God Fixed It

Copyright © 2013 Molly Fay.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4624-0682-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4624-0681-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013913011

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 8/7/2013

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my husband for his patience and understanding and our family.

And those who know or want to

know that God does fix it.

Acknowledgements

Dorothy Lindsay Allred,

childhood friend whose memory refreshed mine.

Dr. Iver Lou Duncan,

Professor Belmont University

Dr. Larry Greely and Rob Spiegel,

authors and my mentors at SouthWest Writers

Prologue

The Texas broiling sun had little mercy on Molly’s mother Fae as she hurried across Berry Street, a short two blocks away from her home. She thought only of the searing heat and WWII. It never occurred to Fae that a decision she would make at noon today would have disturbing consequences for her young daughter Molly.

Born in Indian Territory Oklahoma and raised in Ft. Worth, Fae’s body had gotten used to the city’s summer sun, but wished the temperature would drop. This month of June had been hotter than June in years past, a typical predictor of above average temperatures for summer’s scorching days ahead.

Fae stepped off the sidewalk to duck beneath the shade of an old elm tree’s leaf-filled limbs and hoped it would help her cool down. Her left hand pushed jet black hair away from the blobs of perspiration gathered on her forehead before a welcomed puff of breeze crossed her face for a few moments of relief.

Fae learned as a young bride the maxim, You made your bed, now lie in it, coined out of the mouth of her Irish father. Jack, or Papa C as he had been dubbed by his children and grand children, took pride in his Corbitt name even though the famous Irish-American boxer spelled his last name with an e instead of an i.

Fae took a deep breath and walked faster toward her home. Like most mothers she did most of the training of her children.

The early morning squabble between her kids, Molly, nine, and Bryan, four, ended when Fae picked up Molly’s toast and told her children: Remember the saying. I’ll give the toast to the birds. Both of you share in the blame for the upside down broken plate filled with Bryan’s buttered toast. An added benefit to the adage helped her live with whatever mistakes she had made in the past.

Sweat from the heat and humidity clogged up her eye lashes as she passed a neighbor’s home and a bed of zinnias wilted by the heat. Her thoughts turned from the current news of the War and her marriage to Judge, who wasn’t a judge at all.

Most of her high school and college classmates had married well-to-do men. Their fine brick homes testified to it. His family didn’t quite know what to make of a college-educated wife but for the most part his sisters accepted - possibly because Lollie had become a milliner and Cossette a department store manager. The youngest of the Anderson siblings, Trina, and husband owned a grocery store.

Fae shook her head while she walked and thought about the happenings of the last two days. Yesterday at the store, Judge, so named by his siblings because he had a great tendency to judge others, had said to her, Since the peaches are about ripe and Molly can’t climb the tree, I’ll take this tall rack home for her to climb on after I close tonight.

How fortunate Molly didn’t hurt herself seriously when she fell and banged her head on the side of the rack, Fae said to herself. Judge took the rack back to the store.

She continued her walk from their Anderson’s $.0five to $five.00 Variety Store, located across from Texas Christian University (TCU) campus. If she could read the future she would never have opened the letter about to be deposited in the mailbox.

She prepared the usual peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with milk for their lunch.

Oh, Mother, I think a stray cat did his business in the sandbox. Bryan found some dirty stuff in there when he went out to build a fort in the sand.

Did you get it out?

Well, uh, no.

I just played with my big truck around it, Bryan offered.

You could have gotten it out with the little hand shovel, right Molly.

Yessum. Molly didn’t dare contradict her Mother.

Why don’t you get the shovel out of the garage when you finish eating and toss the mess into the garbage can?

Molly knew better than to ask why me? She knew the answer.

Fae’s early lunch break worked well for her and Judge. She could check on their kids before noon and Judge would check in later in the afternoon. Neither had qualms about leaving the children since the store sat three blocks away. A four party line connected the home phone to the store’s phone if needed in an emergency. Checking on their kids took priority in her life. During her first year of marriage she had lost their first baby. Doctors didn’t know why the baby was stillborn. Fae’s mother Eula and Jack told their daughter it was because she had to sleep in the car when Judge decided they needed to take a trip to Corpus Christi late in her pregnancy. No vacancy signs fluttered in the breeze when the two reached the coast. When blistering August heat bakes most any living thing in Texas, large numbers of Texans flock to the Gulf to escape the scorching sun. It would be cooler for her, Judge had said. Fae’s labor began on the way back to Dallas. They buried the child in Dallas and didn’t give him a name except for Baby Anderson.

Two years later Molly squalled her arrival so loudly she could be heard throughout the Denton hospital. The doctor said, This one is in good health and has a strong set of lungs.

In the days that followed, Judge’s typical erratic outbursts when something didn’t go his way took a turn for the better. His remarks softened as Fae’s next pregnancy progressed.

Nineteen months after Molly’s birth Sunny June smiled her first smile. Sunny June’s smile didn’t last long. Continued crying and smelly diapers told a story local doctors didn’t figure out until too late. Nephritis, kidney disease, claimed the child’s life before her first birthday.

Fae washed and dried the lunch dishes, made certain Molly had dumped the cat mess, and pulled several potatoes out of the ice box. She grabbed a paring knife and began to cut the potatoes into small hunks for cooking. Thoughts of what she had hoped her future would be crept into her head. Marriage to a handsome, wealthy bachelor and becoming a career journalist may have been possible. Didn’t being voted the most popular girl at Pascal High School, Ft. Worth’s largest high school, with a bevy of boys begging her for dates count for something? Her brother, Jack Jr., and she made quite a couple. He played the licorice stick and she coaxed the 88 keys on the piano to stand up and shout. The Charleston rage kept her and Jack in demand by their friends wanting play dates in their homes. Off to college after high school, Fae soaked up the college atmosphere. She completed two years at Texas State Teachers College in Denton, Texas, before she met Judge. From the beginning their personalities clashed on more than one occasion. Did nine years difference in their ages prevent their marriage from achieving balance?

Judge had always been independent, ran away at fourteen to South Texas and rode into the sprawling King Ranch spread. Got on as a ranch hand. He managed to find a way to make a good living. His dad B.J. had done various jobs to earn a living. He raised bees and sold honey by the side of the road east of Dallas. He didn’t earn enough to support the family in the life style Fae’s Daddy had created. Papa C managed a large furniture department store in downtown Ft.Worth, stayed active in city affairs, and provided his wife and children a brick home in an up and coming Ft. Worth neighborhood.

Fae, not able to stop her ruminations, went to the ice box and pulled out more potatoes. She knew bickering had led to arguments that shaped her and Judge’s courtship. Their opposite lifestyles, due in part to their different backgrounds, didn’t suggest the makings of a good marriage but Judge gave Fae a ring filled with diamonds and sapphires.

You’re going to wear that engagement ring out, Fae, you’ve given it back to Judge so many times, Papa C had said more often than either one could remember.

They married anyway. She had figured out early on they never should have.

Fae knew since June’s death and Bryan’s birth all things weren’t right between her and Judge. He seemed more interested in work than in her. But how could she change the situation? With two kids, a world war on how could she support herself? To get a divorce in the forties meant failure and financial suicide. While these thoughts trailed through her mind, she grabbed her purse and went out the back door.

Fae rushed down the long driveway toward the street when she spied the postman leaving mail in their box at the front door.

She stepped on the porch. The postman reached into the mail box and handed her the mail.

Sorry this letter didn’t get to you earlier but the address was different.

That’s okay. It got here.

Somehow it had found its way to her. Later she would wish it hadn’t. She ripped open the envelope and glanced at the letter and an accompanying form. A smile crossed her face as she read the contents. She unlocked the front door, stepped inside the foyer of their two story brick home and hollered for Molly to come downstairs.

If only she had known what was about to happen to her daughter at Camp Serenity she never would have suggested much less insisted that Molly attend.

The church camp for your age group starts in two weeks and I must get you registered. She showed Molly the envelope and continued, With the war and all, sometimes the mail gets misplaced I guess.

Fae assumed Camp Serenity would be as much fun for Molly as Camp Como had been for her. She chuckled to herself at the thought of how much she had enjoyed camp when she was Molly’s age.

Fae pulled out a typed form. This form has to be filled out for you to go to Camp Serenity, Fae chirped.

I don’t want to go Mother.

Fae kept talking. I knew the church would have camp this year, and you would be old enough to attend. I know this is a quick decision, but I need to get this back into the mail today. Of course you want to go.

Maybe I’m not supposed to go, if the letter didn’t get here until now.

What do you mean? Of course you are supposed to go. Surely, you want to go. Know you’ll have fun.

No, I won’t. Don’t make me go.

I know you will have fun. Lots of crafts to do at camp. I just loved it when I was your age.

These kids don’t like me.

The last place Molly wanted to be was with those church kids. Half were in her class at school and had been at the Sunday school party. Molly wished now she had told her Mother what happened then. Probably wouldn’t have made a difference because Mother would have asked, What did you do to make them not like you?

She would have replied, They never have liked me. I don’t know why.

The church girls had their own groups and Molly wasn’t in any of them. They had hardly spoken to her during the school year. Molly knew for certain that none of the girls or boys will speak to her ever again after that year’s end Sunday school party.

The Sunday School Teacher had invited all the students in her third grade class over to her home for a celebration. She welcomed each child to the backyard. Lights swung from tall poles and a huge croquet set beckoned. Several of the in-crowd grabbed the mallets and chunked away at the balls hoping to reach a wicket. A dart board supported by an easel stand and supervised by the teacher, invited kids to try and hit the bull’s eye. Molly made enough hits she won the right to be last in Pin the Tail on the Donkey. She shoved the pin holding the paper tail closest to the donkey’s rump.

Good job, Molly, the teacher said, and your blind fold didn’t slip.

All though the kids had applauded when anyone won a prize, only one of the kids managed to put her hands together for Molly’s accomplishment. As the games ended, clouds appeared out of nowhere and the sun disappeared. Within a few seconds, lightening shot across the sky followed by the rumble of thunder rolling across the backyard leaving a trail of sprinkles behind.

Teacher picked up the Dart Board and asked a couple of boys to put the Croquet Set into its box.

I think we better get inside before we really get wet. I planned for us to eat inside anyway because of the flies are so bad. You can go anywhere you want, but I don’t want any of you to go down into the basement, Teacher said.

The kids couldn’t wait for her get out of sight. Down the steep basement steps they trooped, scattering in different directions in the room downstairs.

The recent lecture Molly had gotten from her Daddy about not obeying an adult and the bad consequence result played out in her imagination. She remembered it verbatim.

She sat at the top of the steps thinking about Butch losing his foot due to a snake bite. Butch hadn’t listened to important advice from friends and paid the price.

Five minutes later Teacher sang out from the kitchen, I have everything ready. Where are you kids? Teacher put the cookies and Kool Aid down and moved through the living room until she saw Molly.

Did you see where they went? she asked in an anxious tone.

Molly shook her head no but Teacher knew. She went downstairs and moments later all the kids came back up.

Told on us, didn’t you, they snipped, almost in unison.

No, didn’t have to. Molly said. The kids ignored her from that day on. They didn’t sit by her at Sunday school or church. They didn’t talk to her at school.

Mother kept on talking about the greatness of camp while the picture of Butch losing his foot travelled through Molly’s mind making it difficult for Molly to listen to her Mother.

Of course, they like you. Why wouldn’t they?

Before Molly could shake the memory from her mind and find an avenue of defense for staying home, Mother repeated, Of course they like you. Why wouldn’t they?

All Molly could push out for a reply sounded useless even to Molly.

You don’t understand. Please Mother, let me stay home….

I don’t think you have a reason why you shouldn’t go, Mother interrupted.

Although painfully shy in public, Molly was such a chatterbox at home that Fae didn’t think Molly’s complaints were valid.

I have to go back to the store. I’ve got some ordering to do. Your Daddy will need to eat a bit later. You’ll make friends if you go. It will help you get over your shyness.

I don’t want to go.

The experience will do you good, Mother countered. She turned back at the door and added, You’ll get to go swimming at the lake, it will be cooler there than here.

I still don’t want to go.

It will give you something to do. It’s going to be a very long and hot summer.

But….

No, buts. You will enjoy it. I know you will.

Molly knew her protests would fall on deaf ears once her mother’s mind had been made up. Her Daddy wouldn’t join in the debate if there were one. Molly figured since it was a church camp chances were good that God wouldn’t intervene on her behalf.

He didn’t.

Molly went.

Chapter Two

The weather began to get really hot during the day but tonight had cooled down a bit after a short rain. Mother opened all the windows in the house after the shower and a little breeze made the curtains blow out into the room.

If I wrote down my thoughts maybe I would be okay. Mother said I looked peaked since camp and didn’t have any interest in doing anything. Maybe God could recognize my problem and correct it? When I asked Mother the meaning of the words do something she said it means the same as fix.

"In Texas we use the word fix to mean a lot of things. I think I once read the Dictionary said it means to make something stationary or stable.

But, Daddy said he had to get the car fixed.

Fix sometimes means to repair or set right.

Oh.

I think the Bible said He fixed a lot of things for the Israelites and did many miracles. Maybe He won’t mind helping me out. Besides, I don’t want to forget all the details of what happened at Camp Horrific.

I put down my Nancy Drew mystery book I had been reading and went into their bedroom. Daddy, Mother and Bryan were listening to a ball game on our Atwater Kent radio. I pretended I wanted to hear the game and waited until the seventh inning stretch before I asked him, Daddy, I really need a different kind of diary.

I thought we got you one last Christmas.

You did, but I need to do more writing and I don’t think….

What she needs is a Journal, Mother said, a diary’s page is too small.

What’s a Journal? Bryan piped up.

It’s a book filled with blank pages you use to write about special events and happenings in your life. It’s like a diary, usually private. I think Bonn’s warehouse probably has one. I’ll see if I can get you one next week when I pick up an order for the store.

What’s so important you would need a Journal? Judge asked, You liked camp didn’t you?

Oh, there’s a lot of stuff I want to write down. I didn’t want to tell him what happened there. I scribbled some notes when I was there.

A week later after dinner Mother handed me a large book with unlined pages and said, I got this big, thick one so you’ll have plenty of room to write about your adventures.

I wasn’t about to tell her what happened at camp but I did say, Thanks so much Mother. Think I’ll go to my room and start writing tonight. Mother doesn’t let me or Bryan shut our doors but I’ll think of something. I don’t want her to see what I write."

She won’t check on me while I’m writing. Not sure whether or not she’ll try to find it when I’m outside or not home. I’ll hide it just in case. I couldn’t think of a place until I looked into my closet and found the answer. I’ll put the book on the bottom shelf behind some winter clothes that don’t fit any more. She probably won’t find it. If she does I might still be okay. I’ll tell her I’m writing to God. She always reminds me Jesus is in our heart. Isn’t it natural that I would speak to Him this way? I really don’t want her to see what I am saying to God.

Dear God,

"I am writing in my new Journal about what happened at Camp Horrific two weeks ago. Mother and others at church know it as Camp Serenity. I had a terrible, awful experience and I’m wondering if You, God, could fix it? Make it better? Mother says You are always with us. Guess I didn’t know how to find you because camp wasn’t good like Mother said it would be. I know You helped those Bible people get across the Red Sea. Maybe You can help me although my problem is different.

You