A Voice for Marlene

A Voice for Marlene

By

Jane L. Beecher

Copyright 2011

TXu 1-751-217

Published on Smashwords

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Dedicated to Ellie King

She knew

what I found out and the

secret is with her…

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Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Acknowledgements

There were many people that contributed information for this book. Marlene left a treasure trove of pieces to be put together. I would like to thank the many people that have contributed to her story. I would have never known anything about Marlene Mcguire had Cheryl Dickey-Whitish, Director of Brown Memorial Library, not mentioned her. The many town clerks that answered questions regarding documents and cemeteries throughout the state were extremely helpful. The Fogler Library at the University of Maine at Orono and their staff extended their expertise in locating several documents. The state of Maine Archives staff assisted me with hours of work in microfilm to produce copies of birth, death and marriage certificates. In addition, Chester Patterson who gave me many hours of his time supplying background information about Hill Road and Marlene. Many local people who knew Marlene as a girl offered their remembrances. Blair Frost and Coleen Bean, recognized as local historians, supplied detailed information about the Clinton area and the schools. Brandy DeRosier from the Medical Examiner’s Office in Augusta located the initial medical report which helped immensely in my research concerning Marlene’s death. Thanks to Ann Fogg for reading, editing and guiding my work. To my friends, Dawn Grindle and Constance Huntley, my heartfelt thanks for their constant belief in my work. Jeanne Hunter, who mothered me through my adult life and told me I could do anything my thanks, is barely enough. Special thanks to my sons, Robert and Shane, for their support and belief in their mother.

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Contents

Prologue

BOOK ONE

Marlene Begins

Helen, my mother…

George McGuire

The Step-Father

BOOK TWO

THE ROADS

Hill Road

The Battle Ridge

BOOK THREE

Step-mother

Morrison’s Corner School and Miss Thompson

Sunday School and Miss Anderson

Abbie, Emily and April

Annie

Johnny

Aunt Bonnie

Stoney

Cora Wilson: Working Woman in the Fields

Neighbors Clements and Sorensons

Butch and Hank Search (The Posse)

Buddy and Harry find Marlene

Sheriff Trafton

Eldridge Tells His Story

Marlene has her say at last

Widow Jones

Author’s Note

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Prologue

A Voice for Marlene

On a sunny day, August 28, 1951, Marlene Mcguire left her home in central Maine but did not return.

Kennebec County bustled with activity and a six state alarm was put on police radios to find her, a posse was immediately formed and they gathered bloodhound dogs to search. She was reported leaving home between 1:30 and 3:30 p.m. by her step-father. He stated to police that Marlene came downstairs about 11 a.m. and said she was going out. He stopped her to ask that she make supper for them because he had to pick up his wife and son where they were cleaning the schoolhouse. The police asked if he could remember anything that would have upset Marlene. His answer was that there hadn’t been any disagreements in the family. In fact he stated that Marlene agreed to fix supper and then went out the back door to bring in water. Sometime on that fateful afternoon Marlene reportedly wrote a note that stated, Farewell ‘til we meet again. Do not bother to look for me. It was a curious statement because according to the step-father there seemed to be no apparent reason for her to leave. He felt it was strange that Marlene would have any reason at all for leaving. He told the police that everything in their household had been fine. When asked what she was wearing when he last saw her he told police that that she was wearing, dungarees, a figured blouse, and white shoes he added that the family dog was missing, too. Also, she took a .22 rifle and some bullets. Her step-father said that she was an avid hunter and a good shot. She had just turned 15 in July and was scheduled to attend Clinton High School in less than two weeks.

Her body was found 22 days later in a field by two men surveying their property for wood cutting and the most distinguishable part of identification was that she had on the same dungarees and figured blouse, as stated by the step-father, but on her feet were her Western riding boots. The gun she took was three feet from her body, but no expended shells were evident. There were no bullet wounds in her body. In her small suitcase the sheriff found a white dress, shoes, a top coat, sandwich spread and a cucumber. On the ground there were two more cucumbers and a fifth of a loaf of raisin bread. The bread was slightly molded, but the wrapper not torn as it might have been if an animal had wanted to eat it. In fact, the cucumbers were not soggy, the sandwich spread, although it had a watery separation at the top, did not appear tampered with. The scene was odd for several reasons. It would seem that if the food had been out in the August weather for 22 days animals would have at least tried to move the items or eaten them entirely. She lay on her left side in the middle of an area shaded by three trees where the ground around her had been trampled down. Authorities felt that she had been there for some time and explained that she may have ‘writhed around before dying’. However, this area had been previously searched. Marlene’s body was in a state of decomposition listed as inflated on her death certificate which is not indicative of having been outside for the length of time she was missing. In addition, the inflation was evident from approximately her mid-section to her feet. From her mid-section up and particularly her throat area she was infested with maggots and beetles indicating another state of decomposition. Her throat area was severely damaged. But there was no indication of a gun shot wound on the body. A neighbor stated that she had heard a shot the night of Marlene’s disappearance; but later found that it had been fired by someone else in the area.

The pieces of a puzzle about Marlene’s disappearance were difficult to put together. Local people spoke in hushed whispers about the incident, but no one came forward. The sheriff worked the case as best he could but to no avail. No one would talk about the death of Marlene Mcguire, who was laid to rest quickly and quietly. The sheriff swore that he would find a resolution to her death, but no one would even answer questions about the whereabouts of the dog for two days. As Marlene had disappeared and then was found, the town of Clinton chose to forget about her. They went on with their lives, repeating gossip about what happened to Marlene, but no one sought the truth. Although the cause of death on her death certificate indicates unknown no one pursued it any further. Where did Marlene die? The sheriff had the ground beneath her excavated and the results were that she did not bleed out there. Why was she wearing riding boots when her step-father stated she supposedly left home wearing the white shoes? Did she pack the little travel bag with a white dress, top coat and sandwich makings with a purpose in mind? Where did she think she was going? Did she really write the supposed suicide note? Where had she been for almost three weeks? Why did a field previously searched now yield her body? The area had been matted down and the items placed. Why did the authorities not question the state of the crime scene? The rifle had an empty cartridge in the chamber, but where was the bullet? Who fired the gun? Why didn’t the sheriff and his deputies find the bullet? Why didn’t the bloodhounds find her body if she had been there for three weeks? Certainly the dogs would have smelled her decomposing if she had been there for three weeks.

Why was the town of Clinton content to whisper about Marlene Mcguire and not seek justice for her? Why didn’t her step-father, father or some family member ask questions? Was it easier to think that a 15 year old girl had committed suicide than to find out why she was a victim of foul play?

Who got away with murdering Marlene Mcguire?

Marlene Mcguire

Newspaper photo August 30, 1951 Morning Sentinel, Waterville, Maine

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BOOK ONE

Marlene Begins

I guess the hardest part in telling you my story is getting started. I don’t know where to start so I’ll just tell you a little bit about myself first. I was born on July 10, 1936 in Winthrop, Maine. My parents were Helen and George Mcguire. Of course I don’t remember much about the first few years, but there were photographs of me as a little girl that I treasured. Everyone said I was a happy baby and lived in a house that my parents bought a month before I was born.

I went through many changes but I remember still having my mother with me. She was beautiful and loved me so! We both had black hair that waved just right. My grandmother and mother had the same small frame and talked the same, too. They had a special way of accenting words that I listened to and mimicked. They even mimicked each other sometimes and laughed until they would hug each other. I always remember how my mother smiled and held me close to her cheek. She smelled like cinnamon. She was small in comparison to my father, and I remember how her eyes sparkled when she would look up at him with that pretty smile of hers. Her mouth curved just right when she smiled and showed her teeth a little. I always thought she had the most beautiful face, but then I was a little girl and loved her as much as she loved me.

My father was a pretty big man, tall and straight. He worked hard and sometimes when he came home from work he would pull me onto his lap saying silly things to me. I remember once he was so happy that he swung me around in circles until I was so dizzy that I begged to be put down. That was a mistake because I lost my footing and fell on his shoes. He reached down and lifted me up to hold me near him until I felt better. He always seemed so happy when I was little. He had freckles on his face, arms, all over I think. That’s where my freckles came from, I’m sure.

My parents worked so hard and sometimes my grandmother would come to stay with me until they got home. It was strange that they didn’t come home much and I missed them. Something was beginning to change. I stayed with an aunt here and there and saw less and less of my parents. I wasn’t sure what was happening. Then one day my grandmother came to my house and packed my things and me. I cried and cried as my mother begged her to leave me there. She didn’t. She took me to her house and I wasn’t allowed to go back home.

My mother would come once in awhile and see me and those were wonderful times. I asked her to take me home with her and she told me that she couldn’t but soon she would come for me. I didn’t see my father then and when I cried for him she told me that he had gone away. I guess I just couldn’t figure out where he would go. After all there was only home. Where else was there for him to go? I wanted to go home, too.

Then, one day when the sun was really warm I was playing in the yard and my grandmother called me to come in. There was my father and mother together. They were arguing and shouting so loud that my grandmother told them both to leave until they could stop. I cried and no one heard me. I suppose that was when I learned to not be noticed. I think that both of my parents forgot about me and I was not important any more. I cried to myself then.

They left my grandmother’s without me. I sat on the step and watched as they left. My father went one way while my mother went the other the opposite way. I was torn as to where I should run, but my grandmother grabbed my hand and took me in. I was so sure that they would come back I stayed at the window for hours waiting. I wanted to go home. I wanted my parents back.

It went on that way for a long time and I got used to staying at my grandmother’s and then she packed my things and told me that I couldn’t stay any longer. She was going away and I had to go some place else. I didn’t know where I was going and I begged her to let me stay. She said that she was leaving the house and she couldn’t take me with her. My grandfather was not around much any way, but now he had left. I asked where he was and I remember my grandmother telling me that he wanted to go on his way. I guess I didn’t know what way he had left so I watched the road both ways hoping maybe he would come back. But he didn’t. He had left and did not even say goodbye to me.

I thought for sure that now my mother would come for me, but she didn’t. My father didn’t come either. One of my mother’s sisters came and took me by the hand leading me out by jerks and pulling at me. She had children and when we got to her house she put me in a room with my two cousins. They immediately dumped my little case and everything in it was gone in a few minutes. I had nothing of my own now and they poked and prodded at me until I cried. It seemed to please them that I was so unhappy and they pulled my hair. Finally, my aunt made them stop. That was the beginning and every chance they got I was punched or pulled one way or another. It continued day and night. They told me to stop crying or they would punch me more. I cried quietly and I learned to not to cry no matter what they did to me. I took their punches and looked them straight in the face. I stared at them until they were afraid of me.

In time I learned how to fight back. I hit them, pulled their hair, and punched them whenever I got a chance. I wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to play with them and after awhile they did leave me alone. They didn’t play with me or even talk to me. I was glad to be left me alone. Then one day my mother came back and I was packed up again. She took me to a new place and told me I had a new father. I wanted my father back, but she said he was gone and wouldn’t come back, so I had to have this new one. I remember thinking that he was not my father and would never be, I had a father, and I just had to find him again.

Then my mother was sick. I went to stay with my grandmother and aunt in a big house where no one hit me and I was safe. I thought that my mother would get better and come to get me but she didn’t come. She died. The new father came to get me and I had to go with him. I wanted my mother and father. I hated this father, he wasn’t nice either. But I had no choice; no one would take me to my real father. No one told me that my mother died until I was moved again with the new father.

The new father had a new wife because my mother died. There I was with a father and mother that weren’t my parents and I had to stay there. In my mind I wasn’t with them. I was always alone; I was never with anyone really. I didn’t belong anywhere but where I was at the moment and that wasn’t any where important. I didn’t belong anywhere either, I felt as though I was only here temporarily. In the end, I found that it was really true I didn’t belong to anyone or any place.

I tried to be happy where I was in this new place, but my heart hurt when I thought of my mother and father. I didn’t belong here. I was a girl without a real place to live. I went to school. I tried to do the right things, but I always wanted to go somewhere else.

I grew up, and then he came. I wanted to be a good girl. He said all of the things I thought were true. I believed him. I thought he was one person who really loved me and would take me away from here to a place where I could be happy. He told me he would take care of me and the baby that was inside me. I listened, hoped, and wanted it to be true.

I died a month after I turned 15 and they buried me. No one really knew or wanted to know what happened to me. They were in a hurry to get rid of me so that no one would know I lived, I suppose. In the short time that I lived in Clinton people rarely noticed me, but once I died the stories began. The people that should have known what happened to me did nothing but tell bad stories.

Finally, my story will be told because everyone that knew me will now be able to speak to you. The roads that I walked on knew me well, too. Their spirits are here with me. Here, in this place where time stands still, everyone will tell you about me. No one is afraid to talk to you now. There are no more secrets to keep. They are all here to tell their stories. Even the man who killed me is here. We’re all here together. My mother was here to welcome me, but the rest came later as their lives ended.

My mother wants to talk first. She is going to tell you about our lives.

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Helen, my mother….

Marlene was my little girl and I loved her. I didn’t do right by her, but I tried. You’ll never understand the kind of life we had. It was hard. Even though I had a mother and father and a family, things were really bad. I don’t remember much about being a child because it seems that I always worked doing whatever was asked of me. I had brothers and sisters, and they all worked, too. I realized later on that it took everything my parents could do to keep us in food, clothes and a roof over our heads. I probably wasn’t much more than 12 when I was farmed out, which wasn’t that unusual with the way that things were then. Everyone was struggling to live.

The first family that I lived with was the Horton’s. They had three children and the mother was sick with the last one born. I had to sleep in her room sometimes and keep a watch on her as she twisted up in the bed and cried out. The doctor would come and talk to her husband at the door in whispers and she’d try to get up and out of bed. Her mother finally came and took over in her room, so I was to cook, clean and take care of the children while the father went off to work. Sometimes he didn’t come back for days and we would run out of food. Then the woman’s mother would have to go out for food. So she’d leave me there on my own with the mother and her kids. It was hard trying to keep the children quiet while the mother was supposed to be resting and my job was to watch that she didn’t get out of bed.

Mr. Horton was a big man, or at least he looked big to me. He didn’t speak to anyone but when he was home everything was kept in order. The children obeyed without a second reminder so I was free to sit with Mrs. Horton more often. I didn’t even notice that Mr. Horton was in the house some days as things ran so smoothly.

At first he didn’t notice me at all, I was not much older than his children and though useful to take care of his wife probably just another mouth to feed. A year of working at the Horton’s flew by as I was eager to please and keep my position at their home. I began to see Mr. Horton watching me as I hung out clothing on the line or set a meal on the table. His eyes watched my every move and it made me feel strange. I wondered why he would take such care to check on me as frequently as he did during the day. Rarely would he go to Mrs. Horton, but if I was sitting in her room he would peek in to give his good morning or just nod. I thought it was his way of checking on Mrs. Horton so I kept my head down not to notice the looks between husband and wife.

One night as the house was cold and quiet I heard Mr. Horton’s voice briefly but drifted back to sleep. As I rolled on my cot I realized that someone was standing in my room. The room was big enough for my cot and a small dresser. It was a dark little room without even a window. When I stared up I saw that it was Mr. Horton. He began to remove his clothing and as there was no place to put it he dropped each piece on the floor. I had seen my brothers before and knew what men looked like naked, but I had never thought of Mr. Horton in that way until he stood beside me and lowered himself on top of my cot pulling back the blankets. He said nothing but pulled up my nightgown and without a glance he pushed himself hard between my legs. He rumbled deep in his chest and then sank heavily upon me before pulling himself up and out of the covers. This went on for months and he never spoke to me either in the house or while he pushed himself into me.

A few months later Mrs. Horton and I were both ill at the same time; I