Chapter 1: The Mirror of Life Part 2

 Telling My Story

Out of this darkness emerges Aggie Moorehead, looking ethereal in lavender and with the clock rewound forty years. Aggie is standing in the pool of light in the darker-than-ink blackness; she clears her throat and begins to speak, "Well, ladies and gentlemen, there you have it, the very normal, very lonely death of a once great star of film, radio motion pictures, and television. If I'm honest, I found myself disappointed. I had imagined it would be much more dramatic and less tedious. I suppose in this situation, I must give way to the idea that I am dead. Very inconvenient. I had plans for things, you know. But as long as I'm here, I'd like to invite you into my parlor, as it were, to look at my life. It's a marvelous story, and I do love telling it!"

As if by magic, a large wingback chair appeared on a stage in a theater, and naturally, it was upholstered

in a beautiful gold shot mauve silk. "I would never accept anything less," she said with a smile.

I want you to sit back and enjoy this story. You do know you'll be the first to hear it all.

My life has been shrouded in mystery since, well, forever. I never believed in allowing

your audience to "know" who you are. It dulls the mystery of the entire thing.

I'm making an exception because I've been locked in that room of silence for

so long that I need to air myself out!" Gesturing for the lights to come down in the house,

she began to tell the tale—the tale of a Boston-born preacher's daughter

and how she came to be Agnes Moorehead.

"My father was a tremendous man. He was the most compassionate, broad-minded, and

gentle human I have ever known," Agnes said proudly. Although Father was not a

big man on the outside, he was a universe constantly in motion on the inside.

He was a deep thinker, and so is his daughter.

Often, he would sit in his office, either at the church or in our home, pondering

the sermon he was working on. He would stare off into the void, considering his message

and how it would impact his parishioners. Now and then, he would make

a statement to all of us during his sermon, hiding it carefully in a sermon but

giving more than enough information for Mother, me, or Pegg to get the point.

Oh, it was always a very pointy point, too! But we all took it to heart immediately and counted

ourselves lucky for having been told in a manner that served to praise god.

Papa knew the only way to get through to Mama was to incorporate god

into the statement, and she would absorb it quickly, knowing it was meant for her.

On the other hand, mother was what they called a pistol. Mama was never

afraid to speak her mind and often did so without thinking. Don't misunderstand;

my mother was good, and Pegg and I knew she

loved us.

You see, "Mother was this tiny Victorian lady," " as I once described her.

She had been raised in a rough Irish household with a heart of gold and

the judgment of god. I loved my mother dearly, but if I was,

and I try to be honest, she was hard on Pegg and me. She was so hard on Pegg that

it nearly drove her mad.  Pegg was the fairy princess, and I was the angel with the cockeyed halo.

Mother had every right to be proud of Pegg. She was so talented. Peggy played the

violin and the piano, sang like an angel, and danced like Pavlova. Peg had a golden

future in Mother's eyes, mine too, but Mama drove Peg so hard to be perfect at all of it.

Peggy wore herself out trying to live up to her mother and be who she should be. 

My father and mother always seemed an unlikely couple to me. They operated in opposite ways.

Papa was gentle and compassionate. Mama was often harsh and judgemental. I understand that

my parents were because of their families and how they were reared. Papa came from a house

full of love. Mama came from a home filled with people trying to stay away from each other.

That's where Mother learned to be outspoken and blunt. Grandma McCauley was unusual. 

That's who Pegg was named after, but in true Moorehead fashion, Papa believed Peggy was

named after his grandmother. Trust me, it is much better that way.

Grandma McCauley was everything Grandma Moorehead wasn't, which was not necessarily good.

Father once wrote a sermon about Grandma McCauley" called “The Wicked Grandmother."

I am sure they never saw eye to eye. Papa was polite and cheerful around Grandma McCauley,

but you could see in his eyes that he thought her a hard woman filled with anger who had no outlet.

Of course, there was a reason for that anger. Grandma McCauley was angry at

Father for twenty or more years. It all concerned Mother and the fact that

Father was the minister at her church when she was a young girl. You see, Mama

ran away to marry Papa. She was only 15 when they decided to be married.

It necessitated a trip to Kentucky, where Mother told the county clerk she was 21 and

Father told them he was 27. In truth, Mother had just turned 16, and Father had just turned 30.

Grandmother McCauley was furious at the scandal that centered on them being involved with

each other all those years ago. Although Papa has never admitted it, nor was there church

documentation, I believe he went to Boston to escape the uproar over his relationship with

Mother. He married her, and no, I was not conceived before their marriage.

Thank you very much!