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MAGDALENA

          Pinks, with tinges of yellow, outlined the New Mexico sunset, as our car sped down highway 60 toward Magdalena.
          “We’re almost there,” Mom said.  Bronco and I were starting to get “antsy.”
          Bronco and I watched intently at the approaching mountain.  At one certain angle, a rock formation resembled a woman’s profile.  Spanish settlers had named the mountain after Mary Magdalene and their town born the name...Magdalena.
          “I see it...I see the lady!” Bronco yelled with excitement as he jumped up and down causing the car seat to shake and me along with it.
          It was only a matter of minutes before we drove into the small town.  Quaint buildings, modest homes, and dusty side streets gave an air of oldness and rugged history.  Tales of saloon fights and lawless days were passed down from the older generations.  Legends of outlaws and cowboys passed the days of slow, country style living.
          Mom’s family, consisting of eight children, had moved to Magdalena when she was in her early teens.  Dad, ten years her senior, met her when he returned from the Second World War.  Mom’s family had long since left the area, but Dad’s folks were still here.
          This town, with its dusty streets and quiet mystery, was the place of my birth.  The once, little makeshift hospital, where I caught my first breath of life, was now the town’s fire station.
          We turned off the main street of town and drove east.  The white stucco house, with its chain-linked fence sat on the corner of the second block.
          A tall older woman was bent at the waist shooing chickens into a pen at the backside of the house.  The sound of the car door shutting caused her to straighten and turn, as she patted her windblown white hair.
          “I declare, those chickens are more than I can handle,” she said as Dad opened the chain linked gate.
          “Now Mom, what would you do without your fresh laid eggs?” Dad teased.
          “Yes, and what would I complain about,” she said as she gave Dad a hug, “It’s good to see you son.”
          “How are you doing Wanda?” she asked Mom.
          “I’m just fine Mother Williams,” Mom answered.
          Turning her attention toward Bronco, she encircled him with her arms and pulled him to her.
          “How’s my boy?”
          Looking up, her eyes met mine.
          “Hi Gloria, I’ve made you and Bronco some cookies.  Come on in the house.”
          We followed her into the front room.  The house had the scent of mustiness from old furniture.  Grandpa Williams stood with effort from his rocking chair.
          “Come on in folks, it’s good to see ya...have a chair.”
          Dad pulled up a platform rocker and sat next to his father.
          Mom took some of our belongings into the back bedroom, while Bronco and I followed Grandma Williams into the kitchen.  We wanted to see about those cookies!
          During that evening, and half of the next morning, I spent my time observing.
          Mom eyed me curiously, “Don’t you feel well?” she asked.
          “I feel fine,” I answered nonchalantly.
          “Why don’t you go outside and play?”
          “I just want to stay inside,” I answered innocently.
          I sat on my perch beside the kitchen table.  I was determined to solve the mystery.  Why did Mom get upset and why did she feel she and I weren’t accepted?
          Grandma and Mom seemed to have a polite co-existence as they moved around the kitchen.  I noticed Grandma did pay more attention to Bronco, but he was still little.  After all, at nine years old, I was half-grown.  There comes a time when a person doesn’t need all that hugging and kissing, I reasoned. 
          I could not remember a time when Grandpa Williams had spoken a word to me. He never talked to Mom and me, but he never conversed much with anyone...except Dad.  They would walk around the yard (Dad slowing to Grandpa’s gait), or sit in the rockers discussing ranching.
          Maybe there isn’t anything wrong.  That’s probably just the way Grandma and Grandpa are, I decided.  I felt a mixture of relief and freedom as I ran out the back screen door into the warm summer day.