Collector of Broken Wives

On a sparkling February morning in California’s Sierra Nevada Mountains Thomas James Dalton stepped out on the deck off the master bedroom his family’s cabin. The sun had just risen on his twenty sixth birthday, and snow still covered most everything. Stretching out his arms, he drew in a deep breath of the fresh, early morning air. How exhilarating and normal it felt to be up and dressed at this time of the morning. He reflected on the fact that he wasn’t always a morning person. Also, on how he had become the husband of five wives, and the chieftain of a twelve polygamous family “clan”, as his fourth wife described the group. He looked back on the last eleven years. They were rich, eventful, and he would not change one minute. Nor would he trade places with any man on the face of the earth.

In his mind he returned to Christmas when he was fifteen years old. This particular Christmas day was an interesting affair for Tommie. It was the first Christmas he could remember that he didn’t have his father showing up, trying to shift his guilt trip on them by picking at everything. Nothing seemed right, good enough or perfect enough. When Tommie’s mom told his father that the school had jumped Tommie one grade, 4th to 6th, he said “you’re smart enough and big enough, they should have sent you to Junior High.” His father was never happy with anything Tommie, his mother or sister ever did or had. Then, after the holiday he would take off to some unknown place with an oil field or platform, and leave them alone until Easter, or Fourth of July. Then it would be a rerun of Christmas. Finally Tommie’s mother became weary of it all, and divorced the guy, the father Tommie never really knew. He told himself right then that he would find out exactly how to be a good husband and father, before he took on the job. He was the man of the house now, and he had better learn how to properly fill that position, even if he was just fourteen years old. Tommie had read true stories of the pioneers, and other eras of American history, that told of families that lost their husband/father. The oldest son, sometimes ten years old, stepped in and filled the father position. If they could do it, he could too. All he had to do was find out how.

The other interesting part of the day, was that his mother had invited quite a few people to stop by and many did, mostly from the hospital where she worked. Tommie’s mother had become a Supervising Nurse the previous summer, and many felt they should at least stop and say, “Merry Christmas.”

One of his mother’s closest friends, Vicki Rhodes, made an appearance about mid morning with her daughter Lucy, and son Bobby. She found Tommie on the living room floor going through one of his Christmas presents.

“Merry Christmas Missus Rhodes.”

She cheerfully replied “Merry Christmas Tom, but, yaknow?..Ya kin call me Vicki...”.

He liked to be called Tom, it sounded so grown up. He also liked Vicki. She was a comfortable person to be around, and he liked her sense of humor. With a Texan for a father, and an Okie for a mother, she had real country wit.

Bending down toward him, she said   “I see you got a computer for Christmas, it looks like a good one ta me.”

Tommie’s eyes lit up, “Yes ma’am, it is. It’s a 486DX, with eight meg of RAM, 240 meg hard drive, an’ a modem. Mom’s gonna get me a phone line just for my computer when I know what I’m doin’ with it.”

She straightened up, smiled, and said, “It’s all Greek to me. But you wait ‘til Tracy Thompson gets here. You talk to her about it, she knows all about those gadgets.” Looking around she asked, “Anyway, where’s your mother?”

Tommie pointed toward the kitchen and said “Back there in the kitchen, talkin’ ta Tammie Gilbert.”

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