Maple Jane: Part 1(arlene hartzell) Chapter 1

In Oregon there’s a place where shadows hang low over meandering country roads and ripple reflections on Siltcoos Lake become three dimensional, playing tricks on the eye. Even the wind’s high passage through the tops of old growth trees can change in an instant, becoming an unwelcome presence.

An ethereal environment.

Like any natural beauty, sometimes too painful to take in all at once.

The trick is to shut one’s eyes momentarily and just breathe in the blended odors of red cedar, fir, spruce, and maple, all mixed in a broth of soupy moss with a pinch of salt air for seasoning.

For eons the Fiddle Creek Valley, and the lake it fed, knew only the sameness of seasons.

In the fifties this changed.

Several families with old world work ethics and rigid religious values concerning God’s plan, lived in the valley. Some of the lake dwellers brought with them sophistication; they liked their martinis dry and their walls were stacked with book shelves, their books categorized alphabetically.

The valley farmers, and the lake shore livers, were all good people, each would welcome you into their home. Each cared about the other. Of course, secretly, each felt their way of life was superior. Sadly, the lake people could have taken and learned much from the valley dwellers, and those same dwellers of the valley could have learned from their more urbane neighbors. Music for the soul, is music, be it a fiddle and a country song, or a symphony and an aria.

Lastly, there lived a family alongside a meandering creek. Since thick stands of maple trees grew beside this small creek, it was aptly named Maple Creek. This family didn’t fit in with either group, they lived in a world they created, a world that went against the laws of nature. People that once dwelt in huts held up by the great bones of Mammoths, knew better than to go against certain rules...

The Le Fleurs lived in a dark three story house where the curtains were always tightly closed, even during the day. The house remained largely unlit after dark, except for a single bare bulb dangling from the kitchen ceiling.

In this house of secrets, triplets were born to Harvey and Pearl Le Fleur. Harvey acted again as Pearl’s mid-wife. The babies were born on March 20, 1940. This would be Pearl’s third, and last pregnancy. Pearl and Harvey were brother and sister. It was rumored the family had inbred for three generations.

The triplets were identical and while two of the girls, Glenda and Elinor, were perfectly formed, the third child had the early beginnings of a fourth baby attached to it. The word conjoined comes to mind. This poor wee one’s growth stopped when a tiny head was formed; it was attached to the child Pearl and Harvey Le Fleur named Maple Jane. Maple Jane’s sister’s head was attached to the back of her neck. The tiny head shared Maple Jane’s body, and it was able to eat and eventually talk. Pearl and Harvey never really named this child, they just called her “Baby.” The head resembled the other three, and was female in personality. Baby’s head was a little smaller than a grapefruit.

Harvey and Pearl told no one about Baby, and their children were sworn to secrecy. The neighbors talked about the new triplets born to the Le Fleur family. Triplets were, and still are relatively rare, even in this day and age of fertility technology. Everyone wanted to see the babies, but of course no one did. People gossip, and both the valley and the lake dwellers assumed the triplets were born handicapped, as the two older Le Fleur children each had disabilities. When Glenda and Elinor began walking, Pearl let them play outside in the front yard. The long curious neighbors were heartened to see that these babies were normal; not only normal, but exceptional. Each had thick curly black hair, and each had the perfect face and features of a porcelain doll. One could see that the Le Fleur’s were proud of their latest progeny. As the babies grew, people passing by would see them outside, and they would slow down to admire the two little girls. Eventually people heard that the Le Fleur’s third child had been born unable to walk or talk. Maple Jane was kept inside the Le Fleur home. She too was exceptionally pretty.

Maple Jane could walk and talk as well as her sisters, but her body sustained Baby. Harvey and Pearl were afraid that if Baby was discovered all of their children would be taken away, with Maple Jane and Baby ending up in a circus. Baby was now the Le Fleur’s biggest secret.

People accepted Harvey and Pearl’s excuse with regards to keeping Maple Jane in a large wooden crib. The crib was lovingly made by the parents. Harvey cut the wood himself and spent several late nights assembling the crib, under the lone light bulb in the kitchen. Pearl sanded the slats and sides until they were silky smooth and then painted the crib with shiny white enamel. This crib, or prison as Maple Jane and Baby later called it, was larger than the cribs one normally sees. Maple Jane’s crib had much higher sides, and a long, long bed. The sides were permanently in place; there was no moving up and down of these railings.

At night, after the children were asleep, Pearl spent hours embroidering a quilt for Maple Jane and Baby’s crib. If one had taken the time to really look at this quilt, one would have had a clue about just who was in the crib. The quilt didn’t have just one name in dark pink floss embroidered underneath two baby lambs, no, it had two names. Maple Jane’s name in large pink letters and in a paler shade of pink and with smaller letters... was the name, Baby. Harvey made a special trip to town to buy another blanket for Maple Jane’s crib; a soft and fuzzy pink blanket with satin trim to match. The beautiful crib, quilt, and pink blanket were unique in the Le Fleur’s home. To say their home was sparsely furnished, was an understatement. When one walked through the front door, you stood in the middle of a large room, the kitchen to the left, and the front room, or dining room taking up the rest of the space. I say dining room, as the only furniture in this barren area was the shiny white crib up against a wall, and an old greenish colored kitchen table with mismatched chairs neatly placed around it, opposite the front door. There was no other seating, no pictures on the walls, no rugs by the door, nothing else graced this dimly lit room. Khaki colored curtains covered the windows. Pearl’s window coverings came from old tenting that Harvey had picked up at the Army surplus store in Eugene. The curtains let little light in, but that didn’t matter as Pearl never opened them. Things were drearier upstairs. Bedrooms faced opposite sides of the hall. One bedroom was for Pearl and Harvey, the other held two beds for four children: the blind boys in one, and Glenda and Elinor in the other. The Le Fleur home was cheerless and cold, but as far as cleanliness went, Pearl cleaned obsessively. No dolls, trucks, and toys strewn here. No cookie crumbs, nor friendly mutt to lick them up. Pearl obsessively kept their meager possessions spotlessly clean, stopping scrubbing only when her fingers bled.

When the new crib was ready and Maple Jane and Baby were placed inside, Pearl and Harvey smiled at each other, proud of what their hard work had created. When Pearl put Glenda and Elinor into bed that night, she saw anew how dark and shabby their bed was. Pearl thought, I’ll paint their bed too, and make a pretty quilt for Glenda and Elinor, but she never got around to it. Later when she thought about her good intentions, she’d say to herself, these two will be fine, just fine, after all, Baby isn’t on their neck.

Bedding, curtains, everything upstairs came from the Army Surplus store. No pretty pink quilts, no fuzzy satin bound blanket, nothing soft and welcoming for these two babies. Each child had a cardboard box for their possessions. To say Glenda and Elinor were jealous of Maple Jane’s and Baby’s crib, quilt, and soft pink blanket was an understatement. They pined and yearned for their sisters’ bedding, especially the blanket. As toddlers they were caught time and again with their chubby little hands between the rails of the crib reaching, reaching for the pink blanket. When at last the satin binding was reached, they would rub it against their small faces. And every time this happened, the pink blanket was taken away, and given back to Maple Jane. Glenda and Elinor were taken to the faded green table in the room’s center. There Pearl would put and edge of their clothing under a table leg. Elinor and Glenda couldn’t move very far, and the floor was always cold. Sometimes Pearl made them stay for a short time, but sometimes she forgot the toddlers, and the two would have fallen asleep by the time Pearl remembered...

In a few years, Glenda and Elinor hated Maple Jane and Baby. Mistakenly thinking their parents loved Maple Jane and Baby more than them. It wouldn’t have occurred to the girls that because of Maple Jane and Baby’s specialness, they received their parents’ extra attention.

The other two children, being blind and crippled, were unaware of their siblings’ jealousy. Other than being led to meals, the two older boys spent all of their waking hours in the barn. Harvey could carve out a fiddle in no time and he’d carved one for each boy. Lack of sight made their ears especially keen in picking out tunes on their fiddles. Music drifted out into the orchard, and music gave them back their purpose in life.

Deprivation didn’t harm the four Le Fleur children. Secrets and envy were the destroyers. The Le Fleur’s didn’t know their lie, told out of love, would warp Maple Jane, Baby, Glenda, and Elinor as much as a soft pine board left out is warped by the wet winter ground. With Maple Jane and Baby kept inside their white painted prison, rarely let out to explore, the four sisters became estranged. If someone happened to drop by, Maple Jane was told to pretend she couldn’t walk or talk. Visitors were rare, but due to Harvey’s talent with wood, and Pearls sewing skills, people stopped at the Le Fleur house now and then.

During the day, the rest of the Le Fleur children could play outside, but Maple Jane and Baby only escaped their prison late at night, when everyone slept.

Since Glenda and Elinor envied Maple Jane and Baby, this created another problem. Teasing and taunting became their game of choice. Pearl and Harvey chastised them daily for making their sisters cry. Glenda and Elinor would insist they were only playing. As the years went by, Pearl heard Maple Jane and Baby cry several times a day yelling, “Mama, make Glenda and Elinor stop!!!” Most of the time Pearl was too tired to intervene. Taking care of a large garden, a big family, and two blind children would have been enough for anyone. Even the laundry was an all day task for a woman who still scrubbed on a wash board.

Maple Jane and Baby shared one body, but just as good and evil can be mirror reflections so were Maple Jane and Baby. Maple Jane and Baby became the yin and the yang of the Le Fleurs.

The question will always remain for me, would this have happened, if the parents hadn’t made the mistake of trying to keep Baby a secret, thereby robbing them of any semblance of a normal childhood? Children can be cruel, and the ‘age old question’ of why two gang up on one was ignored in this household. Glenda and Elinor grew used to amusing their dark sides through the teasing of Maple Jane and Baby.

Violence was the end result. This happened many years ago. I thought it ended then, but I was wrong. I lived though this time, the memory suppressed. Self protection of the mind, according to my therapist.

The old fears returned, when Maple Jane and Baby returned to town. After dark was the worst time. Remember the fear you had, when as a child, you just knew something, or someone was going to jump out, and say ‘Boo.’ Knowing that something was going to happen, was worse than the actual ‘Boo!’ That was my state of mind back then.

But this is now. The here and now.

While walking with a friend on Heceta Beach, we passed within fifteen feet of Maple Jane and Baby. Maple Jane was staring at the sea, while my eyes welded to her face. Her hair was longer. It tumbled in a mass of shiny black curls, almost reaching her waist. As always the beach was windy, but Maple Jane’s hair remained unruffled. Even the wind avoids her.

Seabirds were in a great wing flapping rush inland, they too, want to flee Maple Jane. I thought of other sea life, they’ll be trying to escape her presence. The clams would be frantically using their tough little foot to dig their way deeper, down into the oozing wet sand. Maple Jane has that affect on animals, birds, insects, even the elements.

People are another matter. Her beauty mesmerizes and captivates you. Exactly the way a Cobra can hypnotize a smaller, weaker animal.

It will not be easy to relive this, but someone needs to warn you. Get up now, and check your windows and doors. Make sure they’re locked. Pull the drapes, even if it’s daylight, pull the drapes. If someone knocks at your door, don’t answer it. Let the telephone go unanswered. You wouldn’t want Maple Jane to know you're home.

Listen carefully as I’m going to tell you what happened back then; you’ll be forewarned. The people of Fiddle Creek Valley and those that dwelled beside Siltcoos Lake didn’t have that advantage.


Chapter 2

It’s 1954 and the month is June.

We’ll head south on Highway 101, passing through the loveliest town on the Oregon coast, Florence. Like a jewel is placed in a lovely setting, Florence is wed to natural beauty; the sea, the river, and the great sand dunes, provide the jewel’s tiara setting.

Shortly you’ll turn east on Canary road heading towards Fiddle Creek Valley. Close your eyes as I take you back to the way it was then. People were still talking about the great war, World War II. Signs of the conflict could be found even here, not physical signs, but in the inhabitants’ minds and hearts. Local sentiments were still harsh against the Japanese, while I never heard a single word against the Germans. Maybe this was because so many of the locals ancestors came from Germany, and bore German surnames.

The trees, bushes, and berry vines are heavy laden now and lush, like an over plump woman, rich with life and fertile. All living things are preparing to give birth, assuring their eternity. The dairy herds of black and white cows are laden too, with bulging milk bags. The cows walk towards the barn, eager to feel the relief of their milk being sucked inside the electric machines. The barns, during the milking, are places of warmth and comfort. Most farmhouses look freshly painted. Fiddle Creek flows though this valley giving it its name and empties into Siltcoos lake.

Siltcoos Lake is gorgeous, mysterious, and large with four hundred miles of shoreline. Once connected to the sea, it’s retained its sea-like atmosphere. The salt air from the nearby Pacific sometimes mingles during misty mornings with the lake’s rich uprising mists.

Islands lie in the lake. One such island rests opposite the little resort of Ada. This island still has a huge stand of old growth trees and its shoreline is littered with petrified rocks of various sizes.

Back then, little Ada bustled with people, log trucks, and tourists. A regular stop for the railroad, as tracks went right though tiny Ada. Soon the days of the ‘gypo’ loggers, and the small sawmills will pass, and Ada will just be a memory. But no one back then had a crystal ball, most thought the trees and this independent way of life would never change.

Siltcoos Lake and Fiddle creek are in a symbiotic relationship; codependents where each need the other, with the smaller creek feeding the lake. They would be purposeless alone, would not exist alone. Remember this, because Maple Jane and Baby are codependents.

My mind goes back to the smells and sounds of a unique place and time and like the vibrant bluebirds that once flew along the lake edge, my memories again take wing, bluebird-like in my thoughts. The bluebirds are long gone, perhaps my memory bluebirds, should meld into a single bird. A raven.

Ada sits on the east side of the lake, it also signaled the end of good road. There was a narrow, pot-holed, tire killer of a road that tightly curved around the lake to another resort, Christenson’s. We seldom went that way, because Daddy disliked changing tires, on non-existent road shoulders.

My Grandfather once owned everything at Ada, which nowadays means nothing, but back then it was bustling with activity. I loved going to the Ada General Store. There was a wide wooden porch outside the store and in good weather people lingered there.

My eccentric great Aunt Daisy and her husband Uncle Ed ran the store for Grandpa. I liked her, she reminded me of a nervous twittering pigeon, all chest and tight yellow curls. My Grandmother Marian Hannah hated her sister Daisy, and always referred to her as a ‘man eater’ who would ‘lift a leg’ for anything male. When I first heard that, I imagined Aunt Daisy lifting a leg to pee on a man. After learning that, I’d bite my lip, to keep from giggling whenever I was around Aunt Daisy. Aunt Daisy and Uncle Ed owned four float-houses. They lived in one, and rented the other three. A two pump gas station was next to the store. In those days logs were stacked on a wooden structure next to the train tracks. There were houses and cabins that people rented. In front of the store was a dock with boats to rent. Six small rental homes with tiny attached garages were along the gravel road that ended with the store. Nestled between a no longer existing bridge and the railroad tracks was another rental, a large white two story home, the Chestnut family rented this house. Eight rentals in all.

My Grandparents’ home stood atop the hill that overlooked Ada; they had re-modeled a one room country school house into an elegant home.

Directly across the lake from Ada were two more float-houses. In the woods above, stood the infamous nightclub named the “Blue Moon.” A place where ‘fiddle playing’ music could be heard into the wee hours and a den of iniquity where anything illegal could be purchased for the right price.

Fiddle Creek had its own one room school. First graders mingled with already shaving eighth graders.

A grange stood at a fork in the road, providing a social life for the God fearing people of the valley and the sophisticated lake side dwellers. The grange held holiday socials, dances, and plays.

The school was closer to the farms than little Ada. Since we lived by Siltcoos Lake, I had a long ride to school. However, the bus ride was fun because the driver was another of my eccentric relatives, Great Aunt Marie.

Marie was flamboyant, funny, and lovable. Her hair was dyed a Crayola orange color. Set beneath the hair were lively blue eyes that promised laughter and mischief, below the eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and beneath the nose an exaggerated red mouth. Her cheeks were powdery pink circles. I was fascinated that she could walk, talk, smile and laugh, all while holding a skinny brown cigarette between her lips. Aunt Marie rolled her own; she had to be frugal. Her voice had a liltingly musical Scottish accent. Marie owned float-houses too, Waterlily Cabins; living in one and renting out two. Marie was divorced. I look back now at how hard she worked, and wonder how she did it. Her well was on land and there she kept chickens, ducks, goats, and a cow. Did I mention she also delivered the mail? She dressed in bib overalls, her feet clad in black boots with a green stripe across the top. Marie boasted she could out-shoot and out-fish any man alive. Maybe she could. On the holidays she would put on her full Scottish attire, the Murray clan’s colors. Once upon a time, she’d been a Rose Festival Queen in Portland, later marrying a well to do and influential man. They lived a glamorous life in a fine home. After a few years of a childless marriage, he left Marie for a younger woman. Marie was devastated; she packed her clothes and headed for her sister Daisy and Siltcoos Lake. But before going, she piled her philandering husband’s fine clothes in the middle of the parlor floor. There upon she lifted her skirts and climbed on top of his tailor made suits and silk ties, and relieved herself. Grandmother said that Marie’s only regret was not being there when he came to take possession of their prestigious home with his ‘little chippie!!’

Marie wanted nothing from her philandering husband, and he gave her nothing.

These places and the people who lived there will be an integral part of my story. I’ll begin now, forgive me if I stop from time to time. Remember I was just a child when I first met Maple Jane... and I spent my adult years trying to forget what now I must remember...

Daddy asked me if I wanted to take a ride in Grandfather’s big black Buick to see the Le Fleur family. On the way there Daddy asked, “Did you know that the Le Fleurs have an identical set of triplets?”

“No,” I said.

Daddy went on to say that they were beautiful girls, several years older than I.

We arrived at the Le Fleur place and Daddy parked close to the front door.

Mrs. Le Fleur answered the door. Her lower lip was so big it looked like a million bees had stung it. Her lip hung down almost to the bottom of her chin. I tried not to stare. Daddy stepped on my foot and I instantly looked away.

The Le Fleur home was clean but bare. A greenish wooden table sat in the center of the room with nothing on it, not even salt and pepper shakers. Eight unpainted wooden chairs were arranged around the table.

What stood out then, and now, was the large white wooden crib that sat beside the kitchen door. It wasn’t the crib that had my attention, it was what the crib contained that made my eyes grow large. A big girl was in the crib. She was on her knees, holding the railing and staring right back at me. I walked over to the crib.

I said, “Hi, what’s your name?”

She replied, “Maple Jane. What’s your name?”

“Bryony, but everyone calls me Benny.”

“Can you walk?” I asked.

At that point Maple Jane stood up. I was afraid she would topple out as she was too tall for the crib, but she walked wobbly-like completely around the crib.

At that point a woman’s voice yelled, “Sit down child!”

Maple Jane sat right down. She picked up a pink blanket and began sucking her thumb. I stared at her; she was as beautiful as the dolls in the Montgomery Ward catalog. Her eyelashes were the longest I’d ever seen, casting a shadow on rosy cheeks. Her eyes were more lavender than blue. Her hair was a mass of thick shiny black curls and it looked as if it had never been cut. I also noticed that she had a bad smell. Her mama needs to give her a bath I thought to myself, backing up a bit. Maple Jane would no longer make eye contact, no matter how hard I tried to get her attention. It was then that her identical sisters ran in giggling and laughing.

“We see you’ve met Maple Jane! I’m Glenda and this is Elinor.” I looked at each of their faces and told them I would never be able to tell them apart. “Yes you will,” said Elinor, “I paint my fingernails pink, Glenda paints hers red, and Maple Jane can’t get out of the crib!” They looked at each other, laughed, and ran into the kitchen. I looked down at Maple Jane. Now her eyes were shut as if asleep and she sucked harder on her thumb which was heavily calloused and red. I saw tears squeezing out between her lashes. My heart went out to her and before I left I reached in and gently patted her arm, telling her that I thought she was prettier than Glenda and Elinor.

Finally Daddy said it was time to go.

On the way home I asked Daddy where the other kids were, as I knew Mrs. Le Fleur had five children. “Honey girl, the other children have problems, both are blind, and one has Mrs. Le Fleur’s lip.”

“Why?” I asked.

Daddy didn’t answer.

“Well Maple Jane is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, did you see how pretty she is? Her two sisters were mean to her. I don’t like them. Next time we come, can I give her one of my dolls?”

Daddy had a worried frown on his face, but he answered, “Sure honey.”

“Why won’t they let her get out of the crib?” I asked

“I’ve been told Maple Jane can’t walk or talk” he said.

“That’s not true, I saw her walk, and she talks just fine” I replied.

“I don’t think so Benny,” said Daddy.

It was Halloween time when the first bad thing happened. The grange puts on a big party for the whole valley, not just for kids, but for everyone. It was my first time at one of the Grange’s social events. Mama had said, “Now you’re old enough.” I was excited about being able to go, but unhappy with my costume.

First Mama took a match and held it to the bottom of a cork, then she rubbed the cooled burnt end of the cork all over my face, next she wound my hair in a red scarf, lastly she grabbed a bed pillow and tied it under one of her old yellow house dresses. Now, she said, “You look just like Aunt Jemima who’s on the cereal box.”

Grange events like this drew out the reclusive Le Fleurs. They walked in the hall with Glenda and Elinor. Both girls were dressed as cheerleaders. Mama whispered to Daddy that she hoped Pearl sang some of her French songs tonight or recited poetry. Daddy said Mama better go get Pearl a glass of Mr. Johanson’s cider then, as ‘it kicks harder then a mule this year’ and after a glass or two, we won’t be able to get Pearl off the stage.

Someone yelled for all the children to gather in the center of the room, the first event ‘Apple Bobbing’ was ready to begin. I didn’t do well, and besides I saw a lot of spit floating around the red apples. The next game was the ‘Egg toss relay.’ An egg hit me on the head and the raw white stuff was all over my mouth. I gagged and almost puked as I wiped the slimy, sticky stuff off. I sat down beside Mama, and told her that I almost puked. “Don’t say puke,” she scolded, “say vomited or say I almost threw up.” I thought to myself, puke sounds like vomit tastes, therefore I would think puke but say vomit. I didn’t play any more games; I was waiting for the costume parade. We lined up and then held hands as we serpentined around the grange hall as Mrs. Merz played ‘She’ll be coming around the mountain.’ After three times around, I truly felt sick. Finally someone said to stop, and I ran over to where my parents were, as the pillow was now hanging somewhere between my knees and my ankles and I couldn’t walk right. Billy Shaw asked if I had ‘shit my pants.’ The costume parade made me sweat and now the blacking from the burnt cork ran into my eyes. This wasn’t as much fun as I’d imagined. It was the first time I was aware that dreaming about something and reality were not the same, dreaming was much better. Best costume prizes were next; $5.00 for first, $2.00 for second, and $1.00 for third prize. I didn’t win a prize. Glenda and Elinor won first and Donna Clay won second (she was a toilet paper wrapped mummy) and she started crying because she’d wanted first prize. Billy Shaw won third. Billy was only in fifth grade, but he was bigger than Daddy, and he had a beard. Billy’s costume was just his older brother’s logging clothes, corked boots and all.

Mama said the rest of the evening was more for adults, did I want to stay inside, or did I want to sleep in the car? Mama had put a blanket and a pillow in Grandpa’s car just in case I got sleepy. I asked if I could stay inside a little longer and Mama had agreed.

Pearl had just finished singing ‘Good night Irene,’ in French, when Ed Chestnut stood up and staggered across the stage towards Pearl. “You may look ugly as sin, but you sing like a Nightingale.”

Daddy hollered, “Don’t pay any attention to Ed, Pearl. He was drunk when he came in tonight.” But Pearl was a little drunk too, and she shook her finger at Ed, saying “I wouldn’t talk if I was you, you’re a one armed, gimpy excuse for a man, and I wouldn’t have you if you were the last man on earth!” Ed retorted, “You’re an inbred pig.” It was at this point that Mr. Le Fleur (who by the way looked normal) walked out on the stage, and gently took Pearl by the hand leading her off. Someone told Ed he better go in the kitchen and get some coffee and sober up before he drove home. Ed lived with his family in the big two story house between the bridge and the railroad tracks. Ed swore softly and then he walked into the kitchen.

Continued in Part 2...

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