Zone Johnston, my granny’s father, was always dragging his wife and kids to carpentry jobs throughout Texas, Louisiana, Missouri, and beyond, and then abandoning them in favor of a new pretty face. According to my mom, “[his wife’s] people would have to come to where they were and take them home until Zone finished his work and wandered back . . .
Meet Rindia Bruce, my mom’s paternal grandmother and a woman to whom I owe an apology. I mistakenly believed she was the ancestor who killed her last baby by beating its head against the doorstep. My mother recently clarified: You are mixed up with my grandmothers. Gran Rindia was a Pentecostal holy roller!! It was Rebecca Johnston (“Mammy” Johnston), Zone’s . . .
By far the most chilling passage in the old family paraphernalia I’ve been digging through is this one, from a letter sent by Terrell State Hospital — formerly, the North Texas Lunatic Asylum — to inform my grandmother’s mom that her daughter, Louise, died from tuberculosis-related complications: We are sorry this girl could not have been mentally restored. We . . .
I don’t remember seeing pictures of my Great Aunt Louise until recently, but she has haunted me since I turned fourteen. That year my granny pulled me aside to warn me I was old enough now to be vigilant about madness: my own, my sister’s, and my future children’s. She described the descent of her own little sister, Louise, a . . .