“I’m sorry.” I turned to face him. “We didn’t mean to. It was just nice to talk to someone who understood. And really, Dale. Will’s children will always be a part of my life.”
“No. They’re part of your old life. I don’t want you to have anything more to do with them. You’re my wife now.”
I was stunned and had no idea what to say. I couldn’t cut Will’s children out of my life. True, I didn’t know when I’d see them again, but I’d just received a letter from Catherine last week.
“I can’t do that,” I said.
“You can and you will.”
“How am I supposed to do that? They’re the older brothers and sisters to my children. They’re a part of each other.”
“That’s not my problem. Find a way. And I’m done with this conversation.”
I was completely beyond words. I had no idea where this was coming from or why. Dale had known about Will’s children before we’d married. I decided to let the conversation go for the time being. I had no desire to fight with Dale after such a pleasant evening, and decided I’d bring it up at a later time.
The next week, we were preparing to attend a dinner to raise money for the hospital. As I finished dressing, Dale came into the bedroom. He watched me for several minutes, leaving me uncomfortable with his silence.
“I’m almost ready,” I told him.
“Not quite.” His eyes scanned over my body. “You’re not wearing that.”
“Whyever not?” I looked down at the elegant ensemble Mother Elizabeth and I had selected just for the event.
“I don’t like it. It’s too revealing.”
Surprised, I assessed my appearance in the mirror. There was nothing revealing about the dress we’d selected. It was a lovely indigo, nearly floor-length as suited the occasion, with a sweetheart neckline and capped sleeves. The only thing the least bit questionable about it was the low v-cut in the back. But it was the height of fashion, and not the least bit promiscuous.
“I don’t agree,” I said. “It’s all I have, so I’m wearin’ it.”
“Take it off.” Dale’s voice was eerily calm.
I laughed. “No.”
“You will take it off, or I’ll take it off for you.”
I lifted a challenging eyebrow. I would not be bullied. I’d had enough bullying to last me a lifetime. “No.”
“I said, take it off.” Though his voice was calm, his body vibrated with anger. He reached up to the shoulder of the dress, and ripped it down the front.
My arms flew over my chest, shielding me from his view. “Why’d ya do that? I don’t have anything else acceptable to wear! There was nothin’ wrong with this one!”
“Then you won’t go. I won’t have my wife looking like a strumpet, not to mention talking like an ill-bred street urchin.”
I was so angry that my ears were buzzing. “That is completely uncalled for.”
“Yeah? Well deal with it.”
Dale stormed out of the room, leaving me standing there in my torn dress and my dignity in shreds. I realized later he’d gone to the dinner party without me.
“I’M SORRY,” DALE said the next morning, leaning in to kiss me. “My temper got the better of me last night. I just love you so much that I don’t wanna share.”
His words soothed my anger just enough for me to forgive him. The change from last night to this morning was so drastic, I wondered if I’d exaggerated in my mind how deadly the sound of his voice had been.
That afternoon, we took the children to the zoo. They loved seeing the exotic animals. Dale was kind and gracious throughout the entire day, and I again wondered if I had exaggerated our encounter the night before. How could one person go from so angry to so loving in such a short time?
Another week went by, and things seemed to resolve themselves. Dale returned to the loving man I had married, and I felt things were going well.
On a Thursday in early December, I was sitting at the kitchen table, helping Grace with homework, when Dale came in. His posture rigid, I knew immediately something was wrong but had no idea what.
“Gracie,” I said quietly. “Go up to your room and finish your homework.”
Getting up from the table, Grace left the room and silence descended. After several moments, Dale took from his pocket a letter and slapped it down on the table in front of me. Surprised, I looked at the return address to see it was from Joseph.
“I thought I told you there was to be no more contact with California.” His voice was an ugly growl. “I thought I explained they were no longer part of your life.”
“Dale, they’re always gonna be—”
“Enough! I will not be undermined! I said no more contact. They are not your children; they’re your dead husband’s children. I will not compete.”
“Of course you won’t compete!”
“Burn it,” he said.
“What?”
“I said to burn it.”
“But I’ve not even read it yet. There might be important news in there.”
“There is nothing they could say to you that would be important to your life anymore. Burn it.”
I shook my head. “No.”
Picking the envelope up in his hand, Dale crunched it tightly in his fist. “I will not tell you again, Victoria. Burn it.”
“No.”
His closed fist hit me before I could even react, and I flew backwards out of the chair. Holding my jaw, I kept the tears at bay as best as I could.
“Get up,” Dale said, extending his hand to me.
Cautiously, I placed my hand in his as he righted the chair and reseated me. “Now, I’m not asking. I’m telling. Burn the letter, Victoria. Now.”
With shaking hands, I took the letter from him. I straightened out the crumpled paper and looked around for something to start a small fire. Dale reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a set of matches. Lighting one, he handed me the match. The paper quickly took to the flame, and I jumped up to toss it in the sink before I was burned. Turning around, I looked Dale calmly in the eye. I was afraid to say anything, but I attempted to convey every bit of anger through my own steely gaze.
“Understand me now, Victoria,” he said. “I will not be defied, and I will not compete. I said no contact with California, and I meant it. Do not defy me again.”
Dale turned on his heel and left the room. I remained standing at the sink for long moments, shaking with suppressed rage. Or maybe it was fear. I still don’t know which.
LATE THAT NIGHT, I sat quietly at the kitchen table with a cup of warm milk. I wasn’t anxious to go to bed. I was still so angry with Dale that my body shook with rage. Hearing the quiet shuffling of feet, I looked up to see Mother Elizabeth coming into the kitchen.
“Can I join you?” she asked.
I smiled and nodded.
Taking a seat across from me, she studied my face. “You wanna tell me what happened to your cheek?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Was it Dale?”
“Ya know it was. I’m sure the whole house knows it was.” Angry tears escaped from my eyes.
“Are ya okay?” Mother Elizabeth asked.
“Physically? Yes.” I nodded. “Emotionally? I’m furious.”
“What was it about? Maybe I can help.”
“Will’s children. He wants me to cut off all ties with them. He told me once before, but I ignored him. Then today, a letter came from Joseph. He made me burn it without even readin’ it.”
“He didn’t!” she gasped.
“I’m afraid so. Will ya send a letter to them and explain? Just until I can figure things out?”
“Of course.”
Mother Elizabeth and I sat silently for several moments, both of us contemplating what had happened.
“What are ya gonna do?” she asked.
“I don’t know. This isn’t what I envisioned when I said I’d marry him. He’s just not the same person. Or maybe he is, but I never knew who
he was. If I could divorce him, I would.”
“Ya know you can’t. The kids can’t go back to bein’ hungry. Not to mention, the stigma of divorce would taint all of ya.”
“I know. But what do I do?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I honestly don’t know.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ON CHRISTMAS DAY, DALE AND I CELEBRATED our two-month anniversary. By then, I was certain: I was expecting. With the changes I’d seen in Dale, I had mixed feelings about this baby. We’d never discussed children beyond that first conversation when he’d originally proposed. I wasn’t entirely sure how he’d feel about becoming a father in his own right, and at his age. Hoping for the best, I saved the news for a short time until I could find the best way to tell him.
On New Year’s Eve, Dale and I left the children at home and celebrated with a gathering of Dale’s closest friends—all doctors—at the Skirvin Plaza Hotel in downtown Oklahoma City. The fifteen-story building was gorgeous, and I’d never seen anything like it before. As the clock ticked down to 1936, we stood under an ornate chandelier. Confetti fell like snowflakes upon our heads and shoulders, while Dale kissed me to bring in the New Year.
“Happy New Year, Mrs. Greene,” he said. “Here’s hoping for some wonderful surprises in 1936.”
“Happy New Year, Dr. Greene.” I smiled, though my stomach was queasy with fear. “Are ya ready for your first surprise?”
“You know I am! What have you got up those beautiful sleeves of yours?”
Pausing a moment, and hoping this would actually be a welcome surprise, I stretched up on my tiptoes and whispered in his ear. “I’m expectin’ a baby.”
Time stood still as Dale processed my words. For a moment, I feared he was upset. Would he welcome this news? Time stretched out until my nerves nearly made me snap. Suddenly, Dale’s face beamed with excitement. He lifted me off the floor and spun me around in circles.
“We’re having a baby!” he yelled loud enough to be heard by anyone within twenty feet.
Immediately the congratulations came pouring in from those around us, and the joy on Dale’s face relieved any fear I’d once had. He not only welcomed this baby, but he was excited. Maybe 1936 would be a good year for great things, I thought to myself. Maybe this new life I was carrying would allow Dale to put aside his insecurities and endless criticisms. Perhaps we could move forward with hope for the future.
DALE’S JOY KNEW no bounds, and the next few months flew by. For a while, it seemed as though the anger and distrust of the previous weeks had been completely forgotten. Within days, Dale insisted the extra bedroom be renovated to become a proper nursery. Walls were painted, new furniture was purchased and, before long, we had a nursery set up in shades of green and yellow to welcome our new baby.
The children were excited, more so than they had been for David’s arrival. I think the relief of not having to worry about money helped in this regard. Jack was no longer needed to do odd jobs for the neighbors to supplement what I could provide, and Grace was becoming a young lady in her own right with a new interest in boys. Dale had promised to hire a woman to come in and help with the children; and, for the first time in many years, I felt the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders.
During the first several months of my pregnancy, Dale returned to the doting husband of our first days together. His anger, criticism, and distrust seemed to vanish, and I breathed easy once again. But I knew it wouldn’t last.
As the pregnancy progressed, the Dale I’d come to know slowly returned. The only difference was that the physical abuse had turned verbal. What he couldn’t do with his hands, he did tenfold with his words. Soon I came to dread the hour when he would return from the hospital each day.
Our daughter, Anna Christine, was born on July 22, 1936. With dark hair and eyes, she was a tiny replica of Dale, and he doted on this baby as though she hung the moon. The older children were also quite taken with her. No longer having the worries they’d once had, they enjoyed watching each stage of her growth.
Dale’s devotion to Anna reached the point of extreme. If he was in the room, he monopolized her; not allowing anyone else to hold her. When she awoke at night for her feeding, he was out of the bed in seconds to see to her needs. If I hadn’t been nursing, I doubt he’d have allowed me to comfort her at all. If she cried longer than a few moments, he’d accuse me of hurting her. His behavior was almost manic, and I became concerned over his state of mind.
I’d barely recovered from Anna’s birth when I discovered I was expecting once again. If I was conflicted over Anna’s birth, I was doubly conflicted by the news of this second baby. I’d been nursing Anna, and common understanding of the day was that doing so left me unable to conceive. Not so in my case. Because of this myth, the shock of this new pregnancy overwhelmed me.
Once again, Dale took the news with complete joy, and we made preparations for yet another new addition to our family. This pregnancy was the hardest on me, and I needed to tell Dale it would be my last. Yet I didn’t dare. I couldn’t begin to predict what he’d think of such a statement, but I was exhausted and knew I couldn’t do this again. I was nearly thirty-two, and had been making babies for nearly fourteen years.
Dale Elijah, Jr. was born on June 7, 1937. Like his sister, he was born with a thick head of dark hair and eyes that were sure to turn dark as well. To avoid confusion with his father, we called him Elijah. Like Anna, he became the epicenter of his father’s universe.
For nearly two years, life had been a yo-yo of good and bad. When Dale was in a good mood, everything looked bright and life was good. When Dale was in a bad mood, everything was awful. Between my pregnancies, Dale’s jealousy, and my own discomfort in the presence of those who’d never known poverty, I’d made very few new friends. Thankfully, I’d maintained my closest friendships with Mother Elizabeth and Mrs. Watkins. Without the two of them, I’d have been totally isolated.
The children, on the other hand, were prospering. They were excelling in school; and Dale never failed to remind me that the well-being of my children was entirely in my own hands. One misstep and I was assured my children would suffer.
On a regular basis, Dale reminded me of the poverty I’d come from and how easy it would be to return. In his eyes, I was ignorant, and he made it a point to let me know that my lack of intelligence had best not reflect on our children. For every nice thing he said or did, he followed it with a gesture that felt purely evil. Each day, I wondered which Dale I would greet: the Dale I had married or the Dale I had come to know as my husband.
To the outside world, he was as kind and charming as he’d always been. On the occasions when he took me to social events, the wives of his friends raved about how fortunate I was to have such a handsome and loving husband. They all believed Dale doted on me, and that I wanted for nothing. Their praise only made me angrier.
By the time Elijah was born, I’d come to detest Dale with a hatred I’d never before known. The only reason I stayed was because of the children. I didn’t doubt he’d take my children—or even kill me—if I tried to leave. Worse than that, I’d begun to hate myself, and what I had become. I hated my weakness, and that hatred made me furious. While I tiptoed around my every interaction with Dale, I began taking my anger out on anyone else around me. I was so afraid the children might set Dale off that I became a fierce disciplinarian, far more so than I’d ever been before. I would tolerate no disrespect from my children. When I told them to do something, I expected it done immediately and without any delay. The only way I could survive, and be sure my children survived, was to be sure none of us did anything to spark Dale’s ire.
I learned a lot of important lessons from Dale. I learned when to back down, which was every single time we had a confrontation. I learned I would never be right. And I learned words could be more painful than an actual beating. But the most important lesson I learned from Dale was that nothing is ever truly a secret. The moment you think your secrets are burie
d deep, never to be disturbed, they somehow manage to wiggle their way to the surface.
My own deep dark secret was about to be revealed, and I very nearly paid the price of its keeping with my life. I had never told Dale about David’s paternity.
In the beginning, it was just an oversight. Our courtship had been such a whirlwind that the timing of David’s birth had never crossed my mind. Then, as the bliss of my married life turned more to nightmare—and I realized how jealous and angry Dale could become—I deliberately kept the information from him. I didn’t know how he’d react, but I knew it couldn’t be good. Dale had never asked, and so I’d allowed him to believe David had been Will’s son. I never expected the truth would come out.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
IN OCTOBER OF 1937, AS DALE AND I CELEBRATED our second anniversary, Oklahoma was just beginning the first stages of recovery from what became known as The Dust Bowl. President Roosevelt instituted efforts to prevent soil erosion by planting trees, and this opened jobs for many Oklahomans. Better still, these efforts would begin to reverse the devastation that had resulted in the loss of crops and income for so many. Though the drought would continue, the amount of blowing soil that had been the bane of our existence would be reduced by more than half by the end of 1938. While the lives of so many were about to become significantly better, mine was about to become significantly worse.
Dale met with his Kiwanis Club every Wednesday at lunch, and it was a meeting he looked forward to every week. In March 1938, his club welcomed a new member: Gene Blanchard. Gene had moved from El Reno several months earlier when he accepted a position with a bank in Oklahoma City.
Dale and Gene had become fast friends and, though I’d known his new friend’s first name, I had no idea his friend was a ghost from my past. In fact, I didn’t know until the evening Dale insisted we have dinner with his new friend and his friend’s new wife.
We’d settled on dinner at an elegant restaurant in downtown. I had dressed carefully for the evening, hoping to make Dale proud to have me at his side—or, if not proud, at least so as not to provoke his anger.
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