From time to time, Dawn invited me to spend time at her house and her sister, Joyce, would invite Celia over. We never reciprocated. Truth was, I wouldn’t have dreamed of inviting her into our home. I couldn’t imagine the humiliation of having her see the squalor we lived in. But I always enjoyed going to the Jordans’ house. Their sprawling home was situated on lots of land in Bennett, Colorado. Their children were involved in Future Farmers of America, an after-school pursuit that took time and cost money —things we didn’t have.
Their house had a central vacuum system and an intercom, which Sheila used to call her kids downstairs to dinner. Their house was beautifully furnished, while ours contained garage sale and thrift store finds or something we picked from curbside trash. Their beds had matching comforters and were always made up neatly. We played in a huge field by their house, but the house itself made more of an impression on me than anything we did. Dawn didn’t realize how extravagant her environment was compared to mine, and I marveled at the luxury of her family’s everyday life.
Dawn and her mom and siblings worked at Michael’s Appliance, but they put in far fewer hours than any of the LeBarons. The Jordans typically sauntered in between eleven and twelve noon, many times carrying fast-food cups and bags of leftovers from their meal. We knew their mom or dad had taken them to a drive-through for cheeseburgers and fries. When Dawn passed by me, I got a whiff of that mouthwatering hamburger smell. I tried not to breathe in so deeply, but I knew it was the closest I was likely to get to a fast-food burger.
Dawn’s family members didn’t work much or for very long, leaving around 5:00 p.m. I imagined them sitting down for dinner at an actual table, instead of trying to balance a sandwich and glass of tap water while standing in the grimy warehouse.
In time, I learned to swallow my disappointment and envy. The situation was what it was. Internalizing my feelings didn’t hurt anyone but me. Dawn never knew a thing about how I felt.
On the first day of my last summer break in Denver —which was actually no break at all —Dan called all the employees together in the repair shop area of the warehouse. Celia, Hyrum, and I speculated about his agenda.
“I wonder if he has news about Dad,” Hyrum said, sounding hopeful.
“I wonder if we’re in trouble,” Celia said.
I didn’t have any more likely suggestions, so I just waited for Dan to speak.
“Michael’s Appliance is paying Ervil’s legal expenses, and lawyers cost a lot of money. We need to work even harder to help him get out of jail. I’m going to offer each of you an incentive for the summer. If you will work harder than ever, I’ll give each of you a fifty-dollar bonus to spend on new school clothes.” His arms were outstretched, and he had a big smile on his face when he finished.
We all clapped and cheered. For the first time ever, Dan had offered hope in the form of something tangible. Celia leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Can you imagine how many clothes we could buy with fifty dollars?”
I grinned broadly and embraced her. “I’d love to have some new jeans.”
At twelve years old, I’d come to notice how much clothing mattered at school. Our donated clothes and hand-me-down items looked ratty compared to what our fellow students wore.
“I know. Me, too. And maybe some new shoes. Both of my pairs have gotten so dirty from working in this place.”
On the way home that evening, Mom brought up Dan’s incentive. “What do you kids think?”
We chattered about what we would buy with the money. She listened to each of us describe what we’d previously only wished for but now saw within our grasp.
My siblings and I worked extra hard all summer, often staying until after nine at night, if needed. We scrubbed appliances until our necks were stiff and our backs and feet ached. Since we didn’t wear gloves, our hands were red, dry, and chapped. But we worked with smiles on our faces.
Using a razor scraper, I removed layers of dead, dried-up roaches from the traps below the stoves and refrigerators. We scraped mold off of everything and used muriatic acid to remove the hard-water stains off the washing machine lids. I gagged more times than I could count at the foul odors that assaulted me when I opened a refrigerator or freezer that had been sitting for weeks on end, a giant petri dish for bacteria and who knows what else. Through it all, the promise of a reward at the end kept us going and lightened the mood when we grew tired or missed having free time to play.
Rosemary was sometimes put in charge of inspecting our work. Each time one of us finished cleaning a dryer or range, we called out her name and asked her to inspect the appliance. If we missed something, Rosemary would point it out with her long, bony index finger, or if we did a good job, she would give us a thumbs-up. Refurbished appliances were put on dollies and moved into the showroom adjacent to the warehouse area. The “preferred” sister-wives, dressed in nice clothing, worked in this sought-after area. Occasionally other sister-wives, including my mom, were allowed to work in the showroom, particularly if they were good at sales.
As summer drew to a close, our anticipation had reached a fever pitch. About five o’clock on the Saturday before school started, Dan called all the sister-wives into the showroom. We kids tried to temper our enthusiasm but couldn’t hide our excitement. The warehouse had a festive feeling like never before.
A few minutes later, the sister-wives returned, faces downcast. Mom didn’t look directly at any of us, but just said as she passed, “Let’s go. Load up in the car, please.”
Celia grabbed our mother’s arm. “Mom, what happ —”
Mom turned and repeated curtly, “Did you hear me? Get in the car, now.”
We followed her out in single file and crammed into the station wagon. No one spoke until we had turned out of the warehouse parking lot and headed for the house. Kathleen finally broke the silence. “Mom, what’s wrong? Didn’t Dan give you our fifty dollars?”
“Sort of.”
Celia and I exchanged glances, and I shrugged.
Kathleen opened her mouth to ask another question, but Mom spoke first. “I have the money.” Then, in a low voice, as though she didn’t trust herself to speak more loudly, Mom related what had happened in their meeting. “Dan gave me fifty dollars, but only fifty dollars. Apparently the business didn’t do as well as he had hoped, which meant he didn’t have enough to give each child fifty dollars as promised. He was only able to give out that amount per family.”
Since Mom also cared for Mary Lou’s and Beverly’s children, that meant we had to split our meager bonus with seven other kids besides the seven of us. Someone did the math and announced that the individual share was about $3.57. Murmurs erupted from front to back throughout the car, and they grew in intensity and volume. Heber finally said out loud what we were all thinking. “That’s not fair.”