Cousin Agam Fhein

by Rose Ferguson

My sister Gillian and I love to shop when we are together. We haven’t let my two small children get in the way of this habit.

My almost-three-year-old daughter, Natalia, is very mature for her age and can go places that most kids her age never would. One day, Gillian and I went out with my daughters, had some lunch, and walked around the main street of my town.

The street is mostly filled with antique stores. We went into a vintage store which has gorgeous things, all very tempting to a little girl. As we shopped around I kept saying “No, honey, please don’t touch.” “No, Natalia, no thank you.” “Natalia, don’t touch.” “Natalia, if I tell you one more time not to touch you’ll have to sit in the stroller.”

In the end, I put her out of her misery by leaving the store.

Later that night we spoke on the phone to our mother. We told her what we were up to all day, and Natalia chimed in, “And then, we went to Natalia Don’t Touch.”

Rose Ferguson: daughter of David Ferguson
Gillian: Rose’s sister
Natalia: Natalia Abril, daughter of Rose Ferguson and Javier Abril
Elena: Natalia’s sister

Around 1976, when I was working for Amtrak in Detroit, I decided to take my family to California by train. We wanted to take Gillian, who would have been 4 in 1976, to Disneyland, which is outside of Los Angeles.

We had never been to San Francisco, so thought we could arrange our trip to take in both San Francisco and Los Angeles — go out by way of one of them and return by way of the other. I had a friend from grad school, Jack Batson, who was living in Fairfield, California, not far from San Francisco. I sent Jack a letter (by regular mail) telling about our trip. He wrote back and, as I’d been hoping, invited us to stay with them for a few days while we visited San Francisco.

We bought Gillian a small bookbag — not a backpack like school kids have today, more like a child’s version of a briefcase, the kind of bookbag I had when I was in grade school. We also got her an autograph book and a few other things to put into her “briefcase.” She carried that on the train, and would get people to sign her book. The dining car steward signed it, and so did the conductor, making a hole in the page with his ticket punch. At Disneyland, I don’t think any of the Seven Dwarfs could sign it — they have those big costume hands — but I’m pretty sure Sleeping Beauty did.

It’s a long way by train — three days and two nights from Detroit to San Francisco, an all day-trip from San Francisco to Los Angeles, and three days and two nights from L.A. back to Detroit. Gillian was a very good traveler. She liked the sleeping compartments we had between Chicago and California, with beds that disappeared into the wall during the day. She liked walking to the dining car and just looking out the window.

The Batsons were very cordial to us. They had a pleasant home with an orange tree in the back yard. Gillian was very interested to see that the oranges were deep green — nowhere near ripe. And she was thrilled that they had a dog.

Clancy was kind of a mutt — I suppose he was mixed breed. I remember him looking like a small English sheepdog. He was very friendly and Gillian liked playing with him.

One evening Jack asked Gillian if she wanted to help him take Clancy for a walk. She said yes. Jack said, “Come on, Clancy,” and the dog darted for the door followed by Jack and Gillian.

When they returned, Jack (who at that time didn’t have kids) told us what happened next. Clancy, who wasn’t on a leash, hurried across the street, with Jack following him. Gillian stopped at the curb, very upset. Jack turned around and saw her, nearly in tears. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I’m not allowed to cross the street by myself!”