{"id":1100,"date":"2019-02-12T13:51:34","date_gmt":"2019-02-12T18:51:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1100"},"modified":"2020-06-01T09:07:05","modified_gmt":"2020-06-01T13:07:05","slug":"daughter-of-the-cimarron","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/daughter-of-the-cimarron\/","title":{"rendered":"Daughter of the Cimarron"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Daughter of the Cimarron<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Sam Hall<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s 1928 \u2026 the Great Depression lurks just around the corner.<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Divorcing a cheating husband means disgracing her family, but Claire Devoe can\u2019t take it anymore. Forced to provide for herself, she travels the Midwest with a sales crew. Can she trust the God who didn\u2019t save her first marriage to lead her through the maze of new love and overwhelming expectations? The long twilight of the Great Depression\u2014with its debt, disgrace, drought, and despair\u2014becomes the crucible that remakes her life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Daughter of the Cimarron<\/em> is the fictionalized tale of the author\u2019s mother as she went from ragtime to breadlines, from the silent cities and melancholy towns to a dugout overlooking the Cimarron Canyon, from brokenness to strength.<\/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

CLAIRE<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mama always said, \u201cPeople put out stories to make\nthemselves feel superior. Ignore the tales and the people who tell them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I couldn\u2019t ignore the envelope in my purse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSunday driver!\u201d My husband shook his fist at the car\nin front of us. Turning the steering wheel to the left, he pulled the throttle\nlever down. The engine revved faster as we moved beside the other car\u2019s back\nbumper. A moment later, the car jolted. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our \u201926 Ford coupe jerked to the right and skidded into\na shallow ditch beside Illinois Highway 3. No sound but the creaking of metal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The car we\u2019d been trying to pass kept on going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harold sat rigid as a post, knuckles ivory white over\nthe steering wheel. My husband\u2019s thick brown hair looked as if he\u2019d combed it\nwith an eggbeater. With a stream of curses, he swept his hair off his forehead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you all right?\u201d Why had he taken such a risk? Did\nhe want<\/em> to die?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harold shoved his door open and, without another look\nat me, stepped down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pushed against my door, but a barbed wire fence\ngleamed on the other side of the ditch so I scooted across the seat and\nfollowed him out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He ducked to catch his reflection in the side window\nand commenced finger-combing his hair back in place. \u201cLookit that,\u201d he\nmuttered. \u201cClear in the ditch and stuck besides. How am I going to get this\nflivver back on the road?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A battered red truck rolled to a stop beside us. The driver,\na rangy farm hand with a gap-toothed grin, vaulted out. \u201cHey-ee. Close call. Everybody\nin one piece?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pulled myself upright. \u201cI \u2026 I guess so. It was so quick,\nI\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThings can happen mighty fast. People driving thirty,\nforty miles an hour. Like maniacs. You coulda been killed.\u201d He shook his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d Harold puffed out his chest. \u201cYou didn\u2019t see nothing.\nWho you think you are?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The tall man\u2019s smile faded. He seemed to be deciding\nwhether to fling Harold over the fence or simply to leave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stumbled forward. \u201cNo. No, he didn\u2019t mean it that\nway.\u201d My voice caught. \u201cYes \u2026 you\u2019re right. We should\u2019ve been careful \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cClaire, I did<\/em>\nmean it that way!\u201d Harold\u2019s right eyelid twitched, a sign things could get out\nof control\u2014quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wheeled between the two and grasped Harold\u2019s arm.\n\u201cElmer expects us in St. Louis today<\/em>.\nWe need this man\u2019s help. He didn\u2019t intend disrespect.\u201d I turned back to the\nfarmer. \u201cHe\u2019s \u2026 we\u2019re just upset. That was very frightening. We\u2019re so glad you\nstopped.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man stared at Harold, as if daring him to pop off\nagain. Finally he got into the truck and backed up to our car. Within minutes,\nhe\u2019d hitched on to our coupe and pulled it up beside the pavement. He unhooked from\nthe Ford and dropped down to look underneath. \u201cThat right tie rod\u2019s bent. I\u2019d\nget it fixed as soon as possible if I was you.\u201d He directed the words at me,\nnot Harold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I reached into the car for my purse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The farmer shook his head. \u201cYou don\u2019t owe me nothin\u2019.\nI\u2019m glad to help you<\/em>.\u201d Without\nfurther ceremony, he climbed in his truck and chugged off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

***<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My heart still beating double-time, I choked back\ntears. I wanted Harold to pull over and comfort me, but I knew better than to\nexpect it. At least, he should\u2019ve apologized for scaring me and nearly getting\nus both killed. No reason for him to drive that fast; he was always taking\nrisks\u2014as if he were more important than anyone else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The crew at Deluxe Art Studio, where we worked selling\nenlargements and frames, knew what he was like. What they didn\u2019t know, they\nmade up. Rumors followed Harold like flies after a manure spreader.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said they were all lies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t know. I didn\u2019t want to know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suddenly, the steering wheel vibrated with a thudding\nracket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I grabbed the door handle. \u201cHarold, that man said the\ntie rod\u2019s bent. You should take this car straight to a shop.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat sounds like something your old man would do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t call him that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s an old fossil. If he was the saint you make him\nout to be, he\u2019d run his own house instead of telling other people what to do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what\u2019s that supposed to mean?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t play dumb. You know your mama wears the pants in\nthat house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I swallowed hard and blinked back tears.\u201cWe\u2019re driving down the road in a\nwrecked car \u2026 and all you can do is insult my parents?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBuzz off, Claire. You\u2019re giving me a headache. If<\/em> we stop for a mechanic\u2014if<\/em> we could find one\u2014we\u2019d be lucky to\nmake St. Louis by Monday.\u201d He cocked his head to one side. \u201cHey, feel that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cExactly. You don\u2019t feel nothing \u2019cause the shimmy is\ngone. Let me take care of the car. You keep still for a change.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s so \u2026 disrespectful.\u201d Still fighting tears, I\nturned to the side window. After two years of marriage, I still didn\u2019t know\nHarold Devoe. Not on the inside anyway. His response to the farmer who\u2019d helped\nus was typical. Aside from the things that annoyed me\u2014playing the big shot,\ntrying to run other people\u2019s lives like he ran mine, his brass, and his idea\nthat a dimpled chin made him a lady-killer\u2014he was a swindler. A self-centered\ncheat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He wants\ntrouble? I\u2019ll give it to him. <\/em>I reached into my purse and fingered the envelope the desk clerk\nhad given me that morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know, Claire, you\u2019d be a lost child if you didn\u2019t\nhave me around to look after things. Better to keep quiet so you don\u2019t expose\nyour ignorance. But here you are, telling me\u2014a man\u2014how to take care of a car.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou nearly got us killed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat idiot wouldn\u2019t give way. He could see I was\ntrying to pass.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou had no business passing there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re suddenly the authority on operating a motor\ncar?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou won\u2019t admit you made a mistake. I\u2019ve done\nnothing\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, nothing but run your yap since we left\nPaducah.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I gasped. \u201cI have the right to speak. While we\u2019re at\nit, why is it that Ferva seemed to be the only one who knew where you were last\nnight?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The car jerked slightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Caught him off\nguard. <\/em>I\ntouched the envelope again.\u201cWell?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked straight ahead. \u201cYou don\u2019t let things go, do\nyou? Always seeing things or making up stuff that never happened. I told you I\nwas playing cards with Wiley and Spessord. Ferva came in with Wiley, but she\nleft when we started a card game.\u201d He slid the window open and held his arm out\nin the stream of air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I raised my voice against the rush of wind. \u201cHarold,\nyou agreed not to gamble. We barely have money to cover expenses. And everyone\nknows Ferva\u2019s reputation. Besides, she\u2019s a grass widow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, she\u2019s separated from that drunk. Is that so bad?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot separated\u2014divorced. She\u2019s a divorced woman.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat really bothers you, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yes, it does.<\/em> \u201cWhat bothers me is you\nbeing around her. I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was not around<\/em>\nher.\u201d Harold held his mouth half-open, his upper lip curled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I hated that look. \u201cThat\u2019s not what I heard.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, you\u2019ve been listening to the wrong people on\nthe crew.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harold always had a smart answer no matter what I\nsaid. My chest tightened like it had when I got lost out in the pasture, only five\nyears old, sure the coyotes would get me. I was never so glad to see Pop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I couldn\u2019t imagine Harold ever coming to rescue me.\nMore like he was only waiting for an opportunity to leave, to end it. I\ncouldn\u2019t let that happen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harold glowered at the road. \u201cNo matter what I say,\nyou won\u2019t believe me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Without looking down, I grasped the envelope and\npulled out the newspaper clipping. My hand shook, but finally I had proof of\nsomething. I held the clipping up. \u201cCan you explain this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harold pulled his eyes from the highway and squinted.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that? Give it here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I jerked back. \u201cIt\u2019s Ness County Court Notices\u2014from\nthe paper.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Ness County\nNews<\/em>? They make up most of their stuff. You\u2019re awfully na\u00efve if you believe\nanything in that rag.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey don\u2019t make up court notices.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do you know about the legal system? Who sent\nthat drivel anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It so happened, I\u2019d learned too much about the legal\nsystem since I\u2019d married him. \u201cThe letter didn\u2019t have a return address.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, yeah. I\u2019ll bet you know who sent it. And what\u2019s\nit supposed to be about?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s about you, Harold.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His mouth drew into a hard line and the color drained\nfrom his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019d rehearsed my little speech at least twenty times. Once\nI began, my words came out like marbles pouring from a can. \u201cIt\u2019s a paternity\nsuit, Harold. Claims you\u2019re the father of a little girl born last month. A\nchild that was conceived when \u2026\u201d I gripped my purse. \u201cWhen we were in Ness City\nlast year. It\u2019s true, isn\u2019t it?\u201d Amazed at my outward calm, I leaned back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His eyelid twitched\u2014three or four times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I couldn\u2019t let this die on the vine. Something had to\ncome from it, as clear-cut as Mama\u2019s world that divided truth into neat little patchwork\nblocks of black and white.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The steering wheel shuddered again in Harold\u2019s hands.\nMore swearing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAren\u2019t you going to answer me? What do you have to\nsay about this paper?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have nothing to say about it because it\u2019s a\npack of lies.\u201d He sounded like a little dog barking. \u201cIf you believe that\nclaptrap, you better go soak your head. Just because some gold digger files a\nlawsuit doesn\u2019t mean a hill of beans. And you treat it like gospel. From\nsomeone you don\u2019t even know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gold digger? I hadn\u2019t thought of that. But I\u2019d play\nthis out. Anyhow, there was no gold to be dug from Harold. \u201cI didn\u2019t say I\ndon\u2019t know who sent it. I only said it didn\u2019t have a return address. It\u2019s Gar\u2019s\nhandwriting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He snickered. \u201cGar? Your cockeyed brother? He just\nwanted to get a dig at you by spreading gossip about me. And you fell for it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t change the subject.\u201d Yeah, that would be like Gar.<\/em> I took a deep breath. \u201cI deserve an\nexplanation. This didn\u2019t appear out of thin air, or it wouldn\u2019t be in the\nnewspaper.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He turned serious, expression as flat as the Illinois\nhorizon. \u201cI\u2019m telling you, Claire, there\u2019s nothing to that article. If I\u2019d\nknown about that suit, it would already be dismissed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, really?\u201d Such a liar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harold didn\u2019t move his gaze from the road ahead. Smooth\nas cream, he said, \u201cNo one with an ounce of sense would believe those\nout-and-out lies. That\u2019s some desperate dame trying to get ahold of your dad\u2019s\nmoney\u2014through me. Why don\u2019t you throw that piece of paper in the garbage? I\u2019d\nnever betray you. You mean too much to me, sugar. This hurts, that you\u2019d think\nI\u2019m that kind of man. I got my faults, honey, but I\u2019d never cheat on you. You\nbelieve me, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harold had done bad things, but he called them\n\u201cmisunderstandings.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yet if I could not<\/em>\nbelieve him, that would mean the end of the marriage. I\u2019d never be a mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stroked my arm with his free hand, fingers sliding\nto the tips of my own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My arm trembled. I looked away and stared at the\nroadside. Green fields, baking in the hot sun, flowed past as far as I could\nsee. So much like back home, in western Kansas. I pinched the clipping between\nmy fingers. Some way, I had to find out which spoke the truth\u2014the newspaper or Harold.<\/p>\n\n\n