Drumpftland - Chapter 1

It wasn’t always this bad. Or at least that’s what they tell me. The way it is now is the only way I have ever known. My grandparents tell me there used to be freedom of speech. That there was freedom of religion. That there used to be many different kinds of people and our country was known as the melting pot of the world where everyone was allowed to pursue happiness.

Happiness… I don’t believe I’ll ever know true happiness. I’m a woman after all. We’re not trusted to make decisions for ourselves. We’re not allowed to vote. But it didn’t used to be like this. We used to get to vote just like men and we used to get to make our own decisions. We used to have a say in who we married and when we had children. Now your father makes all your decisions including who you marry. After you’re married, then your husband makes all your decisions.

Luckily for me and my mother, my father is a very loving, kind and gentle man. He is very much about doing his best to protect us and make us happy. I know not all homes are love filled like ours. In many homes, a wife is just another piece of property a man owns. She is a servant to do his bidding.

There were so many freedoms before Drumpft became president and turned himself into our dictator. Changed the name of our country to Drumpftland after himself. We’re not even allowed to say the name of the country we were before and it isn’t taught in school for those that can afford to send their children to school. There are no public schools in Drumpftland.

The wall between us and Mexico was meant to keep Mexicans out. But they don’t want to be here. Now it keeps us in. Everyday people are shot by our own homeland security trying to escape into Mexico and Canada. Most of the indigenous people escaped into Canada before the wall on the Canadian border was built to keep us from fleeing what was once a land of freedom.

My father was a little boy when Drumpft made himself dictator. He says people didn’t even take him seriously when he ran for president. Drumpft was a business tycoon and TV personality. Yet he developed a cult following. Dad says people were shocked and appalled because they didn’t realize so many hate filled people still existed in our country. They thought we had gotten past all of that. Apparently not.

Still most didn’t take Drumpft seriously. They just assumed there was no way Drumpft could win. They didn’t believe someone so Hitler like could possibly become president. After all, this was a land of freedom and opportunity. Someone like Hitler couldn’t possibly come into power here.

I asked my grandparents what happened. How did such a person manage to become president? And they told me that people simply took their right to vote for granted. That too many assumed that their vote didn’t count and didn’t matter. So they failed to exercise their right to vote. They didn’t bother with voting at all when it mattered most. Yet Drumpft’s mindless cult followers voted.

All those angry, hate filled bigots exercised their right to vote while too many others failed to go vote telling themselves it didn’t matter anyway. And of course it doesn’t count if you don’t show up and do it. Then it was too late.

There were executions in the streets. Drumpft executed many of the very same people that supported him. He called it “culling the herd.” He had nothing but contempt for the poor, uneducated and simple minded. He was most offended by those he perceived as weak minded.

As for people of color, if you proved to be useful you were allowed to live. But Canada and Mexico accepted refugees. And African countries accepted refugees to keep Drumpft from executing thousands of people of color. Muslims who refused to convert to Christianity were deported unless Drumpft decided they were terrorists. Then they were executed. If you were lucky, they just put a bullet in your head. The unlucky ones were raped and beaten to death.

My paternal grandfather is a doctor, a surgeon. And my paternal grandmother was a nurse which made them useful and valuable. So even though they were people of color, my grandmother was black and my grandfather, granddaddy, black and native, they were not deported nor executed. But their home was taken from them. Luckily my granddaddy’s best friend, another doctor volunteered to take them in. Saving them from being crammed into a tiny apartment. My father remembers watching many conversations between his parents and my maternal grandparents.

My mother is my father’s best friend and the daughter of his father’s best friend. Even though she is half Caucasian, they were allowed to marry because the plan is to breed out the remaining people of color in Drumpftland. My parents didn’t plan to have children. Drumpftland is not an easy place for an interracial child to grow up. I was a happy accident. My father could have asked for an abortion. A woman can’t ask for one, but a man can. All birth control decisions are made by men. Even if you are unmarried, the biological father can order an abortion for you whether you want it or not. But after discussing it, they decided to have me.

Yet despite having advantages many don’t, sometimes I wish I either had never been born or had been born a boy. All socialist’s programs like public schools are gone. Social security, welfare, food stamps etcetera were all abolished by Drumpft. I am fortunate that my family was able to afford private school for me. If you can’t afford private school, you must home school your children. Something that becomes the wife’s responsibility since women are not permitted to work full-time. They may work part-time outside the home except when they have children at home under the age of six and if your husband or father permits you. If your husband of father gives you permission and you have no children under the age of six, then you may work part-time outside your home.

I was an excellent student and earned a scholarship to be university educated. Of course I couldn’t go away to study. The other way to become well educated if you are male is to be a devote member of the church. The church likes its leaders to be well educated. And they will oversee university studies for those who can’t go away because they are female or whose families can’t afford the expense of sending their child away to study at the university locations near their district. Every district has at least one church, more than one in large highly populated districts.

I wanted to study political science. I wanted to learn how to make things better for everyone, how to make a difference. Except I am female, so I was allowed to study medicine and I’m a pediatrician. Most women only become nurses or nurse’s assistants etc. I work at our local clinic/hospital/urgent care with my parents and grandparents part-time, twenty-four hours a week, four six hour days a week. That’s the maximum a female is permitted to work outside her home.

Nearly everyone has Sunday off. And they expect you to attend church every Sunday. If you are absent more than once in a great while, homeland security will show up at your home. And you better have a good reason for missing a lot of church. I was tired and didn’t feel like it or I just over slept are not acceptable excuses.

This Sunday my family and I slip into the pew at the back of the congregation hall. We’re the only family of color in our district. If we sit anywhere else, we get stared at. Which doesn’t make sense. We’re not strangers to anyone here. We’re their doctors. We know everyone here. Still, people wrinkle their noses at us as if we smell like shit. But if we sit in this very last pew at the back of the hall, they just ignore us.

“Ava,” Bryant Cross calls to me. “Ava! I saved seats for you and your family up front with us.”

Now every single unmarried young woman in the church is giving me the evil eye. I hear one say to another in a harsh angry tone, “I don’t know what he sees in her.”

Perhaps if one of them had been even remotely kind to Bryant when we were children, he might be interested in one of them. And the last few years have been difficult to say the least making me wish he was interested in anyone but me. They want him for all the wrong reasons, because his family is the most powerful in our district and the most affluent in our district. They’re related to the Drumpft’s. Their father’s mother’s mother was a daughter to our First Lord Drumpft. Drumpft Junior succeeded him as dictator when he passed away and is our current Lord Drumpft. Bryant sometimes likes to brag that he could be our country’s Lord one day.

I could care less about his family’s power and money. It won’t change the fact that Bryant has been cruel the last few years. He claimed me as his girlfriend when we were in kindergarten. The good thing about him claiming me is I’m seen as his property even though we’re not married yet. I’m still his future wife so most men would not dare put their hands on me. An older married man can’t force me to be his mistress. I know in some districts affluent men basically have a harem of mistresses that live in their homes until he tires of them or their families secure husbands for them. I am Bryant’s fiancé even though he never proposed so I never said yes or no. Sometimes I feel as if he’s my stalker with full access to me and I can’t do a damn thing about it.

‘Nigger whore,” someone says in a loud whisper.

My father pats my shoulder comfortingly as he says softly, “Let’s go. Bryant and his family are waiting.”

I don’t look at anyone as we make our way to the front pew. There’s no point in that. They would only be motivated to say more angry hateful things. Besides, there isn’t anything interesting to see. Every woman is dressed nearly identically as well as every man. Women in ankle length skirts of beige, off white or light grey with matching tops and flats. No make-up. Make-up is forbidden so a man can be sure he is choosing a truly beautiful woman. The men are all in the same style of dress casual slacks with button down white dress shirts, a comfortable pair of loafers. For men and women a sweater may be worn over the shirt as long as it is plain, muted and subdued. Nothing fancy is permitted and no bright bold colors are to be worn to church. So there’s nothing interesting for me to see. I just watch my small feet in their plain white flats because there are no friendly faces for me to wave to or smile at. Just angry scowls, evil cold eyes and noses wrinkled in disgust are all I would see.

The only friendly face are the Crosses’ already seated in the front pew and Pastor Cross, he seems to like me and my family. Yet I often doubt they truly like us. I suspect they just enjoy the meek submissive demeanor we are forced to display at church. That it somehow makes them feel superior. But I know that Bryant is not quite like the rest of his family.

Bryant lifts my chin, leans over and gives me a quick kiss, “You look lovely today as always Ava.”

“Thank you Bryant,” I respond softly as he takes my small hand and we sit down.

Bryant ask me concerned, “Why do you look so sad? You have a beautiful smile. I love your smile.”

I whisper to him softly, “You know we don’t like to sit at the front. Everyone stares at us when we sit at the front.”
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Bryant looks back at the unfriendly faces. Many of the young women try to make eyes at him by smiling and batting their eyelashes. But Bryant ask with an angry sneer, “What in the hell are you all looking at?”

They all look away. At least he didn’t drop an f-bomb this morning. That’s his favorite word. But they’ll be careful about how they look at us for the next couple of weeks and be deliberately friendly. After all, they don’t want to offend the Crosses’ favorite pets. Mr. and Mrs. Cross like being able to say their son is engaged to an intelligent young doctor, that he’s snagged himself the most worthy female in the district.

Pastor Cross begins the sermon with the Love Thy Neighbor stuff. He has to do it every couple of weeks to remind them that we’re their neighbors and the good doctors that look after them and take good care of them and their families. He has to remind them that to be unkind and rude is un-Christ like. That it’s not what Jesus would do. And he sounds truly sincere, worried and concerned. I actually think he believes.

My family and I are actually atheists. But it’s illegal to be atheists. Just like it’s illegal to be homosexual. Illegal to say anything negative about the Drumpfts and their family. Illegal to obtain birth control without your father or husband’s permission. But there’s no expectation of being a virgin when you marry. Men have the right to test drive you like they would a car. And sex is a physical need that men need to fill. So women are their sex toys.

Most young women my age have been with several different men or more and are currently being used by several different men or more. A woman’s virginity is often lost immediately after puberty. Once you start to look good to men and they start to want you, you’re not a virgin for much longer. I don’t know how much of it is actually consensual. I’m sure a lot of it is not consensual. But most of the young women seem to be enjoying their very active sex lives. But I’m not.

Luckily for me, Bryant isn’t good at sharing. Plus he doesn’t have any close friends or associates to share me with and he wouldn’t if he did. But he does have two older brothers that he shares me with because they insist upon it. And the older we get, the less he wants to share me with them. The more he wants me all to himself. So he’s been pushing the marriage thing with my parents who know I’m not in a hurry to be Bryant’s wife. The last few years have been difficult with him to say the least so I’m not in a hurry to put myself entirely at his mercy. But before things got difficult with him, I did look forward to being his wife.

Pastor Cross announces, “We have a new resident to our little district. Ava’s grandfathers, Dr. Reed and Dr. Washington are retiring to part-time. So this new resident is a replacement of a sort that will start in our clinic tomorrow. His name is Dr. Dunston Walker. Would you please stand for us Dr. Walker?”

Dr. Walker is quite tall. Taller even than my father and grandfathers who were the tallest men in the district. And he could almost pass for Caucasian. But his naturally lightly tan skin tone gives away that he’s not. His smooth black hair is longish. He has perfect cheek bones and well-shaped lips. He’s a work of living breathing art and I find the way all the young women are looking at him amusing. They need to push their tongues back into their mouths.

Pastor Cross informs our new resident, “This is the Reed and Washington family. You’ll be joining their household. I know they have room for you. I’ll introduce you to them properly before Sunday school begins.”

Dr. Walker makes eye contact with me and smiles. It’s a dazzling smile and I naturally smile back. Something that doesn’t sit well with Bryant because he stands, smacks me full force and orders, “Don’t smile at him.”

“Bryant,” Pastor Cross calls to him firmly, “That was uncalled for.”

“She was looking at him,” responds Bryant angry.

“Of course she did,” responds Pastor Cross irritated. “I had him stand so everyone could get a look at him. Her behavior was perfectly normal.”

“She smiled at him,” states Bryant angrily.

“Bryant, you’re over reacting,” Pastor Cross tells him. “And you can’t expect her to never look at him or never speak to him. He’s going to be living in their house with them.”

“I don’t want him living in their house with them,” wines Bryant in a spoiled childish tone. “I don’t want him near my Ava.”

“Bryant,” his father’s tone authoritative, “her family will never agree to let her marry you if you keep having these jealous outburst.”

¬Bryant insist, “But there would be no reason for me to be jealous if we were married already. I wouldn’t be worried if I knew she was mine.”

My grandfather, Dr. Lance Reed, tells him, “Bryant, we won’t give her permission to marry someone who’s abusive.”

The word abusive seems to register with Bryant. He quickly sits back down beside me, puts his arms around me and apologizes as sincerely as is possible for him, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He lifts my chin and a trickle of blood escapes the corner of my mouth. He request urgently, “Mom, I need a tissue, quick.”

Mrs. Cross quickly materializes a handkerchief from her clutch purse and hands it to Bryant, who gently wipes the blood from my chin and lips along with the silent tears on my cheeks. He’s capable of gentle loving gestures. But the last few years, he’s just been prone to do the opposite of gentle and loving.

I look him in his blue eyes because I know he likes it when I make eye contact with him. He thinks my failure to make eye contact with him the last few years is the result of shyness. And I’m not going to tell him he’s wrong even though he is. I’ve been having trouble making eye contact with him and avoiding looking him in his stunning blue eyes because they have come to terrify me. There’s a vacantness there now. His eyes may be stunningly blue but they’re like staring into an endless black abyss. They are empty and cold as if he has become soulless, but his eyes weren’t always like that.

Bryant smiles pleased I made eye contact with him. His smile is a confusing cross between winning and crazed lunatic. It scares me as much as looking into his eyes. I rewarded him with an affectionate companionable pat on his knee. And since it has become rare for me to initiate any physical contact between us, that simple show of affection delights him. He kisses me deeply and holds me close. I force myself to relax into him. I do my best to please him and make him happy. But his jealous outburst and rages are becoming more frequent and seem to be triggered by nothing most of the time.

Pastor Cross finishes his sermon. No collection plates are passed. Your ten percent tithing was removed from your wages before they were deposited into your account just like your taxes. As a woman, I am a dependent and I will always be a dependent. I will not be permitted to live on my own and no tax exemptions are available to me.

Pastor Cross motions Dr. Walker over to introduce him to us. Bryant and his family stand with us. Bryant has a firm possessive hold on the back of my neck. I’m not sure if his hold on the back of my neck is supposed to remind me that I’m his or to demonstrate to Dr. Walker that I’m his.

“Now Dr. Walker,” Pastor Cross informs him, “this is Dr. Lance Reed and his wife Lupe. He is the official head of the household. Then we have Dr. Eugene Washington. His wife is no longer with us. His son, Dr. Simon Washington and his wife Irena. Irena is Dr. Reed’s daughter. And this is Dr. Ava Washington. Simon and Irena are her parents which makes Dr. Reed and Lupe Ava’s maternal grandparents and Eugene her paternal grandparent.”

“Why must he be moved into their home,” ask Bryant angrily.

“Bryant,” Pastor Cross being patient, “I cannot ask an all-white household to take in a non-white male. The Reed-Washington household is already a multicultural, multiracial household.”

“He looks white to me,” state Bryant. “He just has a great tan.”

“Except he’s not white,” Pastor Cross tells Bryant. “That’s not just a great tan. That’s his natural skin coloration.”

“I don’t like it,” states Bryant stomping his foot as his grip on the back of my neck tightens. “I don’t want him there,” giving me a violent shake as his grip tightens enough to force a pained squeak out of me.

Dr. Walker tells Bryant upset and concerned, “You’re hurting her!”

Bryant releases my neck to pull me against him allowing me to slip under his arm submissively. I want to thank Dr. Walker but I don’t dare open my mouth until I’ve been addressed directly.

Bryant tells Dr. Walker, “It’s none of your concern.”

Dr. Walker responds firmly, “Someone needs to be concerned.”

My maternal grandfather, my poppa, Dr. Lance Reed, assures Dr. Walker, “Oh, believe me, we are concerned.”

Pastor Cross decides to push forward, “Since they’re here, let me introduce you to some of my relatives. This my cousin, Byron Cross and his wife Lilith. Byron is our districts head administrator. And these are their three sons. Blake is the oldest. Bronson is their middle child. And Bryant is their youngest. He and Ava have known one another since kindergarten.”

Mrs. Cross request as she fans herself while smiling way too brightly, “Dr. Walker, tell us a little about yourself. As our Bryant pointed out, you can pass for white. Where do you get your beautiful tan skin from?”

“When European invaders insisted Natives have last names,” Dr. Walker informs them, “our family’s last name was Spiritwalker. But after Drumpft Senior took over this country and renamed it Drumpftland, our name was shortened to Walker because Spiritwalker was too native. Or at least that’s what the nice white folks who changed it told my grandparents.”

As a white woman, Mrs. Cross doesn’t have to wait to be addressed to speak. She may speak freely almost any time she wants. She responds, “I thought all natives migrated to Canada.”

Dr. Walker explains, “The reservation natives managed to escape into Canada. But many natives no longer lived on reservations. We were just typical citizens.”

Fanning herself Mrs. Cross claims, “Please excuse me, hot flashes. So are you full native?”

“No,” answers Dr. Walker, “My father’s a quarter white and my mother’s half white.”

“Interesting,” comments Mrs. Cross. If she got caught having an affair it could spell disaster for her and whomever she’s having the affair with.

“Interesting indeed,” responds Mr. Cross not fooled by his wife’s claim to be having hot flashes.

“Sunday school is about to begin,” reminds Pastor Cross. “After Sunday School you may collect your bags and go home with the Reeds and Washingtons.”

“Thank you Pastor Cross,” responds Dr. Walker appreciatively.

“Just stick with us,” directs my poppa.

Pastor Wimbly is teaching Sunday school. He usually does. My family along with Dr. Walker sit at the back while I’m stuck sitting at the front with Bryant and his family.

There’s a rumor that Pastor Wimbly is secretly homosexual. But I know he’s not. He likes to admire my bottom and will give it an affectionate pat when the opportunity presents itself. The clergy may marry, but most don’t. Few see a pastor as a step up in the world for their daughters. Yet it is acknowledged that they are men with the needs of men. So several young women will stay for about an hour after Sunday school to provide service to them. But Wimbly’s not in the habit of taking advantage of that opportunity. They think it’s because he’s a homo. I know it’s because they don’t appeal to him. He likes for me to stay after Sunday school to help clean up. And we do clean up like we’re supposed to, but that’s when I service him.

The first time he approached me to service him I was very surprised. Afterward he asked me who had taken my virginity and I informed him Bryant’s older brother Blake had. He’s told me many times he’s sorry that Bryant is fixated on me. He understands that I have a long hard road ahead of me with Bryant. That being Bryant’s girlfriend while having its plusses also has lots of minuses. As a plus I have never had to go with the other young women after Sunday school to service the pastors. As a minus, both of Bryant’s older brothers make sure they get to use me regularly and his father has found opportunities to impose himself upon me too.

But I don’t mind Pastor Wimbly. He’s gentle and kind. And most importantly, he’s quick, very quick. He doesn’t try to drag it out and I appreciate that. After all, I’m not enjoying it. So why torture me by taking your time.

Pastor Wimbly’s lesson today is on the Evils of Riches and Greed. It’s his favorite topic to do a lesson on. Many people in our district are poor and they think if they can find a way into a position of power that will provide financial wealth that all their problems will be solved. But suffering in poverty greatly makes you as short sighted as someone with too much wealth and power. The poor are desperately looking for a way up. While the rich and powerful are constantly working to not just keep what they have, but are also greedily trampling those below to have more, more, more. They never have enough. If Mrs. Cross didn’t have a dress code to follow on Sunday like the rest of us, she’ld show up in a new outfit every Sunday.

The poor believe the rich are happy. But I’ve spent more than enough time with the Crosses to know they’re not happy. They’re miserable. The only happy one is Pastor Cross who lives a minimalistic life style serving God. The rest of them are a mess. Mr. Cross is constantly stressed out. And Mrs. Cross is almost constantly drunk. Hard liqueur and beer may not be available, but wine is. She’ll have her first class when she gets home from church and by the time they have dinner, she’ll have gone through two bottles. It will have been the cheap stuff because Mr. Cross fusses when she goes through the expensive stuff like water.

Pastor Wimbly calls on me and my family frequently. I find it amusing that the secret-atheists know scripture better than the so called believers. They’ll walk out of here untouched by Pastor Wimbly’s sincere words.

Pastor Wimbly ask, “What does Jesus mean by ‘for it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God?’”

The supposed believers avoid Pastor Wimbly’s wise old eyes. As usual, they don’t want to participate. They don’t wish to be called on.

Yet Pastor Wimbly still seems pleased. He’s not deterred yet. I know my family like myself are paying attention. So I’m expecting him to call on one of us. Instead he calls, “Dr. Walker, I know you are new here with us. But would you like to try to answer my question?”

“Of course Pastor,” agrees Dr. Walker. “Jesus means, just like you literally cannot walk a whole camel through the eye of a sewing needle, a rich man or woman that has spent their life seeking riches and has only lived their life as if riches and being rich is what life is all about, cannot enter heaven. They cannot enter into the kingdom of God because they have spent their life with riches as their god.”

Pastor Wimbly is very pleased, “Thank you Dr. Walker. Now if a rich man cannot enter heaven, what happens to him when his life is over? He can’t get into heaven. So where does he go?”

He looks around and gets the same eye avoidance as before. So he calls on me knowing I will answer without hesitation, “Ava, what happens to a rich man when he dies?”

“He goes to hell Pastor,” I answer without a blink. “He lived a selfish self-serving life devoid of faith and charity. So he goes to hell for all eternity. No second chances and no do overs. And anyone foolish enough to follow such a man will go to hell too. The path he walks may lead you to riches in this life, but it will only lead you to hell when this life is over.”

“Says the gold digging nigger,” snarks a young woman.

“You shut your fucking mouth or I’ll shut it for you,” Bryant threatens the young woman.

“Ms. Cook,” Pastor Wimbly tells her, “if you cannot say something nice, you should not say anything at all.”

“But niggers don’t go to heaven,” insist the young woman’s father, “not even if they’re good niggers.”

“Nonsense,” states Pastor Wimbly. “Absolute nonsense. No one is denied access to heaven based on the color of their skin. And nowhere in the Bible does it say such a thing. It’s how you live your life here that determines if you are worthy of heaven or not. How you live it. Not the color of your skin. And nasty unkind words spoken out of jealousy and greed will not open heaven to you. God created us all and he wants us all to join him in heaven.”

“Why did God create them,” ask a young man.

Pastor Wimbly answers with conviction, “Because God loves diversity. The world would be a boring place without it. And your personal malfunction with diversity, your mental illness that makes you hate people not the same as yourself, is your personal problem that will keep you out of heaven, not God’s will. You are commanded to love your neighbors as yourselves and there are no exception clauses listed. And in Mathew 5:44 you are also commanded to love your enemy. ‘Bless them that curse you, do good to those that hate you and pray for those who despitefully use you and persecute you.’ For once in your selfish lives try to do a little of what Jesus would do.”

Pastor Wimbly takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, “Heavenly Father, give me strength.” He takes another deep breath and opens his eyes. He checks the time. “Class is over in five minutes. You may as well go home. Be well. Walk with God. And try to do what Jesus would do.”

A couple of young women hiss at me as they walk past us. Bryant raises a hand to strike the nearest one.

I take his hand as I say, “That’s not what Jesus would do.” I bring his hand to my lips and kiss it.

Bryant gently touches the side of my face he smacked earlier and says sadly, “It’s bruising.”

I respond softly, “It’ll heal.”

Mrs. Cross turns my face to the side to look at it and sighs sadly, “This is not how you treat someone you love.”

“Really Bryant,” his brother Blake tells him, “you need to get your temper under control. After all, she’s just a little thing.”

Pastor Wimbly ask me concerned, “Are you alright Ava?”

I answer softly as I glance at some young women glaring at me meanly, “They act as if I have a choice.”

Pastor Wimbly pats my shoulder comfortingly, “Don’t pay them any mind. They’re not worth of your tears. I do hope to get through to them one day, but I fear I never will. Are you able to stay and help clean up?”

Bryant answers for me, “Not today Pastor.” He knows I would go straight home afterward and find chores to keep me busy at home.

My family pauses to hug and kiss me. Poppa tells Bryant firmly, “I want her home in time for dinner please.”

“Yes Dr. Reed,” agrees Bryant.

My family along with Dr. Walker walk home without me. I ride in the limo with Bryant and his family to their home, my future home. I don’t know why they take the limo to church every Sunday. They live close enough to walk like most everyone else. But their house is the largest in the district and sits up on a hill for all to see. It’s too much house for Mrs. Cross to keep clean on her own. But the help has Sunday off. Mr. Cross drove the limo himself. His parents are very elderly and in poor health so they are excused from attending church. Mrs. Cross’s relatives look after his parents and are excused because they provide their care. Mrs. Cross was once just a receptionist. I’ve heard rumors of how she seduced Mr. Cross and managed to catch him as her husband. But those are just rumors. I don’t know how she actually managed it. Perhaps her blow jobs leave his cock gold plated.