by Rule, Ann
Barb's heart ached when she watched her mother fix dinner and then wait until her children had eaten. Only then would she eat--and just what was left. "If we had chicken on Sunday, we kids got what we wanted, then Dad, and I look back and remember my mother chewing on the neck, and if she was lucky, she got the back of the chicken.
"She never complained. We children never went hungry. I know, looking back, she did--but we never did."
Warren Ramsey continued to control his family viciously. Why he treated his son so cruelly, no one knew. But he resented it when Bill collected "airplane cards" and Barb would flash the cards for him to test him as he named all the planes accurately. Ramsey demanded that Bill help him as he worked on cars or junked out those that no longer ran. Bill never had any spending money and he wasn't allowed to go to school functions.
Bill was obsessed with flying and his one goal was to join the Civil Air Patrol, but his father wouldn't let him. Barb found a way around that, too. Although she hadn't the slightest interest in the CAP, she piped up and said that she really wanted to join, knowing that her father would insist that she had a protector in the group. That, of course, would be Bill.
"I hated the Civil Air Patrol, but I loved watching Bill be so happy. It was worth it to see him finally get something that meant so much to him."
Bill Ramsey was a genius. "He was a straight-A student" Barb said. "He won an appointment to the U.S. Naval Academy when a Utah state senator learned of his academic achievements. But he might not be able to go. He had to pay for his own transportation from Utah to the academy in Maryland, and my dad wouldn't help him."
Her father had given Barb an old gray mare, and she delivered a little filly that Barb adored. Barb was about fifteen then and already in love with horses. She taught the pretty little filly how to do tricks and doted on her. But her brother had finally found a way to get away from their father's abuse and learn to fly. That seemed to be the answer to a prayer for both of them. Barb didn't think twice before she sold her filly for enough money to buy Bill a plane ticket.
"Except for the time he sicced that ornery goose on me," she laughed, "Bill was always there for me, and he deserved a chance."
Bill Ramsey flew helicopter rescue missions in Vietnam. When he retired from the Navy, he flew for private companies looking for mineral deposits or setting power lines or rescuing mountain climbers who had been stranded by avalanches. To this day, he flies helicopters fighting forest fires. It takes highly trained pilots to maneuver over flames and downdrafts and pinpoint where to dump massive containers of water and/or chemicals.
"I idolized Bill," Barb recalls. "I still do. But the two men I married were more like my father. When you grow up watching your mother let a man abuse her--and watch her go on loving him--you begin to believe that abuse is what love is. I learned, and I married the same type. Ronda learned from me."
It is a familiar progression to anyone who works or volunteers in women's shelters in America. Although Barb vowed she would never marry a man who shared characteristics with her father, she did.
Her older sister left home to get married when Barb was in her mid-teen years, and now her brother was gone. Nothing had changed at home, but she thought her mother might find life easier, seeing all of her children out on their own. Barb moved to California to live with her sister.
During her senior year in high school in San Diego, Barb struggled to get her high school degree. But then something happened that no one expected. In 1963, her father suddenly left her mother for a much younger woman after twenty-two years of marriage. He drove Virginia Ramsey to California and "dumped" her close to where Barb and her sister lived. She called her daughters and they hurried to pick her up.
Virginia had never really held a job outside her marriage, paid bills, or done anything that would have prepared her to be on her own. She was crushed and humiliated that her husband would abandon her.
Barb had been so close to graduating from high school that she figured she could finish up in California. But she realized too late that even though she had enough credits to graduate, she lacked the required history credits to do so in her new state. She was smart, and she had worked hard to get through school, but family was the most important thing. It would take her mother, sister, and herself working together to make it through. She swallowed her disappointment and figured she could catch up later with her education.
Virginia and Barb rented a tiny apartment. Together they could make the rent. Virginia worked nights as a waitress and Barb worked days as a policy typist for an insurance company. Barb was eighteen and Virginia was still a relatively young woman, but they spent almost all of their time working. Virginia was discouraged by the turn her life had taken. Mean as he was, Warren Ramsey was the only man she had ever really dated, the only man she'd loved, and he had left her in the cruelest way possible.
As the next few years passed, both women worked on learning new skills. Barb worked in payroll departments, both in accounts receivable and accounts payable. At night, she tended bar four or five times a week. Virginia went to a power sewing machine school and learned to do factory work. Work was plentiful, and they weren't afraid to do men's work if they had to. Barb had a job once for one of the first companies in the country to rent out heavy construction equipment: RENT-IT-SERVICE in San Diego.
San Diego was a beautiful place to live with its temperate climate, access to the Gulf of Santa Catalina and the Pacific Ocean, and its bountiful flowers year round. Traffic wasn't nearly as congested in the 1960s as it is now.
As beautiful as any Hollywood starlet, Barb dated often, married very young, and became pregnant in the early months of 1965. She gave birth to Ronda on September 16 that year, but Ronda's father, Ronnie Scott, wasn't nearly ready to settle down with a family.
"It was a very rocky relationship," Barb recalls. "Ronnie's uncle offered him a job in Dallas, Texas, and he and I and the baby moved to Texas in 1966. My mom followed a few months later to help me take care of Ronda. She loved that baby girl."
Barb always held down two jobs. In Texas, she became the collection manager for Wales Transportation, a manufacturer of prestressed concrete beams. She had developed a strong, efficient work ethic. She was organized, able to juggle many tasks. She kept meticulous records. One day she would need all those skills--and more.
Barbara had, however, married a man who was cut from the same cloth as her father. Ronnie Scott drank too much, and when he drank, jealousy washed over him--even though she had never given him any reason at all to think she cared about other men.
During one of the times when she tried to leave him, Barb realized how trapped she was. She was horrified when he tied her up and gagged her--and then left to buy film for his camera. She wasn't sure what he meant to do to her next, but she knew it wouldn't be good, and she was afraid. When Ronnie was drinking, he was another person entirely.
She tried unsuccessfully to wriggle out of her bonds, and she finally managed to roll over to the bedroom window, where she threw herself out. It wasn't that far to the ground, and luckily a neighbor saw her.
Barb didn't want to report Ronnie for rape; he was her legal husband, even though they were estranged. This was years before it became legally possible to charge a husband with rape, but her terror during the time she was helpless didn't make her want to stay with Ronnie.
Barb's time with Ronnie Scott was not only difficult--it was brief. They broke up in 1968, when Ronda was three. Ronnie was fatally injured four years later in a June 1972 automobile accident. Now Barb was the only breadwinner. She thanked God that Virginia Ramsey was there to care for Ronda, then six years old. She trusted her mother completely, and Ronda was happy to have her grandmother living with them.
Ronda was a lovely child with a face like a rose, something that would never change. She was Virginia's first grandchild, and her "gramma" often said she was pure joy.
"She never caused us any trouble," Barb Thompson said. "She had perfect attendance
and straight A's all the way through the ninth grade. She was never rebellious, and she never touched drugs or alcohol. Gramma taught her to sew and cook and do all the girly stuff, and if she got in trouble for not doing her homework or chores, she went to Gramma for comfort. My mother was there to share her dreams and plans and her crushes with. She was Ronda's 'safe place.' "
RONDA HAD MANY DREAMS, and she managed to fulfill a lot of them. She loved dogs and horses, and she was a champion equestrian before she was a teenager, winning ribbons and trophies from many shows. She shared her love of horses with her mother.
Barb married for the second time. She met Hal Thompson in Texas in the 1970s, and married him in March 1974. Hal and Barb's son, Freeman, was born in Dallas on July 2, 1975.
WHEN HAL GOT A JOB in Spokane, Washington, they all moved to the Northwest in June 1976. Finally, Barb Thompson put down roots. She loved the Eastern Washington acreage with room for horses, dogs, and kids to run. Thirty-four years later, she still lives in the same house, and Virginia's house used to be right next door, although a few years ago her health problems demanded that she have full-time personal care from Barb.
Ronda started the fifth grade at the Airway Heights Elementary School, which was close to Fairchild Air Force Base. She missed Texas some, and she put on an exaggerated Texas drawl. For some reason, this angered the other ten-year-old girls in her class. All but one of them. One day, Rahma Starret saw that the mean girls had someone down on the ground, and they were all kicking at whoever it was.
"It was Ronda," Rahma recalls. "There were five or six girls beating up on her--so I just waded in and saved her."
They were both farm girls. Ronda had her horses that she adored, and Rahma was attached to the cows on her farm. They soon spent a lot of time together.
"She was always upbeat," Rahma recalls. "She was very nice, but very strong, too. She believed in women's rights, and she stood up for girls who were being treated badly."
Ronda got braces in junior high, and Rahma envied her. "Only the rich girls had braces. I asked my mother for some, too, but she laughed and said that I didn't need braces so there was no point in spending money on them."
The two girls went to Cheney High School, located fifteen miles west of Spokane, and they rode the bus together.
"In our senior year," Rahma remembered, "Ronda talked about wanting to be a police officer, and I thought she would be good at that. She was fair, understanding, and honest."
Rahma didn't see Ronda for several years after they graduated, and then she was invited to Ronda's first wedding. "When I heard she was dead, I thought that she was still married to Mark Liburdi. I remember she was very nice to his kids."
OVER THE YEARS, Barb tried never to say anything negative to either of her children about their fathers. She suffered abuse, both emotional and physical, but she never complained to Ronda or Freeman. It was essential that they respected their fathers. Because they were the best part of their fathers.
Hal Thompson was a great guy--except when he drank. Then he was an entirely different person. One night while he was out, Barb noticed that one of his horses was sick, and she loaded the gelding into the horse trailer and took him to the vet. After he was treated, she brought him back to their ranch and put him safely in his stable.
"Suddenly," Barb recalled, "Hal was standing outside my open driver's window, and he had a loaded .357, cocked, only an inch or so from my head. He kept saying I'd stolen his horse, and he wouldn't listen to any sense. I really thought that was the end of me."
Once again a neighbor saved her. As he drove by, he saw that Hal was holding the gun against Barb's head, and he called the police. Hal was horrified when he sobered up, and apologized over and over.
But she knew it could happen again, if he drank. And there would always come a time when he would drink. Barb wondered if she could ever hope for a trusting relationship with a man.
For the moment, Barb's hands were full--raising Ronda and Freeman, and supporting her mother, too.
Although Don Hennings had gone on to another relationship just as she had, she thought of him often. She had met Don Hennings some years before, long before she met Hal Thompson, and they kept track of each other. Don was as nice to all of them as Warren Ramsey and Ronnie Scott had been mean. He adored Ronda and became, according to Barb, "really the only father she ever knew."
Don was a John Wayne sort of man, broad-shouldered and ruggedly handsome. He was born to wear the ten-gallon hat he often affected, a good man with callused hands and skin weathered by the Eastern Washington heat.
Don's relatives in his hometown of Ritzville, Washington, never questioned their love for one another, but often fate and change tore Don and Barb apart. As much as they cared about each other, they had diverse interests and different goals. With the wisdom of time, experience, and hindsight, Barb would one day realize that Don was the one man she had really loved. That may have been the reason she hated it so much when she saw her daughter follow the same path with David Bell. Both of them took tragic detours when it came to love, and both of them missed out on lasting happiness. Barb has never said where she met Don or when. He traveled a lot, and he was away from Ritzville and Washington state during most of 1964 through 1965. "Let your readers figure out our story," she said reluctantly. "This really isn't my story--it's Ronda's."
But of course this is Barb's story, too.
"Don and I never lied to each other, never did mean things to each other--we were just different with different goals and ideas," Barb recalled. "We never denied our love for each other. What Don did--what we did--was show Ronda and Freeman that just because two people can't share their lives, doesn't mean they can't still be friends, and share their children, and have a good, respectful family relationship."
There were people in Ritzville who believed Don was Ronda's biological father. Barb recalled the rumor mill of a small town. "Don's own mother would only smile that wise old smile if she was approached by inquisitive neighbors," Barb said. "Don's parents loved both of my children as their own grandchildren and were brokenhearted when Don's and my relationship didn't mature into marriage."
Barb had never lived with Don Hennings. "I never--never--had a man in my bedroom except my husbands after we were married," Barb explains. "My children never had an inkling that I ever had sex after Hal and I divorced. The men in my life were presented to my children as friends and were expected to act just that way when my children were present."
IF ANYTHING, Barb Thompson was far stricter than most parents. Because she spent so many years as a single mother, she was super vigilant. She believed that children learned what they lived. Gramma Virginia and Barb made sure that Ronda and Freeman always had a good breakfast after they did their morning chores. Dinner was on the kitchen table with all present and accounted for, and the TV off. It stayed off until they finished their homework.
When Ronda was seventeen, she had her own quarter horse, the gelding she named Clabber Toe. She and Clabber Toe managed to travel to the 1984 Quarter Horse Youth World Show in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where they cleared jumps as easily as if Clabber Toe had wings. Ronda had saved her money, and two local trainers in Spokane helped. They had recognized Ronda's innate talent and admired her devotion, how she would practice for hours.
Barb wouldn't let Ronda wear shorts to school, low-cut jeans, show her bare midriff, or wear even slightly low-cut blouses. She stressed over and over that they were responsible for their own behavior, and they must not give in to peer pressure.
By the time Ronda and Freeman each reached their twenties, they thanked Barb for being so "annoying"--they were grateful that she had gone out of her way to protect them. Neither had ever delved into drugs or alcohol, and they spent much of their youthful energy riding and showing horses.
It would have been easier, surely, for Barb to look the other way--especially when she was working two jobs. But she heaved a sigh of relief to see they had come through the dangerous teen years safely.<
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Barb had done all the right things in raising her children--if, indeed, there are "right things." What is right for one child may not be right for another. She had not realized that the parts of her life that she hadn't been able to control had imprinted on her children. As much as she'd tried to make their home a loving, soft landing spot, Freeman and Ronda had grown up aware that their family didn't have much money. They'd had no permanent father, and their grandmother was the "hands-on" mother figure who cared for them while Barb worked long hours. They seemed content, and probably were, and being children of divorce didn't make them any different than half the kids in their classes.
"I didn't believe Ronda had any idea of the verbal and emotional abuse I absorbed from some of the men in my life," Barb said regretfully, "But from the time she was eighteen, we talked about the kind of men she was drawn to. My heart sank when I realized that she favored 'punishing men'; she had watched me and my reactions, and she thought that's what love was."
Ronda had tried to work it out in her own head. "I don't understand--I've tried to break the cycle," she once told her mother. "Maybe the challenge is to change them. Maybe that's what has made me fall in love."
"I'm here to tell you," Barb said to me recently. "My daughter felt everything I did from the time she was crawling."
The Investigation
Continues
CHRISTMAS EVE 1998 arrived eight days after Ronda was found dead. On that religious night, Lewis County Coroner Terry Wilson declared Ronda's death "Undetermined." His office gave no information about how long it might take for them to actually make a determination.
There were enough loose ends emanating from Ronda Reynolds's "undetermined death" to weave into a potholder. Each time Lewis County's investigators thought they were done with it, each time they attempted to package it up neatly and put it away, a few strands crept out again.
