Clifton

By Dorothy B. O'Malia

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462833009

Dorothy B. O'Malia

Dorothy O’Malia is a native of Montana and attended school in Denver, Colorado. She started her career in the advertising department of the Denver Post and also worked in hotels and went back to school taking business administration and alter held hotel management positions in Montana and California. Then went into the Merchant Marine. After severe injury, Dorothy retired to Sacramento, California where she has made her home since. She became interested in the Ancient Chinese Astrology and has practiced the art since, taking time out to write novels based in historical events and experience.

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Copyright © 2011 by Dorothy B. O’Malia.

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Contents

PROLOGUE

DENVER 1926

JANUARY 1927

JANUARY 1928

SEPTEMBER 1928

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

It was approaching Easter in eastern Montana, in the fields; spring planting was in full swing, as were the house gardens.

It had been a busy day on the farm, no time for baking the evening hot bread, so Uncle Jake rode into Crow Agency, the nearest town with a bakery, for bread.

When Uncle Jake returned we were all seated at the supper table, in the large ranch house kitchen, living room and dining room.

There was grandma and grandpa, Uncle george, Aunt Mary’s four children, Amelia, Bertha, Lydia and Willie. There was also Aunt Helen, george and I. george and I were half orphans and cousins, he was sixteen and I was ten. His mother had died just four years past and mine had died when I was eight months old.

I was an only child, george had two sisters and a brother. The children were spread among the family. grandma and grandpa took george and I.

George’s father was in Butte working the mines and my father … . was off some where … .

grandpa had given a fully stocked farm for a wedding present to my parents, as was our custom, or what one might call a dowry.

My father was not a farmer, neither was grandpa for that matter. grandpa had been a school master in the ‘ole country’ but with all that land out west he thought he too could become a farmer.

My father never had any intention of farming; he loved fine horses and gambling. When I was eight months old, my mother contracted Typhoid fever, sent for an attorney, told him to sell the farm and all that was on it and place the proceeds into a trust for me. She gave me to my grandmother and died.

My father was a cowboy by choice and because cowboys were poorly paid as well as being a waning occupation he became a gambler of necessity. The itinerant life style suited him

When Uncle Jake came back from Crow Agency that evening, he laid the bread on the work table beside the stove and from a brown paper bag he took a richly colored cardboard Indian head dress. It was elaborately painted with a head band and feathers down the back. He place it on my head and said, … your little friend at the bakery sent this to you, so let’s see how you look as an Indian Princess.

Everyone except Aunt Mary admired my head dress. She rose grimly from the table and sliced the bread, then having placed it on the table; she came up behind me, snatched my head dress off my head and threw it in the stove.

I howled, I screamed, I sprang from my very ornate adjustable high chair and buried my face in Grandma’s lap.

That was a very cruel thing to do, Mary, Grandma reprimanded.

She gets everything that comes into this house! Aunt Mary angrily retorted.

Grandma petted me on the head and said, it’s all right, Dorta, all right; it was only a piece of cardboard.

An embarrassed silence fell over the table, not another word was spoken. After supper everyone went to their own quarters while my cousins and I washed up the supper dishes.

When the supper dishes were done, I found a pencil and some note paper and I wrote to my wandering father. We were always able to get in touch with him through my Uncle Jack in Denver.

I told him I could no longer live in the same house with my Aunt Mary that he should send for me right away.

My father was a man I did not know except for the boxes he would send from time to time. Toys, clothing, dolls and one time a teddy bear. Aunt Mary complained that the squawker gave her a head ache and convinced my Uncle George to cut it out. My teddy bear was never the same after that operation and I sadly neglected him.

I remember having seen my father on one of his infrequent visits, he was riding a beautiful chestnut horse with golden leather tack and wearing white wooly chaps and a silk shirt. I was so in awe of him, I couldn’t talk, but he held me on his lap and I could only beam with pride.

After he left, Aunt Mary said, "so that no good father of yours finally came to see you …

Having spent these few days with him her spite did not bother me until she kept reminding me of ‘my no good father.’

When I finished my letter I asked My Uncle Jake to mail it for me. He took it, looked at it, and then turning to grandma said, Let me adopt Dorta, Mama. It’s better that she stays with us.

Mail the letter, Aunt Mary interjected as she came into the kitchen, that will put an end to this foolishness, he’ll never answer it. What did you tell that no good father of yours?

I told him I would no longer live in the same house with you, I defied her.

Well you’ll live here and hold your tongue, young lady, you’ll never hear from him anyway!

Everyone was surprised when a ticket and money came for me to go to Denver.

grandma packed for me, examining every article of clothing as she folded them and laid peppermint leaves between the layers. Uncle Jake still stood by tried to convince grandma to adopt me and Aunt Mary encouraged Uncle Jake by saying if I went too that no good father of mine I would come to no good end.

grandma ignored Aunt Mary and tried to make Uncle Jake see reason, … it would be a sin, for anyone in this family to take a child from her father. then she added, Unless we know of something really wicked. All the bad things we’ve heard of Dorta’s father is that he’s a gambler and we already knew that. He’s of this family (my father and grandfather were cousins), he was raised right. If it doesn’t work out, she can always come back. Her uncle in Denver will see to that."

My concerned Uncle Jake