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Show in my father's house/ 96 don't watch out, you'll learn more than you bargained for." "Why is Grandmother so cross?" I asked, as we stepped outside into the warm sunlight. "She's had a hard life, honey. You know, she raised all of your daddy's brothers and sisters. She raised her own and Charlotte, the first wife's. Charlotte's children didn't like her taking over after their mother died. But your grandmother raised all fourteen of them. I can't imagine how she managed alone." A meadowlark called to me and a bee buzzed past my nose. I pushed the Jews and their ovens back into the gloom of Grandmother Allred's house. I turned my face to the sky and unclenched my fists. I decided to forget about the arrests and to pretend that ovens were only used for baking bread, not people. One Sunday in July we packed a picnic lunch and headed for a wooded ravine above Salt Lake City. Since it was a day or two after Pioneer Day -- the one hundred and sixth anniversary of Brigham Young's announcement from the peaks overlooking the Salt Lake valley that "This is the Place," - we planned to meet with other members of our group under the aspen trees. During the drive, my father shouted for the six or seven of us wriggling in the cavernous back seat of the Hudson to be quiet so he could hear. We immediately shut up for he never raised his voice except when preaching the Gospel or lamenting his luck at pinochle. |