The Makings Of A Wolf Den Hollow

Essay by Donna Murray

Growing up as a child, I lived vicariously through my grandmother . . . a Native American Cherokee. I never knew or met her, but from the time I was born, her blood ran through me.

I was a war baby, born during World War II, and lived on a farm with my mother in a rural community. She was a teacher and taught grades one through twelve in the Yankton one-room schoolhouse. I was cared for by her family with Mennonite roots, and pioneers of the great logging boom of the Pacific Northwest. When my father returned from the war, we were uprooted and moved to Rainier, once a mill town on the Columbia River. Our house backed up to a virtual forest, dense with firs, cedars, pines and hemlocks, watered by the rainfall that never seemed to end.

I like to think that I was very much like my paternal grandmother. A free spirit with a strong premonition, and I could predict things that were going to happen before they actually did. And I was a girl of nature, often spending time in the forest behind our house. I had a curiosity for animals, rocks, plants and trees, and a vivid imagination. I would sit for hours watching the beavers building their dam and I talked to the trees, and they seemed to listen. Many times, I felt someone watching over me.

I had two younger sisters that were eighteen months apart. I rarely played with them. I was always off in my own little world. We all rode horses, but never together. I rode my Shetland pony barefoot and bareback, and as fast as he could go with his mane and my long black hair flying in the wind. My sisters rode western style with saddles, never giving their horses free rein.

When I was eight years old, my uncle sat me down and talked about his mother, my grandmother, for the first time. Her name was never spoken in our house. That was the day that I learned that she was Native American Cherokee, a revelation that would change my life.

I was completely taken by her story. She was fourteen or fifteen, when she went to one of my grandfather’s mills, destitute and looking for work: a bewitching girl with dark almond eyes, high cheekbones, and honey colored skin that seemed older than her years. But he turned her away thinking that she would be a distraction to his men.

My grandfather owned one of the largest logging operations in the Southern Missouri Ozarks and was a prominent man, and married with ten children. He often helped the logging families, or anyone in need. He said it was his way of giving back for his good fortune. After learning that my grandmother had taken refuge in an old abandoned cabin near the mill, he started taking her provisions to help her get through the winter.

As they got to know each other, he realized that she was extraordinarily gifted in the ways of the natural world, and remarkably self-sufficient. His admiration deepens to love, despite the fact that they had virtually nothing in common, and thirty years between them.

There was no going back to his loveless marriage—especially after my grandmother was with child. He built a cabin on a beautiful piece of land, where they set up housekeeping, and his empire expanded, as did their family of ten children. Between his two marriages, he fathered twenty children.

Years later, when they were living in one of the finest homes in the city, and their lives seemed perfect, he fell victim to cancer. Her devastation wss compounded by the onset of the Great Depression, and she learned that her inheritance was gone. There was no money to feed and raise her children. She tried to find work, but no one was hiring. She tried to sell her most valuable possessions, but the depression was having an adverse effect on everyone. Her eldest daughter, who had inherited her mother’s deep love of nature and healing ways, found domestic work in their upscale neighborhood, and her eldest son quit school at the age of twelve, to work in one of his father’s mills. They handed over their meager earnings, but it wasn’t enough.

Out of desperation, she turned to prostitution. And her son, my father, found her in bed with a prominent judge, one of his father’s closest friends. He promised to never see or speak to her ever again. And he never did. The reason my grandmother’s name was never spoken in our house.

After being caught by my father, she vowed to never do it again. Faced with losing her home, she was forced to do the unthinkable to protect herself and her family—in a final act of survival.

I had wanted to write my grandparents story for many years. When working with the San Francisco Ballet on their Opening Night Gala, and on that dark and rainy night, I stepped off the curb into a deep pothole, and broke both my feet. With months of recuperation ahead, I was given the opportunity.

With much research ahead, I contacted the Ozark County Historical Society, and they gave me the names of two local historians. Ironically, they were both members of my family. One had been collecting documentation and information for over sixty years. When I received their parcels, I was overjoyed and overwhelmed. I started putting the pieces together, connecting my family roots to my childhood, and how they related to one another. I had uncovered much more than I could have imagined about my grandfather’s legacy and my grandmother’s myth and heroism. Finally, Wolf Den Hollow was written . . . a story within me, waiting to be told.

—

After living in Bali, Indonesia, where she designed and manufacturing garments, Donna Murray relocated back to San Francisco. She worked with the San Francisco Ballet on their Opening Night Gala in 2010, and when she left the event that rainy evening, she stepped into a deep pothole–and broke both her feet. With months of recuperation ahead, she embraced the opportunity to write her first novel; Wolf Den Hollow, which debuts on October 6, 2020.

 

WOLF DEN HOLLOW

Sila, a young, bewitching Cherokee, flees a marriage to a brutal drunk in the dead of winter and finds herself knocking on the door of a mill office, destitute and looking for work. There, she meets the handsome Charley Barkley, the owner and a married father of ten. Despite the fact that they have virtually nothing in common―and thirty years between them―a spark ignites.

For Charley, once their passionate love affair intensifies, there is no going back to his loveless marriage―especially after Sila is with child. They marry and his logging empire expands, as does their family. Though they face tragedy and treachery along the way, they thrive until, just when their lives seems perfect, Charley falls victim to cancer. Sila’s devastation at the loss of her husband is compounded by the onset of the Great Depression. With her inheritance gone and faced with losing her home, she is forced to do the unthinkable to protect herself and her children in a final act of survival.

Inspired by a true story, and replete with natural healing, glimpses of the logging boom, and heartbreaking drama, Wolf Den Hollow brings to life this unlikely, captivating romance of the early 1900s.

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Category: On Writing