On with the adventure. We left Amarillo, TX on Saturday morning and headed for our next stop…La Veta, CO. We’re early risers, and I knew we would get there hours before the check-in time of 2:00 pm. When we arrived at 10:30 am, I panicked.

Me: What are we going to do until 2:00? We can take the legendary scenic drive along Highway 12, but we might not find a place to turn this big RV around? La Veta is a small town. There aren’t that many places we can go in this big RV!

Kip: Yeah, try that in a small town. You’re forgetting that we tow a Jeep. We’ll find a place to park the RV, unhook the Jeep, and take the scenic route.

Me: Oh…

Here are a few pics from Saturday.

Sunday…Once again, we woke up early and headed for The Great Sand Dunes National Park. We stopped along the way and let the dogs go for a run.

What a fun day it was! We saw the sand dunes where people climb as high as they can go and then slide down on a board. Like surfing in the sand.

Next, we went to Zapata Falls. Kip hasn’t quite healed enough from back surgery yet, but I climbed the treacherous 1/2 mile, straight up, rocky trail to the falls. I seriously need to start that healthy eating and add regular exercise. I had to stop and rest a few times. I took a lot of selfies to save face. I couldn’t pretend my shoes needed tying and get some rest that way because my tennis shoes are no-tie slip-ons. Here are a few of the more scenic pics of the day.

When we got back to LA Veta, it was time for Kip to panic. He couldn’t find the keys to the RV. After 5 minutes of trying to see under the Jeep seats and watching Kip search his pockets at least 4 times, I finally said, “Are you sure you took the keys from the key hanger thing and locked it?”

He assured me he had. I checked, and he hadn’t. Don’t worry, we’ll make it. Sometimes, we need a little help from our dogs.

We got up Wednesday morning, walked the dogs, finished getting the RV ready to go, hooked up the Jeep, drove to Love’s in Van, TX, where we got gas, aired up all the tires, and weighed our rig. (You have to be under a certain weight.) All that done and it was only 10:00 am.

We got onto I-20 and drove 27 miles past the exit we wanted to take to get on a more scenic backroad highway. We turned around and drove 27 miles back. All we have is time.

We stopped for a late lunch and made it to the Eiffel Tower and Veteran’s Memorial in Paris,TX by 4:00.

The dogs were great and didn’t seem bothered by the fact that we folded up their house and drove it down the road.

We stopped for the night at a nice little RV park in Whitesboro, TX.

The next morning…

Kip: I really need to lose a few pounds.

Me: Let’s enjoy ourselves for a couple of days, and then we’ll start eating healthy.

RV: Next stop… Germain bakery

I had the best dream last night. It was one of those dreams that seemed real. When I woke up, I tried to recall every detail because I didn’t want to forget anything that happened.

In my dream, I moved back to my hometown of Murdo, SD. The strange thing is that I didn’t move into my childhood home. I moved into my Aunt Elna’s house. Aunt Elna, Uncle Jerry, and my 3 cousins no longer lived there. It was just me, and I was the age I am now…70ish.

The kitchen was still bright and shiny clean, and all the furnishings were the same as they had been. The piano was in a little alcove in the bedroom, and there were twin beds in the room that had belonged to my cousins, Andrea and Stephanie. Their brother, Greg’s room, was downstairs. I remember that before they put the bedroom and laundry room down there, you could open the door to the pantry in the kitchen and look through a railing into the basement, which to a little kid seemed like a long way down.

After washing Uncle Jerry’s kaki work pants, Aunt Elna put wire stretchers inside of them before hanging them on the line to dry…Brilliant! They had a crease and didn’t have to be ironed.

In my dream, my days were full. Miraculously, I was able to make the homemade cinnamon rolls that Doris Haugland, who owned Mack’s Cafe, used to bake. All kinds of people would stop by and eat rolls, drink coffee, and gossip. There was also a half-eaten Fern’s Cafe gooey chocolate cake sitting on the counter. People kept cutting off little slices of it and eating it on their way out.

My friend, Karen, who still lives next door, stopped by as did my cousin, Mark. Cousin Lav was there, too…mainly for the cinnamon rolls.

All of the ladies who used to meet for coffee at one another’s house or at a local cafe stopped in. They were the same age they were back in the 60’s. Mark, Karen, Lav, and I were all 70ish. Grandma Sanderson wasn’t there. Maybe she didn’t have a ride. Mom or Aunt Elna used to pick her up and take her “to town” for coffee. She only lived down the street, but going “to town” was what she did when they lived at Horse Creek and had to go into Murdo to buy groceries.

Several ladies who visited me while I lived in Aunt Elna’s house would mention who they had just seen at the Post Office or whose car was parked in front of someone else’s house.

It was all great fun. I didn’t even mind washing the mountains of coffee cups and saucers they left behind. Even though the cups had bright red lipstick on them. Funny, I had never noticed that Aunt Elna didn’t have a dishwasher.

That’s sort of how my dream went. Or maybe it was a fantasy. It sure was fun to live in that house that I still remember so well.

Since it’s getting close to Memorial day, I decided to post the poem I wrote honoring the women who gave their lives for our Country…

Just one pretty flower

by Mary Francis McNinch

“Put a flower on my grave.” That’s all she asked of me.

“Just one pretty flower that I’ll be sure to see.”

“She never had a chance,” they said. “She won’t make it through the night.”

“She might have won some battles, but she’ll lose this final fight.”

I tried to say, “I love you,” as I stood beside her bed.

She smiled her biggest smile, and this is what she said.

“You know I’ll never leave you, right? It’s really not that far.

Look through all the darkness. Give my name to one bright star.”

“It never did make sense,” they’ll say. “She had little ones to rear.”

“Nothing much that she could do.” I know that’s what you’ll hear.

I said, “What you did mattered,” and she held my trembling hand.

She saw her Country struggle and she had to take a stand.

There are those who disagree. It’s their right to think that way.

They might not survive tomorrow, but they’ll live free today.

“Tell the kids I love them. Show them my picture now and then.

Tell them where I’m going, but don’t tell them where I’ve been.

I hope the evil can be stopped and we keep our flag unfurled.

“I gave you all my love,” she said. “My life I gave the world.”

The last time she closed her eyes, I knew what she would see…

Whatever love looks like ..to those who fought to keep us free.

“Put a flower on my grave.” That’s all she asked of me.

“Just one pretty flower that I’ll be sure to see.”

I hope everyone is enjoying the kick-off Friday of Memorial Day weekend. It’s going to be a hot time in Ben Wheeler, with a chili cook-off on Saturday and all sorts of other goings on, including lots of live music. I’m going to help our daughter, Heidi, and her boyfriend, Joe, with their chili booth. I’m really excited to have something fun to look forward to. Kip will be able to take part for a while, but since he’s still recuperating from back surgery, he can’t stand for long periods of time.

I want to apologize to the readers of “A Story to Tell.” I have not been faithful to the cadence of the story. There is too much time between episodes. I want to add so much to develop it, yet my initial goal was to put a short little fun story on the blog. I have had so many ideas that would turn it into a better long mystery that I’ve decided to stop here, and rewrite it. Rather than play it all out on the blog, I will self-publish it on Amazon as a book. What do you think?

I made a version of Cousin Lav’s apple pie. I don’t have much counter space in the RV, so I made turnovers instead. I used her recipe for the filling, and even with Pillsbury pie dough, it’s delicious…

Changes to come…

I could understand Aunt Marti’s desire to know what happened to Holly and her mother, June. There were several crayon written pages with different made-up stories about dogs and kitties and several child-like drawings of houses with trees and billowing clouds. All of her pictures had a bright yellow sun shining down from the corner of the paper. Aunt Marti had grown to love the little girl she had never met and wanted to learn more about the family that had occupied this house so many years ago.

Aunt Marti did not have knowledge of the internet, and my guess was that it didn’t occurr to her that someone could do a search online and find out more about the family. I hoped there would be enough information in the lock box and chest to be able to do an adequate search to find out what happened to Holly and her mother. I didn’t have the first names of the grandparents, but I knew their last name was probably Reading since Holly’s mother was married to their son, and their last name was Reading. Holly said she was moving from the house. The date was 1923. Did the grandparents move, too? Aunt Marti had said the house had been vacant for 20 years prior to her purchasing it.

I kept digging through the papers and also found a photobook in the chest.

“Mr. B.. Oh my… where did you find that?” It was a handmade sock monkey.

*********************

“But Mommy, I don’t want to move. I don’t want to leave Grandpa and Nana. I love our house. Why do we have to go?”

Dear, sweet, Holly. This will be an exciting time for us.

Holly…

Holly Reading was born on Christmas eve of 1914. Her father served in WWI and was in Belgium at the time of the 1914 Christmas Eve one day truce. On November 11, 1918, after more than four years of terrible fighting and the loss of millions of lives, the guns on the western front fell silent. The reaction of the world was that of relief, celebration, and a profound sense of loss.

Holly’s father was one of the soldiers who didn’t come home. He never got the chance to hold his baby daughter.

Holly and her mother were living with her father’s parents when the war ended. Mr. and Mrs. Reading built the house in Pleasant Run in 1920. Aunt Marti eventually bought it in 1963. It had been vacant for 20 years.

************************

Holly was six when her grandparents, she and her mother moved into the newly built house. The year was 1920.

“Holly, please get down out of that tree. You still have your Sunday dress on. Nana has lunch ready and you must wash up and change quickly.”

“Momma, I kept my dress on because it’s the same color as the tree leaves and I can hide here where that man can’t see me.”

“Sweet Holly. my child. Your imagination goes wild sometimes. Pretending can often times create unbelievable stories.”

“It’s not a story,” Holly insisted as she climbed down from the tree. “A man with a black hat on has walked down this street three times. Well, maybe only two. He wants to talk to you. He asked if you were home and I said you were working at the hospital. I told him my Grandpa and Nana were here, but he said he had to talk to you. I told him we didn’t talk to strangers.” He laughed, Momma, and said he would be back when you were home. He said he knew my daddy.”

“Sweetheart, if this is the truth, you are doing the right thing by telling him you aren’t allowed to talk to strangers. Next time, tell the man to knock on the door and talk to me or your grandparents. That’s what someone who knew your father would most likely do, anyway.”

Two days later, when Holly went out to play, she was careful to choose clothes that would match the tree.

*************

I couldn’t wait for all of my cousins to leave so that I could go back up to the attic and look at the remainder of the contents inside the old trunk and whatever was inside the lockbox that the attorney had given me the key to. Two days ago I had been busy minding my own business and now I was suddenly the owner of a monstrosity of a house and embroiled in a mystery…and I had a dog. Mr. B followed me everywhere I went.

When I opened the strong box, there was a note on top that said, “Dee, Holly was born 9 years before me. That has nothing to do with anything, but I need to know where she went. I need to know she and her mother’s story had a happy ending. At the bottom of this box, you will find a note written in a child’s handwriting. It was written with a crayon, and it took me a while to decipher what I believe it says. Holly wrote, “The man talked to Momma. She cried happy tears. I lived here, but now I’m going away.”  It’s dated 12/15/1923

I thought this would be a good time to write an update on a blog I posted a couple of weeks ago. My mental health has been stable, and I am more grateful than I can say. To anyone out there who suffers from depression, anxiety, or bipolar disorder, please remember there are qualified people out there who can help. I sought help, and I am sure glad I did. I learned a valuable lesson. I never want to feel that way again, so the most important thing to remember is self-care in the form of rest, healthy food (as much as practical), and exercise. If I am doing all of those things plus saying my prayers and still dread the day before me, then I will seek help. A check-up from the neck up can be a good thing. The mind is fragile.

Kip is doing great 3 weeks out from his back surgery! He’s on track to begin traveling on the 1st of August. He was released from Home Health last week but continues to do his exercises.

Yesterday, I was trying to tighten up our Jeep’s seat covers, and an elastic strap got away from me and gave me quite the shiner. I had contacts in, but I must have blinked just as the strap hit. After yelling,” I think I’m blind!!” I settled down and realized it only hurts when I laugh, which is when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Nellie and Rylie must find life with us is pretty exciting. They’ve had a few chances to run away, but decided better of it and came back. I’ll sure be happy when Kip will be able to help out more with the walking chore. They get 4 long walks a day. (The joy of RV living with no fenced yard.) We try to take them to a pasture in the middle of downtown Ben Wheeler for a leashless run every day.

Well, this is sounding like a Christmas letter. As Mom used to say, “Enough about me, how did you like my last movie!”

Holly…

“Hi Tara, I was exploring the house and didn’t hear the doorbell at first. I hope you and this sweet looking puppy dog didn’t wait too long.” Tara had just informed me that Mr. Bairnsfather had wanted to come home for tea. “Is he Aunt Marti’s dog?” I asked.

“He sure is,” Tara informed me as they walked through the door. “We call him Mr. B for short. Bairnsfather is a mouthful. I have no idea where Aunt Marti came up with that name in the first place. I took him to my house when she became ill, but he has become unhappy and barely eats. I thought it might help him to be back in his home for a few hours.”

“Poor baby,” I said. “Let’s go into the parlor and wait there until everyone gets here. I was just reading an article I found in an old trunk in the attic. Mr. Bairnsfather was a British soldier in WWI. He took part in the Christmas Eve truce of 1914. Do you know who Bernard was or is? His name was on the envelope containing the information.

Tara thought for a moment before shaking her head. “No, I don’t recall Aunt Marti ever mentioning anyone named Bernard. It is interesting to know who Mr. B was named for, though. I thought Bairnsfather was a name she made up.

Within 30 minutes all 5 cousins were there along with the attorney, Mr. Danes, who arrived last. Tara’s husband, Tom was there as well. He had picked cousin Drew up at the airport. Tonja and Grayson, who lived in Pleasant Run had driven over together. Everyone declined tea or coffee, so once we had visited a short while, Mr. Danes handed each of us a packet that contained a letter from Aunt Marti and a copy of her will. The attorney instructed each of us to first read our personal letters, and then he would read the will to all of us.

Dearest Dee,

Thank you for making the long trip to be here. I have a lot to ask of you.

I have left you my home, which, as you already know, is over 100 years old. It was one of the first houses to be constructed in Pleasant Run. I purchased it when I turned 30, and it became clear to me that I would never marry.

As I write this letter, I am 90 years old. If you are reading it, it means I have passed on without solving the mystery.

I don’t know what happened to the family who lived here. The house had been vacant for 20 years before I purchased it.

I found several things in the attic that caused me to be extremely curious, even alarmed. The remarkable thing is that no one living in Pleasant Run at the time I bought and restored the house knew much about the former inhabitants.

I know I won’t be able to rest in this life or the next until the mystery is solved. Please find out what happened to Holly. She was born on Christmas Eve, 1914. Her father was fighting in Belgium.

You will find all the information I have been able to accumulate in the chest in the attic. My attorney will give you the key to the strong box inside.

I know you are a retired sleuth. Maybe you will decide to make this house and Pleasant Run your home…once you have solved the mystery…

Love and blessings,

Aunt Martie