Читать книгу The Evolution of Crimson - Jerry Aldridge - Страница 7

June 11, 1963

Winifred Jessica Dodd’s body awakened to the sound of sizzling bacon, but what would happen that afternoon, would begin the awakening of her soul. She put on her crimson bathrobe with white trim because her mother did not approve of scantily clad appearances at the kitchen table. On her way to breakfast she stopped at the bathroom to look in the mirror. As she stared at herself, she saw what she always saw—daddy’s little girl. Oh how she missed him. Over a year ago, before his death, she had won the “Celebrity Look Alike” contest because of her stunning resemblance to Elizabeth Taylor. Winifred was a ravishing beauty. She had her dad’s Mediterranean good looks and her mom’s Scandinavian figure. How could she possibly lose? When she arrived at breakfast decked in curlers and cold cream, she still looked like a budding movie star. At least that was what her father would have told her.

Frances Dodd was first and foremost the mother of a 19-year-old college student and a nine-year-old fourth grader. But she was also a struggling widow and third grade teacher at Edgewood Elementary School. When her husband Edmund died, there was no insurance policy and all of their money had been poured into their new home on Shades Parkway. Frances had to find a way to make more money so she had gone back to school every summer to get her master’s degree where Winifred was beginning her sophomore year. Where else but the University of Alabama! Frances had already registered for summer school through the mail, but Winifred had been sent a postcard telling her to register on June 11th. After breakfast, Frances, Winifred, and Trisha would head for Tuscaloosa.

“Morning Winifred. How do you want your eggs?” yawned Frances.

“Any way is fine, mama.”

After a few minutes of silence Winifred sighed, “I really don’t want to go to school this summer. I need a break.”

“I understand, but we’ve already gone over this. If you go to summer school, you can finish college in three years. It’ll save a lot of money and even with your college loans, I don’t think we can afford it if you have to go the fourth year.”

“I know. I know. What time are we leaving?”

“What time did the postcard say you were to register?”

“Eleven.”

“We’d better hurry. I’ll wake Trisha and get dressed.”

“Go ahead. I’ll wash the dishes,” Winifred sighed as she grabbed her plate and headed toward the sink.

At exactly 9:30 am, Winifred, Frances, and Trisha piled into their 1956 two door, blue and white Chevrolet Bel-Air. Frances drove. She made her way to Highway 11 for the hour and a half drive to the University of Alabama—a trip they would make every week day that summer. While Frances and Winifred took classes, Trisha would be staying with Frances’ niece, Helen Mims Katwick, a housewife in Alberta City, an adjacent suburb of Tuscaloosa. Trisha had already gotten into a summer routine of staying up late and sleeping most of the morning. By the time the Bel Air passed Fairfield, Trisha was fast asleep in the back seat. Winifred reached for her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She lit two Salems—one for her and one for Frances. At home, they rarely smoked because Nana Mims, what Winifred called her grandmother Versilla as a term of endearment, did not like the smell of smoke in the house. As they passed Bessemer, a trail of smoke poured out of the Bel Air windows as well as the tail pipe, long overdue for a new muffler.