Sixty three years ago today…

My Mom and Dad were wringing their hands looking for an answer how to deal with their pregnant 16 year old daughter and save face at their church, where they were highly respected.

They considered sending me to Mom’s sister in Farmington, but what would they do with the baby? Florence Crittendom home for unwed mothers was considered as an option.

Too late for an abortion, although my very straight laced, highly religious Mom had asked my old fashioned doctor to give me one. Thankfully he recoiled and almost threw her out of the office.

She had a family doctor be present while she told my dad I was pregnant in case he had a heart attack or stroke.

The next day, this tall, southern, country boy showed up, who had been writing to me from his Army post in Greenland totally unaware of our drama.

He had driven cross-country with his brother, Gene, in his brother’s 1955 Mercury, with rings in his pocket, planning to ask this innocent, virginal cousin of his friend to marry him.  We had only seen each other 3 times, always with my parents around and shared one or two quick kisses. I was the angel he had hoped for.

But I was not. I had been raped by a 25 yr. old ex-paratrooper who said he was taking me to lunch.

My mom let me go as it was daytime, and she was fitting a doctor’s wife for an emerald satin evening gown that day.

She thought I should have some fun, as my dad was over protective and wouldn’t allow me go anywhere without them.

Instead of lunch, he took a shortcut across a canal road, stopped the old Studebaker,  pushed me down in the front seat and raped me.

Then while I cried, he stopped at a service station, let me wash up and took me home.

I scalded my lady parts trying to get clean when i got home. My face was flaming red and hot but no amount of cool water would cool it.

My mother, still busy with the doctors wife failed to notice.

The next day at church I was the last one up from the altar, crying my eyes out for forgiveness.

My hopes of marrying someday were dashed, as my mom had taught me that I couldn’t ever marry if i wasn’t a virgin… That no one would have me.

A few days later, he showed up at my bus stop, insisting I get in the car. I told him I was so sore could barely walk, but he blew that off with glib words and said, “Get in so we can talk.”

And, of course, he drove to a back alley and forced himself on me again. Then dropped me off at another bus stop.

Then, my 15 year old brain began to reckon that since he was the reason i wasn’t a virgin, and he still seemed to want me, then he could marry me.

I just had to make myself learn to love him.

Chapter Two

This began a saga where he stalked my route home from school, bus stops, back alleys, desert roads, anywhere he found to use me then drop me off somewhere to get myself back home.

I began my senior year of high school, at a private Christian school, unaware of my capacity for high grades to earn a scholarship. I appeared to others as a studious, wallflower type.

Only one boy in high school ever asked me our when I was a senior. He took me to a drive in. I had never been to one, as my parents didn’t believe in movies.

Pillow Talk was showing and Doris Day was amazing, but this guy kept wanting to kiss me. Yuck. So I finally told him I had to be home by 10 and he took me home, missing the end of the movie.

That was the extent of my high school dating.

So, to be stalked weekly by this guy I was trying to learn to love was my romantic substitute.

I asked him about his family but was only given sketchy information.

He once took me for a sandwich, then was “kinda short”, so I paid, and he kept the change.

Chapter 3

Now, here was this sweet southern guy my cousin had introduced me to, and I was pregnant.

We had been writing and he was my escape fantasy. Our letters were sweet and tender. I fancied myself in love with him in my pretend world, while submitting to the ex-paratrooper whenever he stopped his car and said, “get in”.

My parents let me go out with Paul, the southern guy, while wondering what to do now.

Paul took me to Encanto Park to walk by the lagoon and see the ducks. When he kissed me and started to hold me, i panicked and told him I was pregnant.

He froze up, got extremely angry and threw the box of rings at me.

“I thought if there ever was an angel, a virgin, it was you”, he blasted at me.

I cried and tried to explain, but it all sounded like ridiculous lies to him.

He drove me back to my parents house, very upset.

My parents were waiting up and when they learned he had wanted to marry me, realized he could be our escape.

My dad told him, “we aren’t wealthy people, but if you marry her, we will see that you never want for anything.”

To this innocent young man from the Appalacian mountains, these people with a house in the city seemed more well off, I’m sure, than they were.

He finally agreed and they began to look for a way for us to marry without it showing up in the newspaper.  Their standing in their community still a major concern.

We found a wedding chapel in Winterhaven, California, on the Arizona border could provide what we needed.

So, this day, sixty three years ago, my parents took their car, Paul borrowed Gene’s car, and we drove to Winterhaven on the hottest day of the year to get us married. They had too go along because I was underage.

Gene’s  car overheated on the way and Paul wondered if this was an omen that we shouldn’t do this. My heart stood still with fear that he would back out.

But we arrived at Greta Greene Wedding chapel near midnight. We had our blood tests with us, a requirement in those days.

A young couple on a motorcycle were ahead of us, so we waited our turn.

By the time they were done it was after one a.m.  Paperwork, a brief sharing of vows, a kiss and I was Mrs. Paul B. Hill.

We stayed in a motel on the Arizona side in Yuma, my parents down the walk in another room.

We barely knew each other. Paul tried to be sweet and romantic, running the bath for us. Both of us trying to ignore my baby bump.

Yuma was so hot, as in 112 degree weather, and a swamp cooler not much help.

But, Paul said he loved me. I had a ring on my finger. And, I could keep my baby! I began to absolutely worship Paul.

Chapter 4

Paul told me he didn’t know if he would stay 3 month, 6 months, or more. I was on pins and needles trying to keep him happy and not upset him to remind him. Of his threat.

Live and Learn