Read Online Doc: The Rape of the Town of Lovell by Ron Franscell, Jack Olsen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ron Franscell, Jack Olsen
Tags: Psychology, Health; Fitness & Dieting, True Crime, Biographies & Memoirs, Mental Illness, Psychology & Counseling, Pathologies, Medical Books
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instrument, the pain made her sweat and turn red. When she cried out, he would complain that they just had to try harder. She knew she had a narrow canal, but he was making her feel like a freak.
She told her mother, "He sure does a lot of pelvics."
Arden said she was lucky to be getting such expert attention.
In July the high-country temperature climbed into the nineties. Minda lifted her blimpish body onto the old tractor and drove into the fields with her dad. Just working with him picked up her spirits. He seemed to be feeling better, too.
"This whole thing's taught me a lesson," he told her in his soft voice. "I thought we were a perfect family—didn't smoke, didn't drink, didn't party, worked hard, obeyed God's laws and man's. I thought we were a little bit above everybody else. But this thing made me realize we're no better or worse'n the rest." He took her hand. "It's made me reach out a little, make a few friends. Feels good, Minda. It's the best thing ever happened to me."
On a scorching day in mid-August 1976, she was driving the tractor when the baby flip-flopped in her stomach. Dr. Story took X-rays and told her that the fetus was in a breech position and wouldn't fit through her narrow canal.
A few days later she staggered the half mile home from church and told Scott, "I've got this water dripping down my legs." Soon she was in hard labor. For a while, the infant was in fetal distress, but Dr. Story's skilled hands delivered a squawling Curtis Scott Brinkerhoff by cesarean.
As soon as her stitches came out, Minda dressed the baby and took him to church alone. Scott was still refusing to attend. She passed the sacrament tray with head held high. Church made her feel good, even without the sacrament. Church was something between her and God. All those staring fools could be danged.
A veterinarian named Ed Lowe became the new ward bishop, and he called Minda to his office. "Well, what do you think?" he asked.
"I think I've been on probation long enough," she answered.
Minda could see that Scott was the bishop's real concern. The church didn't want to lose an active young leader, but Scott's pride presented a problem.
"He's hurt and angry," Minda explained. "He doesn't think this was handled right."
The bishop shuffled some papers. "Look, Minda," he said, "I'm afraid if I don't take you kids off probation, Scott will fall away completely."
Minda knew better—Scott was LDS to his boot tops—but she didn't comment. "And he's too fine a young man for us to lose,"
Bishop Lowe went on. He shoved his chair back and said, "Your probation is over."
Minda's first thought was, Wait till I tell Dad! She stuck out her hand, and the bishop shook it. Then he said, "Do you want to be married to Scott in the temple?"
She'd dreamed of a temple marriage ever since her first excursion as a child. "Oh, yes!" she said.
The bishop summoned Scott into the office and asked him if he wanted to go to the temple with Minda.
Scott looked at her and smiled. "Well, sure," he said. "Well— yeah!"
"Come back to church. If you make yourselves worthy, I'll see that you get your Recommends."
They were married in the Idaho Falls Temple on Minda's nineteenth birthday, March 25, 1977. The relatives attended, McArthurs and Brinkerhoffs united at last. After the rites, little Curtis was carried into the sealing room, all cleansed and anointed—a cherub in white robes. The family was joined together "for time and all eternity." Minda was so happy she couldn't cry.
If there was any question about the prodigals' complete acceptance by their church, it was dispelled by one of the wedding gifts, a book called The House of the Lord, by James E. Talmage, which explained why Mormons built temples ("This then is sufficient answer to the question as to why the Latter-Day Saints build and maintain temples. They have been instructed and required so to do by the Lord of Hosts. . . . Temples are a necessity"). The book was inscribed in the
She told her mother, "He sure does a lot of pelvics."
Arden said she was lucky to be getting such expert attention.
In July the high-country temperature climbed into the nineties. Minda lifted her blimpish body onto the old tractor and drove into the fields with her dad. Just working with him picked up her spirits. He seemed to be feeling better, too.
"This whole thing's taught me a lesson," he told her in his soft voice. "I thought we were a perfect family—didn't smoke, didn't drink, didn't party, worked hard, obeyed God's laws and man's. I thought we were a little bit above everybody else. But this thing made me realize we're no better or worse'n the rest." He took her hand. "It's made me reach out a little, make a few friends. Feels good, Minda. It's the best thing ever happened to me."
On a scorching day in mid-August 1976, she was driving the tractor when the baby flip-flopped in her stomach. Dr. Story took X-rays and told her that the fetus was in a breech position and wouldn't fit through her narrow canal.
A few days later she staggered the half mile home from church and told Scott, "I've got this water dripping down my legs." Soon she was in hard labor. For a while, the infant was in fetal distress, but Dr. Story's skilled hands delivered a squawling Curtis Scott Brinkerhoff by cesarean.
As soon as her stitches came out, Minda dressed the baby and took him to church alone. Scott was still refusing to attend. She passed the sacrament tray with head held high. Church made her feel good, even without the sacrament. Church was something between her and God. All those staring fools could be danged.
A veterinarian named Ed Lowe became the new ward bishop, and he called Minda to his office. "Well, what do you think?" he asked.
"I think I've been on probation long enough," she answered.
Minda could see that Scott was the bishop's real concern. The church didn't want to lose an active young leader, but Scott's pride presented a problem.
"He's hurt and angry," Minda explained. "He doesn't think this was handled right."
The bishop shuffled some papers. "Look, Minda," he said, "I'm afraid if I don't take you kids off probation, Scott will fall away completely."
Minda knew better—Scott was LDS to his boot tops—but she didn't comment. "And he's too fine a young man for us to lose,"
Bishop Lowe went on. He shoved his chair back and said, "Your probation is over."
Minda's first thought was, Wait till I tell Dad! She stuck out her hand, and the bishop shook it. Then he said, "Do you want to be married to Scott in the temple?"
She'd dreamed of a temple marriage ever since her first excursion as a child. "Oh, yes!" she said.
The bishop summoned Scott into the office and asked him if he wanted to go to the temple with Minda.
Scott looked at her and smiled. "Well, sure," he said. "Well— yeah!"
"Come back to church. If you make yourselves worthy, I'll see that you get your Recommends."
They were married in the Idaho Falls Temple on Minda's nineteenth birthday, March 25, 1977. The relatives attended, McArthurs and Brinkerhoffs united at last. After the rites, little Curtis was carried into the sealing room, all cleansed and anointed—a cherub in white robes. The family was joined together "for time and all eternity." Minda was so happy she couldn't cry.
If there was any question about the prodigals' complete acceptance by their church, it was dispelled by one of the wedding gifts, a book called The House of the Lord, by James E. Talmage, which explained why Mormons built temples ("This then is sufficient answer to the question as to why the Latter-Day Saints build and maintain temples. They have been instructed and required so to do by the Lord of Hosts. . . . Temples are a necessity"). The book was inscribed in the
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