Prologue

HEADING SOUTH FROM Salt Lake City for eight miles is Murray. And to the right and behind the business district are a group of the first houses built in this suburb. Large, old and spacious Victorian homes populate Boxelder and Poplar Street. But several blocks beyond, lay a half moon street—Jordan Circle. And it was on this very street a tragedy occurred that shook the very foundation of this small neighborhood.

The houses on Jordan Circle are much smaller and by now, probably nonexistent. The street is shaded by a variety of enormous trees and lined with an assortment of clapboard homes of varying styles and age. Everyone in this little neighborhood has spent his or her lives there—generation after generation in this very tight knit community. Everyone knows everyone and nothing of any magnitude ever occurred to arouse gossip or scandal for many years. It is a peaceful, yet poor place but completely safe to raise children. The times are hard in the “Great Depression” and people have taken their losses in stride by their Mormon faith—or “LDS”, the preferred title of the church that endows the faithful with strong fortitude. Several church teachings instilled from birth are strong family values and an equally strong work ethic—that is, when work is available. And despite the radio constantly assuring listeners that “We have nothing to fear but fear it’ self” or “Prosperity is just around the corner”, have become just by-words for the simple reason that it is very difficult to find a corner when one lives on a semi circular street, and fear does not equate with “faith”.

          One incident of note, many years ago—a sudden fire resulted in an explosion that gutted a house, trapping the entire family residing on Jordan Circle. This incident became the centerpiece of conversation for many years. Now it has become part of the legendary folklore for the children that live on this dead end street.

          Much later, a smaller incident occurred. Mary Mercy, whom most of the neighbors considered the oldest living person in Murray—if not the State of Utah, as well as the wealthiest—did create a small ripple of diversion in the otherwise quiet pool of everyday existence. Years ago, the neighborhood newspaper boy who was in the habit of placing a flat piece of roofing slate in one rolled paper as a reminder to take the heaviest home after he finished his route—forgot. He hurled the bundle at Ms. Mercy whom had bent down to pick up her morning bottle of milk and upon rising was nearly brained. Mary Mercy was outraged and the neighbors surmised it was through her influence why the boy was promptly dismissed from the paper. She had no tolerance for disrespect—particularly from children. Most of the citizens said nothing about this incident—at least in public. Many believed Mercy was an eccentric recluse, as she lived in the smallest and oldest house on the street—a modest one story dwelling. Few realized that the wealth was due to the fact that Mary Mercy was a landowner. The barren field behind her house was part of her property and its only distinguishing feature was a large soured oak that many of the local children enjoyed playing in—much to Mary Mercy’s consternation. Since there was no ready cash for frivolities, the dying tree became a magnet for the bored youngsters and though they all feared Mary Mercy, they would sneak into her yard when she was not sitting on her porch—which wasn’t very often. For Mary, this was just another sign of disrespect and she raised hell at every opportunity—thus remaining the source of veiled whispers up until a year ago.

          Three houses down at the end of the curve in the street, the body of a woman was found in her mother’s backyard—a pair of hedge clippers lodged deeply into her chest. It was the innuendo and morbid speculation that curdled the tranquility of Jordan circle and turned the citizens inward. They did not use a specific word to describe this incident other than “a selfish unchristian act” or “Gave in to temptation by embracing her melancholia”. It was not their words but their unfounded distaste for the incident that turned many of the neighbors away from this grieving family. But the survivors—her mother and her four grandchildren of varying ages took the imposed ostracism with as much dignity as possible. The oldest, a male of 23 assisted the grandmother in raising his much younger siblings—a boy of 13, a girl 8 and a small boy—who just turned three years old. The grandmother was elderly and frail and had fallen ill from the incident. She became very dependent on her eldest grandchild.

       The grandmother received a small monthly stipend set up by her

late husband and despite her frugality—it was nearly depleted. Her

daughter had left a life insurance policy that created only more grief

for this family. Both the grandmother and the eldest grandson wanted

closure. The claim had dragged out for almost a year now and they

deliberately continued to put it off. Little did they realize that before

the end of the summer, harsh resolution would be imminent. And

when the claim was resolved, the disconcerted family wished their

departed loved one had never purchased the damn thing to begin

with.