{"id":1051,"date":"2019-02-10T21:37:47","date_gmt":"2019-02-11T02:37:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1051"},"modified":"2020-06-01T09:06:56","modified_gmt":"2020-06-01T13:06:56","slug":"looking-for-cassandra-jane","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/looking-for-cassandra-jane\/","title":{"rendered":"Looking for Cassandra Jane"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Looking for Cassandra Jane<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Melody Carlson<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cassandra Maxwell has had a life filled with pain. Her mother died too young, her father is an abusive alcoholic, and she\u2019s a misfit everywhere she goes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After being shuttled between various foster homes, Cass struggles to find her identity and finds herself caught up with Scott Jones (aka \u201cSky\u201d) and his group of friends who start a Jesus commune in California. But before long, the group is more interested in pot and sex than they are spiritual growth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once again, Cass finds herself trapped in unhappiness\u2014and she longs for escape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Will Cass find the life and love she craves on a California commune\u2014with the charismatic Sky and his followers? Or can she fulfill her dreams\u2014and find her real future\u2014with her childhood friend Joey?<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

My Daddy used to say I had the devil\nin me. My grandma said it was only because I was a highly spirited child, yet\nas time went on I figured my daddy might\u2019ve been right after all\u2014especially\nseeing as how he and the devil were already on a first-name basis anyway. I was\nfifteen years old before anyone told me that Jesus loved me\u2014and even then I\ndidn\u2019t believe it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\ncan still recollect my daddy\u2019s face reddened by whiskey and rage. \u201cI\u2019m go\u2019n\u2019 to\nbeat the devil outta you, Cassandra Jane Maxwell!\u201d he\u2019d bellow in a slushy\nvoice. Then with his usual drunken awkwardness he\u2019d yank off his leather belt\nand come after me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of\ncourse he only did this after the empty Jack Daniel\u2019s bottle went spinning\nacross our cracked linoleum floor, and that bottle gave me the advantage\nbecause it\u2019s not that tricky to elude a drunk\u2014especially if you\u2019re fast. And I\nwas fast. But even to this day I still sometimes see my daddy\u2019s face when I\nhear a TV evangelist going on and on about the devil and evil and all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This\nis not to make it seem that my daddy was a truly wicked man. The fact is, I\nmostly loved my daddy. And when he was sober he was a fine-looking and\nwell-mannered gentleman. He liked wearing a freshly pressed shirt with a neatly\nknotted bolo tie and he believed in polishing his shoes. And his dark hair,\nlike his shoes, would gleam in the sunlight, combed through with Brylcreem\n(just a little dab\u2019ll do ya). And when my daddy walked through town he\u2019d hold\nhis shiny head up high, almost like a cocky rooster strutting through the\nchicken yard, and seemingly oblivious to all those quick side-glances or\nknowing nods coming from our fellow townsfolk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe\nthis was his way of making up for all that was wrong in his life, or more\nlikely he was telling himself that he would do better that day, that he\nwouldn\u2019t give in to his weakness again. And like his hair and his shoes, my\ndaddy talked real smooth and slick too, when he wasn\u2019t under the influence. He\nsold top-quality used cars at Masterson Motors on Main Street, and on a good\nday he could easily best any other salesman on the lot. My grandma said\nClarence Maxwell could charm the stripes right off of a snake\u2014and she meant it\nas a compliment. But his life was full of sorrows. And his escape in those days\nwas always the bottle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My\ndaddy used to say that I killed my mama. Of course he only said this when he\nwas under the influence, but my best friend, Joey Divers, told me that whiskey\nnever lies. And I suppose in some ways it was true, because if I hadn\u2019t been\nborn my mama wouldn\u2019t have died. But then I never asked to be born and there\nwere plenty of times when I surely wished that I hadn\u2019t been. Although my\ngrandma said that\u2019s like wishing you were dead and it\u2019s an insult to your\nMaker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My\nmama died when I was only three days old, and years later I overheard my\ngrandma saying that if my daddy hadn\u2019t been out drinking he might\u2019ve taken my\npoor mama to the hospital before she bled herself to death. But I would\u2019ve\nnever dreamed of saying that my daddy killed my mama. Truth is, I know\nfirsthand how bad it feels to lug that kind of guilt\naround with you. I would never wish that upon anyone,\nno matter how pitifully wicked they were.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Since\nmy daddy was pretty much useless after my mama died, my Aunt Myrtle looked\nafter me some. I guess I was a real fussy baby and I suspect I was fairly\ntrying for poor Aunt Myrtle, but I reckon the reason I was so cantankerous was\nbecause my mama was dead. To be honest I don\u2019t remember that far back, although\nI\u2019ve heard said that hidden somewhere deep in our subconscious we do remember\nsuch things. I do, however, remember my Aunt Myrtle looking at me with those\npale blue eyes. The corners of her lips might turn up into something of a\nsmile, but her eyes were cold and hard like the surface of the park pond those\nfew times it froze over. And her smile, like that brittle veneer on the icy\npond, was deceiving. As kids we always knew that even though the pond looked\nlike it might support your weight, you never could count on it and only a plumb\nfool would go out beyond the edge. One year an unsuspecting deer wandered out\nand the ice gave way and the poor, confused animal went right down into the\nfreezing dark depths below. And that\u2019s about how I felt around my aunt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aunt\nMyrtle usually came over to our house to take care of me. She always had her\nhair fixed up and lacquered with Aqua Net hair spray you could smell before she\neven walked in the door. I think she fancied herself to be a Donna Reed look\nalike wearing all those shirtwaist dresses and high-heeled shoes, but now that\nI think about it those outfits don\u2019t seem like the best kind of housekeeping\nclothes. She\u2019d tie one of my dead mama\u2019s aprons around her thick middle and do\na little cleaning and cooking if it suited her. But mostly she just watched the\ntelevision (shows like As the World Turns and Search for Tomorrow) or else she just walked around the\nhouse like she had a corncob stuck somewhere inside her anatomy. And I knew to\nstay out of her way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My\nearliest memory of Aunt Myrtle was being scolded and pushed away from her long\nfull skirt. My hands were probably sticky or dirty and she was afraid I\u2019d muss\nher all up, but even when I was squeaky clean she always kept me a good arm\u2019s\nlength away. I don\u2019t think she was ever real comfortable around kids, and\nalthough she did eventually marry, she never bore children of her own. Back\nwhen I was little I thought maybe she hated me because I had killed her only\nsister by being born. But later on I learned that my mama was only her\nstepsister and no blood relation at all. And as it turned out, my Aunt Myrtle\nnever really liked her much anyway, and I figured that was why she didn\u2019t like\nme either.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joey\nDivers told me that his mama told him that my Aunt Myrtle had been in love with\nmy daddy at one time. I couldn\u2019t understand this because my Aunt Myrtle seemed\nlike an old woman to me\u2014almost as old as my grandma I thought when I was\nlittle. But one day I asked Aunt Myrtle how old she was, and she told me she\nwas almost exactly the same age as my daddy and that they had even gone to\nschool together as kids! The way she said this to me was strange, with those\npale blue eyes of hers looking almost dreamlike. It made my skin feel creepy\nand I wondered if Joey hadn\u2019t been right all along.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

About\nthat time I became fearful that she might actually be in love with my daddy\nstill, and even though she\u2019d been my mama\u2019s stepsister, I didn\u2019t for the life\nof me want Aunt Myrtle to become my stepmother. But\nperhaps her infatuation for my daddy might explain why she put up with me all\nthat time, since I knew she could hardly stand me. And I remember how she\u2019d go\non and on, talking like she had my best interests at heart, but in the next\nbreath she\u2019d be telling me how I was a bad little girl and\nhow I\u2019d never amount to anything. I know she\u2019d heard my daddy say I had the\ndevil in me and naturally she believed him. But for all her hard work and\nself-sacrifice it never got her anywhere with my daddy. And I must credit him\nwith that. In fact, although I know he was \u201cinvolved\u201d with a few women here and\nthere, he never actually fell in love or remarried. In his own way I believe he\nremained true to my mama\u2019s memory. And perhaps that was the main part of the\nreason for his sorrows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My\ngrandma would\u2019ve taken care of me more of the time if she could\u2019ve, but she had\nher little grocery store to tend to. Her first husband, my mama\u2019s daddy, had\nbuilt that store with his bare hands from scratch just before the Great\nDepression. It was an old, boxy wooden building not much bigger than a small\nhouse, but with a little apartment above. Situated on a corner downtown, its\nonly windows faced the street, reaching from the ceiling clear down to the\nfloor, and it was all shadowy and dark toward the rear. The store had the smell\nof oldness to it, as if the bygone years of apples and pickles and sliced\nbologna had somehow soaked right into its wood plank floors. But it wasn\u2019t an\nunpleasant odor, and it always made me feel comfortable and right at home, like\nit was a part of me and my history. It was usually nice and cool inside, even\non a hot summer day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Grandma\nsaid they used to rent out the apartment before my grandpa died, but it was a\nreal blessing for her to have it when she and my mama were left alone and the\nDepression set down upon them like a hungry, old bear. She said that little\none-bedroom apartment gave her and my mama a safe haven and a roof over their\nheads, and I think those were happy times with just the two of them. I never\nquite understood why she upped and married Myrtle\u2019s daddy just shortly after\nthe Depression ended\u2014just when things were finally looking up for her. And the\nsaddest part about that \u201cblessed union\u201d was the way her second husband just\nemptied her cash register till, as well as her two bank accounts, and then ran\noff and left old Myrtle behind. But my grandma was a good woman and believed\nthat the good Lord would see her through these fiery trials, and I never once\nheard her complain about getting stuck having to raise her stepdaughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes\nmy grandma would tell me stories about my mama, and when I was five years old\nshe gave me a framed photograph to keep as my very own. And I would look into\nthose dark soulful eyes of the black-and-white photograph and think she must\u2019ve\nbeen the most wonderful woman in the whole wide world. Her skin looked as\nsmooth as my grandma\u2019s favorite cream pitcher, and her hair was thick and dark\nand curly: And even though her dress is all out of style with those big, puffy\nshoulders, and no one ever wears their hair like that anymore, I know with a\ncertainty in my soul that my mama would still be a knockout if she suddenly\nappeared on the street today. I used to think I\u2019d grow up to look just like\nher. But like so many other dreams, it hasn\u2019t really come true.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My\ngrandma said that my mama\u2019s daddy died when Mama was just a little girl, and\nthat Mama never really got over losing him. It seemed to comfort Grandma that\nat least the two of them were up there in heaven together now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

However,\nI found no consolation in this. I\u2019d have much preferred to have her down here\non earth with me, because I\u2019m pretty sure my mama and I would have gotten along\nreal well. Naturally I came to this conclusion from looking at her photograph.\nI\u2019d pretend to have these long, wonderful conversations with her, and she\nalways said really intelligent things (like she\u2019d been around some to know\nabout the world instead of just growing up in Brookdale where everyone is\npretty average and normal).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And\nsince she was sort of exotic looking, I liked to imagine she\u2019d been a princess\nfrom the Far East, kidnapped at birth and sold to my grandparents because she\nwas so beautiful. She was sure lots prettier than old Aunt Myrtle. I suppose\nthat\u2019s why my daddy liked my mama better. My grandma told me I resembled her, but\nI still can\u2019t see it. When I was little I\u2019d climb up onto the bathroom sink and\nlook into the murky mirror in front of our medicine cabinet, but all I saw was\na pale, pinched face with two dark holes for eyes and a mop of black hair\nsticking out all over. My grandma said the black hair and dark eyes came from\nmy mama\u2019s daddy. He was full-blooded Cherokee, which makes me one-quarter. The\nfirst time I saw an old photo of my mama\u2019s daddy, I was sadly disheartened. He\ndidn\u2019t have long braids or beads or feathers or anything that looked the least\nbit like a real, true Indian. Instead he had on an old-fashioned soldier\u2019s\nuniform. My grandma said that was because he\u2019d been in the army and fought in\nWorld War I a long, long time ago. I thought it would\u2019ve been much more\nexciting if he had fought against Colonel Custer at the Little Big Horn, and I\neven told Joey Divers that he had. And Joey actually believed me\u2014until he told\nhis mama, that is, and of course she set him straight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joey\nthen pointed out that I was a liar, and I didn\u2019t argue with him on that\naccount, but in my defense I did tell him that I had what my grandma called a\nvery fertile imagination. Now I wasn\u2019t exactly sure what that\nmeant just then, and neither was Joey (although he did look it up later)\nbut it seemed to smooth things over just fine. And Joey forgave me, which\nwasn\u2019t surprising, because I was, in fact, the only friend he had.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joey\nDivers was what my grandma called \u201ca poor lame duck.\u201d He had suffered from\npolio when he was just a baby and consequently had a useless left leg and was\nforced to wear a stainless steel brace connected to an ugly black shoe. And\ntherefore he couldn\u2019t run and play with the other boys, and sometimes they even\nteased him about it. But not when I was around. That\u2019s because I was never\nafraid of them. In fact, I don\u2019t think I was afraid of hardly anything\u2014except\nfor my daddy, that is, but only when he was drunk. Anyway I would stand right\nup to those stupid boys, fists doubled, eyes squinted up real mean, and I would\ntell them that I was one-quarter Cherokee Indian and that my grandpa had\nwhupped Colonel Custer at Little Big Horn, and that I could beat up every\nsingle one of them!\u2014one at a time, of course. Fortunately they never took me\non. I suspect they thought they might get in trouble for fighting with a girl,\nespecially when the fight was due to the fact that they\u2019d been picking on a\nlittle lame boy. And I guess I was mostly relieved that they didn\u2019t want to\nfight with me. Although I did get a reputation for being pretty tough and, I\nsuppose, pretty weird as well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That\nreputation helped me to get through a lot of hard times. After all, it wasn\u2019t\neasy having a drunk for a father in a small town like Brookdale where everyone\nknows everything about everybody. And besides that, sometimes being tough is\nall a girl\u2019s got anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n