Beauty Out of Ashes

By Lela Holt

This book is about a family of ten, beginning in southern California, in the 1950s. It is a riveting story, told in the third person by the youngest daughter, Lela’s point of view. The author shares with you pertinent events. As the main character, she recalls, play by play, the cold, hard truth, of times past. You will find each page turned is like rounding another corner. It holds the reader captive and keeps his interest on high alert! The story focuses on the hardships of a poor, uneducated family. The content will strum on the heartstrings of most, with an undeniable stirring of emotion. However, the author has a way of causing you to momentarily forget the sadness of previous pages. There are sporadic places in the book where Lela recalls a humorous event. The object of the book is an attempt to reach out to those folks who have experienced some of the things Lela and her family endured. With ink and paper, she strives to wipe out the shameful feelings and negative stigma of molestation and poverty. Finally, the ultimate reason for writing the book is to encourage others to bring their secret to the surface. Perhaps shed some light on it and share their feelings with another. Then with head held high, walk away from the burden as a survivor! Above all, put your trust in God the Father, who promised to never leave you or forsake you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781635685305

Book preview

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Beauty

Out of

Ashes

Lela Holt

Copyright © 2017 Lela Holt

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2017

ISBN 978-1-63568-529-9 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63568-530-5 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Lela clutched the program handed to her at the entrance of the college auditorium. The band played God Bless America as she sat in silence, flanked by her cousin Montie and her brother Frank. She wondered in retrospect as she saw memories of time past reeling off the secret places of her mind. The images traced before her eyes were as vivid as those projected on a theater screen. Lela was a small child, about four years old, sitting on the edge of a porch in Oceanside, California, swinging her legs and singing just above a whisper Jesus Loves Me. Her father worked for the city in spite of poor health. The Holt family of ten gathered around the massive oak table and gave thanks for the simple meals their mother prepared at the end of each day.

Lela remembered how they celebrated her fourth birthday with cake, ice cream, and close friends. Annie Trejo, her husband, Shorty, and their eight kids joined in the festivities. It was a warm spring June 17 day when her mother called the kids in for hot dogs and Kool Aid. That party was the only one she remembered ever having till she was a grown woman. Birthdays in the Holt household were never forgotten but were rarely celebrated with a party. She never really felt deprived because they always got a small gift, and they had each other.

Annie was a full-blooded Mission Indian, and Shorty was a Mexican national. He was a citrus picker and a jolly gentleman. They had a TV set and invited the Holts to join them on Wednesday nights to watch the wrestling matches. The families ate together on those nights, usually beans, fried potatoes, and fresh tortillas and homemade salsa. The kids played hide-and-seek along with other games until it was time to leave. That house in Oceanside and that year, 1950, was the last she recalled living like a normal family.

In her fourth year of elementary school, Lela had attended four different schools and somehow managed to pass. It seemed just as she forged a place among her peers, she was once again uprooted and transplanted to another district. One can only imagine what it must have felt like to be the object of all eyes on the newcomer. She felt like an intruder among a group of kids who had already made their choice of friends. Lela felt like she had to prove her worth and hoped that somebody would acknowledge it. However, she usually ended up in a circle of other seemingly discarded kids, mostly Latinos, who lived on the poor side of town, as herself. They welcomed her in spite of her freckled face and hand-me-down clothes. In turn, she learned their culture, ate their food, and even learned to speak a little Spanish, which helped to tighten the bond between them.

However, Lela was not able to fully trust anybody at that time. Lela kept her deepest feelings tucked away in a place where she didn’t have to face the truth or deal with the pain. She thought her secrets were safe in the closet of her mind. After Oceanside, they moved to the small town of Vista, California. That was where life began to twist its way around her and when her father quit working. The kids down the street were supported on their father’s truck-driving job, while the Holt family existed on their father’s fancy signature sprawled across the back of a monthly welfare check; that was when she learned to eat things that could turn a cast-iron stomach. Imagine sliced white bread sopped in canned evaporated milk and topped with a generous mound of granulated sugar. Lela’s sister Winnie’s recipe for a quick and simple dessert. Winnie was a hardy little girl, small in stature but with a boxer’s attitude. She was always ready to rumble. She never backed down from a fight!

Vista, that was where Lela got her first proposition, of a sinister nature, at age four. The garage had a hard dirt floor. The old man that stood just inside the opened door reeked of stale tobacco comingled with perspiration. Mr. Montez lived in the garage and rented the old house to the Holts.

Yes? he said.

Mama wants to know if we can borrow a cup of sugar? Lela asked as she held a mismatched china cup out to him.

Sure, he answered. He took the cup from her small hands. She watched as he shuffled across the floor to the cupboard. Her eyes darted around the room as she observed the furnishings therein. In one corner was a single wrought iron bed. Next to it was an old oak nightstand, and on top of it was a baby ben clock and a ceramic figurine of a Madonna. Additionally there was an amateur painting of a bullfight. In the middle of the room was a red Formica chrome-trimmed table and two matching chairs. There were a few apple crates nailed to the wall that served as makeshift cupboards. Lela dug her toes into the surface of the hard, crusty floor as she watched him shuffle back to the door with the cup of sugar.

Mr. Montez not only offered her a cup of sugar, he held a brand-new nickel out to her. The nickel shone so that her green eyes were drawn to its brilliance like a magnet. Hug my neck and give me a big kiss, he demanded while holding the nickel between a smashed thumb and stubby index finger. She managed to break the magnetic spell and focused on his thick neck ringed with beads of dirt and his thin upper lip rimmed with tiny blackheads. She caught a whiff of his putrid breath.

No! she snapped.

Oh please, he pleaded.

Nope! she reiterated, shaking her head. I don’t want to, she added for good measure. I’m telling my mama, she threatened.

Here then, take the nickel and run along.

Needless to say, she got the coin with no strings attached then ran out the back door after delivering the cup of sugar to her kitchen table, while holding the shiny nickel tight in her sweaty palm till her knuckles looked like tiny white caps. Lela hurried past the pasture behind the house down a dirt path that led to the main road. She felt the heat of the sun beating down on her head, as long golden curls flowed in the wind and whipped around her flushed face. She paused only once to pull a sticker burr from the sole of her tender bare foot then raced on. Once inside the small neighborhood store, she marched right up to the showcase of candy situated at the counter under the sparkling glass. She scrutinized each neatly wrapped bar, examining the paper as though her mind’s eye could see right through it. So many things rushed through her head, but the excitement of the display beneath the glass overrode the fear of punishment for going to the store unescorted and without permission. The unstoppable urge to empty her bladder trumped it all as the warm liquid uncontrollably streamed, down her legs, leaving a puddle where she stood! The gray-haired lady cried in a shrill voice. I ain’t got all day! she demanded, tapping her red-manicured nails on the glass as she gazed over the top of her black-rimmed plastic cat-eye glasses. Lela finally selected an Abba-Zabba bar. She shoved the nickel across the glass and splashed out of the store and ran just as fast as her little feet could go! She thought maybe she could make it back home before they missed her. She gobbled the candy bar and made it home without being noticed, that is, until her mother caught her reaching for a pair of dry panties out of the dresser drawer, like a kid caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

Her mother asked What are you doing now? in a suspicious tone.

I accidently peed my panties, Lela confessed.

Well then you need to get in a tub of water, she scolded as she began to run the warm water for her. The bath felt good, but the best of all was her mother never knew she had ever left the house.

When she was five years old, the family moved again; that time they moved to Bonsil, California. A rural community of San Diego county. The little one-horse town consisted of a gas station, combined with a little mom-and-pop store. A post office and the most popular of the town was Burns Market, which in reality was just a small country store. The nearest supermarket was about fifteen miles away in the town of Oceanside.

The house was a big farmhouse, just off Golpher Road, with a long, winding dirt trail leading up to it. There was no inside lavatory facilities, only an outhouse and a number 2 galvanized wash tub. This was when she was first introduced to the pee pot. They were only allowed to use the white-enameled, black-rimmed bucket at night and thoroughly scrubbed every morning.

It was sort of nice living in the new place, because this time she shared a bed with her big sister, Bertha; that way, Cora and Winnie, the two middle girls, had only each other to pee on. They were both chronic bed-wetters. They smacked Lela if she flapped the covers, blaming her for the pee-soaked mattress in the morning. Her mother scolded her for not using the pee pot. The truth was soon revealed after the sleeping arrangement changed. It was obvious that neither Lela nor Bertha was the culprit wetting the bed.

The family dog was a loveable Great Dane. Her name was Dutches. She was given to them by a German lady that lived down the street. Her name was Ms. Meyer. Dutches was truly a member of the family. She loved children, and even though she ate like a horse, she was worth keeping. Lela was exceptionally close to the dog. Lela loved to roam the hills behind the house. Dutches would accompany her, and together they explored nature. Lela always felt safe with the dog; she was a natural protector. Lela enjoyed the beautiful scenery and found peace among the lavender, sage, and lilies. The colors were breathtaking.

On one of those days (it was spring), the weather was wonderful. Lela and Dutches were wandering beyond the usual boundary, when Dutches bolted. She spotted a jackrabbit and set out to catch it. Lela waited, but Dutches failed to return. Lela was a little disoriented and found herself lost in the hills, where everything looked the same, and she had gotten off the beaten path. She desperately called for the dog, to no avail. Her cries seemed to fall on deaf ears. After about an hour, Dutches appeared. The dog nudged her head against Lela’s shoulder as Lela sat on a big rock. It felt to her like a hug and an apology for deserting her.

Legend has it that when Dutches returned without Lela but a dead jackrabbit as a trophy instead, Lela’s father asked Dutches where Lela was. The dog cocked her head to the side, a little puzzled, as if to say, Did she not come back? Then her father said, Go get Lela! Hurry! He hollered after Dutches as she ran off immediately. Dutches took Lela’s hand in her mouth and gently led her out of the hills into safety back home. You’ve heard it said every family has to have a hero. Dutches was that hero in Lela’s eyes.

One dreary, misty morning, Dutches went MIA, and the kids called for her. Jimmy and Johnny, Lela’s older brothers, set out to find her. They found her about a half mile from the house with seven bullet holes in her. It was a dreadfully sad day for all. Their father, Leroy, seemed to attribute the tragedy to Dutches sucking chicken eggs and pissing off the neighborhood rancher.

The eldest boys placed Dutches in a hundred-pound gunnysack and dug a hole on the property for an honorable burial. The family members gathered around, and Leroy presided over the little ceremony. Each family member was given the opportunity to say good-bye in his or her own way. Jimmy and Cora put a note of farewell in the opened grave. Others told stories of Dutches and what she meant to them. David stammered and stuttered as he told his fond memory of Dutches. He said he liked it when Dutches farted, because she didn’t get into trouble for it. She just got put outside because her farts stunk really bad, he added. Because Dad says we ain’t got no good sense, we hold it up and laugh at it! David and his odd memory told only like David could tell it brought a little sunshine into an otherwise gloomy atmosphere, and the family chuckled.

The Holts were an odd couple. Leroy was twelve years Myrtle’s senior. He was a very thin man. He had an olive complexion, jet-black hair, and brown eyes.

Myrtle was a sweet woman with a heart of gold. She was simple, but given the opportunity, she could have lived a much easier life. She was an artist when others doodled. Myrtle drew beautiful scenery (e.g., still life and horses). She had a flair for makeup and hair. She could cook like a chef when she had the right ingredients. She had glossy auburn hair and was pleasingly plump.

Leroy spoke of the lesson Dutches taught him about disciplining his kids. He recalled the day she challenged his parental authority and jerked the leather belt from his hand and ran outside with it in her teeth! Dutches saved David from a sure and swift butt beating. Leroy never again used a belt to punish them.

Myrtle’s memory of Dutches was how the dog went into labor with her first and only litter of pups. The poor dog was in agony trying to deliver. She had already delivered eight on her own. She was obviously having trouble with number 9 when Myrtle intervened. She spoke to the family pet, mother to mother, heart to heart.

Okay, Dutches, calm down. Mama’s gonna help you.

Dutches was shaking and weeping. Myrtle inserted her fingers and gently pulled on the stuck pup as she moved down the birth canal. Together they brought Smokey out into the world. He was twice the size of his siblings and gray as the sky on a stormy day.

Finally, Lela waited until everyone left the burial site, and walked a little way up into the hills and picked a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers. She sat on the grave and sobbed.

The kids enrolled in the old country school, where they happened to be among the very few fair completed students in attendance. The majority of children were California Mission Indians from Pala Indian Reservation. Frankie and Lela were too young to attend. Frankie was only three years old, and although Lela was five, the school didn’t offer a kindergarten class.

She was disappointed at first, but she found it fun staying home at times. When it was cold and the fireplace in the living room failed to warm the big drafty house with all its cracks and peepholes, she found comfort in the bed with her mom and dad, along with baby brother. She recalled how cozy it felt to snuggle underneath the warm covers on a misty morning in the double wrought iron bed. She would lie there and bask in the security of the ones she depended on the most. The rain poured, the coyotes howled, the thunder roared as lightning struck. Somehow, how she felt safe.

Then there were the times that her mother got up, and Frankie