The Lies

                The Lies

Suzanne Marsh

Living on a farm, I had to shop in town, which on a sunny day was roughly thirty minutes. The girls were still in school, so I had at least two hours before they would be home. I went down my usual route when I noted a green Sears van sitting in a driveway. It had to be my husband’s van, so I thought it was a service call. It was a service call with fringe benefits. I did not know that at the time but I was becoming suspicious, after seeing the van there several times in a week. The betrayal I felt was like nothing I had ever experienced. The feelings that ran through my mind, of hate, revenge, I wanted to stop the car. Go knock on the door and demand my husband return home to our family. Apparently he had other plans. Instead of following what my brain was telling me I chose to wait, see how often the van stopped there, it was only two miles from the farm.

Two out of every three times I drove by his van was there, I knew from the numbers on the van. I decided confrontation would be the best way to handle this situation. Actually there were not a lot of options, this one seemed most logical. My daughters were always asking where their father was. I knew the answer but how do you tell three girls their father was cheating on their mom, and she knew it.

One afternoon, my former husband came home around four o’clock in the afternoon. I had been out in the barn. He asked where I was, the girls told him in the barn. He walked down to the barn. I was up in the hayloft. He clamored up the wood stairs, I heard him, and l ignored him. He asked what was wrong, why had I not been in the house. I turned to face him, my voice full of rage:

“What’s wrong? You bastard, I know you are cheating on me with that broad that lives in

the blue house on the curve.”

His eyebrows shot up, his voice on the verge of anger:

“I had service call there nothing more. Now just calm down. Let’s talk.”

I had no intention of talking any longer. I put the pitch fork back, shoved the bale of hay down the chute into the cows pen. He stalked out of the barn, got in his van and left. That suited me just fine, I still had no idea how to prove he was having an affair, I couldn’t leave without doing harm to the children. Once again, I had to decided what was more important, my children or their cheating father. The answer was obivous , the children came first.

Ugly scenes began to become more frequent. The mental abuse increased. The more I ignored his comments the worse the situation became. He was seldom home any longer, the children and I were coping as best as we could. While the girls were in school, I would take long drives up toward the lake. I would sit and wonder where I had gone wrong. I was a dutiful wife, I did whatever was asked of me, so why, what had I done? I had no answers just the calm lake sweeping the shoreline. I usually returned just before the girls got off the bus.

He came home one afternoon, the malaria was causing problems, he needed me to drive him to the VA hospital twenty five miles away. It was noon, I knew the girls would be home around four. I pulled the station wagon out of the driveway and headed south. Three quarters of the way there he began screaming about “charlie” being on the hood of the car, telling me to pull over. I did pull over, trying to calm him down. He told me something that day, about how “charlie” had chased his company into Laos, how they avoided capture. At least now I had a clue about PTSD, of course they did not call it that until later. I tried to understand that it was fear that had made him into a person I did not want to know. We arrived at the hospital, I stayed while they admitted him, then I headed home.

That was the last time he ever spoke about Vietnam, when he returned home after fourteen days in the VA Hosptial, the ultimate betrayal began. The mental abuse was getting worse everyday, he was home. He would lash out at the girls, telling them either do as they were told or he would leave. He raged at me because the house was not spotless.

At this juncture I felt as if I were losing my mind. For days I thought of nothing but escaping, the cruel words. Finally things became unbearable. We sat up one night and talked, he thought it would be better if I left for a while, allowing him to care for the children. I called him telling him I wanted to return home, he said no he was not ready to reaffirm our marriage, that I was to stay away. That was like telling me to cut off my arm, those were my children too. I drove out the following Sunday to see the girls, they were gone, I decided to see where the van was, sure enough it was at the blue house on the curve. I went back to house, I began looking for any sign of the girls, of my mom’s silverware. There was nothing there. I was about ready to leave when a car came racing down the road, a Ford Thunderbird. He was behind the wheel of the car, chasing me down the road! I had a Ford Pinto at the time it was not much of a match for the Thunderbird, I finally made it into town, I went to the Sheriff, I wanted a writ of protection, it was filed.

The divorce was ugly, very ugly. I was not allowed to see the girls, I protested his lawyer who played golf with the Judge that was hearing the case, made sure I took the brunt. It was not until years later I finally realized, not only had he betrayed me, lied to me and threatened me, that the truth was I had been set up to take the fall. The “other woman” married him, they are divorced also. No one won, the girls paid a higher price for his betrayal than anyone else me included. The “other woman” was very abusive to the girls.

That is what betrayal is.