The Abandoned Daughter

By Linda Rockwell Dalman

Why did Clarence and Addie Marshall abandon one of their daughters, then take their other three children and leave Missouri? The Marshall and Potter families had been feuding for generations. Though the original reason had been lost over the years, they found new reasons to keep the fire of hate burning. The elder Marshalls were devout Christians. They did their best to live Godly lives; yet they struggled daily with the hostility caused by generations of hate. They were examples that though Christians, people still fail. The Potter family considered the Marshalls pious hypocrites. They were proud of the fact that they were not bound by some fake religion; they enjoyed life. The only thing the Potters took seriously was the feud. The Marshalls were pro-prohibition. They considered alcohol devil's brew. The Potters were anti-prohibition. In fact, Hettie Potter was rarely without a pint in her apron pocket. She was often heard griping, "There ain't nobody going to tell me what I can drink and what I can't drink." Women's suffrage was another area of contention. The Marshalls believed that a woman's place was in the home submitting to her husband. The Potters felt that men had dominated women long enough. They opined to anyone who would listen, "Women have as much right to vote as a man." The clash escalated when Addie Potter married Clarence Marshall. Now the battle had no end in sight. And when the couple took all of their children but one and left the state, forgiveness seemed forever out of the question. This book shows how one couple's choice, acted upon, not only affects their lives, but the lives of their children and those around them; especially the little girl that gets caught in the middle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781684095551

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Marshalls

The year 1919 was turbulent. The country was in turmoil over the prohibition of liquor. The battle that had raged for almost one hundred years came to a head in January when the Eighteenth Amendment was passed. Feelings ran high; people were either totally for it or completely against it. Though the bill passed, it would be a year before it was put into effect; giving anyone interested the time to set up the unlawful businesses of manufacturing, transporting, and selling the soon-to-be banned product. It was said that prohibition turned law-abiding citizens into law breakers.

Also, for the past one hundred years, women had come out of their homes to fight against the consumption of alcohol. Once they won, many women found it difficult to return to the domesticity of the past. They found it stifling to be second-rate citizens, under their husband’s thumbs. Many who weren’t already involved, joined the Women’s Suffrage movement, marching in the streets, demanding to be heard. They wanted the right to vote. And in June, the Nineteenth Amendment was approved in Congress. Women could finally vote.

Ironically, women who had fought against alcohol began to drink publically. While in the past, only the lowest of women went into drinking establishments.

Meanwhile, race riots swept the country. Negros had not risen far above slavery status, though the Civil War had been over for fifty-five years. In 1917, white as well as black men had gone off to fight in the Great War. The black men who didn’t join the military were given the white men’s jobs—at lower pay, of course.

Returning from the war, the white men demanded their jobs back. The Negros not only balked, they had the audacity to ask—no, to demand—better jobs with better pay. Whites repelled them with violence. A few desperate blacks responded in kind and the first race riot occurred in Cleveland in May 1919.

National tensions escalated when an article was published in the newspaper with a picture of a sign allegedly painted by Negros stating Kill all Whites.

In July, a few white boys harassed a black man in Chicago. Things spiraled out of control when he dared to defend himself. Negros nearby rushed to support their colleague and the fight swung into full-scale riot.

Hayden, a farming community nestled among craggy rolling hills in northernmost Missouri was a mere seven miles south Iowa border. Situated in Middle America, it was a safe haven for a small population where everyone knew everyone. Though isolated, the local citizens heard the distant thunder of their tumultuous nation. They vacillated between feeling safe in their little town and apprehensive that they might fall prey to the unrest.

Route 46, a dirt road, was sometimes a mud trap and at other times hard sun baked ruts that threw wagons to and fro. Other times it was so dry, one choked from the clouds of dust. It ran through the center of Hayden, which consisted of a general store, a blacksmith shop, a livery stable, a granary, and a train depot.

A newly painted, black buckboard was drawn up the dry dusty street by a team of red mules. Though covered with dust, the wagon still looked good. The mules trotted proudly as if they were saying, "Look at us! Not only are we pulling the nicest buckboard in this community, but we know we look good."

The driver, a brawny elderly man nodded greetings to neighbors he passed. With each nod, his thick salt-and-pepper hair bounced up and down on his forehead.

The elderly woman cradled a bundle close to her chest. She had a wool blanket wrapped over her shoulders, then draped over the tiny bundle for double protection from the cold October wind.

Once stopped before Paterson’s General Store, the man jumped down, tucked the bundle into the crook of one arm, and assisted his wife down to the street with the other. Though stocky, she landed on the street with surprising agility.

Leaving the woman and child, the farmer drove the team across the street to the granary.

Anna Marshall entered the general store cradling her bundle. Hello, Beady, she called gently.

Coming around the counter, Beady Paterson smiled. Well, Anna! It’s so good to see you. How’s that baby doing?

Esther’s a joy, but she’s a lot of work. Sometimes I feel that it’s more than I can bear. Now I know why God gave babies to young people.

A stunned silence filled the store.

Not one to share her troubles, Anna was shocked that she had said something so intimate, let alone negative. Now what made me go and say that? Anna wondered, embarrassed.

Beady knew Anna as a private person who normally would never voice such a complaint. Seeking to distract her friend from her discomfort, she asked, May I hold her?

Certainly, Anna answered stiffly, struggling to regain composure. In fact, if you would hold her for me while I get my shopping done, I’d appreciate it.

I’d love to.

I’ll get her unwrapped first, Anna added, glad to get busy.

She laid the baby on the crowded counter between the jars of peppermint and jars of honey and proceeded to remove the wrap. A beautiful ten-month old infant, with soft black hair curling around her pixie face, emerged from inside the blanket.

One look at her happy face and everyone fell in love. Beady was no exception. She accepted the precious bundle, beaming, Awwww, Anna. She’s adorable.

Thank you, Beady. I’m a little partial myself. She smiled. Where’s George today?

He’s at the train station picking up supplies. Why? Do you need some heavy items?

I do. I need one hundred pounds of flour, fifty pounds of sugar, twenty-five pounds of beans, and twenty pounds of rice. Oh, and I need two pounds of soda powder, which I can get myself. She smiled then added, Don’t worry about it, Beady, I’ll have Samuel load the heavy items when he gets back from the granary.

I’d appreciate that. Turning her attention to the infant, the store owner smiled. I bet Candace loves this little gal. Where’s she today?

You know Candace. She’s a homebody. Even though she’s fifteen, she’s not one for crowds, Anna exclaimed as she propelled her ample frame across the room toward the bolts of material.

Beady smiled softly at the baby while she hummed an unidentifiable song and swayed to the music.

How much is this cotton? Anna asked, fingering a soft flannel.

The scrawny shopkeeper stopped humming and looked up. Five cents a yard.

I’ll take three yards. I should be able to get quite a few nightgowns for her out of that.

Sure, you go ahead and pick out what you want. Just lay the bolt on the cutting table and I’ll cut it up for you, when you’re finished there.

After complying, Anna went about the store collecting items and placing them on the counter. Did you get the needles in?

I did. They’re in the basket on the shelf behind the cutting table.

Oh, I see them. Say! That’s a real shame about President Wilson, isn’t it?

It certainly is. Tsk, I don’t know what to believe. On one hand, I hear that he’s doing well, and on the other hand, I hear he’s totally incapacitated.

I know. According to what I read in the newspapers, he hasn’t been seen publically since his stroke. It’s a shame. Anna clucked sympathetically. There! I guess I have what I can get Beady, she said, taking the baby from the store owner.

Relieved of the infant, Beady walked over to the cutting table, rolled out the flannel, and began cutting. Did you hear about that race riot in Omaha?

In Omaha? No! When was that?

Last week. It was a bad one. A mob hung a black man. Tsk … what was his name? she wondered. Biting her lower lip and shaking her head, she searched for the name. Ahh! Brown? Yes … uh … Will Brown. They said he raped a white woman.

Oh! Mercy me! The wickedness is getting closer to us, Anna fretted, shaking her head in dismay, while swaying her weight to rock the baby.

According to the article I read, the last six months has been dubbed Red Summer.

Red Summer? Why?

Beady shrugged her boney shoulders. I’m not sure I understand it exactly, but it’s something to do with the Bolsheviks in Russia overrunning the government. You know how Russia’s always called Red and so on. I don’t know. I guess they’re comparing the Negros to the Bolsheviks. It’s over my head.

Mine too, that’s for sure. That poor man … Mr. Brown, was it? He may have done a horrible thing, but he has a right to a fair trial, even if he is a Negro. He’s one of God’s children, after all. Anna added compassionately, Who do people think they are? Taking the law into their hands like that? I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes when they meet their maker.

The tinkling of the bell above the door caused both women to turn toward it simultaneously.

Sheriff Underhill came in smiling. Mornin’, ladies, he greeted the women, but he had eyes only for the baby. The rotund man went directly to the infant and began tickling her under the chin.

Why, Anna, I do believe Esther gets prettier every time I see her.

Looking up into the grandmother’s face, he noted her pallor, Is there something wrong?

We were discussing that frightful riot up in Omaha. It makes me sick to think there’s so much evil in the world, Sheriff. And it seems to be getting closer to us all the time.

Yes, ma’am! It seems that way. That was a bad one. I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard they even hung the mayor along with the Negro. And that ain’t all, I just got a wire that there was another riot in Elaine, Arkansas. According to the report, lots of folks got killed.

What? both ladies said in unison.

He could have kicked himself. He had blurted more than he should have to these ladies. They didn’t need to be scared out of their wits.

Tsk. Yep, it is a real shame. But now, don’t worry. The mayor in Omaha was lucky. Somebody raced in and cut him down. He was in the hospital for a few days, but he’s going to be all right.

They were interrupted at the ringing of the bell again. Anna’s husband entered.

Boy, this looks like a grim bunch, Sam smiled, closing the door behind him.

The sheriff approached the tall angular man with his hand extended. How are you, Sam? It’s been awhile.

It sure has, Roy. I can’t imagine why. I mean, you live across the lane from us for heaven’s sake. He smiled and firmly shook his friend’s hand. How ya been?

Feeling awkward, Roy shrugged. Been fine … just fine. You know, been busy … and … all.

Reading his best friends discomfort, Sam clapped him on the shoulder. Don’t fret, my friend. There’s no shame in doing one’s duty.

Just then, Esther gurgled and squealed. She’d just spied her grandpa.

Both men’s faces lit up like Christmas trees when they looked at the youngster.

She sure is a little prize, Sam, Roy smiled, his heart melting in spite of his uneasiness.

Samuel scooted toward his granddaughter. Swiping her from her grandma, he tossed her in the air. Esther giggled with glee. Then settling her in his arms, he turned to his wife. Are you about done, Anna?

Almost, we just need to get the heavy bags of dry goods and pay.

Beady turned to leave the group. I’ll get them for you, she offered.

Wait a minute, Beady, Sam said. Where’s George?

He’s at the train station. But I can get it for you.

I’m sure you can. Sam smiled at the scrawny lady. But why don’t you figure out what we owe you. I’ll pay you and then I’ll haul everything out to the buckboard afterward.

That’d be fine. Thank you, Mr. Marshall, she said appreciatively.

Roy helped Sam load the buckboard. Then they stood outside and talked while waiting for Anna.

Watching Anna bundle Esther in her blankets, Beady asked, By the way, what do you think of women finally being able to vote?

Anna thought it was ludicrous. God had created man in his image. He gave them authority. She worried the world was running amok, yet she could tell by her friend’s face that she was happy by the news. Seeing no reason to burst her bubble, she simply answered, I don’t see a need for it.

As they rode out of town, Anna filled her husband in on what she’d heard about the riots. And Beady said that she saw a sign in the paper that the Negros painted. She said it said, ‘Kill all Whites.’ I can understand their anger, but that’s downright frightening. Oh, Sam, what’s this world coming to? And it’s getting closer to us.

He patted her hand and said, "Roy filled me in on the riots. But he also told me that the whites have been the only ones questioned. The Negras haven’t been asked for their side of the events. The whites are the ones saying what the blacks are saying; a little one sided, if you ask me. Roy worries that the Negras are being set up. It’s a crying shame.

But it’s a good time to remind ourselves that God is powerful and He’s always in control.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, each in their own thoughts.

Sam and Anna Marshall lived about two and a half miles southeast of Hayden. They traveled east on Route 46 for a little over two miles then turned south onto a mile-long rolling dirt lane. Their farm was half a mile further. Sheriff Underhill’s farm was across the lane.

The Marshall’s were devout Christians. Not only did they attend church on Sunday mornings for worship and Wednesday evenings for prayer meetings, they strived to live their beliefs. They read the Bible and prayed together each morning before starting their daily tasks, thinking it was the only way to start their day. They ended their day with reading more Bible, believing that was the best way to end a day.

Believing 2 Thessalonians that states, If a man will not work, he shall not eat, they worked hard at everything they did.

Because the Bible said, The righteous will give without sparing, they gave without sparing. Though poor themselves, they gave to those less fortunate whenever the need arose.

When someone needed help, the Marshalls usually led their neighbors in helping. Sometimes, helping others changed their lives, which is what happened when they took in baby Esther.

They raised their children according to the Bible. Since Proverbs said, He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him, they were strong disciplinarians. They weren’t exceptionally affectionate, fearing it would spoil their children. Yet their children grew up with a strong faith and work ethic, knowing they were loved, except for one.

Their eldest son, Joseph, married a gal from St. Joseph. He worked for his father-in-law repairing and selling Model Ts.

Their second son, Clarence, the black sheep, lived up in Nebraska. He and his wife Addie, had four children: Myrtle, Clyde, Archie, and Esther.

Their third son, Ernest, bought the west forty acres from them and raised vegetables. He’d built a humble home that he shared with his wife Violet and their three-year-old son, Sammy.

Their fourth son, Fred, was killed in Germany during the Great War on October 10, the year before.

The ceasefire was a month later. Anna had been inconsolable. Why didn’t God keep him alive one more month? she mourned. Consumed by grief, she worked herself to exhaustion each day so she could sleep at night.

Their fifth child, a long-awaited daughter, Ressie, had married last year and moved to Iowa.

Finally, there was fifteen-year-old Candace. An introvert, she preferred staying home. She worked hard helping her mother. In her spare time, the teen traveled to distant lands in the novels she loved to read.

On the day that Esther was dropped off, Anna was in the kitchen canning green beans. Sam came in at midmorning for some ice tea. In the past, he never came in until dinner at noon. But since Fred had been killed, he came in often to check on his wife. Hearing a knock at the door, Sam went to answer it.

Who was at the door? she asked, engrossed in her work when he returned to the kitchen.

Anna? he said anxiously.

The seriousness of his voice caused her head to jerk up from her job of knifing bubbles out of the jars of green beans. Yes? she answered, suddenly nervous.

There’s a baby outside that needs us. I think we should take her in.

Shocked, she stared, the knife in midair. Her haunted eyes sought his calm steady ones. Sam, we’re too old to parent a baby. Our kids are mostly grown. Candace will be gone before we know it. It took so little to tire her anymore. She couldn’t imagine a baby added to her chores.

I don’t think that God would want us to turn away a baby, Anna. Sighing, he added, Jesus said to take care of the little children. She’s definitely a ‘little child.’

She knew he was right, but she didn’t want to start over with a baby. She felt old, too old. She’d felt that way since Fred had been killed.

"Tsk, I’m so tired, Sam. I don’t have the energy I need now. I don’t know how I’d do it."

Candace can help. She loves babies. Plus, God will help. Remember, He’ll never give us more than we can handle. He promises us that His grace will be sufficient, that His power is made perfect in weakness. Besides, it’s our granddaughter. I don’t see how we can in good faith turn her away.

She reached for a muslin towel and dried her hands. You’re right, of course. She sighed. She felt like crying. It was one of the rare times in her life that she doubted God.

Anna trudged out onto the porch, took the crying baby wordlessly, and returned to the kitchen. She changed the baby’s diapers and then fed the infant while Sam fixed up a temporary box by the stove with a blanket. Esther was asleep before finishing her bottle.

Sam took the sleeping baby and laid her in the box. Kneeling over the baby, he smiled tenderly. Looking up at his wife, he said softly, This will do for now. At least until I haul the cradle up from the cellar.

She nodded and plodded wordlessly back to her task at hand.

The first few weeks after Esther’s arrival, Anna cared for the child to the best of her ability, albeit numbly. The only thing that kept her going was her favorite verse in Colossians, Whatever you do, do with all your heart as for the Lord, since you know you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It was hard. Deep inside, she fought anger; she didn’t want the job. Yet if she’d done what she wanted to do, she’d have refused to take the baby in the first place.

Now a little over a month later, Anna smiled, remembering when things had changed. She was sitting in the rocker wearily feeding Esther. Suddenly, the baby looked up at her and gazed straight into her eyes; Anna felt like she was looking right into her soul. Suddenly the baby’s face broke into a big smile.

The grandmother felt a glow pass through her body. It took her a moment to figure out what it was. It’s happiness, she realized. At that moment, the burden of grief was lifted. She knew that she’d always miss Fred, but she also knew in that instant that she could be happy again.

Returning to the present as they turned into their driveway, Anna smiled. "Thank you, God, for this little blessing You’ve brought into our lives. Again, you are true to Your Word, Lord. If we obey, You will bless us."

Chapter 2

The Potters

Hettie Potter overshadowed her husband in stature and conduct. She was over six feet tall and weighed over three hundred pounds. (A lady doesn’t tell her weight, she’d answer when anyone dared to ask.) When her mouth opened, her booming enthusiastic voice eclipsed that of everyone else. Of course, the pint of moonshine she carried around in her apron pocket may have elevated her passions. She worked around the farm in her apron with her bottle of local moonshine peeking out of her pocket, from which she often took a quick nip.

George Potter had more hair in his white handlebar moustache than on his balding head. He was five feet five inches of wiry kindness. His mild-mannered ways worked well with his overbearing wife. One could always find a spark of laughter in his snappy brown eyes. He loved to laugh and his wife made him laugh; therefore, he loved her.

He raised Missouri Mules, crops, and hogs. He was especially proud of his pigs. In fact, one of his sows broke state records for producing over three hundred piglets in her lifetime. Since he abhorred boasting, he couldn’t bring himself to brag. In fact, he vowed to himself that he wouldn’t bring up the subject of his prize sow. On the other hand, he wanted everyone to know. To solve the dilemma, he framed the award certificate and hung it on his living room wall in plain sight. When visitors asked about the picture, he was able to fill them in on the information without seeming to boast.

There were rare times when the Potters had a two-sided conversation. Certainly not when anyone else was present, then Hettie chattered incessantly. No one could get a word in edgewise. Though a harmless nervous habit, it was annoying for most folks. Yet her contagious laughter bred hilarity from even those who didn’t like her … except for the Marshalls, of course. Hettie reveled in annoying her archrival. The Marshalls and Potters had been feuding for years. In fact, Hettie told anyone who cared to listen, Them Marshalls think theys so high and mighty ’cause they got religion. Well, I’ll tell you if that’s how ‘godly’ people act, I don’t want no part of it. No, sirree!

George and Hettie were routine oriented. They arose each day at dawn. She fed the chickens and collected the eggs, while he fed the other animals. Then, they ate a breakfast of eggs, if the hens were laying. If not, they ate cornmeal porridge or grits and cornbread.

After breakfast, George cared for his crops and animals, trained his mules, mended fences, and did whatever needed to be done to keep his farm running smoothly.

Hettie went to her garden, barefoot. In the spring, she planted; in the summer, she hoed; in the fall, she picked and canned. When the harvest was over, she uprooted plants and bedded her garden for the winter. All the while, her size twelve feet went bare. Since a lady’s shoe was nigh impossible to find in that size, she wore men’s black boots. I would never wear any of them sissy shoes anyway, she consoled herself. As it was, she only wore the boots in the winter or when she rarely went to town, if she felt like wearing them.

Each day around three o’clock, George and Hettie took an hour break on their rundown porch. It was the heat of the day, and they both felt like it was a good and proper habit. After all, they were fond of saying, all work and no play makes for a dull life. Then smiling at each other, they’d finish their saying with, and we don’t want no dull life.

During their afternoon break, he usually read the Hog News Report while she smoked her corncob pipe and took occasional sips of her moonshine. Now she may have been a heavy drinker, but she believed in a clean house. A person would be hardpressed to find a speck of dust in her home. Her windows sparkled and her whites were white.

The Potter’s had thirteen children. In August 1920, there were only five left at home.

On August 2, 1920, they were on the dilapidated porch taking their afternoon break.

I’m telling you, George, Hettie said between puffs on her pipe, it broke my heart when I read Addie’s letter. She’s pregnant again, and she wants to come home from Nebraska real bad to birth the baby. That good for nothing husband, of hers, should be shot for dragging her and their children so far away.

Can’t s’pect much else from a Marshall, he replied without looking up from his paper.

"Don’t I know that? They think they’s so religious and they look down on anybody that don’t agree with them. Then their ‘precious’ son drags my daughter off to no man’s land."

There’s not much to be done, though. Jobs are hard to come by. And if Clarence can’t take time off, there’s no other way for her git here. And they shore can’t afford for him to lose his job.

Why she married that good fer nothing, I’ll never know, Hettie grumbled, shaking her head. She still couldn’t believe it, even after nine years. She took another drink from her bottle, as if to wash away the disgust she felt every time