From Where I Sit . . .

By Eva Fischer-Dixon

Charlotte (Lotte) Coleman never thinks much about religion or faith in God, yet she hopes for a great future. She believes that she does not need to pray for things that she can accomplish herself. Her outlook dramatically changes when a car accident sends her and her fianc, Craig, to the hospital. While Craig quickly recovers, Lottes injuries are devastating and leave her unable to see. Craig does the unthinkable and leaves Lotte to face her future without him. During Lottes second hospitalization, she receives a visit from a priest, Father Gabriel, who tells her that she must regain hope and faith in God to succeed in life. Upon his suggestion, Lotte and her family depart on a pilgrimage to Ftima, Portugal. There, while Lotte crawls toward the shrine on her elbows and hands, a man talks to her about his own pilgrimage and prays with her for miracles that he believes could happen.

Lotte becomes a believer in God and resigns to her faith, but miracles begin to happen when they land in Geneva to wait for a transfer flight. A doctor from the Geneva Casablanca Institute approaches Lotte with an offer that was too hard to refuse. Lotte believes that it is the beginning of what the strange man and what Father Gabriel were talking about, so she agrees. In Gstaad, Switzerland, she falls in love with two men, Roman, a man in his early sixties, and his right-hand man, Carlos, about Lottes age. Once again, Lotte arrives at a crossroad in her life and she must choose carefully and wisely. Lotte is only certain of one thing, her unshakeable faith in God, and she hopes that she has chosen the right man to live with for the rest of her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984518965

Eva Fischer-Dixon

I came into this troubled world during the early morning hours of June 17, 1950, in the city of Budapest, Hungary. I was the first and last child of my 41-year-old mother and my father who was 45 years old at the time of my birth. As I did not know any better, I could not possibly understand that we were living in poverty, as I was growing up with loving parents and there was always a bite to eat. My childhood was poor and saddened with tragedies. As a six-year-old child I witnessed the bloody 1956 revolution and received the first taste of true prejudice by those of whom I thought liked us, yet turned against my family. That tragedy did not match the untimely death of my beloved father when I was not yet seven years old, on February 14, 1957. My mother remarried in 1959 and our financial situation was upgraded from poverty to poor. After finishing elementary school I made a decision to earn money as soon as possible to ease our financial situation and I enrolled in a two-year business college (high school diploma was not required). I received my Associate Degree in 1966 and I began to work as a 16-year-old certified secretary/bookkeeper. During the same period I began my high-school education, which I completed while working full-time and attending night school. I discovered my love for writing when I was 11 years old after a movie that my childhood friend and I saw in the movie theater. We were not pleased with the ending and Steven suggested that I should write a different ending that we both liked. Voila, a writer was born. With my family’s encouragement, I entered a writing contest given by a youth oriented magazine and to my genuine surprise, I won second price. My desire to live in a free country and to improve my life was so great, that in 1972, leaving everything, including my aging parents behind, I managed to escape from Hungary during a tour to Austria, (then) Yugoslavia and Italy. I spent almost nine long months in a rat infested refugee camp, located Capua, Italy, while I waited for official permission to immigrate to the country of my dreams, to the USA. In 1975 I met and married a wonderful man, my husband Guy. Thanks to his everlasting patience, he assisted me in my task of learning the English language. He is truly my partner for life and I remain forever grateful to him for standing by me in some tough times. It is difficult for me to describe my love for writing. I cannot think of a bigger emotional joy for an author than to see a published novel in somebody’s hand and to see a story come alive on the screen. I yearn to experience that joy.

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Copyright © 2018 by Eva Fischer-Dixon.

ISBN:                  Softcover                        978-1-9845-1895-8

                            eBook                              978-1-9845-1896-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are from the Holy Bible, King James Version (Authorized Version). First published in 1611. Quoted from the KJV Classic Reference Bible, Copyright © 1983 by The Zondervan Corporation.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 04/13/2018

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Contents

Prologue

Gstaad, Switzerland

Wanda and Alex Coleman, My Parents

The Valley of the Sun

Craig

Mariko

College Years

Logan

True Colors

Surprises

A Night to Remember - The Dinner Party

The Next Three Years

New Job, Old Flame

My First Case

Truth and Consequences

That Particular Day

The Inventory

The Recovery and The Nudge

Eyes Are the Windows Of the Soul

The Impossible

Changes

When It Rains, It Pours

Father Gabriel, Part One

Father Gabriel, Part Two

Fátima, Portugal, Part One

Fatima, Portugal, Part Two

The Detour

The Casablanca Institute, Geneva, Switzerland, Part One - Our Arrival

The Casablanca Institute, Geneva, Switzerland, Part Two - Tests and More Tests

The Casablanca Institute, Geneva, Switzerland, Part Three - The Pillow Fight

The Casablanca Institute, Geneva, Switzerland, Part Four - It’s Done

The Casablanca Institute, Geneva, Switzerland, Part Five - As Darkness Lifted

The Casablanca Institute, Geneva, Switzerland, Part Six - Mr. Casablanca

Gstaad, Switzerland, Part One - Chalet Marisol

Gstaad, Switzerland, Part Two - Carlos

Gstaad, Switzerland, Part Three - Roman

Gstaad, Switzerland, Part Four – The Shopping

Gstaad, Switzerland, Part Five - The Sleigh Ride

Gstaad, Switzerland, Part Six – Please Give Me a Sign

Gstaad, Switzerland, Part Seven - It’s Me, Lotte

Gstaad, Switzerland, Part Eight - Disappointments

Gstaad, Switzerland, Part Nine – The Christmas Party

At Home in Phoenix, Arizona

The Best Man

Roman and Me

Together, Forever

Learning the Trade and the Truth

Love and Pain

September

Moving Forward

Roman’s Last Will and Testament

Carlos de la Torre and Business

Mazatlan, Mexico

New Friends

This for That

Bon Appetite

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise

The Truth and Nothing But the Truth

As Time Goes By and Inez de la Torre

Barcelona, Mi Amor

New Life

Epilog – From Where I Sit …

I would like to express a special appreciation to my long time friend, Zsuzsi B., who graciously permitted me to use her photo that she took during a family trip to Switzerland a few years back. Thank You, Zsuzsi.

Prologue

From where I sit, by the bay window in Roman’s old suite, I can easily see just about the entire city of Gstaad with those glorious snowcapped mountains in the background. I slowly turn around and force my eyes to stop on his old-fashioned four-poster bed that he once occupied. My attention once again shifts back to the scenery and I try to find words that would be able to describe the beauty in front of me. What I see is nothing short of being one of God’s most beautiful creations.

Snow covers every inch of the place, thickly layered on rooftops. The heavily burdened with snow spruce trees appeared to be in competition with the mountains to see if they could grow just as high. It is three thirty in the morning and our Chalet is quiet. My parents are asleep in their warm and comfortable beds, and so are our staff members. Yvonne, who is only slightly older than me and in charge with the cooking and overall housekeeping, along with the newest member of the staff, Margaret. The other people who lived on the premises were Theo, who took over Hans’ all-around handyman position. While two out of the four of bodyguards were on duty, the other two were resting as well. And now, even with all of them in the house, I still feel completely alone, well almost, because there is also my husband, sleeping peacefully in our bedroom.

I had a life growing inside me, my second child, another gift from God and of course my husband, who cannot be more loving and grateful for having his baby.

As I sat there looking down on the town whose residents and visitors were mostly asleep, the buildings were still lit up like a beautiful Christmas tree. It began to snow. I loved it when it snowed and I knew that the tourists would be thrilled to find that there was fresh powder on the slopes that they were going to attack like the target of a pack of hungry wolves. I loved Gstaad, Switzerland; it was as simple as that.

It has been a long and winding road to get where I am, and that journey was very painful both physically and emotionally. Just a few years earlier, not even in my wildest dreams that I could imagine what was going to happen to me was even possible. Still, I have become a living proof that money, yes, money can buy you everything, even health, or at least money would help to regain someone’s health where there was hope. How did I arrive to that conclusion? It’s all here, in this book of what call I my epitaph of pain and sorrow, but you’ll be the judge.

Gstaad, Switzerland

My home, the Chalet Marisol, as was officially called has been around for over a hundred and fifty years. It has undergone several renovations, the latest just seven years earlier when Roman and I got married. My name is Charlotte Coleman, but everybody called me Lotte, except for Roman, he always called me Charlotte, my given name. Before I go any further with my story, I must write about the village that has become my permanent home eight years ago, since Roman brought me to Switzerland. Originally we stayed in Geneva for my treatments, but about that later.

The mostly winter wonderland where I ended up living is located in the Canton of Bern. Just in case you are not familiar with the history of Switzerland, they have cantons instead of states or provinces, so where we live was Bern, in the southwestern part of the country itself. The village is part of the larger municipality of Saanen and famous for its ski resorts and mostly from the year around outdoor activities. By population standards, Gstaad shouldn’t be called a city as the population was less then ten thousand, so that is why everybody considered it a larger village and nobody complained.

The village surrounded Lake Arnen, which most people in Switzerland called the Pearl of Saanenland. As I mentioned, Gstaad is surrounded by mountains and it is the home of the largest ski areas of the Alps, a most definite draw for those who could afford the luxury hotels or owning homes in the village, in other words, who had the financial means to visit there as often as their hearts and ski loving desired.

I especially loved the center of the village where Roman and I regularly went for a walk, mostly window-shopping, as I always hated shopping in general. It was a shocking truth that Roman had difficulty believing until I proved it to him by ordering most of the things I wanted to buy via Internet. In the middle of the village was a very pretty promenade with a great number of shops, many different restaurants, hotels, and even art galleries along with branches of financial institutions. I have to mention that an average person could not easily find any affordable clothing, as everything that was available had famous labels, including my favorite Dolce & Gabbana, just to name one of them. Of course, Gstaad was a very popular place for celebrities and I will not name any of them, but from royalties to movie stars, from politicians to fashion designers, they all loved the village and spent an embarrassing amount of money and time there, and why not? Some of them became part time or even full time residents.

Roman was a different breed of a man. When we were married, more about that later, I asked him to consider a small wedding. He had no living relatives and I only had my parents who came to live with us later on. I liked Geneva as well but I mostly saw the hospital and physical therapy part of it, until Roman realized that if nothing else, he could drive me around, so that is how I learned to love that city.

And now, let my story began.

Wanda and Alex Coleman, My Parents

I was born in St. Joseph Hospital in Phoenix, Arizona, the only child of my parents. It was their desire to have more children, but it was just not meant to be. My Dad, Alex Coleman was a locksmith, one of the two licensed locksmiths who worked for one of the largest bank chains in the Arizona. He was on call for 24/7, which never did go well with my Mother who mildly complained each time he was called in the middle of the night, usually when something happened at one or more of it’s bank branches, like somebody tried to break in, so the locks had to be changed immediately. She complained but never too harshly because he was making decent money and he lived for his family and nobody else.

Originally, my Dad was born in the then small town of Danbury, Connecticut where he also grew up. He had one sibling, a sister, only a few years younger than he was. My Dad did not have a happy childhood and eventually, my grandmother whose name was Desiree, but everybody called her Daisy, gave up on raising her children. Luckily he was not turned into foster care, rather, an aunt and uncle took he and his sister in. They were not wealthy people and perhaps in a way blamed Daisy for making their life somewhat harder by raising children at their advanced ages. One thing I must emphasize, they loved my Dad and my aunty, and never once blamed them for what happened.

Grandma Daisy by all means was not a bad person; she loved life itself and lived up as much as she could, not to mention that she was married multiple times, no one knew for certain just how many. My Dad mentioned this later, he was not even certain who his biological father really was, but in his bloodline certainly had traces of Mohawk Indian and Italian. I used to joke with him when he mentioned that, I told him that he was not only brave from his Mohawk Indian side, but also handsome from his Italian side. When he turned sixteen years old, while he was grateful for his aunt and uncle for raising him, he felt that he had to break free from the environment where he was living and make it on his very own. He moved to New York City where he immediately got a job in the sign making business and later on he moved onto other jobs as well. By doing so, he became a master of many trades.

My Dad was a very handsome man, tall with blue eyes. Needless to say he caught the eyes of many young women but he held out for one, someone very special that he sensed that someday would come in his way. On a Saturday night, with a lack of anything exciting to do, he gave into his friend’s encouragement and joined him and his friend’s date at the Palisades in New York City. It was a roller-skate rink in those days, nowadays it serves as an ice-skating rink.

According to the few words that my Dad ever spoke about his past, he basically did not like to talk about, perhaps because of his difficult childhood; he said it was that particular occasion that he unexpectedly came upon a precious gem. I always knew that he referred to one particular moment when he saw my mother for the very first time.

As he was putting his roller skates on, he glanced up and his eyes became fixated on a tall and slender blonde haired young woman. She was roller-skating arm and arm with another young woman and they were making rounds and rounds around the rink. Dad’s friend, Don poked him on his arm to bring him back to reality. Don laughed because he noticed the focus of Dad’s attention and he agreed that the young woman was very pretty. From the distance Dad was unable to see the color of her eyes but it wouldn’t matter anyway. Somehow he managed to pull himself together and began to follow the young woman and her companion, bumping into people, as he did not pay attention to what was around him, he concentrated on not letting them out of his sight.

Having a difficult time to get the young woman’s attention, Dad noticed that they were heading toward the exit so he quickly headed that way too. The young women changed shoes and so did Dad while he kept an eye on them. After he returned his roller skates, as casually as he could, he walked up to them and initiated a conversation, eventually ending up treating them for ice cream sodas.

Mom’s blue eyes smiled at the good-looking young man with the dark hair and with blue eyes that matched her own. After a somewhat informal introduction, she answered his question where they lived by telling him that they were from Clifton, New Jersey, a little over a half an hour driving distance away. While Mom’s sister excused herself to use the ladies room, Dad took the opportunity to ask for Mom’s phone number.

Mom expressed some concerns that her parents would not approve to date anyone outside their community. During her childhood years there was a small Dutch community, which eventually throughout the years moved away, leaving Italian Americans, Polish Americans and Irish Americans as the majority, but there were also other ethnic groups that resided in her city. When Emma, Mom’s sister returned to their table, she indicated that she wanted to leave and completely ignored the fact that it was evident that Wanda, my Mother and Alex, my Dad wanted to spend more time together, to get to know each other. Not wanting to cause a scene, Mom left with her sister but she turned around from the door and mouthed the words, call me before she walked out of the area.

My grandparents, Paul and Johanna de Hoog, from my Mother’s side emigrated to United States from the Island of Texel, Holland, and established a real estate business that was already thriving by the time the two sisters were born. The de Hoog Family was known as the wealthier people in town and grandmother carried herself as such, like an upper society lady was supposed to. My granddad was more down to earth but he loved grandmother and he would not go against her in any decision that she made, no matter how painful that turned out to be. His devotion to my grandmother was put to the test two months later and the outcome left him in such a state that it would be too difficult to explain.

My Dad, Alex Coleman called Mom’s house several times, each time the phone was answered by their housekeeper, who instead of telling Wanda that Alex was on the phone, she turned the receiver over to my grandmother. Needless to say she was not happy to hear that my Mother had met someone, moreover, Wanda liked the young man more than she cared to admit to my grandmother. Eventually, after a brief research, Mother found the printing shop where my Dad worked as a sign maker and made the first real contact with him.

As they say, whoever they are, that it was love at first sight and was still going strong when I sat down to write about what happened to me. Making excuses, like that she unable to find material to sew new clothes, which my Mother did regularly for the family, she somehow managed to talk her Dad, not her Mother to let her go to New York City all by herself. Since she did not drive in those days, Mom took the train, and then a taxicab to my Dad’s place of work.

Luckily for my Dad, his boss was an Italian man with romantic tendencies, so my Dad told him about Wanda, the beautiful blonde and blue-eyed girl whose Mother was preventing them from talking. Once Mom walked into the building, Dad’s boss instantly gave him a few hours off to make something out of the situation.

They sat in a nearby coffee shop for sometime, this happened about a month and a half after they first met, and after Dad took Mom’s hand. He told her that he loved her and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He also told her before she replied to his proposal, that he wanted her to know that he was a hard working man, and that he did not have any money saved, as he was still sending money to his aunt and uncle for keeping his sister. If she married him, he would make sure that while there wouldn’t be any extra money, she would always have a roof above her head and food on their table.

Mom told me later, when we talked about Dad’s marriage proposal, she called that day that particular day the sweetest day in her life. She said that her heart was so full of love for the man sitting across the table from her, the man whom she only seen once before, that the love she felt was overflowing. She said yes to his marriage proposal, but she had a request of her own. Mom also wanted to fulfill a promise that she made to her parents while growing up, that if she met a man whose intention was serious, that before she agreed to marry him, he would first asked them for her hand in marriage. She did add that he did not have to worry about the outcome of that meeting. At the time Dad wasn’t certain what she meant, but he wanted to please her and a day later, on Wanda’s advice he called Wanda’s mother and not her dad. Before he made the call, Wanda explained to him that her mother was the decision maker in the family, and she didn’t want her Mother to feel left out as the head of the family, which in reality, she was not.

Since Wanda told her parents about what she had done, that she went to see Alex, but did not mention Alex’s marriage proposal, she told her mother that Alex might call her for an appointment to meet them in person. My Father later recalled that despite the 100-degree heat outside and inside the house, there was a chill in the air when he finished talking to Wanda’s parents.

As promised, Alex called the following day and they agreed that he would visit the de Hoog family the coming weekend, on Saturday for lunch. Dad dressed up in his Sunday best and drove to Clifton, New Jersey to ask Wanda’s parents’ permission to marry their daughter. My Dad was not a fool; he knew exactly how the situation looked. Wanda and he just met less than two months earlier, they hardly knew each other, but there was that big thing, that gigantic certainty that he found his partner, his soul mate for life. Dad knew, and he knew for sure that he would not give her up so easily even if he were told to do so.

He stopped the car in front of the de Hoog’s two story typical New England house and got out. Dad straightened out his jacket and glanced down on his shoes to make certain that they were still shining from the hard work he put into them. He finally looked up at the house that stood like a cold and vicious monster in front of him and he could not help to notice that not one but two curtains moved ever so slightly. He had no doubts that one of the lookers was his future mother-in-law and he hoped that the second person was Wanda.

He walked up the four steps that led to the front door and after taking a deep breath he pushed the doorbell. A middle-aged woman opened the door ajar and asked what he wanted. Something told Dad that it was the housekeeper that Wanda was talking about, the one who knew her all of her life and who encouraged her to gain freedom from the strong handgrip of her mother.

Dad stated his business and the door opened wider, and then he was allowed to enter. Mrs. Thomas showed him into the parlor, and while she offered him a seat, Dad was much too nervous to sit down to wait while Mrs. Thomas went to get Wanda’s mother. Not even five minutes later Mr. and Mrs. de Hoog appeared in the doorway, first Mrs. de Hoog, and then followed by her husband. Dad reached his hand out for a handshake but only Wanda’s Dad accepted it. Dad did not take an offense of Wanda’s mother’s refusal to shake hands; he knew that many times women just don’t do that.

Mrs. de Hoog took a long inventory of Dad by looking at him up and down and then she asked for the reason of his visit. Dad cleared his voice and told them plain and simple that he loved Wanda and he wanted to marry her as soon as was possible. With that revelation, Dad unleashed the inquisition that he hoped would not happen, but there it was in the person of Wanda’s no-nonsense mother.

It all began with questions about his family. Finding out that his own mother gave him up and that his uncle and aunt adopted him caused a half a minute silence from Mrs. de Hoog. Dad told her that his mother loved him but she was unable to care or provide for two small children, and that it was the reason as why he and his sister were adopted and raised by other family members. Mrs. de Hoog’s face was serious and there was not a hint of what she was thinking or was going to say at all. Her next question came in the form of asking Dad about his education and how he earned his income. Hearing that Dad did not have a college degree or a learned profession, and that he was making his living by creating signs, good or bad, unable to sell or profitable, she did not care. She asked him about his future plans to which Dad replied that he wanted to make Mom happy and someday to have children of their own.

There was no offering of beverages and Dad told me that his throat was bone dry, probably from nervousness and concern as it became quite obvious that while Mr. de Hoog looked at him with kind eyes, his wife, Wanda’s mother looked entirely the opposite. The entire meeting took less than a half an hour and then Mrs. de Hoog got up and without any fanfare, she declared that Dad was not a suitable person for her daughter and she expressed her wish that Dad would never again contact either their home or try to get hold of Wanda.

Mr. de Hoog shook Dad’s hand and whispered to him that he was sorry. As Mrs. Thomas the housekeeper opened the door for him, she reached out to shake his hand. Dad felt that she slipped something into his hand but he did not look until he got into his car. The note read, I love you and I want to marry you. When you are ready, call Mrs. Thomas directly, she will let me know, she is now on our side. I trust her completely. Dad smiled and kissed Mom’s note.

Monday morning would not come soon enough. As soon as he got to work, yet there was still no one else around, as early as it was, Dad made the phone call. Mrs. Thomas was the only person ready for her day’s work, busy preparing breakfast for the de Hoog family, so she hurriedly answered the relentlessly ringing phone. Dad introduced himself to Mrs. Thomas who quickly looked around where she was standing, basically in the entryway, but there was no sign of any of the family members.

Dad told her that he wanted to marry Wanda, my Mom as soon as possible, perhaps on the coming Friday at the New York City’s City Hall at ten o’clock. Mrs. Thomas smiled but not without a hint of concerned as how Wanda was going to make it to the city without raising suspicions, then she thought about it a step further and assured Dad that Wanda will be there.

My Dad could hardly wait until his lunchtime came around and with the permission of his still supportive Italian boss; he went to the City Hall to get a marriage license. Not having experience in that field, meaning, what was necessary to get that license, he felt disappointment that he was unable to provide all the information, including a birth certificate for my Mom. He felt uneasy when he made the second call to the de Hoog household, but luck was on his side and Mrs. Thomas answered the phone. Dad gave her the short list of questions and titles of the documents that they would need.

Mrs. Thomas truly enjoyed the little conspiracy she became involved with because Wanda was her absolute favorite from the family members, although truthfully she liked everybody, even the sometimes-uppity lipped Mrs. de Hoog. She wasn’t a bad person, in Mrs. Thomas’ opinion, she was raised in a strict household and she brought that strictness over into her own family life.

Mr. and Mrs. de Hoog, as usual, every Monday morning made a big loop around the properties they owned, inspecting constructions sites and such. Mrs. de Hoog never expressed opinion on any of them in front of others, she made mental notes and when they were alone, she expressed concerns and occasionally even made suggestions to her businessman husband, who may or may not followed up on them.

The moment the de Hoogs left their home, and Wanda’s sister Emma left for her secretarial studies, which Wanda already completed a few months earlier, Mrs. Thomas told Wanda about Alex’s calls and both of them began their search for Wanda’s birth certificate. Once again, luck was on their side because they found a large envelope in Mr. de Hoog’s home office safe with all family documents inside, including the much-needed document of her birth. It took a few minutes to answer the questions that my Dad needed for the completion of the marriage license application and once finished with the information, Wanda rushed off to the post office and paid extra for special delivery at Dad’s place of work.

By Wednesday afternoon Dad received the enclosed envelope with Wanda’s personal documents and he immediately headed for the City Hall. He completed the application and showed the clerk’s Mom’s birth certificate as well as his own. While the clerk made a comment that both parties should be present, I guess she took a pity on Dad when she noticed that the smile disappeared from Dad’s face and concern appeared. She jokingly told him that to make sure that on Friday morning she would be there for the ceremony.

After Dad returned to work from his City Hall’s visit, he once again called the de Hoog’s household and when Mrs. Thomas answered the phone, he said, the wedding is on. Wanda was overwhelmed; she hugged and kissed her confidant. They made a plan that while Mrs. de Hoog was doing her usual Friday morning market visits, they would go to New York City and Mrs. Thomas would be one of the two required witnesses. Dad invited his boss to be his best man, which he gladly accepted.

Everything went smoothly and the ten-minute wedding ceremony was over before they realized it. Dad could not buy a gold wedding band for Mom but got a silver one on sale and with a promise to her that he would get her the ring that she deserved; he put it on her ring finger. Mom told me more than once that, that particular ring meant more to her than any diamonds that he would have given to her.

They stopped by a diner and Dad treated everyone for lunch before they headed back to Clifton, New Jersey, to tell the family about the nuptials. Wanda was concerned that her mother was going to fire Mrs. Thomas but she just laughed about it, she was not concerned at all. By the time they got back from New York City, the entire family was home and they were all sitting in the parlor. Mr. de Hoog took a look at his older daughter who was radiating happiness until she looked at her mother who noticed that Mrs. Thomas and Wanda were not alone, there was that man standing beside them.

According to my Dad, he gently broke the news of their marriage by apologizing first to them for doing it in the manner that it happened, without their consent, however, he told them that he does not regret doing it because he was genuinely in love with their daughter. He promised them that he will do everything in his power to make her happy and to provide her everything that was essential in life, anything else may have to wait until they establish themselves in a home that they will eventually have.

My grandmother looked Wanda straight in the eyes and demanded that she choose, her family or her husband of a couple of hours. She assured her that their family lawyer would be able to get an annulment without any problems, but Wanda must make that choice right then, in the parlor and not later after thinking it over. My Mother reached for the hand of my Dad and in a calm voice she told her mother and everyone present to hear, that she loved Alex and she was very happy to be his wife.

My granddad was actually smiling at the beginning and he still smiled when his wife gave their daughter an ultimatum. Sadly, his smile that Wanda loved so much quickly evaporated when his wife got up from her chair and told Wanda that as of that moment, they only had one daughter, Emma. She turned to her husband and in an ice-cold tone of voice; my grandmother told her husband that Wanda’s name would never be mentioned in their home again. Moreover, their attorney must draw up a new Last Will and Testament to officially disown their older daughter, Wanda de Hoog. Emma, who loved her sister broke down in tears and begged her mother to take back her words because she loved her daughter and could not just erase her from their family as if she never existed. Every word she said and what Mr. de Hoog was about to say was wiped away with one move of Mrs. de Hoog’s left hand.

Wanda asked Alex to wait by the door while she went upstairs to pack some of her belongings. As she was about to go upstairs, her mother stopped her and told her that she would not be allowed to take anything with her because she was clothed by them and sheltered by them. Everything she had belonged to the family, therefore, she could leave as she came into the world, with the exception of the clothes she was wearing. Alex shook his head and reached for Wanda’s hand. Mr. de Hoog whispered something to his wife, which she replied loudly that under no circumstances Wanda could take anything from her room. It was obvious that Wanda’s dad, my granddad, tried to help them.

Wanda hugged her sister and Mrs. Thomas and followed Alex out to his car. Alex opened the door for her and she got it. As they were leaving, Wanda looked up at the house that she claimed her home until just a short time earlier, and she noticed her dad standing at the entry door with his face buried in the palm of his hands, he appeared to be crying.

Because Alex was living in a boarding house for men, they could not go there, so following that faithful day; they stayed in a motel room for a week. As luck continued to follow them, they read an advertisement in the paper for an apartment for rent not far from where Alex was working. He called the given number right away and had a nice talk with a woman who had a very strong German accent. They agreed that Wanda and he would stop by and discuss the details of the rental. As it turned out, the people were indeed German, living in the United States for over a decade and they were very friendly. Wanda immediately struck up a friendship with Mrs. Hoffman who was only a few years older than my Mother. That friendship lasted for the rest of their lives.

A day after Wanda was disowned by her own mother, Alex, who had some money saved gave it to her and told her to go and buy herself some clothes and necessities. He could not escort her because they were extremely busy at his place of work and he already missed a couple of days. Wanda understood that and she did not have any problem shopping on her own. She got herself three dresses, a pair of shoes, some underwear and bras. That was enough for a start, she told him.

A week after Wanda returned home from job-hunting, Mrs. Hoffman stopped her in the entryway and asked her to join her in her own apartment. When Wanda walked in, she broke down in tears because Mrs. Thomas and her dad were sitting in Mrs. Hoffman’s living room. Mr. de Hoog handed Wanda her savings book, which she thought she would never see again and a letter from the bank in Clifton, New Jersey where she worked for two years and where she was a well liked and respected secretary. It was a much needed letter of recommendation, because when she applied for a job, she was asked why did she left her prior employment and her answer was not necessarily liked by the interviewer.

Mrs. Thomas brought her two suitcases full of her belongings, mostly winter clothing, because in her opinion, it was more expensive to replace. Their visit was short and full with sad emotions. Wanda made her dad and Mrs. Thomas promise that when time permits, they would visit her and her husband who was still at work. My Mother said, she tried to be strong in front of them, but once they departed to catch a commuter train, she broke down in tears, yet again.

When Alex got home, he also got emotional hearing about his father-in-law and Mrs. Thomas’ visit and he refused to take the left over money back from what he gave Wanda to buy clothes. He explained to her that he would prefer if Wanda handled their finances as he was not the best with bookkeeping and wanted to make certain that their rent, utilities and everything else that was needed was being paid. Wanda was touched, as with his request, her husband, Alex showed her that he had full trust in her.

They were married for a couple of years when Alex became ill with severe allergies. The doctors, they had seen more than one, recommended that they should move to a warmer and dryer climate, such as New Mexico or Arizona. So they did, they picked Arizona’s capital, Phoenix to live in.

The Valley of the Sun

It was the early 1970’s and Phoenix, Arizona only had a fraction of population, less than six hundred thousand back then, unlike nowadays when it is close to seven million. Of course, those numbers included the suburbs, such as Mesa, Tempe, Chandler and Gilbert, not to mention smaller communities, such as El Mirage or Surprise. My parents rented a house in the area that was called Sunnyslope, and that is where I pretty much grew up, but that came later.

Despite the fact that without a doubt there was much love between my parents, their desire to raise a child was almost deemed impossible. By the time they moved to Phoenix, Arizona, they were married for two years, yet there was no sign of the blessing in a person of a child. Dad immediately got a job at one of the up and coming banks which eventually grew into a chain at multiple locations, not only in the Metropolitan Phoenix area, but other cities, such as Tucson, Flagstaff, Kingman and Prescott, just to name some, although their bank headquarters always remained in Phoenix.

Since Dad was always very good with his hands, he did a lot of woodcarving, of course he was an expert sign maker and he took up painting animals, landscapes and even portraits, anyway, he got hired at his first try in the bank where he applied. The only position they had open was for a locksmith apprentice to an older gentleman who planned to retire some months later, and the bank was looking for someone who was handy man.

While Dad preferred to have Mom stay at home, she declared that she could just clean that small but comfortable house of theirs so many times and cooking dinner was not a problem by the time Dad got home, so he finally gave in and let Mom start a new job at one of the real estate offices in town, in the vicinity of Sunnyslope.

It was a small community within the community and people in neighborhoods had good relations with each other, talking, visiting or just stopping by with any news that happened around them. Friendships were a lot easier to form in those days and often they would go out in a convoy to pick oranges in one of the many orange, grapefruit or lemon groves where you pay for what you pick was the landowners’ motto. Dad told me many times that even in the late sixties and early seventies, orange or citrus groves were everywhere as far as the eye could see, from Northern Avenue to 15th Avenue and so on.

All that changed when people discovered that life in Arizona was much easier during the winter months than in the Eastern states, where winters could be mercilessly brutal. When small and large companies realized that it was also more profitable to move their industries into a place where the worst weather condition was something people only talked about but had not experienced it in the Valley of Sun, also known as Phoenix, Arizona. They also realized another important fact, that Arizona was a right-to-work state, which meant that you didn’t have to be member of any union to get certain type of job that the recently relocated person was looking for. It was a win-win situation for both the world of manufacturing and the people who sought a new beginning in the Southwest.

My Mother turned 30 years old in 1994 and by then, she and Dad were married for eight years without having any children. Mom went to two different specialists and she was told by both of them that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her, and that she was still young to think that she would not have any children. They gave her options, to get pregnant, but that was years before in-vitro fertilization and such. She told the doctors that if her husband was able to sire a child and she was able to conceive yet she did not get pregnant, perhaps it was just simply not meant to be. After her latest visit at the doctor, Mom completely relaxed and began to enjoy her work, her home and most of all, her life with my Dad.

I suppose she never forgot the day when she went to the supermarket and as she was looking at some fresh fish that she did not like but Dad loved, for some reason, those smells that never bothered her before made her rather sick. One of the employees who were replenishing the shelves rushed to my Mother’s aid and escorted her to the bathroom where my Mother lost her breakfast. She rinsed her mouth and face and went back to finish her shopping, carefully avoiding the meat section.

On the following morning, just as she got out of the bed to make Dad’s breakfast and to get ready to work, she got sick again. Dad decided to stay home with her, as obviously she must have stomach poisoning which may require medical attention, so he did not want to leave her by herself. Eventually she got so sick that Dad had to help her into the car to drive her to the nearest hospital Emergency Room. Only a few hours later the mystery about what was wrong with my Mother came to light, she was simply pregnant and she had a severe reaction to the changes that were happening in her body due to the pregnancy. She was put on medication and once that kicked in, her life became much more bearable for her. My Dad was equally over the moon and also full of concerns. He feared losing my Mother during childbirth, which was not really common, but known to happen.

There was no use for Mom to argue with Dad, with tears in her eyes she turned in her resignation at her place of work. She did love that job but she remained home to prepare for the baby’s arrival. There were no major complications bringing me to full term, but still, there were a couple of instances when Dad rushed my Mom to the hospital for false labor and other suspicious aches and pains. And then, finally the big day arrived and Dad drove my Mother to the St. Joseph Hospital in Phoenix, where her doctor was on call and after a long night of labor pains, according to my Mother, I finally decided to give her a break and I was born.

A child could not have asked for more loving parents than my parents were. Despite the fact that they were not wealthy, like most people in their neighborhood they lived paycheck to paycheck, still one thing was for certain, I had plenty of toys to play with, nothing fancy but toys just the same. I skipped the kindergarten stage and I was enrolled in elementary school named after Davy Crockett. Yes, that Davy Crockett, the heroic frontiersman. I was not truly into any sports but I liked swimming and became a member of our school’s swim team that went onto winning second place at the State of Arizona School’s Swimming Championship.

Craig

Going to high school was an entirely different experience and opened a brand new world for me. My parents enrolled me into Sunnyslope High School where in chemistry class I became partners with a girl who, according to her, used to date with the young blonde and blue-eyed boy by the name of Craig Johnson. He was the boy that every girl wanted to claim as her own, except me. Don’t get me wrong, I really, I mean really liked Craig and every time I looked at him, our eyes always met and he smiled at me. I did not know what to make out of that smile, it was a nice smile, not a sarcastic or teasing kind. However, it was still my freshman year and I was rather naïve when it came to the dating scene.

Honestly, I had no clue how to react around boys, but I can assure you, my Mother informed me well about the do’s and don’ts of going out on dates with boys, not that it happened. Not yet, until a month before my freshman year ended, when Craig was waiting for me by my locker and asked me if I wanted to go to a party with him. His invitation caught me by surprise and I mumbled something like I have to ask my parents. Yet again, he smiled and said that it was all right with him, but he wanted me to let him know about their answer soon, because if I was not able to make it, then he would ask someone else. I did not need my parents reply when I heard what he said. I smiled back at him as I told him that go ahead and invite someone else because if my presence was not that important to him, than it is not worth asking for my parents’ permission.

Craig thought that I was joking, but after I closed my locker and turned around to leave, he was still standing there. He called my parents’ house that night but I had already told my Mother what happened and I left her instructions in case Craig would call. I wanted her to tell him that I was busy and was unable to go to the phone. In school, where only two weeks left until the summer vacation kicked in, I tried to avoid him as much as I could. After chemistry class I looked every which way but his. Craig would not give up on me, at least not for a while; he left me notes everywhere he knew that I would find them.

On the first week of my summer school break my parents decided to take me to Disneyland in California. It was actually a good idea, sort of therapeutic to forget the first boyfriend failure of my life. Oh, I still liked Craig, as a matter of fact; I liked him even more when I knew that I could not have him. I did have some principles and rules that I set and which ones I lived by. I was raised somewhat in an old fashion way by parents who radiated love for each other with every gesture and look at each other. I wanted that. I wanted to have my boyfriend look at me like that; moreover, I wanted my future husband to look at me like that. I wanted that admiration in his eyes and I didn’t have to hear the words I love you over and over, although it would not be a bad thing either, but I preferred those intimate looks that spoke volumes. So, in other words, I decided to wait with getting married until I found someone who looked at me the same way as my Father looked at my Mother after over twenty years of marriage.

My sophomore year began on a good note with the arrival of a new girl, Mariko Owada. Mariko was Japanese American; her parents immigrated to the United States after the war. Her father was a language teacher in Tokyo and speaking fluent English, among other languages, he was hired by the American military to translate. He was a well-liked man by everyone, including top brass, which later made it easier for him and his wife to immigrate to the United States. Despite the fact that he lost relatives in the explosion over Hiroshima, he harbored no ill feelings toward those who dropped the bomb. I have been in their home a great many times, I even spent nights there during our sleepovers, and Mariko stayed at our home as well.

Our parents also got along fine, but it seemed that I had become her only friend in school. I could not understand the reason behind it, but she did. She explained that to me after one relatively heated parent/teacher meeting. One thing I did not mention, Mariko’s parents were older people who adopted her from an orphanage after they arrived to our country. The teacher, Mr. Pratt, who later was reprimanded for it, said a comment during their meeting, that the elder Mr. Pratt saw Mr. Owada in the supermarket and recalled that Mr. Owada was a troublemaker in the Gila River Japanese Interment camp. Mr. Owada told our teacher that he was never there, but the teacher, Mr. Pratt as loud as he could say to everyone to hear that he was not going to tolerate any rebellious behavior in school.

That comment came as a total shock because Mariko was so quiet that nobody knew that she was present. My Father would not stand for such untruth accusations or comments and it came natural that he spoke up. Sadly, he was the only one. My Father’s words were good as gold and the principal wrote a letter of reprimand to Mr. Pratt and he was transferred shortly after to another school district.

Perhaps because of that, or perhaps for some other unknown reason to me, with my exception, all students shunned Mariko. She was obviously sad about that but as she said, she could not have asked for a better friend than me. I truly liked her. She was honest and kind and she was brilliant at studies. I always had been a relatively good student but there were subjects that were not to my liking, like physics, math and algebra. On the other hand Mariko was very good at them, so she helped me out with those subjects.

We virtually spent all of our free time together and yes, I did notice that Craig was around again; somehow we always managed to bump into each other. Craig had grown and developed more muscles; all the signs were there that he was working out. In my sophomore year, I joined the athletic club, running club to be specific and unknown to me, Craig was also on the team. Mariko preferred to learn tennis, which was also offered at the school.

During our physical