The Wrong Side of the Blanket

The following is an excerpt from the opening pages of my mother's book, which I am editing for her. It tells the story of her life growing up from the perspective (or "voices") of the 3 main adults (her biological mother, Bertie; her father, Vonnie; and Vonnie's wife, Vergie, who raised her). This is a work in progress, but Mom's desire ultimately is to show, through her story, the faithfulness of God in spite of grave human failure and sin. The working title of the book is "Voices From the Wrong Side of the Blanket: A Tale of Adultery, Illegitimacy and the Immeasurable Grace of God." The phrase "born on the wrong side of blanket" is an old term that referred to an illegitimate birth.

Bertie pulled the quilt around her shoulders as she sat alone in her wheelchair - isolated, invisible, ignored. A deafening silence engulfed her little world, even though a few feet away sat rows of others who, like her, were aged and frail, but who, unlike her, were ignorant or crazy. This rendered them either incapable or unworthy of her communication.

She fingered the frayed edge of the quilt trying to discern the colors through her diminished eyesight. Her hand brushed a white flannel piece and flashes of her youth illuminated her mind. Why, this looks like the wool-flannel dress I wore with new patent leather shoes the day I married Willie Kruse. I still recall the fancy braided trim and white fur collar and cuffs. The contrast of that orange flower on the wide-brimmed black satin hat which crowned my long, black hair, must have presented quite a spectacle! Willie looked unusually dashing himself in his moss-green, shadow plaid suit, his tan silk pongee shirt, brown tie, gray bill cap, and...of all things...orange oxfords.! He was sporting that new overcoat as well.

Bertie's thoughts ended as abruptly as they had begun. She became irritated and yelled for the nurse as tears welled up in her eyes. No one came. Some of her companions offered consolation, but she simply glanced at them with disdain and inaudible whispers of scorn. She pursed her lips and retreated into her self-created gloom.

Bertie's brow furrowed as the memories of that wedding day resumed. Every woman anticipates that happy day when she is to marry, but I was frightened and devoid of excitement or joy. I did not love Willie nor did I know what true love was. If only my parents had not insisted that I marry him! Such a high price to pay for the guarantee of a home! What a disaster! But then, if I hadn't married him, I wouldn't have my blessed Ora Norene - what a beautiful blue-eyed baby she was. As Bertie's eye caught a piece of blue satin, she recalled another wedding day - the day the grown-up Norene married Russ. The spirit of love and happiness that eluded my wedding to Willie, pervaded theirs and has carried them through all these years.

She sighed deeply and drifted toward sleep as her head drooped onto her chest. Her hair, no longer a thick black crown, hung thin and white along her cheeks. As she slept, she dreamed happy dreams of the young Norene, dancing, drawing and coloring.

At dinner time, Bertie was awakened and wheeled to the dining room where she was confronted with an unappetizing assortment of food, whose lack of visual appeal alone squelched her hunger. She had once taken great pride in her own ability to prepare delicious and varied meals, but those days were long gone. Now, because her eye-hand coordination had diminished significantly, a nurse's assistant came to feed her. A few bites seemed more than sufficient, so Bertie shook her head and waved her hand in refusal of another morsel.

Her hips ached from too many hours in the wheelchair and she welcomed the relief when, after dinner, aides assisted her into bed. They laid the old pieced quilt over her. Somehow it comforted her and she felt like a child again, finding solace in a cherished blanket. She recognized her infantile capabilities...her inability to turn herself over or to read a book or even to watch the television news as she had for so many years prior. Though in her 90's, Bertie remained surprised by how quickly this deterioration had descended on her. She retreated into her fading memories, retrieving and briefly meditating on bits and pieces of her life.

A square of pink floral reminded her of a dress her mother once made for her sister, Ruby. I never have understood why she didn't make one of those dresses for me also. I waited my whole life to be shown a fraction of the affection that Mother gave to Ruby.

Suddenly, her gnarled arthritic fingers found a fabric that she need not see to recognize. It was the remnant of a dress she had sewn for herself back in 1932. Her mind was deluged with the memories of the relationship between herself and Vonnie Southerland, which had begun the moment their eyes met. Tears came easily now as she recalled the twenty-six years which had beleaguered her with sorrow and pain. How could I forget that April day which brought our first encounter while each of us was married to another?

She had always blamed Vonnie and even now, her aged mind resisted responsibility. I did not seduce him. Vonnie forced me, then tormented me. After telling the story this way for so many years, the truth no longer presented itself.

Bertie lingered in the fog of confusion, tossed between recollections of delight and love, betrayal and rejection. Was she guilty after all? These thoughts carried her further into a state of loneliness and isolation. Where are all my children? Why am I not surrounded with love and lavished with attention in my latter days? Surely after all I have endured, that's the least I deserve. She abandoned her thoughts and succumbed to the welcome relief of sleep.

At this point, the narrative shifts to Vonnie's voice as another portion of the story is brought to light through his eyes. Being so close to the original story, it's hard for me to tell how it comes across to others or if it resonates with anyone outside the family. It is also difficult to know, if our approach makes sense and works with those who don't have all the "back knowledge" that we do. I know this is a brief excerpt, but if you have any comments, I'd like to hear them.