Open Writing

Grandma was a good seamstress and did alteration work in some of the finer Albuquerque dress shops. She made badly needed clothes for my sisters and me. I was now eight years old and loved watching her sew. I tried to imitate her by cutting and stitching the scraps of material she gave me. The best part of those times was listening to the stories she told of growing up in the Oklahoma Territory. Oklahoma was not yet a state when she was born. Most everything I learned of Grandpa's family, I learned from Grandma who did not particularly care for the Counts bunch. Naturally I liked her stories about them best because they were usually scandalous and told with open disdain.

"Tell me about Grandpa's family," I begged as we sat sewing one day.

"Well, you know," Grandma said as she cocked her head to one side and snipped at the armhole of a blouse she was making, "Old Man Counts, your great grandpa, was a mean old soul, and it's no wonder he met his maker in such a terrible way." She paused for effect. "And, Doeny, your grandpa's sister, didn't amount to much either. She was redheaded, you know," Grandma said accusingly, as though that hair color was somehow a curse. Grandma never liked red hair and didn't trust people with brown eyes. Her own eyes were blue, and she never acknowledged the red highlights in her hair. I could hardly wait for the rest of the story but Grandma had me fetch a cup of fresh coffee for her first. Then after I settled down on the stool beside her she continued.

"A mulatto named Sam Bob Jenkins wanted to court Doeny who had done Lord knows what to lead him on. You know how redheaded people are," Grandma raised her brows and looked knowingly over the top of her glasses. "Of course, your great grandpa Counts wasn't gonna stand by and let a half-colored call on his daughter. He warned Sam Bob not to be comin' around Doeny or he'd kill him. Sam Bob took him at his word.

Having no intention of lettin' go of Doeny, he decided to get the drop on him. He bided his time and followed the family from a picnic. As they were walkin' down the road, Sam Bob jumped from behind a bush and shot Old Man Counts in the back. Dropped him right in his tracks."

My eyes rounded out and my mouth fell open as I lusted for more information. "What happened to Sam Bob then?" I almost shouted.

"Well, he had to serve some time but they didn't hang him." She cocked her head, looked directly at me, and said in a lowered voice. "There's more to the story that nobody else knows."

"What is it, tell me," I whispered as stretched my neck and leaned toward her.

"Just between you and me," she confided, "Years later, your grandpa and his brother, Tom, went back to Missouri and killed Sam Bob Jenkins and threw him in the Missouri River."

Stunned into silence, I sat blinking. After I had time to think for a minute or two, I asked, "What happened to Doeny?"

"Well she married someone else and had a passel of redheaded kids. She turned out to be a big fat woman." Grandma added with satisfaction.

She enjoyed telling stories as much as I loved to listen to them. I believed everything she said, including the ghost stories. Grandma was very smart and had educated herself by reading everything she could get her hands on. I admired and loved her very much.