Custody Battle, part three

Leta had to hold onto the wall for a few moments to maintain her balance. This was not how she anticipated spending her morning. The petition from the county court of common pleas she had just been handed was something she never could have suspected. Her ex-husband Ralph Chetister was petitioning for custody of their two children!

She nearly dropped the declaration and summons onto the floor. After a few moments, her shock and fear transformed to anger.

How dare Ralph challenge her? She and Al were good parents, raising the children in a happy, healthy home. Ralph barely saw them, and now he wanted to take them away from her? Maybe it was his parents putting him up to this. His mother Ida always disliked her, and she was furious when Leta filed for divorce. Ralph’s father used to question everything she said or did, warning his son that a child of divorced parents, which she was, would bring shame to their family.

Leta’s surprise and fear turned to rage, and she stomped around the house, cursing her ex-husband for attacking her happiness. He was alone, unemployed and miserable, sponging off his parents, even while his own brother was an educated lawyer. She was in love and living comfortably. She had everything; he had nothing. Now, if putting her through years of pain and suffering when they were married was not enough, he was taking action to upset her current life.

This was not acceptable. She was not the downtrodden wife who begged him for enough money to buy food to feed their children or cried throughout their divorce proceedings. She was Leta Mohr, a beloved wife and mother. She was Leta Scott, a fighter. And she would defend herself against this attack with all her soul.

Early that evening, after ushering the children outside and out of hearing, she showed her husband Albert the petition. With an ache in her heart and her body tense with uncertainty, she watched him. While reading the brief document, he stiffened physically and his face narrowed and tightened. When he looked up at her, her lip was quivering, and tears clouded her eyes. He reached across the kitchen table and grabbed her hand.

“We’ll fight this, love,” he said. “Our children belong with us.”

Three days later, after much conversation and deliberation and before contacting an attorney, Albert drove Leta to her former in-law’s Lewis and Ida’s house. Ralph was waiting on the front porch. She asked him to be alone, and he agreed. Al left her at the curb and then continued down the street. There was a drinking establishment in the neighborhood, and he would wait there for her.

For several minutes, Leta and Ralph just stood silently several feet from each other on the front porch, both standing as firm and tall as they could. Ralph was looking directly at her, and Leta met his stare with equal force. Their world became so still and concentrated that Leta could hear her own heartbeat. It started quietly, but then grew in volume and strength, increasing her determination and certainty.

She then cocked her head.

“Well?” she said.

The word cut through the silence and the distance that separated them. Ralph barely reacted, but she felt his resolve shrink, just enough to encourage her to continue.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” she continued, and then moved in a circular fashion a few steps closer.

Ralph’s eyes moved with her, and her new location required him to turn. As he started to speak, he took two steps back.

“They’re my children,” he said quietly.

“They’re my children, too,” she replied quickly.

“The law says that children belong with their father. I’m their father,” he continued. “When you divorced me, you surprised me, and so I let you get your own way, as usual. Now, I have my bearings, and enough is enough. They’re my children.”

“You said that.”

He was calm—rehearsed—but the air between them settled like leaked gas in an enclosed room. One little spark would result in an explosion.

“You’re a selfish woman, Leta,” he continued. “You broke up our family. You ran around on me with this gangster and God knows who else. You broke up my family. You shamed me in front of my community. And now you’re bringing up my children in what is a very unhealthy environment. They need stability and a safe home. They’re never going to get that with you.”

“Ralph,” Leta said with clenched teeth, “if I were a man, I’d sock you right in the face.”

“Of course, you would,” he snarled.

Feeling he had the upper hand, he started prowling around the porch, taunting her with his newly understood authority.

“It’s not all about what you want, Leta. This is about doing what’s best for Dale and Vivian.”

“I know what’s best for my children,” Leta declared. “I’m not going to let you take them away from me. We have a happy, good life. What do you have to offer them?”

“A better one,” he answered and stopped to where he could look right into her eyes.

“You don’t even have a job. Am I right?”

He glared at her.

“How are you going to support them?” she continued. “Albert has a good job. We have a house. You live with your parents.”

“I can support them,” he answered confidently.

“I’m going to fight you,” she said, raising herself to meet his gaze.

“You are a bootlegger,” he snarled. “A criminal. Once the court knows this, you’ll lose.”

Then he smiled in a devilish way. Combined with the statement, delivered with supreme arrogance, he silenced her. She felt herself shrink like a drying fruit. Suddenly, she was tired and thirsty, and she wanted nothing better than to be rid of her former husband once and for all.

“Your gangster just pulled up,” Ralph said, more calmly and confidently than he had ever spoken.

Without another word Leta turned, descended the four steps and walked to her car. The tears started, but she maintained a steady pace. Albert had gotten out of the car to open the door for her as he always did. If he could not perceive from how she carried herself that she was in distress, there was no misunderstanding from her expression when he could see her face.

He saw her and then looked at the porch, where Ralph was watching like a king from his balcony. Once Leta was seated, he closed the door and walked around the car, but before he got in he took one last look at Ralph, then smiled and waved. Later, he would tell his wife that the man simply looked too smug, and he could not leave the situation in that way.

To be continued.

Custody Battle, part two

Although the morning had begun as many others--breakfast, Albert going to work, Leta walking her children Vivian and Dale to school—the unexpected appearance of a strange but well-dressed man waiting for her on the front porch upon her return startled Leta. She had good reason to be concerned. For several months, she and her husband had been making corn whiskey in their basement and selling it, and in 1925, this was a federal crime. The man, as far as she could ascertain, could be a potential customer, federal agent or even a gangster with the intent to interfere in their minor alcohol business. After all, the drink that she and Albert made was flavorful and growing in popularity.

However, Albert was responsible for the business. She assisted in the making and bottling of the brew, managed their accounts, even purchased some of the supplies, but communicating with new customers and unknown characters were his duties. She watched the man for a short time. He seemed peaceful, but she still felt threatened and uncertain. Instead of greeting him on her porch, she went to her next-door neighbors’ home for assistance, which the woman was ready to provide.

Mrs. DeLong was a solid sort of person. She had a resonant voice that sometimes seemed to shake the room. She stood erect and always presented herself with a firm handshake. As Leta’s mother used to say, Mrs. DeLong walked with both feet firmly on the ground.

When Leta expressed concern about the stranger, Mrs. DeLong quickly devised a plan to further inspect him. She would go to Leta’s home to request a cup of sugar.

Leta watched from the safety of the mostly drawn curtains of her neighbors’ living room.

Mrs. DeLong stood on Leta’s front porch, conversing guardedly with the stranger. Then she rapped on the door; of course, no one answered. Leta watched her shrug her shoulders and point down the street. The man shook his head and held up an envelope. Mrs. De Long nodded and then shook his hand. He tipped his hat and the woman walked calmly back to her own house to find Leta waiting.

“Mrs. Mohr,” Mrs. DeLong said, as she walked in the door, “I don’t know exactly why he’s there, but that man is from the courthouse, and he has a document to deliver to you. You better get on over there.”

“Oh my!” Leta exclaimed.

With her neighbor’s help, she walked out the backyard, through the backyard of the next neighbor and then returned to the sidewalk, as if she was just arriving home from school. She forced herself to walk at her usual pace, so as to seem calm and collected. When she approached her own walk, she called up to the porch where the well-dressed man was still standing.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

He turned to look at her.

“Mrs. Leta Mohr?” he asked.

“Yes,” Leta answered as she reached the steps. “I am Mrs. Mohr.”

“I have this envelope for you,” he said as he took two steps down to greet her.

Then he handed her a large envelope.

“Have a good day,” he said then walked down the street.

Leta’s heart was beating hard.

She quickly went into the house and stood in the doorway where she opened the envelope with trembling hands.

Mrs. DeLong was correct; the envelope and its contents were from the Lucas County Court of Common Pleas. Her ex-husband Ralph was petitioning to assume custody of their children.

To be continued.

Custody Battle, part one

On September 10, 1925, after Leta walked Vivian and Dale to school, she stopped for a few minutes to catch up with other mothers as she was wont to do, and then walked home to continue her chores for the day. She had breakfast dishes waiting and then she needed to clean the living room. If she had time in the afternoon, she would bake cookies for her loved ones.

Her sister-in-law Florence asked her to hem three dresses for her own little girls – Lucille and June. While Florence was a woman of many domestic talents, sewing was not one of them. As Leta was quite handy with a needle, she could easily make the necessary adjustments, and she would do it gladly. She already had two pairs of slacks to shorten for Dale. The weather permitted him to still wear short pants, but he would soon be nine years old, the weather would turn cooler, and it was time for him to graduate to long pants.

Summer had yet to turn to autumn. While nearly all the flowers were gone, the land was still green and the air warm and soothing, like an old friend. The sun danced merrily across the sky and smiled on everything. The air still held the scent of freshly mowed lawns, and migratory birds—robins, finches, wrens, orioles, blackbirds vireos, swallows, thrushes and chickadees—were still lounging in the trees with only a hint that leaves were turning. The buckeyes and acorns still hung in heavy supply—at least those not already purloined by the busy squirrels that ran from tree to tree in search of winter sustenance.

But Leta knew that the autumn would come suddenly, one evening the air would become too chilly to keep the windows open, and dampness would settle into the house, requiring them to light the furnace. The sun would shine, but selfishly keep its heat to itself. This would be followed by the short, snow-filled days of winter. And the days would fly by quickly.

As she approached her front porch, her thoughts were interrupted by a man sitting there. She saw him from three houses away, and at first thought he was a shadow. The closer she came, however, the more obvious his shape became. With the still in the basement, she felt some anxiety. He could be a federal agent come to inspect or a potential customer. While she had become comfortable with making corn whiskey in the basement of their home, and the selling of it, she had relied exclusively on her husband to manage their customers and any unsavory types that might intrude upon their home.

She paused in front of the neighbor’s house and looked carefully at the man. He was, at least, dressed in a dark gray or blue suit, with a dark bowler hat. For safety’s sake, she turned up the sidewalk of the house next door, where she knew her neighbor Mrs. DeLong would be enjoying her second cup of coffee before commencing with her daily housework. Leta tapped lightly on the door. A moment later the other woman answered.

“Leta!” she said with some surprise. “To what do I owe this early morning visit?”

“Please let me come in, and I’ll explain,” Leta whispered, and immediately, Mrs. DeLong ushered her into the house. They stopped just inside the door.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Mrs. DeLong inquired.

“There’s a strange man on my porch,” Leta said anxiously.

“A man?”

“I was just on my way home from walking the children to school, and from the down the street I could see him. See for yourself.”

The two women looked through the drapes, where they could see the man.

“He looks proper,” Mrs. DeLong said, “but you don’t know him?”

“Not at all. And he doesn’t look like a brush salesman.”

“Of course not. They don’t have time to just lollygag around. Besides, he didn’t come to my house first.”

“He looks official,” Leta said.

“And you weren’t expecting anyone?” Mrs. DeLong asked.

“No one,” Leta answered. “And Albert is at work.”

As far as Leta knew, Mrs. DeLong did not know about the alcohol making, so she did not mention that he could have been a federal agent. But her own nervousness infected her neighbor and friend.

“Hm,” Mrs. DeLong said, thinking. “Why don’t we try this? I will put on my coat and go onto your porch, as if I needed to borrow a cup of sugar. I can ask him what he’s doing there. Then I will report back.”

“But that could be dangerous,” Leta protested, and felt foolish right after the words came out.

“My dear, why on earth are you so frightened?”

“I don’t know,” Leta sighed. “It’s early in the morning. I usually don’t have strange men arriving at my door. I just have a feeling this isn’t good.”

“Then let’s proceed with my plan,” Mrs. DeLong said as she removed her apron. “You can watch from the window.”

To be continued.

Fiction, Fact and Truth

Thank you for continuing to read my weekly blog posts. It’s about time I wrote this, don’t you think? I’ve been working on this project for some time. Writing a book takes a significant amount of time and brainpower. I’m sure most folks realize that. Add to the mix a full-time+ day job, volunteer work and a part-time job with a handful of other projects, not to mention family, friends, exercise, eating, showering and sleeping—and, of course, reading—and the capability to maintain such a massive project, especially one with so much history, is quite an undertaking. So I thank you for your continual reading of these posts, many of which, I am fairly sure will be totally revised in the final novel.

I have dubbed Scandalous and Remarkable a fictional biography, because there are so many details that I don’t know. Heck, I’m not even sure how many times my great-grandmother was married! From my grandparents’ generation I heard anywhere from seven to twelve times, and in all my research (in three counties) and by trying extensive combinations of her possible last names in search databases I’ve only found seven.

There was so much hearsay about the eighth husband, a man called Curtis who lived in Curtice, Ohio, and to whom she was married only a week that I feel bound to include him. The clues I had to work with—even after wracking my brain in search engines and county courthouse records rooms—were that they were married for a week, that Curtis was a chicken farmer with 12 children, that they lived in a shack with no electricity, no plumbing and an outhouse. I am not even sure when exactly in her much-married life this occurred. I don’t even know if Curtis was his first or last name. This man, like a lot of poor people, seems to live under the radar of record-keeping. The only timeline indication is that it was after her daughter-my grandmother and grandfather were married (1936). However, Leta was married to Robert Fields one year later (1937) and remained married to him until he died in 1946. In 1948, she was married again. I have evidence of these marriages. My conjecture now is that she married Curtis between 1946 and 1948. She would have been 52 years old, and of a reasonable age to be stepmother to 12 children with the oldest about 20. (Hm…now that I am writing, I think I will look for some of the children, rather than the father or marriage. It is worth a shot.)

In any case, I have had to write a lot between the information on this one.

Disregarding facts to get to truth is an age-old storytelling style. For example, that’s where myths come from—people asking how did such-and-such a person get from Point A to Point B, or why did this thing or other happen? Even, how did we get here?

And let’s face it: no one knows every other little bitty thing about another person’s life. Still, in this sort of project, there is always some tension. It is sometimes very difficult or awkward for the sake of storytelling to get in all of the details.

For example, it is fact that six months after her husband Albert Mohr died, Leta married Ora Freeman. I don’t know how the twosome met or dated, or even if they did. I know Leta’s children lived with them, at least according to Vivian’s report cards, which were signed by “Leta Freeman” or “Ora Freeman,” they did. I don’t know if Albert and Leta owned their home or rented. In the story, I have Ora being neighborly and Leta becoming more financially insecure. He was a neighbor – this is also a fact. I have their relationship begin with him helping her out. Before she knows it, he’s proposing and she’s agreeing. What I’ve not followed as fact is that sometime after Albert’s death and before she and Ora apply for their marriage license, Leta and her children moved. Instead of being ordered entirely by the facts, I am attempting to follow the truth of how a recent grieving widow, mourning the abrupt death of her husband, could marry another man so quickly. I have sacrificed, at least for now, the fact that she moved.

The only other way I could conceive of this move and marriage happening is that Leta knew Ora before the death of Albert. But would she have moved closer to him purposefully? If she met him after she moved, how would this affect the overall story of her life and person? After all, she was only married to him for a year, and before she filed for divorce, he left her. How important is it that she and the children move? Is it a distraction or a necessity?

Yepper, these thoughts will continue, as will many others, as I pursue truth over fact in the biography. But again, I am committed to going for the truth. The factual details are guiding the writing, but if dictating it, can become difficult stumbling blocks, not to mention being repetitious and perhaps tedious. So I’ll go on the way I am. I have my timetable. I have my historic information and records. I have the stories, others’ recollections and my own memories. I’ll do what I can.

Now would someone please either add a couple more hours to each day or channel me a couple of hundred thousand dollars so I can spend more time on this exhilarating project?