Quips & Quotes by Gwen E Campbell on “The Disappearance of E.A.B”

Driving in the dark, the cold dark of December was bad enough, but driving to a funeral in the dark was worse, unless the worst thing was feeling nothing, or feeling empty, and then complete relief.

Wendell was dead. Amelia was dead. They were both dead now, and there was no grief. Anna didn’t feel the great surge of joy at Wendell’s death that she had felt at Amelia’s death. No, she just felt nothing.

Ten years ago, Amelia had died. Anna had tried hard not to let Wendell know how glad she was that Amelia was dead. He had looked so dazed and lost, but she was glad, and she couldn’t deny that she was glad because she was safe. He obviously was grief stricken and cried at the funeral. She did not. There were no tears for Amelia, but she would always remember Wendell crying. Anna had never seen him cry before.

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Quips and Quotes for “Always Going” by Gwen E Campbell

Gwen Campbell traveled rather extensively as a young girl from the years of 1937 to 1945. This story of her life and adventures covers many miles of the Southwest, Texas and Oklahoma even California.

Her hair was in wild disarray, and her eyes seemed not to focus – not on us, at any rate. What her frantic eyes saw was otherworldly. She harkened to other voices, ones we could not hear. She was holding a double barreled shotgun across her breast, not aimed. Her hands were not on the trigger, at least not that day.

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Quips & Quotes from “Always Going” by Gwen E Campbell

Gwen Campbell traveled rather extensively as a young girl from the years of 1937 to 1945. This story of her life and adventures covers many miles of the Southwest, Texas and Oklahoma even California.

In his youth, he was handsome. I’ve seen the pictures. He had the black hair and blue eyes that women find so captivating. He captivated and charmed Ida Leonora (his first wife) out of her youth, and into grief and despair and an early grave. She died in childbirth, delivering prematurely her ninth child. She died in travail and anguish with only her 14 year old daughter to help her in those last desperate hours. She was 36 years old. The newborn child was too premature, too tiny. It was too much to expect such a mite to live in 1915, but she did. They put her in a shoebox and put her in the oven, and she lived. How do you explain such a thing? She had strength, determination and tenacity.

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