{"id":110978,"date":"2021-08-14T09:55:38","date_gmt":"2021-08-14T16:55:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/jonestown.sdsu.edu\/?page_id=110978"},"modified":"2021-10-12T14:47:48","modified_gmt":"2021-10-12T21:47:48","slug":"marceline-baldwin-meets-jim-jones","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/jonestown.sdsu.edu\/?page_id=110978","title":{"rendered":"Marceline Baldwin Meets Jim Jones"},"content":{"rendered":"

(This story is a chapter of<\/em> Mrs. Jim Jones: One Possible Biography, a novella by Annie Dawid. Chapter 2<\/em>, Long Before Jonestown: Indianapolis, 1956<\/a>, was previously published in the 2017 edition of the jonestown report<\/a>. <\/em><\/p>\n

(Annie Dawid is a regular contributor to\u00a0<\/em>the jonestown report.\u00a0Her\u00a0complete collection of articles for this site may be found\u00a0<\/em>here<\/em><\/a>.\u00a0She can be reached at\u00a0<\/em>annie@anniedawid.com<\/em><\/a>.)<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>Mercy Hospital
\nRichmond, Indiana
\n1949<\/p>\n

The Negro child had a nasty cough, which turned out to be pneumonia, and only Marceline wanted to hold her. \u201cAren\u2019t you the sweetest thing?\u201d Marceline murmured into the baby\u2019s burning ear as she carried her up from emergency to pediatrics. \u201cAren\u2019t you the prettiest little girl?\u201d The infant, whose nametag read Baby Doe, had been left in the lobby, wrapped in a white blanket, clean but many times mended in crazy quilt style, the intricate cross-hatch testifying to the sewer\u2019s skill. Whoever left her there had bathed and powdered the child and folded a change of clothing into the blanket, which was promptly tossed into the trash by the receptionist who found her, Mary Margaret. Because the other nurses were pretending to be busy around the emergency room desk, Marceline ran to rescue the girl from Mary Margaret, who was holding the infant as far away from her as possible, breath held.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome here, sweetie. Let\u2019s get your temperature and see if we can cool you down.\u201d Always, Marceline had loved the warmth of babies, though this one was clearly feverish; she relished their fresh smell and cooing. \u201cYou little darling; we\u2019re going to get you all fixed up,\u201d she whispered, passing the cluster of nurses, all of them older by a least a decade. Did Marceline hear a muttered \u201cNigger Lover\u201d as she went by? After three years at Mercy, first as a student nurse, and now officially three months as R.N., Marceline Baldwin, 22 years old, could verify the lack of merciful behavior at this institution, whose mission was to succor the poor and destitute of central Indiana.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to call you Cinnamon, because that\u2019s what your skin reminds me of,\u201d said Marceline as she weighed and measured the baby, then took its temperature with a rectal thermometer, which caused the child a fit of coughing which metamorphosed into full-on screaming. One hundred and six degrees. \u201cLet\u2019s get her into a lukewarm bath,\u201d Marceline called to one of the aides on the children\u2019s floor. \u201cThen Doctor Witherspoon can look her over.\u201d<\/p>\n

A young blonde in a pink nurse\u2019s assistant smock backed away. \u201cBut Nurse Chatfeld just asked me to help her get a patient out of bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll do it,\u201d came a male voice, and a very young man, still a teenager, whom Marceline had never seen before, walked before her into the bathing area, opening the door and turning on the water before lifting the baby tenderly from her arms. \u201cNurse Baldwin, you adjust the temperature. I wouldn\u2019t want to get it wrong and burn her.\u201d<\/p>\n

To the baby he said, in a playful voice, \u201cNow you\u2019re one hot little girl, aren\u2019t you? We\u2019re gonna get you cooled down first thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

While she checked the water, the boy tickled the baby\u2019s toes. He was white, like Marceline, but his hair and eyes shone brilliant black; he seemed exotic to her, not only in his unusual appearance but due to his apparent indifference or even attraction to the baby\u2019s skin color.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you new, Mr\u2026.\u201d She paused.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Jim. Jim Jones. Just started this morning.\u201d He smiled at her over the basin, both of them with their hands on the child, he cupping the girl\u2019s head gently in his large palm, she splashing water over the baby\u2019s belly. At the moment Marceline was thinking that this boy would make a good dad someday, she looked up into Jim\u2019s eyes. He seemed to be studying her face, which she both liked and found unsettling. \u201cYou like children, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her pale skin reddened and she made herself look back at the baby. \u201cI do. Yes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you have any?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo!\u201d She could feel her cheeks heating up, and wondered if Jim had intentionally brushed his fingertips on hers as he grazed a washcloth over the girl\u2019s toes. \u201cI mean I\u2019m not married.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot yet, but you will be. Soon, I think.\u201d His laughter, deep and self-assured, forced Marceline to look back into his dark eyes. Was he making fun of her?\u00a0 \u201cI like children too. Like this one.\u201d He smiled at Cinnamon. \u201cYou are a beautiful girl. Yes you are.\u201d The baby opened her huge eyes and coughed, spitting water into Jim\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

Marceline tensed.<\/p>\n

Jim laughed again, wiping his chin on his shoulder. \u201cThat\u2019s okay, little one. Spit out that nasty old mucus!\u201d Suddenly, he shook his head, water droplets spraying everywhere. \u201cWhat time do you take your lunch?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI, I usually meet my mother for lunch in the cafeteria. She works in bookkeeping.\u201d<\/p>\n

His smile vanished, Jim looked as if he might cry, all swagger and confidence evaporated.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, why don\u2019t you join us,\u201d Marceline said reflexively.\u00a0 \u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n

Across his face a wave passed, restoring him. \u201cWhat time?\u201d<\/p>\n

He really was just a kid, Marceline thought, and her half-conscious daydream of running her fingertips down his shoulder, feeling his skin on her skin, faded. He reminded her of a young cousin, also named Jim, who did poorly in school and often came to her home seeking comfort and guidance from her family, as his own parents were preoccupied with money troubles and argued constantly. Jimmy Baldwin was a sweetie, tortured by acne and the girls in his class, bullied by boys for his frailty and apparent effeminacy.<\/p>\n

\u201cTwelve-thirty.\u201d She checked her watch. \u201cI\u2019ll meet you there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow \u2018bout we go down together?\u201d<\/p>\n

How quickly he wanted to know her! She wasn\u2019t used to it. From high school she\u2019d gone straight to nursing college, where every student was female, and, as a minister\u2019s daughter, her earlier life had been unpleasantly free of male attention. No boy in her father\u2019s congregation dared ask her out, and at the neighborhood public school she had a reputation for primness, which she had done nothing to deserve. \u201cPolly Prude! Polly Prude!\u201d High school boys would taunt her as she walked by the drugstore on Second Street. Designated a prude solely because she was the minister\u2019s daughter, Marceline, who loved her parents and respected her father\u2019s work, often wished she could be more \u201cnormal,\u201d having the experiences her girlfriends did with necking in the back seats of cars. Her friend Sally told her every detail of every kiss and caress, every hand down her skirt, which Sally seemed to love. \u201cIt\u2019s embarrassing sometimes,\u201d she\u2019d confessed one night at a sleepover at the Baldwin\u2019s during their last semester in high school. \u201cI get wet, you know, all over my underpants. Soaking! As if I\u2019d showered in my clothes. It feels so good, and I want to do more, you know? More than just kiss and let Michael touch my breasts. But I know I shouldn\u2019t!\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline wanted Sally to do more, whatever \u201cmore\u201d consisted of, so that Sally could tell her all about it. Marceline remembered when she used to touch herself, at 12 and 13, all the time, whenever she thought no one was looking, rubbing her pubic bone against the wall, the door edge, tucking her fingers inside her and then smelling them, finding the odor alien but interesting, unlike any other scent. Her mother walked in on her one day in the bathtub, while Marceline was exploring her vagina with both hands, and made her promise not to do it anymore, saying all those good feelings were supposed to wait until God had found her a husband.<\/p>\n

Because Marceline had promised, she stopped.<\/p>\n

Somehow she managed to turn 22 without any man ever finding the courage to \u201clay a finger\u201d or anything else upon her body. As Marceline looked for Jim by the pediatrics desk at 12:25, she met his eyes staring her down as he walked toward her, his smile radiant with what she thought might be attraction, even desire.<\/p>\n

He patted her shoulder. \u201cHi there. I\u2019m sure hungry. What about you?\u201d<\/p>\n

His touch reverberated down her arm and into her belly, connecting to her groin with a pleasing shock. Flushing, she mumbled that she was, and then that she wasn\u2019t. He took her arm \u2013 he was so very bold! \u2013 and part of her liked his boldness, and part of her feared it, but in an exhilarating way.<\/p>\n

At lunch, Mrs. Baldwin quizzed Jim about his life, pleased to learn he was interested in medicine, surprised he was still in high school. \u201cAnd yet you seem so sure of yourself and what you want.\u201d She looked sideways at her daughter. \u201cMost people go through some changes before settling down.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am, I know I want to help people. If not as a doctor, then it\u2019ll be something else. I\u2019ve been helping people my whole life already. Animals too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline nodded. She looked from Jim, with his rich self-confidence, to her mother, the preacher\u2019s wife, and knew already that Minister and Mrs. Baldwin would disapprove of Jim, his clear and perhaps cocky sense of knowing just what he was about.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, whatever you decide, you have a lot of schooling ahead. Marcie\u2019s already spent four years at nursing college. If you decide on medicine, that\u2019s easily ten years before you get your M.D.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jim\u2019s face fell. \u201cTen years! I can\u2019t wait that long!\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline smiled. He was impetuous, her Jim. She knew he would be her Jim, whether her parents liked him or not. He had so much energy! And, unlike her father, the quiet Methodist rule-follower, she imagined Jim would make his own rules.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere are lots of ways to help people, of course,\u201d said Mrs. Baldwin, a petite woman who wiped her lips with a napkin after each bite of her egg salad sandwich. \u201cYou\u2019re already doing that here, in the hospital. And although bookkeeping has no great merit on its own, I try to do my work so that people\u2019s bills are as manageable as they can be \u2013 while being fair to the hospital, of course.\u201d Her gray-blond hair in a neat bun perched high on her head, Mrs. Baldwin looked around the cafeteria to check if anyone was listening.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got a bit of the Samaritan in you, I see.\u201d Jim said loudly, winking at Marceline.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, of course; it\u2019s part of our creed, to help others.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what church do you belong to?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMethodist,\u201d said Marceline, her first entry in the conversation. \u201cMy father has the ministry at First Methodist on the East Side.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you ever been to a Methodist service, Jim?\u201d asked Mrs. Baldwin. \u201cWhat church did you attend growing up?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jim shook his head. \u201cMy family didn\u2019t belong to any, so I did my own exploring. Tried out all of them in Lynn. The neighbor across the street, Mrs. Kennedy, she took me to her church plenty of times, the Nazarenes. I liked their services. And the Pentecostals, too. So exciting! Not like those sleeping congregations where no one says anything with any passion, or that\u2019s what it seemed like to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Baldwin pushed her tray away. \u201cPastor Baldwin and I have never been to a Pentecostal service. It\u2019s possible you\u2019ll find my husband\u2019s sermons a little too\u2026 perhaps too tame for your taste.\u201d She bit her lip. \u201cDon\u2019t they speak in tongues?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jim grinned. \u201cYou don\u2019t like that idea.\u201d He smiled at Marceline, as if they were already conspiring. Before Mrs. Baldwin could reply, he added, \u201dYou\u2019d be amazed at the spirit you find in those churches. I\u2019m kind of a preacher myself \u2013 not like your husband, of course \u2013 but I\u2019ve preached to the kids in my neighborhood since I was a kid. I can tell when people are listening and when they\u2019re pretending. And boy, those folks drooling and babbling aren\u2019t pretending anything! You have to see it to understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline worried that Jim had gone too far. She wanted her mother to like Jim, even in his rebelliousness. Marceline believed Jim would transcend the orderly life of her parents, and bring her with him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know,\u201d she said, looking at her watch, \u201cI wish we could keep talking, but I have to relieve Betty upstairs, so she can take a late lunch.\u201d To her relief, Jim rose and extended his hand to her mother.<\/p>\n

\u201cA pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Baldwin. And I hope to hear your husband\u2019s service very soon. Maybe this weekend?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Baldwin smoothed her hair, an unreadable expression on her face, lips pursed. \u201cThat would be fine, I\u2019m sure. Everyone is welcome at our church.\u201d She turned her cheek for Marceline to kiss. \u201cHoney, I\u2019m going to get some coffee and sit a little longer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Leaning down, Marceline pressed her lips to her mother\u2019s cool skin, feeling somehow older than she had yesterday at their post-lunch ritual. \u201cDon\u2019t rush, Mother. I\u2019ll see you later.\u201d<\/p>\n

Again, Jim rested his hand lightly on Marceline\u2019s shoulder, making sure her mother saw. \u201cGoodbye Mrs. Baldwin. See you Sunday.\u201d<\/p>\n

On their way back, Jim kept touching Marceline\u2019s elbow, opening doors, flashing his wide, powerful grin. \u201cI like your mother,\u201d he said. \u201cI think she likes me too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline laughed. \u201cOh, you don\u2019t know my mother. She\u2019s hard to gauge sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI bet she gives all your boyfriends a hard time. But that\u2019s okay. She should,\u201d Jim whispered in her ear,\u00a0 \u201cYou\u2019re a treasure.\u201d<\/p>\n

Shaking her head, Marceline turned away. \u201cThere\u2019s Betty, waiting for me. See you later, Jim.\u201d<\/p>\n

All afternoon, Marceline was proud of herself for not obeying her first impulse, which was always to be honest, to tell Jim she\u2019d never had a boyfriend, not ever. But she remembered from Sally, who was now married with two children and pregnant, that one had to hold oneself aloof, even if one didn\u2019t want to.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd who\u2019s that young man?\u201d asked Betty, a motherly woman in her sixties who kept tabs on staff social relations. \u201cI never saw him before.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s new.\u201d She flushed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI see.\u201d Betty grinned. \u201cIsn\u2019t he a little young for you? I mean, he\u2019s awfully handsome, but handsome can be dangerous.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s only four years younger!\u201d Marceline retorted, then wished she hadn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

Betty blinked. \u201cI think I see clearly what\u2019s what, Miss Baldwin. You\u2019re both very young people, you know. Don\u2019t be rash.\u201d Smiling, Betty took her purse and left.<\/p>\n

Marceline wondered what Betty meant by dangerous, and if she would dare to ask her tomorrow. But all this is silly, she told herself, as she commenced the afternoon\u2019s tasks. It was just this morning she\u2019d met him, this Jim Jones who reminded her in his earnestness of her young cousin, though he looked nothing like the homely, sad Jimmy she\u2019d always loved and felt a little sorry for. \u201cConcentrate on your work,\u201d she told herself. \u201cAnd don\u2019t be ridiculous, getting all excited about some kid.\u201d<\/p>\n

Still, she couldn\u2019t scrape him from her consciousness. When she went to check on Cinnamon, she was gratified to find her resting, fever lower; Marceline couldn\u2019t let go of the image of Jim holding this brown-skinned baby, his kindness to a sick child. Sweetness filled her as she held the sleeping Cinnamon, swaying and humming. Perhaps one day she would have a baby herself, a girl like this one. She played with the infant\u2019s dark curls and thought instantly of Jim\u2019s thick black hair, which he wore longer in the back than most men, and how she\u2019d wanted to touch it. She still did. The warmth she felt now wasn\u2019t centered in her groin but farther up, a place which sometimes revealed itself in church when her father quoted from the Psalms, or when she read something profound. The place where her spirit resided, she thought, though it didn\u2019t dwell in any physical place, really, but was lodged somewhere between her heart and mind, partaking of both. She remembered when Sally insisted she read Wuthering Heights<\/em>, which Sally was finishing for the third time.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s so amazing, this incredible love they have for each other, even when they\u2019re not together \u2013 even when she\u2019s dead!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t give away the plot,\u201d protested Marceline. They were 16 then, and she was shocked by the relationship between Heathcliff and Cathy; he was uncouth and violent, but there was something compelling about him. Something powerful made Marceline root for him in his quest to win the girl\u2019s heart, and against Edgar, who, despite his gentleness and apparent love for Cathy, appeared lifeless by comparison. Marceline remembered how she\u2019d felt as a teenager reading that Victorian novel, how she\u2019d wished for a love like that in her own life but doubted such a connection with a man was possible.<\/p>\n

At dinner, her mother told her father about the new male orderly, and his interest in hearing Pastor Baldwin on Sunday.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s he like?\u201d asked Laura, Marceline\u2019s younger sister, who was already engaged, terribly romantic and eager to see her big sister in love. \u201cWhat\u2019s he look like?\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline\u2019s father blinked. \u201cWell, Marcie? Aren\u2019t you going to tell us? Laura and I are curious.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline looked to her mother for help. Mrs. Baldwin shook her head. \u201cYou tell them. I\u2019m wondering how you\u2019ll describe him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Suddenly her soup, Campbell\u2019s tomato, seemed especially interesting. She didn\u2019t like this feeling of being observed as if she were a cellular organism being prodded under glass, the slightest movement provoking her observer\u2019s delight.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re blushing!\u201d shouted Laura, pleased with herself. \u201cCome on, Sensible Sister! Tell us already.\u201d<\/p>\n

Laura was the pretty one, the boy magnet, as her parents called her. She wasn\u2019t interested in going to college or having any kind of career beyond being a wife. When she\u2019d read Wuthering Heights<\/em>, at Marceline\u2019s urging, Heathcliff disgusted her. \u201cWhat a beast!\u201d she\u2019d said. \u201cI can\u2019t believe Cathy or any girl would want to be within a hundred yards of that guy. He\u2019s awful!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, he\u2019s got nice eyes,\u201d Marceline said finally, more to her soup than her sister. \u201cBig and dark.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd a good head of hair, too,\u201d added Mrs. Baldwin. \u201cI wonder what kind of blood he\u2019s got in him \u2013 Black Irish, maybe?\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline shrugged. What did it matter? \u201cI have no idea. He was born in Indiana, like me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTell them when<\/em>!\u201d Her mother insisted. Marceline knew that her teasing was not malicious, but she couldn\u2019t help defending herself, wanting to protect Jim.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? Is he an old man or something?\u201d Laura asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. He\u2019s younger than me, that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s still in high school!\u2019 announced Mrs. Baldwin triumphantly, and everyone laughed except Marceline. She looked around the room, its well-appointed oak furniture and graceful pewter chandelier over the dining room table. They weren\u2019t rich, but they were \u2026 tasteful, Marceline thought. It was hard to breathe.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right, Mother. You\u2019ve had your joke. So, he\u2019s 18. We all were, once. Laura\u2019s only 19, for goodness sake. Why hold his age against him? I think he\u2019s pretty mature, really. I mean, he cares about the world, which you don\u2019t find in too many people that age.\u201d She glared at her sister, who was winking at her mother and didn\u2019t profit from Marceline\u2019s jibe.<\/p>\n

Mr. Baldwin sighed. \u201cOkay everyone. Let\u2019s stop making Marcie uncomfortable. I\u2019m sorry, honey. It\u2019s just that we\u2019ve never seen you excited about a boy before. I don\u2019t know about your mother, but I\u2019m pleased for you that you\u2019ve met someone you like.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sure he\u2019s a fine young man,\u201d said Mrs. Baldwin. \u201cHe\u2019s just a kid, that\u2019s all, and impetuous. But that\u2019s all right. I think his heart\u2019s in the right place.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline excused herself and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Sometimes living with her family was a comfort; other times, like now, she wished she were independent enough to have her own apartment, or to share with another nurse. Her sister would go from father to husband; no doubt her parents expected the same of Marceline. While lying on her bed, wondering if she had enough money to rent a place, the phone rang. Usually it was for her father, and her mother always answered. But when she heard her mother calling, \u201cMarcie! Telephone for you!\u201d she knew exactly who it was.<\/p>\n

Their heavy black phone rested on the kitchen counter, and she was thankful that her mother left the dishes to give Marceline privacy.<\/p>\n

\u201cMarceline? It\u2019s Jim.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew it would be you,\u201d she whispered, smiling into the phone.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did? How?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust knew.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was thinking about you, so I thought I\u2019d call. Actually, I can\u2019t stop thinking about you.\u201d He laughed. \u201cI\u2019ve never felt like this before.\u201d<\/p>\n

Breathing in, she felt lightheaded. She wanted to say she felt the same but didn\u2019t dare, and waited.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, after one day at Mercy Hospital, I felt like most of the people who work there don\u2019t like Negroes. You were the only person I saw being nice to a colored patient.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought the same thing about you!\u201d This was safer than discussing her feelings. \u201cI don\u2019t understand Mercy \u2013 they\u2019re so hypocritical, pretending they\u2019re there to help the poor, but when the poor are Negro, they\u2019re not so helpful anymore. I\u2019m glad you noticed it too. My mother thinks I\u2019m too sensitive \u2013 she says I\u2019m too quick to judge. But,\u201d she lowered her voice, \u201cmy mother has a lot of her own prejudices, too. Though she\u2019d never admit it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe all do though, you know? Raised in the heart of Ku Klux Klan territory. My father was a member.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline gasped. \u201cYou\u2019re kidding!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. I\u2019m not. So I have a lot to atone for in this life, you know what I mean? And he was in the war, I mean the first war, gassing people. He was gassed too, so I guess he got what was coming to him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline wanted to defend Jim\u2019s father, for reasons she couldn\u2019t identify, but chose not to. How could Jim speak so harshly of his own parent? \u201cWas he really hurt, then, from the mustard gas? Sometimes we see veterans like that at Mercy \u2013 they have so many health problems.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy old man was an ass before the war, I\u2019m sure of it. And lazy. My mother always worked. Usually in the factories. I hardly saw her when I was growing up, or that\u2019s what it seemed like. Her family was really poor, and they thought she was coming up in the world by marrying Jim Jones, Senior. But she ended up supporting us all. \u201c<\/p>\n

In her parents\u2019 gleaming kitchen in their brick middle-class home, Marceline felt ashamed. When they were children, her mother had always been at home for her and Laura, keeping their nice house very proper and clean, checking to make sure the girls did all their homework and buying new school clothes every fall. She\u2019d had an easy life, not like Jim. \u201cWhere are your parents now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy father\u2019s dead. My mother\u2019s still working in the factories. She\u2019s the head of her union. I\u2019m proud of her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marceline had never met a labor organizer. At the hospital, some women had tried to unionize the nurses a few years back, but she hadn\u2019t paid much attention. Most of the women were against it, and the effort failed. Her father often spoke against unions, saying they were infiltrated by Communists, and though the intent of the union was Christian \u2013 to make sure everyone was paid equally and worked under reasonable conditions \u2013 in practice the unions were corrupt and full of crooks. She wondered if her father had any experience with unions, or if he was merely repeating what the newspapers said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to meet her,\u201d Marceline said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou will.\u201d Jim laughed.<\/p>\n

Where did he get such confidence, she wondered. She had never felt so sure of herself in all her life. It couldn\u2019t just be that he was a boy \u2013 immediately she thought of Jimmy Baldwin for a counter-example \u2013 it was a certainty inside him he must have been born with, she concluded.<\/p>\n

\u201cI better go now,\u201d she said, though no one was asking to use the phone.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay Marceline. Sweet dreams. I\u2019ll see you in the morning. Can we have lunch together again?\u201d<\/p>\n

She wondered what her mother would think. If she had a real lunch hour, maybe she and Jim could go someplace besides the hospital cafeteria, but 45 minutes wouldn\u2019t cover the walk to and from the nearest luncheonette, plus eating. \u201cSure. Good night.\u201d After she hung up, she found Laura waiting on the bottom step.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo? Did he ask you for a date?\u201d Laura smiled. \u201cYou like him! I can see it all over your face. Marcie\u2019s got a date,\u201d she sing-songed. \u201cMarcie\u2019s got a date!\u201d<\/p>\n

Flushing, Marceline dodged her sister. \u201cNo. I don\u2019t have a date. He just called to say hi; that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lying in bed, waiting for sleep, Marceline kept seeing Jim\u2019s eyes, the way he looked into her, his daring to know her \u2013 it was so new. Always, Laura was the one boys were drawn to \u2013 she knew how to flirt, how to play those games, while Marceline had never learned.\u00a0 And Laura was genuinely pretty \u2013 sky-blue eyes and thick blonde hair she wore long. But Marceline didn\u2019t begrudge her sister anything; Marceline had always been the plain one, the studious one, the serious one. \u201cOf those Baldwin girls,\u201d the church women would say, \u201cYou\u2019d want your son to date Laura, but Marceline to be your daughter-in-law.\u201d Marceline accepted her sister\u2019s ways and felt that she complemented Laura; it would be boring if they were the same. Now, at 22, perhaps she\u2019d found the man who could appreciate her qualities, who could value more than a pretty face and teasing laugh. Up and down her body she let her fingertips travel, feeling the way her nipples pushed at the fabric of her nightgown. Would he touch them? She wanted him to. She thought of Sally and the way her friend had held back when she didn\u2019t want to. They were teenagers, then. Did Marceline have to wait until marriage to do more than kiss? What about Laura? Was she waiting?\u00a0 Marceline would never ask her sister outright; though she was older by three years, Marceline sometimes felt as if her parents thought Laura was more grown up. Or was that solely since the engagement?\u00a0Did marriage make you older, and why? Maybe it was sex that made you older.\u00a0 With Jim\u2019s good looks, he\u2019d probably had plenty of sex before now, despite his youth.<\/p>\n

Beneath her nightgown, under her panties, her fingers roamed, testing to see if she felt that wetness Sally had been embarrassed by. Yes.\u00a0 Would they kiss in the back seat? He didn\u2019t have a car, though, and neither did she. Where would they do their exploring? She couldn\u2019t wait. But she would.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

(This story is a chapter of Mrs. Jim Jones: One Possible Biography, a novella by Annie Dawid. Chapter 2, Long Before Jonestown: Indianapolis, 1956, was previously published in the 2017 edition of the jonestown report. (Annie Dawid is a regular contributor to\u00a0the jonestown report.\u00a0Her\u00a0complete collection of articles for this site may be found\u00a0here.\u00a0She can be […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":8,"featured_media":0,"parent":111220,"menu_order":46,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-110978","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/jonestown.sdsu.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/110978","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/jonestown.sdsu.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/jonestown.sdsu.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jonestown.sdsu.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/8"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jonestown.sdsu.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=110978"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/jonestown.sdsu.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/110978\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":111015,"href":"https:\/\/jonestown.sdsu.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/110978\/revisions\/111015"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jonestown.sdsu.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/111220"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/jonestown.sdsu.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=110978"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}