Life of Rileigh

Prologue

Iwas born a bastard at a county hospital.

My birth was covered under the child health care program of the Welfare department. When most girls of sixteen were getting their driver’s licences my mother was getting herself a baby. She named me after a fictitious male character in a 1950’s television show – The Life of Riley. I’m guessing she just liked the name, and I do, too. However, she changed the spelling up a bit to Rileigh. But one thing this guy Riley and I had in common was – a disruptive life. I don’t rightly know my father or his last name either, for that matter. My mother’s name was Ophelia Horton, so she named me after herself as well. I’ve had several other last names – some I’ve made up and one when I was adopted, however, none were ever permanent.

As a child I spent a lot of time in and out of an institution for the care of orphans called the Margaret Lloyd Stansel’s Children’s Asylum – more in than out though. It was a four-story red brick building on the edge of a small Georgia town. There were two other smaller red brick buildings out there on the property – one was an old folks’ home, and the other was a nut house. Sometimes, by golly, you couldn’t tell the difference between the two. Margaret Lloyd Stansel’s name was sandblasted on the front of all three asylums – right above their entry steps.

Funny, but I don’t recall ever meeting Margaret Lloyd Stansel. I suppose she had already passed on from this life. She was probably just some rich do-gooder that felt sorry for the feeble minded and little orphans, anywho. However, not many of us were actually orphans. Most every child I knew there had a parent, a grandparent, an aunt, uncle, or some other family member – somewhere or other.

I’m sure you’re wondering why on earth my mother would ever consider putting me up for adoption. Well, if’n you asked her back in the day, she’d say she never did – but I know for a fact that’s a story. My mother lied to me my entire life, but I forgive her and will always love her. I don’t blame her – my Momma had herself a hard-knock life, too.

Let me explain, when I was born in 1954, things were quite different. During the 1950’s there was more emphasis on the consequences of one’s actions. You see, people were held accountable for their mistakes. Everything was either black or white and there was no acceptable grey area. And that included children of my illegitimate situation. The unwed mothers were treated in a spiteful manner – including being excluded from social settings, and even family circles. Girls that found themselves in this situation – an unplanned pregnancy – felt nothing but humiliation. Some had lickety-split weddings, others illegal abortions, and even forced adoptions. I guess I should count my blessings that my mother tried her best to raise me.

My cousin Emma Lee informed me of my lowly position in life at an incredibly young age. I reckon I was around about five years old at the time. My mother and I were visiting my grandparents, her parents, Alton and Melba Horton. These were the only grandparents I ever knew, of course. This was a rare visit indeedy. We were seldom invited – especially when my mother’s sister’s brood of children were about. Aunt Hattalean, my mother’s sister, never spoke to me except to correct me in front of her six children. Emma Lee was the oldest girl and may I say the rudest of the bunch. Emma Lee took after her mother – you know how the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree? And this was a crabapple variety indeed.

I remember that day just like it was yesterday – I came outside on the front porch to play with my girl cousins. There were four of them: Emma Lee, Ella Allen, Melvette, and Valinda. Ella Allen was around about my age. I barely knew any of them, and I still don’t to this day – fifteen years later. Well, they were sitting there all prettied-up on the green painted wooden floor playing dolls. When I sat down, I naturally picked up one of their dollies. It was dressed-up all fancy and was a wee bit nicer than any doll my mother had ever bought me before. Emma Lee jerked that baby doll right out of my hands before you had a chance to say howdy-do. It was then that she called me, in a whisper mind you, – a bastard.

I had never heard the word before, but I could tell from just the way she said it, and the disgusting look upon her face that it wasn’t very nice. She then proceeded to tell her little sisters to move away from me as if’n I had pink eye, or such. Emma Lee could tell I didn’t understand and continued her cruel harassment. She defined the word for me and told me that not only was my mother a sinner, but so was I, and that both of us would go to hell when we died. I wasn’t sure what hell was either, at the time, but I knew it sounded really bad, too.

My mother and I, together that is, never went to church. Maybe my mother believed that she was a sinner and was excommunicated from the church. Maybe she believed I was, too. I never spoke to her about this though. I did however attend church services every Sunday while I was in the institution, and I made sure that I was saved from the curse of my mother. You see, I was taught during my stay at my other home, the orphanage, that you must be saved in order to go to heaven.

I think it was about this time when my hateful cousin Emma Lee bad-mouthed-me that I learned to use my imagination – which became a blessing at times. I reached out and touched her bare arm right below the starched ruffle of her white pinafore sundress and announced, Emma Lee, you have been touched by a sinner and it will not wash off!  Well, you can imagine how that got a rise out of Emma Lee. She was madder than an ole’ wet hen! Of course, Aunt Hattalean gave me a swat on my behind, along with a piece of her mind, and then my mother and she had words resulting in my grandfather asking my mother and me to leave the premises. Anywho, we didn’t go back, or more than likely, weren’t invited back for some time.

I’m sure you’re wondering if’n I ever met my father. No, I thought I did a couple of times when I was a youngin’. However, my mother said he was long gone by the grace of God. I didn’t look anything like my mother, or my cousins, for that matter – I have dark eyes and hair. One time I followed a man that looked like my father, to me, for two whole blocks till he turned around and confronted me. I took off like a scalded dog all the way home. There was a TV doctor show once called Ben Casey and I believed for a while that he was my father. Dr. Casey was so handsome with his dark eyes and curly black hair. I made the mistake, though, of telling some kids that at school. I was teased for weeks afterwards. Anywho, I learned, most of the time, to keep my daydreams to myself.

I did attend school both places – at home, some of the time, and at the orphanage, all the time. It wasn’t the same school though, on account of, it wasn’t the same town. 

The Margaret Lloyd Stansel’s Children’s Asylum of Abbottville, Georgia was located a full day’s car ride away from Bryley, Georgia where I was from, and my mother resided. Mother had a lot of hardships, you see, and I was one of them from time to time. I made her a lot of promises so perhaps she wouldn’t take me back to my other home, or when she’d visit me at the orphanage to take me home with her. I’d promise not to eat as much, so she wouldn’t have to spend as much money on groceries, that I’d quit sassing her, that I’d make my bed everyday and make hers, too. And when she’d have her men friends over, I would be out-of-sight and out-of-mind and they’d never even know that the likes of me even existed. You know how adults liked to say, Children should be seen, not heard.

However, sometimes my mother just couldn’t help herself and times would get really bad for her, and she’d get down in the dumps with the mully grubs and just all tuckered out. At difficult times like these, when I was home, she’d start drinking the spirits, as she liked to call them. The next thing I knew she had lost another job, our rent was overdue, and Mr. Motz was banging on our rickety ole’ screen door and threatening to chunk us out on our you-know-what.

I’m sure my life is different from yours. There are not as many orphanages operating today and maybe that’s for the best. I hear tell that the one I lived at off and on is closing. All the furnishings are going to be auctioned off and the buildings will be bulldozed. Rumors gave the news that they intend on building a shopping mall there. Now ain’t that the berries? I reckon foster homes are taking the place of most orphanages today. Well, the long and short of it is – that this is my story – about when things were a wee bit different. 

My name is Rileigh Ophelia Horton. I think.

This was my life – The Life of Rileigh.

Chapter One - My First Visit

My back rested against a wooden bench, but my scuffed-up Mary Jane’s dangled above the wood slatted floor. Out of boredom I began swaying my feet back and forth – kicking at the hard, blue-marbled suitcase that mother had set down in front of me. An old radiator kept me company, too, as it clanked and hissed in this enormous entrance hall. I, however, had no inkling of what was fixing to happen to me. There must have still been hopes of a pleasure trip lingering in my thoughts, though.

Momma had told me to stay put while she followed a stranger into an office through tall double doors. The stranger, a woman, closed them behind her after taking a sidelong glance at me through her thick lens glasses that slid down her slender nose. She pushed them back up the bridge of her nose with her middle finger of her right hand.  

As I sat outside the office two things of interest caught my eye – one was above my head – the rows of pictures that lined the walls on either side of the double doors. They were black and white photograghs of groups of children standing out front of this building. But what really caught my attention was the white line painted down the middle of the polished wooden foyer floor. The line continued up the wide staircase that faced the front doors. The staircase had a broad landing about twenty steps up and then a pair of staircases formed – one to the left and one to the right. However, there were no white lines painted on these.

Anywho, it wasn’t long before the mystery of the white line was solved when a slew of children entered from outdoors. I had seen them playing in what appeared to be a school play yard in the distance when my mother and I drove up. Directly these children entered through the front doors quietly segregated into two single file lines – girls on the right and boys on the left of that six-inch-wide white line. When they reached the landing the boys high-tailed it up the staircase to the left and the girls scrambled up the one to the right. They had broken single file formation and silence, too, as soon as they reached those second set of steps.

I would soon learn that playtime was over at four-thirty, and it was time to clean up for supper which was served at six o’clock on the dot. Of course, these children stared at me as I sat there. A few smiled, but most gawked, and one boy stuck his tongue out at me. Two women dressed like the strange woman, in dark blue dresses with starched white lace collars under their overcoats followed the children inside; neither spoke to me, though. One followed the boys and the other the girls up the staircases and out of sight.

Rileigh...Rileigh!

My head jerked from the staircase to the tall, opened door where my mother stood. I could tell she was pinched for time – her full lips had flattened, and her eyes were almost closed. I had better hurry myself along. Momma always got short with me when I wasn’t paying attention.

Get on up and come inside. Mother motioned with her head for me to follow her. Momma’s expression changed from irritation to reassurance – the corners of her mouth upturned and her eyelids backed-off her eyes. I want you to meet someone.

There behind a desk, that looked more like a fancy dining table, sat the strange woman. Her back was as straight as the wall behind her. She was older than my mother, but not as elderly as my grandmother, Melba Horton.

Hello, Rileigh. I am the head mistress here at The Margaret Lloyd Stansel’s Children’s Asylum. You may call me – Mother Wells.

I would learn not to cross this woman who instructed me to call her Mother Wells. She would later on threaten me often with – I’ll put you in your place, young lady! Of course, I had already been informed exactly where that place was by my cousin Emma Lee.

Naturally, I was confused and turned to face my mother. Momma?

Mother leaned forward close to my face and said, "Rileigh darlin’, remember I’m a Jill of all trades and can perform any job just as good or better than the next person, man or mouse. So, don’t you worry darlin’, I aim to get a new and even better job than before, as soon as I get back on my feet. That’s when I’ll return to fetcha. Then, we’ll eat ice cream every night!"

I was under the impression we were going on a trip together – not that we ever had before, but we daydreamed about it often. We even planned our vacations by cutting out pictures in magazines of exotic places all over the world. Sometimes we’d tape them to the walls like framed photographs. I had mistakenly believed that day had finally arrived. Momma was all gussied-up in her finest dress with the scooped neckline. She said it was a secret where we were heading. I had been so excited that morning as she packed my belongings. Why didn’t I notice that she had not packed a bag for herself?

I just need a lil’ bit of time, Rileigh darlin’, that’s all. Now... Mother licked her pointer finger then proceeded to wash a smudge from the corner of my mouth, ...you be a good girl and don’t you cause Mother Wells here a bit of trouble. She’s gonna take real good care of you, ya hear?

I peered up through my dark curls at the stranger whose eyes bored holes into mine as if’n she needed to plant a seed. I reached for my mother’s hand and squeezed it.

Mother shook it lose. I could tell her patience was wavering. I needed to behave. And did you see all these children here, Rileigh? You always wanted a little brother or sister, now you’re gonna have a hundred!

Shaking my head, I blubbered, But...but...I don’t want a brother or sissy. I...I want you, Momma.

Now, now, I’ll be back directly. said my mother, Ophelia Horton, as she knelt to say good-bye to me for the first time at the orphanage. 

I can still see the expression on her face that day. I wonder if’n she remembers mine. Yes, there were tears in her tired eyes, but there was also a look of relief – like a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. Her dark circles seemed to fade as she tried to comfort me with just her smile.

I, of course, didn’t completely understand what was happening. I was aware my mother had not been well for some days and had lost her job downtown at Shaw’s Drug Store #1. This was after not showing up and more than likely not calling on account of, our telephone wasn’t in service.

This was just the beginning of my visits, as my mother liked to call them, to the Margaret Lloyd Stansel’s Children’s Asylum. In my mother’s head, she preferred to believe it was only a boarding school or summer camp – depending on the time of year I was visiting.

Momma, who’s gonna look after you? I asked, as I stood staring into the somber eyes of my mother. I remember how the whites of her eyes appeared grey to me.

Like I said, Rileigh darlin’, you best not worry your little head. I’ll be back directly, promised my mother. She rose from her knees in front of me to a full stance after a swift embrace. And then she added, Mother Wells, I’m much obliged to you for coming to my dire straits.

Don’t you be concerned, Miss Horton, Rileigh will be happy here. We create model American citizens here at the Margaret Lloyd Stansel’s Children’s Asylum, said Mother Wells from behind her large mahogany desk where she too had now risen. 

Momma, please don’t leave me here! I exclaimed, as my lips and chin trembled with the realization of what was happening. I reckon this was probably the awfullest day of my life. I grabbed my mother around her legs and held on for dear life. Mother Wells must have anticipated my move because she was on me like bees on honey now dislodging my panicked hold. I twisted and squirmed to free myself, but to no avail – Mother Wells had seen it all before and held on to me tighter than my mother’s girdle.

Momma! Momma! Please, Momma!

It’s best to go on, Miss Horton. You’ll only make matters worse if you try to console her. She’ll be fine by supper time, said Mother Wells, as she lifted me up off the floor. I now proceeded to kick Mother Wells in the shins.

This became my first mistake at the Margaret Lloyd Stansel’s Children’s Asylum.

Chapter Two - My First Morning

T here will be no supper for you tonight, Rileigh Ophelia Horton! I’ll put you in your place, young lady! Now stand still and hush your mouth! ordered Mother Wells, as she released me.

From where I stood, I could see my mother’s car pulling out of the circular driveway and then through the tall iron entry gates at the road. The towering matching black iron fence surrounded the twenty plus acres. I dashed to the window and banged on the frosted glass. MOMMA! MOMMA! MOMMA!

I don’t recall what order things happened next. Everything that took place became scattered in my mind forever. It all seemed like a dream, or of course more like a nightmare, as you can imagine. I do recall one of those women dressed in navy blue that I had seen earlier, sitting by my bed,