by Melinda Pillsbury-Foster
It is essential to have the facts about the people we know, or think we know. This realization came to me early on in life, partly because of my thankfully short association with the Barteauxs, Dean, Betty, and RLB Sr. But while they were soon out of my life a dangling complication remained. That was the child I was carrying when I finally called my parents, Dr. and Mrs. Arthur Francis Pillsbury, and told them about my injuries from Richard's multiple abuses. These were obvious, since he had cut me up with a knife before falling into a stupor outside the bathroom door.
This incident had begun when he told me that if the baby I was carrying was a girl, he would have sex with her.
This was the final straw. The first seriously assault had taken place in RLB Sr.'s GTO after we left the home of his friend, Monty, in early November 1966.
Richard had smashed me in the face while driving. My face hit the window on the passenger side, and my mouth was bleeding from the impact of my braces. Sobbing, I demanded Richard take me home to my parents. Instead, he took me to his parent's home.
Instead of any sympathy whatsoever, Betty told me I must have done something to make him angry. Hysterical, I denied this. RLB just stood there. Betty tried to tell me it must have been an accident. It was not. Richard, I had already learned, could erupt into rages for no reason at all. And Betty knew this, she had on one occasion shared with me violent incidents she had experienced with her son.
I asked to call my parents. Betty refused to let me use the phone, telling me I was married now and needed to learn not to upset my husband.
Dean was present, but said nothing. I was trapped, and not allowed to see my parents. Betty told me I was not to try to call them, either. It felt like I was wrapped in an insane maelstrom. I was not allowed to see my parents at Christmas, either.
The assaults increased, ending in the one I first mentioned above.
Nothing about Richard was normal, or could be tolerated. Eventually, I realized Betty wanted him to be someone else's problem, and wanted me there so she would not have to deal with him herself.
The first time I managed to get home, I had walked, I was trying to explain to my mother why I had not called or seen them when Richard broke into my parent's home and dragged me away. Again, I was battered.
Dad came and got me, horrified when he saw my injuries. He took me home and they arranged for me to go to a hospital. I was there for about 2 weeks, as I remember. Then, Dad picked me up. He had arranged for me to stay with my sister Anne, in Santa Barbara. Instead of driving me up, he put me on a plane to the small airport in Santa Barbara. Anne was waiting when we landed.
Anne was more like a mother to me than my own mother. I was there for several weeks, then Dad drove up to get me.
Back home, I found out Richard had been speeding down usually quiet street we lived on, Colby Avenue, and endangering the children, who were often playing there. I was not surprised.
Mother had made an appointment for me with our family doctor, who also delivered babies. Mother had already shared what had happened with the doctor, I could tell. And he knew about Richard, as he had also been Richard's pediatrician, I was surprised to learn. Confirming that I was pregnant, he asked if I wanted to have an abortion.
This was not a subject I had ever considered, but I knew I would be ending the life of a defenseless person if I chose to do so.
My life would have been entirely different if I had either accepted the doctors suggestion, or, which was also suggested, let my sister, Carol, adopt the baby. Carol was married and was working as the executive assistant for the Western Head of Pan American, and had realized it was unlikely she and her husband could have children. I was not actually sure Carol would be a good mother, as she had adopted a little boy and she did not treat the little boy like I thought a mother should. My reading on obstetrics and early childhood had been very enlightening.
I did not accept her offer. Dad had mentioned putting an addition on our home, but I was still torn. I had finished High School in home study, which was mildly entertaining, since the required classes required little work, and I rather enjoyed it.
In parallel with home study I had also begun sewing and knitting what would be needed for the baby, who was now beginning to kick me, fluttering around in my uterus. Dad brought home books on obstetrics for me and on lactation and methods of childbirth. I decided I definitely wanted the birth to be as natural as possible.
Richard was far from my mind. I started college in the Autumn of 1967, but had kept breast feeding little Carolyn until then. She was born July 5, 1967.
I would not hear anything about Richard for some months.
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