Chapter 11, Robertsdale, Alabama, 1933
They lived in a shack out in the boonies. It had two rooms to house nine children, 3 boys, six girls and their mother. Two other children had died in infancy.
Their father, Joseph, who had come to the United States in 1913 from Austria, was an unforgiving man who only showed up to impregnate their mother, give the family a few dollars, and then leave for parts unknown. He was known as a bit of a dandy who tried his hand at ranching, carpentry, owning a grocery store, and other odd jobs, never succeeding in anything.
One thing the children knew him for was his method of rearing children, which was brutal. There was never much conversation the few hours he spent with the family. He craved silence, especially from his children. His wife was there to be exploited. If she displeased him, a slap across the mouth was warranted. If any child displeased him the response was the same.
Their mother had emigrated from Czechoslovakia in the same year as their father. They figured she had been a legal emigrant; they weren’t so sure about their father. Years later, their suspicions were semi-confirmed when one of the adult brothers had visited Ellis Island and found no record of him entering the United States, but he had found their mother’s name while doing a quick search on one of the many self-help computers.
Eight year old Isabel and her brother Adam, who was five years older, squished their way through the swamp that started in their back yard. Past the swamp lay the creek where they loved to swim and catch tadpoles and crayfish. The creek was crystal clear with a sandy bottom. Here, the kids wiled away the hot, humid Alabama days. They splashed, waded, swam, lounged, and caught tadpoles. They didn’t really know they had nothing. They had everything… except a present and loving father.
“Adam, what’s that?” Isabel almost whispered as she stood motionless, staring at a large, black snake hanging on a branch over the water three feet away from her face.
Adam set the tadpole he had been playing with back into the water and followed his sister’s gaze. “It’s a water moccasin. Just back away slowly. It’s poisonous.” Isabel did as he told her. “That’s a younger one cause it’s got a yellow tip on its tail. Older ones have one solid color and their bands fade.”
When she was a safe distance away, Isabel asked, “How do you know all that?”
“I read about ‘em when I go to the library at school. Miss Wentzel takes us there twice a week and we get to check out books. I like to read about snakes.”
Isabel scrunched up her nose. “I don’t like them.”
Adam put his arm around his little sister. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Isabel smiled because she knew Adam was sincere. He may have kidded her at certain times and made fun of her at others, but she knew he would protect her if she needed it.
They enjoyed the feel of the fine grains of sand between their toes and the soles of their bare feet as they walked away from the hanging water moccasin. As they moved upstream, the water deepened and touched the mid-thigh area of Adam’s cut-off jeans. The water reached Isabel’s waist, cooling her in the hot, humid temperatures.
“When do you think Pa will come home?” asked Adam.
Isabel hemmed and hawed, but finally said, “I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m afraid to talk to him when he’s around. He always acts so mean and I think we’re better off without him. Miranda says she’s never, ever talked to him at all.” Miranda was four years younger than Isabel and always told things to her that she would never say to the other children.
Adam didn’t say anything for the longest time, but just kept slogging through the clear water with his head down. He knew better than Isabel how cruel their father could be to their mother and all the children. The older children were the ones who had suffered the most whenever he was around. The more he thought about it, the more he knew his little sister was right. The family would be better off without him.
The two of them played in the creek for the rest of the afternoon and caught tad poles and crayfish. Isabel had developed the most effective technique for catching crayfish. She always brought along a medium-sized, plastic bucket that she would use to catch the skittering critters as they moved backwards through the water away from one hand and into the bucket in the other. Adam marveled at her adeptness. By the time they walked home, the bucket contained fifty-eight crayfish, which they were hoping their mother would cook that evening for supper. Adam carried the bucket most of the way because it had become too heavy for Isabel. The taste of freshly cooked crayfish was one of their favorites, along with the biscuits their mother always had available.
The hottest part of the day was hitting at five o’clock in the afternoon as they stepped out of the cooling waters of the creek and onto the squishy grass of the swamp. They picked their way carefully, as always, so they didn’t sink in the muck up to their thighs. They made their way across the hundred yards of tufts of grass and mud that stood between them and their shack.
When they had negotiated the last thirty feet of swamp and their feet were settling on dry ground, Adam stopped in his tracks and peered at a dirty, gray truck parked near the shack. He couldn’t stop the feeling of dread building inside his brain. His stomach twisted in knots and his left eyebrow twitched as if in time to one of the jazz records he had listened to in school. He feared their father was home.
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