I have always been prone to daydreaming, possibly moreso than other than other people because I think visually anyway. But that fall, as my birthday came and went uneventfully, with no word of Daniel, perhaps escaping in my thoughts was what kept me going, kept me hoping through the daily hassles, through Dad's increasingly frequent groping, Mom's mood swings and her insistence that we follow prayer formulas that were getting more complicated and convoluted all the time.

I took myself away to Daniel's little cabin, to the things we would plant, to his smile, to the things I would cook, to the babies we would have. Mom and Sarah had already asked Yahweh how many children I would have and what their names would be. I thought about how I would rub Daniel's back, not Dad's, how I'd take such good care of him, how I'd spin the wool from his sheep and knit sweaters and slippers and socks for my family, how I would mend his tattered clothing. I did a lot of research on how I could help him provide for our needs without having to buy things with money. For example, we could grow watermelons, juice them, and the juice could be cooked down into a syrup to sweeten foods with. Or, since he had a lot of birch trees on his place, we could tap them and boil down the sap like maple syrup. The sap to syrup ratio is much less favorable for birch than for the sugar maple, but since birch was what was there, it would have to do. I paid a lot of attention to articles in The Mother Earth News that dealt with this sort of thing, or how to make children's clothing by cutting down adult clothes and using your own home made patterns. I tried to picture what our children might look like. Of course, they would be born at home, and I would breastfeed them all. I also spent a lot of time thinking about the fact that Daniel was 18 years older than me, and how I should be prepared to take care of him when he got old. The thought didn't bother me. I was looking forward to serving him.

I never thought about going to college, having a career, or even getting a job. I had found my true and only calling in life: being a farm wife to Daniel P. Haugen.

A lot of other things went on during that fall and winter: a business partnership gone wrong which grossly affected our friendship with people in our religious community, small dramas, and probably other things that I was totally unaware of. The only thing I really paid attention to was that Daniel had stopped writing to me, and I hadn't heard a peep from him, even though I was now 18. As the snow fell and melted intially, then stayed, then blanketed our land deeply, I grew more and more despondant. Had he changed his mind? Had my parents had him thrown in jail without telling me? Was there someone else he liked better now? Every worry that could possibly have occurred to me went through my poor head over and over and over again.

When I wasn't worrying, I read through his old letters until I had them almost memorized, ran through the pleasant memories of our time together until they were threadbare. And I kept gathering things for my hope chest. I looked in my mind towards the future. The only thing I could see was Daniel and I together. There was nothing else, just me working in his kitchen, picking apples with him, listening to him sing as he worked outside, me bearing his children. Hopefully they would have his blue eyes and not my boring brown ones. Growing old together, sharing many happy years before I tended to him as he aged before I did. The thought wrenched my heart with grief. I hoped we would die at about the same time. The thought of living without him was too horrible to conceive of.

We had made friends with a young couple, Craig and Lori. They were Adventists, working on building a house outside of Priest River, but it wasn't done yet, and Lori was pregnant. She was a tiny, frail, anemic looking woman, so small and gentle that you just wanted to protect her. We offered for them to live in our living room while Craig finished building their house, and so they moved in with us. We set up a nice bed in the living room for them.

They were vegetarians, and because Daniel was, too, I paid attention to what they ate. They did not eat any meat, eggs, milk, dairy products, onions, white flour, white sugar, or garlic. This seemed like a totally impossible diet to me and I was fascinated to learn how and what they could eat. I watched what Lori cooked, and I learned a lot. Once in a great while she would eat an egg mixed up in a recipe or some very small amount of a dairy product. But they never, ever, ate meat in any form. I had thought that abstaining from unclean foods was a challenge! Lori cooked up the most interesting foods, and to my surprise, most of them were fairly good. She and I developed a friendship even though she must have been close to ten years older than me. She was almost like an older sister. Never critical or mean spirited, Craig and Lori were islands of calm in our household, and their presence toned down our parent's behavior as well, making them more civil and restrained than they woudl usually have been.The days dragged on. I split wood or cooked or helped clean house during the day, tended to Dad at night, defending myself from his smothering arms and tolerating him pinching my breasts and hind end. I felt soiled, and I wondered what Daniel would say if he knew. I would have to tell him, but I didn't know how. He had such faith that my parents were nice people and good, loving parents. How could I tell him what was really going on? Would he think it was my fault? Maybe it was my fault. Would he want someone who'd come from a happy family, someone with a better chance of making a marriage that would last? I was a product of two generations of divorce already, and now this. I couldn't imagine that he would feel the same way about me if he knew. I would be devalued in his eyes, even though I had managed so far to retain my virginity.

I cried myself to sleep more and more often. I wanted to be held, but not by my stepfather. I wished with all my heart that I could be in the arms of the man I loved instead of where I was actually at. I was so afraid that my stepfather would manage to force himself on me one day. Then Daniel wouldn't want me at all. I wouldn't have a chance. And how could I live with myself after that? I didn't know what to do. The ordeals of enduring his touch sometimes lasted for hours. It was clear that he just wanted me to give up. I closed my ears to the sexual things he said to me. I didn't want to hear any of it, took my head away, away...to Daniel.

The Smith family came over not long before our families were estranged from one another. The days were getting harder and harder for me to endure. Laura asked me about Daniel, and tears started running down my face while my heart ached. I didn't know what to tell her. Hope was dying in me. I heard her turn to her mother and exclaim at how sad I was, that she was worried about me. And I went numb, went into endurance mode, which I was so, so good at.