We moved in with Buddy's grandmother, Nonny....Amy Gresham Ainsworth. She was in her 70's and her hair was white. Buddy couldn't remember a time when it was another color. It had been white for as long as he could remember. She lived in a small, white house with a big front yard, all surrounded by a white picket fence. There was a Maple tree that gave shade to the whole front yard. It was huge. It would be the perfect place for Vikki to nap on a warm, summer afternoon. I knew that we would be happy there during our temporary stay.

Do you remember that I told you about Captain William (Bill) Ainsworth, who used to tie his tugboat up at our houseboat when I was little? He was Nonny's husband. Captain Bill had passed on many years before I met his wife. He was Buddy's grandpa. I couldn't believe how the past suddenly appeared in my present. How WONDERFUL!

Nonny regaled us with stories about when she was a girl. Her people came here from England. When she was only 15, she taught school in a one-room schoolhouse. She taught First grade through Eighth grade all together. When I asked her how that was possible, she told me that it really wasn't difficult. Her students were taught at their proper grade levels, but there was a great deal of cross-teaching, too. They all loved to sing and do artistic things. They all loved for her to read to them. She would tell them stories about her life and the history of their town. These were activities that ALL the children could enjoy no matter which grade level.

Her favorite subject to teach was History. She was a Daughter of the American Revolution." Any girl child born to us would automatically be registered as a member. Nonny would see to that! She moved to the Seattle area when she was 22 and took a position as a teacher. After two years, she met and married Bill Ainsworth. Bill worked for Foss Tug and Launch, a Seattle-based tugboat operation. Later, they moved to Yakima and started a business... the "Teapot Dome" service station, which was built in the shape of a teapot...handle, spout and lid. It was white with a red roof and was named after the "Teapot Dome" scandal. During these years, they had three children...James, Ray, and little Elta Mary. They ran the service station for 10 years, then sold it and returned to Seattle. The "Teapot Dome" station was moved... lock, stock and barrel ...to Zillah, WA where it still stands. I drive by it often.

Elta Mary (we called her Mary) would become Buddy's mother. She married James (Jim) Edward Clark whose heritage was also rooted in England. They did not have a happy marriage. Mary was constantly pregnant it seems. She gave birth to Buddy, Judy, Patty, Betty, Carol and Don. Somewhere in between, she lost a set of twins, due to a miscarriage, and a little girl died of SIDS...Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

When the children were small, they lived in a church. Buddy slept in the loft. He recalled how cold they were during the winter. The only heat was from a wood stove down on the main floor. One night, a rat came into Buddy's sleeping area and he killed it by throwing a boot at it. Then he took it downstairs and put it in the wood stove. They were not only poor financially, but they were unhappy in their spirits, as well. Eventually, they moved to a two-bedroom house with an unfinished basement...cold, dank and dark. Buddy slept there.

Jim bought a 2-car cab company in Lake City, WA. "Roy's Cabs" had been hit hard by the Great Depression. With few customers using taxi cabs, the company fell on hard times. Jim turned that company around and made it into a successful, but shady business. He made liquor deliveries on Sundays, when the liquor stores were closed. He carried prostitutes to and from their "dates." He also "liked the ladies." He was handsome and had thick, curly hair and beautiful brown eyes. He could be suave and debonair... charming and unfaithful. Mary learned of his philandering and proceeded to attempt suicide.

Buddy and his siblings were on their own much of the time. Their homelife was unstable and unhappy. For a period of several years, the six children ate on a dollar a day. They would have soup and crackers, while Mary and Jim dined on steak at various restaurants. Mary was riddled with guilt, but could not be away from Jim. Yes, it was an unhappy situation and Mary made many, many suicide attempts. It wasn't long after I began dating Buddy that Mary tried to hang herself. I was invited to dinner there a few weeks later. I loved Mary on sight. This poor emotionally tortured woman was so full of love. We became very close friends.

I tell these things so you can know a little of Buddy, my first husband and my childrens' father. He was sunny, kind and fun, but he had a dark past that would haunt him. He didn't know what a family was supposed to be. Because his mother had attempted suicide so many times ... because his dad was never there for him ... because they had lived in poverty of body, mind and spirit, marriage and children were terrifying to him. He only knew that he loved me and looked upon me as being too good for him. I was educated, used to having nice things, and extremely independent. He was unsure and had poor self-esteem. It was to become a new way of life for him...a life where he would do his best to succeed.

We stayed at Nonny's house for 3 months, then found a place of our own. We needed to be a family ...just the three of us... Buddy and Vikki and me. I was pregnant with our second child and we were very happy. Buddy drove cab for his father and was earning a liveable income. At first, it bothered me that he was carrying prostitutes among his fares. Then, I began dispatching the taxis and I met some of these women.

Old Black Ruth ran a brothel of sorts and had a warm, caring nature. She was fond of horse racing and would call for a cab to place her bets and/or deliver her liquor. She was an alcoholic and in later years became a derelict, a street person, a "bag lady." She died of pneumonia in an alley during the winter, because she had given her coat and scarf to a young mother on hard times. She was found covered with newspapers, cradling a bottle of whiskey.

Sometimes "working girls" would come into the dispatch office and order a cab. Once I got over the strangeness of talking with prostitutes, I realized that they were earning a living in the only way available to them. They would come into the office to get warm on a cold night. I always had fresh hot coffee ready for the drivers, so the gals would thankfully drink it. They became more friendly once they realized that I liked them. Some of their stories were horrendous. Life as a "ladies of the evening" isn't an easy one and very often dangerous. Most of them had low self-esteem and felt they weren't worth of anything better. There were a few, though, that did well. These were "Call Girls" who could be very selective and charge high prices for their services. The two I got to know were beautiful and on their way to a better life. They married their "Johns" and became wives and mothers. Good ones, I might add.

In my seventh month of pregnancy, I quit my job of dispatching cabs and stayed home. I was in my eighth month when a 6.4 earthquake hit Seattle. Buddy was driving cab and I was still in bed at 7:30 a.m., on that February day in 1965. The bed started to shake and our dog, Pogo, began to whine. At first I thought it was Buddy shaking the bed, but when I opened my eyes no one was in the room. Uh-oh! EARTHQUAKE!!! The floor was jerking as I ran into Vikki's room and snatched her out of her crib. We had a cab radio receiver out in the dining room, so with Vikki under one arm I held that receiver steady with the other. The shaking finally stopped (it seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes) and my heart eventually established a normal rhythm. Please, Buddy....hurry home!

I turned on the television and sat down to watch the breaking news about the quake. Vikki was snuggled up against me sucking her thumb. Buddy pulled into the driveway and parked the cab. When he came in the house, I asked him if he was all right and how hard was it to drive with all that shaking. He looked at me blankly and asked me what I was talking about. Right then, the news was showing the freeway. It was like a ribbon...waving and rippling. He said, "We had an Earthquake??? I was driving on the freeway and didn't feel a thing!" Later, other freeway drivers were interviewed who said virtually the same thing. They didn't feel it! This wasn't true for people in buildings.

Our nextdoor neighbor worked for Langendorf Bakery in downtown Seattle. Bread, cakes, pies and rolls were flying everywhere. Baking pans and cookie sheets were dangerous projectiles. Our neighbor told us that the oven doors flew open and closed and that the noise was deafening. A five pound fruitcake shot across the large room and hit her on the head. She was knocked unconscious and was hospitalized. There was much damage, especially in downtown Seattle. There were injuries due to shattered windows, falling bricks and cracks in the earth.

The baby was very small and my doctor wanted me to stay off my feet, so I could keep the child inside me for as long as possible. The baby was threatening to come early. We had no insurance, so I was going to the University of Washington Medical Center for my prenatal care. It was a teaching hospital and cost much less than a regular hospital. My labor began on March 17 in the morning. Buddy was still driving cab for his father. At noon, I called the dispatch office to say it was time for me to go to the hospital. He picked me up and took me to the hospital. I got settled in the labor room and Buddy told me he had to leave. They were short a driver and his father insisted that he drive the rest of his shift.

My labor went quickly and our daughter, Monica Lynn, was born at 4:12 p.m. She was so tiny...only 5 pounds, 7 ounces. Her hair was thick and jet black. It stuck up in all directions. She looked like a little Eskimo baby. Her eyes weren't the usual blue of the newborn...they were Violet, a deep pansy violet. She was so beautiful and so miniature. Since it was St. Patrick's Day, I called her my "little good luck charm." Two days later, we were released to go home. A normal hospital stay for new mothers was four days, but we were without insurance.

Monica didn't eat well. She would only take little bits of her bottle at a time. I had to wake her to feed her. Vikki was awed by her new baby sister. They were only 10 1/2 months apart. She was gentle and loving to little Monica. I was thrilled to have two beautiful daughters and didn't mind being a part of the "Diaper Brigade." We didn't have a washer and dryer, so Buddy would take all the laundry to the laundromat after he finished his shift on Wednesday nights.

We made arrangements to have Monica baptized on Sunday, April 11, 1965. Family and friends were invited to join us on that great day. Monica would wear the Christening gown that Vikki wore at her baptism. Mama was in her element baking cookies and cakes for the occasion. She would bake a ham the day before. It was such a happy time and we were looking forward to Sunday.

On Wednesday morning, April 7, I woke up at 6 a.m., warmed bottles for both babies and changed their wet night clothes while the bottles were heating. Vikki was able to hold her own bottle, so I laid her on the couch with her bottle and sat down next to her to feed Monica. By now, Monica was eating better...taking up to 2 ounces of formula at a time. At three weeks old, she was "plumping out" and was much healthier. She would constantly watch Vikki, and Vikki would clown for her. After a while, Vikki got sleepy and I put her down for a morning nap. Monica was still awake and I was tired. I changed her again and brought her into the bed with me. Buddy was driving. With Monica sleeping on Buddy's side of the bed, I dozed off. I woke up to the sound of screaming. It was Buddy and he was frantically grabbing up the baby. She wasn't breathing. Her little lips were surrounded by an odd brownish color. I gave her artifical respiration while Buddy called the Fire Department. An ambulance arrived within minutes. A fireman tried and tried to get Monica to breathe. He ran out the door with her and into the waiting ambulance. I didn't even bother to get dressed and flew out to the cab in my nightgown and robe.

All the way to the hospital I kept chanting in my mind, "She'll be all right. She'll be ok. She'll be all right. She'll be ok." A nurse met us at the door to the emergency room and escorted us to the waiting room. She said that a doctor would be with us immediately. Ten minutes went by and I called Mama and Poppy. They would be there as soon as they could. 15 minutes went by and still we waited...our stomachs in knots. At the end of 20 minutes, a doctor signalled us to follow him. He didn't take us to our baby. He took us to a small waiting room and told us that Monica was dead.

My mind wouldn't accept that reality. I looked at Buddy and he was as pale as a ghost. He looked at me and said, "You killed her. You smothered her. You must have rolled over and smothered her. She should never have been in bed with you. You murdered our daughter!" I hated him in that moment, because he was voicing my very thoughts. It could have happened that way. I was asleep when she died. The doctor told us both to calm down and pull together. He said that they must do an autopsy and he would call us with the results.

Buddy walked out of that room slamming the door. He left the hospital. My parents were waiting and we drove home in a state of shock. We had taken Vikki with us and I held her close to me all the way home. There was no conversation until we got home and I put Vikki in her crib for a nap. It was so hard to sort out and describe what had happened. The words, "You killed her, You killed her," kept going through my mind. I wanted my parents to go home...to leave me alone with my pain. I couldn't tell them that I'd killed my baby. They left reluctantly. Later, Buddy came home very, very drunk. He wouldn't even look at me. He said, "I'm sleeping in Vikki's room so you can't hurt her." Ahhhh, God! Father, help me cope! Help me be strong.

The next day, Thursday, the doctor called us to the hospital for the autopsy report. Neither of us wanted to go. Buddy, because he didn't want to be with me. I didn't want my worst thoughts confirmed...that I'd killed our daughter. We went. Mama and Poppy met us there because they wanted to support me. They were angry at Buddy's reaction. The doctor told us that there were no signs of asphyxiation or smothering. He told us about SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) and said that Monica died of it. He said that they knew little about what caused it, but that there were certain signs that showed in an autopsy. I didn't believe him and neither did Buddy. The doctor looked us both in the eyes and said that it was true. SIDS took our child. We left. Again, I rode with Mama and Poppy.

The joy of Monica's upcoming Baptism was now replaced with the sadness of preparing for her funeral. I got in touch with the priest who was to have baptized Monica and told him to prepare her funeral instead. He became very quiet and said that she could not have a Catholic burial because she had not been baptized. I said, "Don't you DARE tell me that! Monica's baptism is scheduled for Sunday and you know the Church teaches about the 'Baptism of Desire.' The arrangements have been made and accepted by you." He would have to talk to the Bishop. What?!? He isn't versed in the teachings of the Catholic Church? What kind of hypocrisy is this??? My darling Monica is an angel, now. You WILL give her a Catholic burial!

Part 8

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