On Sunday, September 19, 1976, in Dowagiac, Michigan, Melody Mivshek was five years, four months, and nineteen days old. She was average weight, above average height, and had beautiful blonde hair. However, it was always her piercing, ice-blue eyes that people noticed first. Throughout her life, Melody’s eyes would remain her most noted feature. She was an only child and though her loving, lower-middle class parents could not afford to spoil her, Melody was as content as any small town girl could be.
Melody’s father was a truck driver. Before she was born, Douglas Mivshek was a cross country driver, but after his daughter came along, he was able to get a regional position with another company. Douglas was home every Saturday and Sunday now, mostly. Occasionally, he drove all weekend when it was his turn to drive one of the few, long-haul loads the company had a contract for. The only time he was really gone was after Thanksgiving weekend. Douglas would stay on the road until Christmas Eve, earning as much extra holiday money as possible.
Melody’s mother, Barbara, was a quiet woman who rarely complained or raised her voice. She was a God-fearing, Christian woman who instilled the same beliefs into her daughter that her own mother had taught her. Nothing short of a natural disaster could keep Barbara from taking the family to church on Sunday. She was not what most men would consider attractive. Barbara was plain, and rather dull. In high school, she was once told she closely resembled the woman from the American Gothic House painting. What she lacked in looks, however, Barbara more than made up for with her cooking skills, maternal instincts, and large giving heart which served the Lord, her husband, and her daughter.
Barbara’s family had put down roots in Michigan over a hundred years ago and had family all over the state. However, Melody’s favorite relative was Uncle Frank, her mother’s brother, a sailor in the US Navy. Petty Officer Second Class Frank Sweeney rarely visited because of his career, but Melody was always happy to see him on those rare occasions when he was in town. She kept all the postcards he had sent from far-off, distant lands. One of Melody’s favorite gifts she had ever received was a pink and purple kimono style dress from Okinawa. She cried when she outgrew it, but her mother carefully packed it away and told her that one day her own daughter could wear it.
The Mivsheks lived in a simple, comfortable house with just enough space for the three of them. Melody had a small bedroom to herself at the top of the stairs, complete with a dresser, closet, twin bed, and toy box that her father had built for her. In the corner, was a small table with two matching child-sized chairs, and a large wooden rocking chair. This is where Melody would spend hours with dolls and tea sets. She had a homemade rag doll, a Raggedy-Ann, and used Barbies that her mother would sometimes find at the Goodwill store. The rocking chair was old, ugly, and possessed a mysterious creek that would never go away, but Melody had begged her parents for it at the church charity auction. Though her mother protested, Douglas bought the chair at the starting bid of two dollars, even though the right arm had a fair amount of damage. Someone had whittled and hacked at it with a knife. Douglas offered to fix the arm after he purchased it, but Melody refused, liking it the way it was.
If Melody was not playing with her dolls, she could be found rummaging through her treasures in the bottom drawer of her dresser. She had some comic books, a shoebox full of things she had found in the woods, a jump rope, her rubber ball and jacks, countless toys from cereal boxes, and other odds and ends that made up her trove. She was a sentimental child who kept things most children threw away, such as old Christmas cards or prizes from the Cracker Jack boxes. She even had a small change purse for the Canadian coins her father occasionally gave her if he got some by mistake. No one was allowed in her bottom drawer, but this rule only applied to Melody’s dolls.
The Mivsheks had a fenced backyard, and behind their house was a patch of woods where Melody and other neighborhood children could play. They lived on Florence Avenue, not far from North Front Street, which proved convenient. On the few occasions when the family car broke down or got snowed in, they could still manage to walk to the grocery store for provisions and supplies. It was a quiet neighborhood with plenty of sidewalks. People knew each other and gave their neighbors assistance as needed. Melody was safe wherever she went and loved to be outdoors during the warmer months.
On weekends, when Father was gone, Barbara still took Melody to church. Melody did not mind getting up early on Sundays and never made a fuss about going. She enjoyed the singing and liked her Sunday School classmates, but Melody thought it would be sinful to tell her mother that her favorite thing about church was the playground. Behind the church was a small, fenced in area with a slide and swing set. After Sunday School class was dismissed, the children were allowed five to ten minutes in the playground before church services began. All the children knew playtime was over when the church bell rang. Located next to the playground, behind the parking lot, was the church cemetery. Melody was not scared of the tombstones, nor had she any curiosity. Her mother had once told her it was just a place to remind folks of the people who had come before. They had simply gone to heaven to be with the Lord. For Melody’s age, it was an adequate explanation.
Sunday afternoons were routine at the Mivshek home. Barbara would make a simple lunch, usually soup and sandwiches. After which, Douglas would go straight to the TV room to watch sports. On this particular day, he plopped down on the couch to watch the Detroit Lions with a Miller High Life in his hand. Douglas was not a drinker. He would have a few beers while watching a ball game on TV, but if there was no beer in the house, it didn’t matter. Melody always sat next to him silently. With no understanding of football, she only wanted time with her father before he hit the road again Monday morning.
Sunday dinner was always at six sharp, at which time Douglas would shut off the TV and sit with his wife and daughter at the table. Barbara put her whole heart into Sunday dinner, and the effort always showed. It was only on Sundays that the special dishes, normally stored high in the cupboard, were used. Melody loved Sunday dinner and would eat heartily after her father said grace. After dinner, Melody would take her bath, put on her bed clothes, and brush her teeth and hair. She always had a story read to her on Sunday nights. If her father was home, he would read, which she preferred, because he always read with a theatrical flair and used different voices for each character. If Douglas was on the road, Mother would read to her in a plain, monotone style as if reading a newspaper. After her story, Melody would get a kiss on the forehead, the light would be turned off, and she would go to sleep with the door shut.
On this September evening, however, Melody’s father was on the phone with his dispatcher, discussing the load he had to pick up Monday morning. Therefore, Barbara assumed bedtime story duty. Melody listened to her mother’s boring rendition of Jack and the Beanstalk but was not really paying attention. She was distracted by what she had learned in Sunday School that morning. When her mother finished reading, Melody asked the questions that had been pestering her.
“Mama, is God everywhere?”
“Yes child.”
“All the time?”
“God is everywhere, at all times, He knows and sees everything,” her mother patiently answered.
“He’s watching us right now?” Melody asked.
“Yes, Melody. He’s watching us, He’s watching everyone.”
Melody quickly scanned the room with her eyes, wondering where God might be. Then she continued her line of questioning. “So, God knows every sin I committed because He watched me do it?”
“That’s right, Melody. God detests all sin and one day we will all be held accountable for our actions.”
“But if we ask Jesus to forgive us, the sins are forgotten,” Melody stated. “That is what Mrs. Kinsler said today. So, I don’t have to worry about them.”
“Yes, that is true,” her mother answered, tucking her daughter into bed. “But it is not a game. To truly be forgiven you must promise with all your heart that you will never do it again. You cannot lie to Jesus. Do not ask for forgiveness if you are not truly sorry, or if you know in your heart you will commit the same sin again. You must also keep your thoughts pure, for even a bad thought is a sin in God’s eyes.”
Barbara kissed her daughter goodnight and switched off the light as she exited the room. Melody rolled over and clutched her teddy bear close to her chest. She would never forget what her mother had told her this night. The words were now forever etched into her memory, never far from her conscious thoughts.
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