly spoke of the rules that Mr. Lopez felt were important to their family, and so we must obey them. Charles agreed.

As she tucked him into bed each evening, Momma Ruby would in a couple words tell him how his new friend was doing. This satisfied him, at least for now. Dad was right. They must have frequent short talks with Charles as he was just too intrigued to be trusted.

It turned out Mother said Dad had made a good choice. As long as they gave a regular report, Charles was satisfied.

One day Mr. Lopez, a gentle but firm, tall, thin man heard Charles singing You are my Sunshine. A few minutes later he asked him if he liked to sing for people.

Guess so, came the solemn reply. But I have no one to sing to.

What if I was to tell you that I know someone that would be happy to listen to your singing. Would you still sing then?

Guess so. After thinking it over for a minute Charles added, I am just a boy. No one wants to listen to me. I can play my dad’s mouth organ too. I know I can ’cause my dad showed me how.

Well, Charles, I know you can. I will speak to your mother, and then we shall talk again. Alright?

Yes sir.

And that was how it began. Charles sat on the floor singing and playing while Mrs. Lopez hummed softly in the background never turning her face, but Charles said he just knew she was smiling just for him.

Shortly after, Mother thought that Esther too could do something to help Mrs. Lopez feel better. Little by little their trust grew. Each day Esther would quietly tiptoe in to brush her hair that had become very thin just like her frail body. Esther said she would brush and brush until it shone like the stars in the prairie sky on a clear night.

My dad could neither read nor write as his father felt there was no need for him to go to school. There was just too much work to do on their meager farm. His music ability that was growing inside him was his comfort. He was happy with his life working with the farm animals and in the fields. With my mother working beside my father, he said there was nothing more a man needed. His dream was for his children to grow old loving the land just as he did. He would one day have his own farm that Charles would be able to take over from him. His daughters that he adored would one day marry a farmer nearby. His life would then be complete.

As for me, my job was mostly making meals and baking the bread. Because Daddy would say, Oh Anna. You can bake bread just as good as your momma. You will one day make someone a wonderful wife. I did not want to be a wife. I wanted to be a teacher where I could spend my days reading, but I knew not to even think of mentioning it and so I just smiled and went about my chores without a complaint as I dreamed of teaching in the little one room school.

Bud’s father and mother were both completely uneducated. His mother was a small timid lady with a weakened body from birthing too many babies. While she loved each baby she was taken during the birth of her tenth child.

Mother went on to tell me that her father-in-law was a stern man frequently whipping his children with his belt for making mistakes while doing chores that no child should have been doing.

For some reason Momma Ruby told me very little about her parents. They both passed away in 1935. All she knew was that her father Dwight had the bloated stomach. Her mother Ruby was always a little on the sick and weak side but did birth lots of babies. All were girls, but for three boys.

It was not until I was in my later years that I began to talk of my family and my own life. I had so much to tell. I spent many Sunday afternoons in the living room while visiting with my daughter Luella and her husband Frank Harris with my story telling. She was just too happy to hear it all as she sat with her knitting on her lap. She was always making a new sweater for someone.

A lot of it I did remember myself, and some like me, my mother Ruby still did not find herself willing to speak of it. I have pieced it together in my mind like this. I did not wish to forget our family’s past just as I did not want Luella and Tito to not know it, so I did my best each day to recall my mother’s stories and mine so I could look back on her life that was what made my mother her and now me.

After so many years I shared the parts of their sister Susan’s short life with us. Most of it, I found the pain too much to bear. Each day my thoughts began with my memories of her curly brown hair and smiling face. As I drifted off to sleep it was the same. I would not leave her memory behind, and yet I just could not speak of it. There were times that I went to the barn to speak to Bud only to surprise him sharing his thoughts of Dolly to himself. He missed her too. After we cried together in each other’s arms we shared a short prayer that God had taken care of this special little soul. Our angel, whose life was cut much too short. I am afraid the why shall never be answered.

During this time there had been a storm looming overhead for several days when finally it broke into a typical Chicago fall storm. The dark blue sky suddenly let streams of large cold raindrops fall fast and hard. The rains were coming faster than the dry earth could begin to soak it up giving way to puddles of water everywhere.

The fall days cool down quickly. Being known as the Windy City, it was holding true to this name. While it is usually nice during the day, the cool evenings were coming earlier than usual. Seems like it will not run out of wind for a day or two yet.

As I went about my barn chores, doing laundry, cooking meals, and raising our children, I thought how sometimes our life is so similar to that of my mother Ruby’s life. Just like she told me, farm life is pretty much the same year after year regardless of where you are. If you have good quality soil, healthy animals that can help produce feed and food and you work hard, you can survive. She never mentioned getting rich. No one did.

When we came to America, we all worked hard at settling in. After a time Bud’s two brothers said they both had that feeling that something was not there for them. Their parents and mine had passed away. In time they found it necessary to move to Canada due to work. Each letter was filled with how settled they were. Please come too, was their regular invitation. There is work here for those that seek it.

Bud and I both had thought that America would have been our new home, but for some reason it was too different. Work did not seem to be there as we anticipated. The Colorado weather was much too dissimilar to the country we had left. The wind never seemed to stop. It just seemed to change direction. Never did I think that we would be making one more giant move before finding our comfortable home. Plans to move once more were in the back of our minds, but this time with a small amount of hesitancy. Are we being too difficult?

While we had worked long and hard it seemed as though there would never be anything more for us. We would always be working for someone else in turn getting us no further ahead.

It was not long before we agreed that if we had stayed in Colorado I would forever be doing housework for someone else and Bud would be cleaning stalls at the Livery Stable. These were great starter jobs in a new country but not ones that we hoped to be doing forever.

With some help and much urging from Bud’s siblings we decided we too would make the move before we would be finding ourselves paying adult fare for Tito and Luella. Tito said he was happy to move. He did not fit in with the others at his school. They liked to tease him about his accent. We were not aware of this, but thought at his next school I would be paying more attention to how my children adjusted to one more new home.

All we had to take with us were our personal clothes. With two old suitcases packed we boarded the train once more. The only people we had to say goodbye to were the landlord and the two people that had hired us. When we were on the train, Bud said what a cold and lonely city Colorado was for his family. We both knew that in some way it was partly our fault. Perhaps we just didn’t fit in. Canada can only be warmer.

In the early morning hours as daylight began to come, we arrived at the New Westminster station to the happy smile of his oldest brother. As Gus drove along showing us some of the sights that he thought might catch our interest, he suddenly braked, causing the children to lose their balance as they stood craning their necks to see everything at once.

Did you see that sign? Gus asked anxiously waiting for our response. It took both of us a minute to see the sign posted beside the road that read Help Wanted.

For where? I asked.

Let me see. The printing is so small I can hardly read it. I will take a closer look. With that Gus was out to return in a quick minute. I know that man. He works at the Grain Elevator. I do not need to tell you what that is, do I?

No, said Bud. That sounds too good to be true, but let us go there and see. We must tell him that I cannot read very well. My numbers I know. For some reason letters just would not stick with me so I concentrated on numbers. I knew I could be good at something, he laughed.

Not that good, said Gus. I have five young ones and you have two or have you not noticed? Sending my face into a bright red Gus began to really enjoy his moment to shine. Being a private man Bud did not know just what to say either. That is alright brother, Gus laughed. I know you can do it. However, you have not told me how you got so good with numbers and not with letters, he stated with a mischievous look on his round face.

Then came the shouts from the back. I can see the elevators, Daddy! Bud was saved from any more embarrassment. Well for now.

The grounds around the elevators were neatly trimmed. Around the back were several rich green shrubs shaded by a couple taller trees. I decided the neatly mowed grass was just right for the three of us to stretch our legs. This looked like a nice place for them to run around a little to wear off some of their energy as well as pass our waiting time.

In a short while the men came back waving us over to them. They were both smiling so I had a good feeling that all went well.

Before Bud had to answer that previous question, Lulu interrupted with one of her questions. I could see relief cross over his face.

Did you get work, Daddy, did you?

Yes, Lulu, I did. followed by shouts of joy from all of us.

Do you go to work tomorrow, Daddy?

Yes, Lulu. I do. Tomorrow Mommy will take you and Tito to see your new school while I go to work. I am just as excited as you are.

Chapter One

Our first Canadian summer came to a close with a note of excitement. For the most part we enjoyed a hot dry season. Just about the time we felt we could not take another day of the heat, we were blessed with some rain. Super tiny raindrops hung onto the branches like little sparkling crystals as the sun began to shine. The air smelled fresh and clean. At times it lasted for a partial day, and other times for two days, falling heavier during the night hours. Never more. No one was complaining. It seemed to be enough rain to feed the vegetation. That was all we wanted and needed.

For our family it felt perfect. It was Canada. At last we were home once more, feeling as though this was where we were meant to be. This is the time to stay. We worked hard to get our Canadian Citizenship papers for this grand country we were enjoying so much.

We soon were able to locate a Marks & Spencer store near where we were living. A little touch of home. Most of all I was able to locate the chocolate covered biscuits we all loved, especially me. A great surprise to be able to purchase a few of our favourite British treats. Each time Bud would put his arm across my shoulder giving me a little squeeze. As I looked up at his smiling face I would say, every time, Home is not so far away after all.

What a great welcome to Canada we have been receiving. We are both aware that neither of us will be able to earn a higher wage until we become a Citizen of this new country, but we need to start somewhere. I hope to be able to get some work doing housework to start with.

So Anna, asked Gus. What do think of your new country so far?

When I was walking around I felt as though we were home at last. The air smelled like home. It was full of fresh grass and trees. I am sure this will be home for us. It feels just right.

That is just what my Hannah kept saying. The Canadian air is like the air when we were young. Clean and fresh with both a cold nip to it during the winter months that turn into hot and dry air during the summer. We get a little of everything throughout the year. Just like we should, she would say emphatically. Never would I contradict her especially when she is right. So good to see that Gus still adores his wife like the day they married.

In the next few days I prepared Tito and Luella for their first days at another new school. Hannah was a great help to me explaining just what all is required to register them in school. They would be attending the school within walking distance from the suite they had rented for us. Again it was small but certainly adequate. We had so little to add to the simple basic furniture that was already in it.

After supper on our first night there, Gus had asked Tito if he knew what his name meant. Of course he did not. I had forgotten to explain it to him.

So who is going to tell me? The kids in Colorado told me I had a strange name. Is it? he asked.

Not if you were your grandfather. He had a friend that he was very close to with the same name. He wanted all his grandsons to be called Tito after this great man that was Spanish. In Spanish it means uncle. Luckily you are the only boy or there would be cousins running around all called Tito.

So what does my name mean? asked Luella.

I have no idea dear, I replied as gently as I could. There was a lady in our church when I was a young girl that was very pretty. Her name was Luella and so was her daughter. I just remember thinking that if one day I had a baby girl I would call her Luella because I knew she would be just as pretty.

Oh Momma! You just made that up did you not? said Luella.

Before I could answer Bud reassured her that was a true story. It was his favorite name for a little girl, he explained as he looked at her with that adoring smile that he seemed to have just for her.

The next year flew by so fast I could hardly take it all in. Both Tito and Luella settled into their new school quickly making friends with kids that lived in our neighbourhood. They were always happy and included in the outdoor games. Tito played ball in the street with the other boys. Luella skipped with the girls. She soon learned how to play jacks and hopscotch. They were happy to go to school to see those friends they only saw while there.

One day she came in asking for a Hula Hoop. Now what is that? Her friend came along just for support or to help convince me. Either way when I looked at hers I thought that would be a good toy for Luella. To me it just looked like a large plastic circular tube that they rotated around their body, limbs, or neck as they tried to keep it spinning longer than their friends before it fell to the ground. Such great physical exercise I thought so I said yes, sending them both into gales of delight.

Luella came to be known as the girl with the hair ribbon. Another dream of mine was to put hair ribbons in my little girl’s hair. I know one day she will put a halt to this but in the meantime I will buy hair ribbons as much as I can. Hair ribbons and a handkerchief were two things my mother said all little girls should have. I never go out without a clean well-pressed handkerchief in my purse. I may not have money, but my purse goes with me as though I do.

Shortly after settling into our little Canadian home, the land lady Mrs. Hill said I could borrow her sewing machine as it just sat idly in her closet. It came with a warning though. It is on its last legs and will not be worth fixing if it decides it has had enough.

I quickly came to love this very much-used Singer sewing machine. It was a table top that I turned the wheel with my right hand as I fed the material in with my left. I saved all the thread I could from old garments. Sometimes my sisters would include a partial spool of thread in their care parcels. Each time I used it I said a silent prayer that it would not be the last but alas it eventually gave up.

Bud did his best to try to get it to work some more but that was just not going to happen. When he saw the disappointed look on my face he said, Cheer up my dearest. There is a man at the mill that fixed his wife’s sewing machine recently. I will ask him tomorrow if he has any ideas. Try not to worry. If I can get it to work for you, you know I will.

The next evening as soon as he hung his coat up, removed his shoes, and washed up he gave me a hug, holding me extra long. I knew then his answer was no, it could not be done. I wanted to cry, but I was not going to act like a spoilt child. If it was worn out then so be it. One day . . .

Old George said that when the innards are worn out there is nothing we can do. He suggested we could place it somewhere just to look at.

We sure do not have any extra room for that. Perhaps if it had been my mother’s it would have had some sentimental attraction. Any good ideas we can do with it now? I asked trying to stop my voice from trembling.

There is a fellow that has a brother living in Hope that speaks of a store in their town. The owner takes them and displays them in his store for people to admire. He just might be interested.

"Gee Bud. That gives me an idea. How about if I ask Mr. Moore the next time I walk by his department store if perhaps he would like it in remembrance of his long-time customer Mrs. Hill. I know she shopped in his sewing department for many