Twins' Double Victory

Karen Jones

Description

When Emma has recurring nightmares about being sent to the first of three children's homes, her twin sister suggests the bad dreams may stop if Emma writes down all her memories. The result is an account of the trials and triumphs of Emma and Emily from ages six to fifteen. Follow along from 1924 - 1933 as the girls cope with their parents' arguments and eventual divorce. See how they survive life in the children's homes and the hardships of the Great Depression. Keep hope with them as they yearn for a brighter future. Have fun with the twins as they uncover a big mystery, enjoy visits with their parents, and meet their first loves.

Learn how Emma influences her twin sister after she makes a life-changing decision in Sunday school, and discover if the twins beat the odds and are able to forgive.

Sujets

• Religion
• Christianisme
• Historical
• Christian
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 22 avril 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780996271615
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Twins’ Double Victory
A Story of Forgiveness
 
 
Karen A. Jones

Copyright © 2015 by Karen A. Jones
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form whatsoever — including electronic, photocopy, recording — without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN: 978-0-9962716-1-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015935388
Published in eBook format by

P.O. Box 2839, Apopka, FL 32704
Converted by http://www.eBookIt.com


 
“ T wins’ Double Victory is a heartwarming tale on the power of forgiveness and the bond between two sisters that helps them persevere throughout difficult times.”
— Donna Adkins,
National Board Certified Teacher
“I enjoyed the story of love and forgiveness expressed through the lives of Emma and Emily. This book would be valuable to readers of all ages because it is a story of hope.”
— Detri Brech, PhD,
Professor of Dietetics and Nutrition


 
This book is based on some true events, however, it has been fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


 
In loving memory of
my mother and aunt
PROLOGUE

“There’s a warm breeze tonight,” I said to my twin sister, Emily, while I was closing our bedroom window. “I’m so tired now that school’s finally out for the summer, I could fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.”
“I’m going to bed, too,” Emily said, yawning. “And, Emma, whatever you do, don’t wake me up again with another one of your nightmares.”
Deep into the night, I tossed and turned as moving pictures played in my mind of Dad saying, “Girls, I can’t support you without a job, so I’m trying my luck at gold prospecting. Tomorrow, you’ll be going to a children’s home to live. I’ll return for both of you if I find some gold in Arizona.”
“No, Daddy, I want to stay with you,” I said.
“You’ll like living with all the other children,” Dad said to Emily and me.
“All the other children,” I repeated over and over, seeing the boys and girls crowding around my sister and me at the children’s home.
Suddenly, I heard Emily saying, “Wake up, Emma. You were having a bad dream again.”
“It’s that same dream about being in our first home with orphans and children whose parents couldn’t keep them,” I said. “I wish I could dream about the times when we were little and living with Mother and Dad.”
“Emma, you’ve always earned high marks in composition. Remember when our fourth grade teacher, Miss Gleeson, laughed when you read your story about the cat that grew a mustache? Last year, Mr. Cobb bragged on your use of vocabulary and description and said your writing was outstanding for a ninth grader. I bet if you wrote everything down, beginning with your earliest memories, your bad dreams would stop.”
“I’m surprised that I can still remember as far back as when we were six,” I said. “Writing a story from 1924 until now may take a while, but it’ll be worth the time if it stops my nightmares.”
“Someday your story may even be made into a book,” Emily added.
“That sounds wonderful,” I said, jumping out of bed. “I must dress and eat quickly. I have a story to write.”
In the cool of the morning, I sat at my small desk under the window in the sunlit bedroom, and the magic of words came together to tell my story.
Chapter 1
DANGER AT THE BRIDGE

“Henry, you’ve got to get me out of this god-forsaken place,” Mother said to Dad when he came home after cutting down trees at the logging camp. “Living in this old shack in St. Maries, Idaho, is no place to raise our six-year-old daughters.
“I’m going crazy trying to keep Emma and Emily entertained while also doing everything else around here. I want to return home before the twins begin their first year in school.”
“All right, Eliza,” said Dad. “I’ll quit my job and we’ll move back to Washington if that’ll please you. But I’ll need to find work soon, or we’ll have a hard time making it.”
Within the month, Dad found a rental house in West Seattle and employment at a logging camp. From the porch of our Alki Point home, high off the ground, Mother gazed at our surroundings and declared, “We have a miracle view of Alki Beach, the Puget Sound, and the Olympic Mountains!”
“So we have!” Dad responded, giving Mother a kiss on her cheek before smiling down at Emily and me. We looked up at our father who stood five feet, eleven inches, and who almost popped a button on his shirt when he made his chest and stomach go way out.
“We should do all right now that I’ll be earning extra money cooking for the logging camp crew along with chopping down trees,” Dad bragged, flexing his big arm muscles.
Mother stared at our father, who was strutting like a peacock, causing our mother to grimace and Emily and me to giggle.
Three weeks later, Mother said to my sister and me, “School starts tomorrow. Let’s get your bath over with so you can go to bed early.”
We climbed into the galvanized tub of water that Mother heated on the wood-burning cook stove, and she scrubbed us clean using a washcloth and a bar of her homemade soap. After we slipped into our matching blue nightgowns and climbed into bed, Mother kissed our cheeks and blew out the burning wick in the kerosene lamp.
On our first day of school, Mother helped us put on our matching green dresses with white collars. She combed our wavy brown hair and handed each of us a tin lunch pail.
I liked our first-grade teacher, Miss Arlis, who taught us our colors, alphabet, and numbers. Each day we learned how to read more words, and after lunch, she read us a story.
On Thanksgiving, Mother said, “Girls, let’s put on your brown dresses and shoes so we can go see your Grandpa Dirks.”
“Who’s Grandpa Dirks?” I asked.
“He’s my father,” Mother answered, while lacing up my shoes. “And I want him to meet my sweet, well-behaved little girls.”
After turning off the main road in Arlington and driving down a narrow dirt path, Dad stopped the car in front of a big house overlooking a lake.
When Emily and I stepped out of the car, Dad said to Mother, “I’ll wait here. You need to talk to your father alone.”
Mother grabbed our hands, walked with us onto the front porch, and knocked.
A thin man opened the door.
“I’m Eliza, Dad, and these are my twins, Emma and Emily. Girls, this is your Grandpa Dirks.”
“What brings you here after all these years?” my grandfather asked, gruffly.
“Emma and Emily, go play outside,” Mother said. “I need to talk to my father.”
Immediately, we ran toward the barn, making the chickens scatter. “Gobble, gobble,” squawked one big turkey when we began chasing it.
Our fun ended when Mother shouted, “Get in the car, girls—we’re leaving!”
On our way home, Mother said to Dad, “My father is still guzzling whiskey, and his wrinkles and the gray streaks in his thinning hair make him look a lot older than fifty-two.”
“Daddy,” my sister interrupted. “We saw the biggest turkey and—”
“I’m never going back there,” said Mother. “He hasn’t changed a bit, and I don’t think I can ever forgive him for not being a real father to me.”
“At least you tried,” said Dad, when he saw Mother wiping tears away.
“I just wish my mother hadn’t died so young and my stepmother had been more loving.”
“The big turkey tried to bite me,” I said, hoping to get a little attention.
“Don’t be silly,” said Mother. “Turkeys don’t bite.” Looking at Dad, she asked, “Do they?”
Dad smiled at Mother, making my sister and me giggle.
The next week after school, I said to Mother, “I need help with my math.”
“Get your daddy to help you. I’m busy chopping carrots for dinner,” Mother said.
“I already asked Daddy,” I said, hoping Mother would pay attention to me. When she ignored me again, I told a lie saying, “I smelled whiskey on my teacher’s breath today.”
“What did you say?” Mother asked, staring at me.
After I repeated the words, Mother said, “Go to your room. I need to make a phone call.”
I got Mother’s attention all right, but my lie caused Miss Arlis to lose her job.
On the first day that Miss O’Neal came to be our new teacher, she introduced herself and said, “Miss Arlis and I are good friends, and I’d like you to write a letter telling her you miss her. You may draw a picture with your crayons, and I’ll take the letters to Miss Arlis tonight.”
On my paper, I wrote, “Dear Teacher, I’m sorry for telling a lie on you. Please forgive me. I love you. Emma.” I drew a heart and colored it in red. A few tears fell from my eyes, and I smeared the letter wiping them off, but I didn’t have time to write another one.
After Miss O’Neal looked at my paper, she said, “Miss Arlis will be extra happy when she reads your letter.”
I glanced at Miss O’Neal’s shiny brown hair and silky, smooth complexion and smiled into her kind eyes.
The next morning, Miss O’Neal came up to me on the playground. “Miss Arlis wrote you back, and she wanted me to read her note to you. It says, ‘Dear Emma, I forgive you for saying unkind words about me. You are a precious girl, and I know you didn’t mean it. Your letter will always be special to me. Love, Miss Arlis.’ ”
After wiping tears from my cheeks, I entered the classroom to put the note on my desk. “Thank you, teacher, for forgiving me,” I whispered before hurrying outside to find my best friend, Della.
Running up to her, I said, “Miss Arlis forgave me and she loves me. Do you want to play tag?”
Della’s blue eyes lit up as she smiled and nodded a yes .
Laughing and screaming with joy, we ran and tagged each other until the bell rang. Miss O’Neal smiled at me when I entered the classroom, and I knew then that she was my favorite teacher.
At recess, Emily occasionally joined Della and me. But mostly, she liked playing marbles with Roger, a thin, blond boy who usually wore faded overalls and scuffed shoes. T