A Girl From Yamhill
“He wore tailored business suits that hid his Smith & Wesson revolver in a shoulder holster. That he might ever have to use the Smith & Wesson never crossed my mind. In those days, Oregonians were much too well behaved to hold up a bank, at least, not often. At night the revolver, which I was told I must never touch, hung on the post of my parents’ bed. I never touched it, not once, even though Father always removed the bullets and left them on the dresser.
After two years, the seven-room house we rented on Halsey Street no longer seemed small and cozy. The wood and coal furnace did not heat as efficiently as the wood stoves on the farm, and the open staircase at the end of the living room created a cold draft. Pipes froze. Mother was cold. She was also nervous about the trains, with hoboes in empty boxcars, that ran in Sullivan’s Gulch. Children were no longer allowed to play in the hazelnut bushes between Halsey Street and the Gulch.
One night Mother heard, or thought she heard, some...one pounding on the side door.MoreLess
After two years, the seven-room house we rented on Halsey Street no longer seemed small and cozy. The wood and coal furnace did not heat as efficiently as the wood stoves on the farm, and the open staircase at the end of the living room created a cold draft. Pipes froze. Mother was cold. She was also nervous about the trains, with hoboes in empty boxcars, that ran in Sullivan’s Gulch. Children were no longer allowed to play in the hazelnut bushes between Halsey Street and the Gulch.
One night Mother heard, or thought she heard, some...one pounding on the side door.MoreLess
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