To get to Metaline Falls you cross an old cement bridge over the Pend Oreille River (pronounced "pond duh ray"). The river is unique because it flows north. Once across the bridge you can take the highway to the left, with a dozen homes along it's narrow path, and continue the 15 or so miles north to Canada, or the road straight ahead and up the hill to the main part of town.

I lived on the upper road in an old apartment building. Off the upper road, and parallel to the lower highway, was the two block long main street with a small movie house, post office, grocery store, hardware store, cafe, newspaper and printing shop, a very small library, and an old hotel that wasn't being used at the time.

Halfway down the main street was a clearing. One could walk to the edge of the clearing and find a steep, covered, wooden stairway going from the upper road to the highway below. Without this stairway it would be difficult to walk up the narrow highway to town, as there were always large logging, cement or mining trucks on the road.

In March my husband and one of his co-workers at the mine decided they should introduce their wives, so I found myself at one of the houses along the highway. The house was across the street from the bottom of the stairway that led to town. We went there for dinner and I met Patsy.

Patsy was also from California. She had two small children, and like me, she was trying to make the best of an abusive marriage.

Patsy and I bonded as friends immediately. But it took sometime before we saw one another again. Every day I walked to the small country post office, then on my way back I would walk to the top of the stairway, look down at Patsy's house, and wonder if I should just drop in for a visit. After a few minutes, shyness would overcome me, and I'd turn and walk back to the apartments.

This went on for some time until one day, I finally got up the nerve to walk down the steps and knock on her door. She opened it with a big smile on her face and said, "I'm so glad you're here. I've watched for you every day and hoped you'd come back."

That stairway became a lifeline for both of us. Patsy with her two little girls (ages 1 and 3), and I with my gang of 2 daughters and 5 sons (ages 5 to 13) became "family". Making the most of being plopped into the wilderness by our husbands, we often packed our children into my old 9-passenger Chevy station wagon and headed off on little adventures. We'd go huckleberry picking in the mountains, explore back roads to find abandoned homesteads with fruit trees we could pick from, or go swimming in secluded coves along the shore of the river or one of the many lakes in the area.

We swapped recipes, combined food and together, cooked for our "army." We sawed, painted and built homemade doll houses for our girls. We sewed clothing for the kids, canned, crafted, and even, cleaned together. In a strange town, far away from our California homes, we were kindred spirits.

Any woman who has ever felt trapped in an abusive marriage knows how difficult it can feel, or be, to get out of such a nightmare. I often wonder if God cried with us, and brought Patsy and I together in order to give us the strength we needed to regain our self-esteem. Until we met, Patsy and I felt alone and lost. Through our friendship we learned we were not alone and were able to talk about things we usually kept hidden.

As our friendship grew so did our strength, and the realization that we and our children deserved more than the emotional or physical abuse we'd become used to. We realized we were not at fault for everything that went wrong in our spouses lives. As we shared our fears they somehow seemed less fearful and we gained a new confidence.

Soon, the fear of what would happen if we tried to leave our marriages was replaced with dreams of a better future for our children, and for ourselves. Leaving still was a frightening experience, but being able to share it with a friend who was going through the same thing made it possible.

Through the years, Patsy and I have laughed and cried together. We've shared fears, hopes, dreams and disappointments. We were there for each other when our abusive marriages broke up, and when she later married one of the most wonderful men that ever existed and added two sons to her family. She was there for me when my house burned down, through moves to other states and towns, and through illnesses, surgeries, and deaths -- including her beloved husband.

I have to chuckle when she talks about growing older and ending up in a "Golden Girls" type living arrangement. She claims she would be Betty White's character Rose, and I would be Bea Arthur's character Dorothy. I don't know if I like that comparison or not, but she is a 5'2", blue-eyed blonde who is somewhat innocent at times, and I am a 5'11", brown-eyed brunette who can be sarcastic at times, so maybe she's on to something.

I have been very blessed to have Patsy in my life, and for the stairway that made it so easy for us to become friends.

Susan Stevens
Copyright January 1999

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