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Show i Nadalee Noble's journals-the journals-the final chapter... Editor's note: This is the fourth and final part of the series looking at the journals kept by Nadalee Noble. The Kamas area woman was shot and killed by her estranged husband in February of this year in front of Albertsons market. He had been served with divorce papers and a restraining order just one hour before. Nadalee was returning to the area to move into a place of her own after a brief stay in the Salt Lake City Ci-ty Women's Shelter. The journals were given to me by Nadalee's mother several weeks ago in hopes of having her daughter's story told. I have never worked on a more difficult dif-ficult project. by TERI ORR Record editor I flip through the cellophane-covered cellophane-covered pages of the calico photo album and 16-year-old Monaca stops me. "Go back, " she says gently." There is a story behind that photo of Jason." We turn back the page to the picture pic-ture of the boy eight, nine, maybe ten years old sitting at a table he has clearly prepared himself with wildflowers and a card table setting set-ting of dinner for two. "Jason worked and had saved some money and he wanted to surprise sur-prise mother and father by making them dinner. So he shopped for the meal and cooked it and set the table upstairs in his bedroom. Father thought the whole thing was stupid and wouldn't come upstairs or eat the food Jason made. So mother came up and she and Jason had the dinner together. She made a party out of it and we took the picture." For hours, four of Nadalee's children take me through their six photos albums. We lay on the floor of Amy's house, the 26-year-old firstborn daugther of Nadalee who now has custody of Monaca, 16, and Jason, 14. Lanette, age eight was visiting she is living with an aunt in Salt Lake City. We share Cokes, they tell me memories of their life in Samak, of their mother and their father. There is a great deal of laughter, and true to their mother's form, they remember much to be thankful for. Amy sits in the rocker with her three-month-old baby a grandchild grand-child Nadalee never saw, and her three-year-old plays at her feet. "There's that picture I always liked of mother and her hat. She loved that hat. She bought the ribbon rib-bon for it and made that little bird nest and stuck it on it. It's hanging here, on the wall," Amy says. And she gets up and puts the hat on her head. "I've worn this fishing now, and mother was right this hat does just make you have a good time." The tall blonde woman looks much younger than 26. Too young you think to already have two small children, too young you realize to have to raise two teenage siblings. She looks again at the photo. "She's wearing her favorite shirt. She loved that shirt." She turns to Monaca. "You know, grandma says that was the shirt she was wearing when she ...got ... when she was killed." Monaca nods. We stop at the photo of the infamous in-famous sign for the non-existent Beaver Creek Nudist Ranch and we all chuckle to break the tension. "Mother painted that sign," says Monaca. My eyes grow big. "That sign?" I point. "Yep. She and couple of friends did it. And then they stuck it up real quick at night so nobody would know. They had a lot laughs over that." Reap (jlwuc.) soul.. bi.tiim.imi Jw wi. "'v .. This week I received a call from a woman who said she was a friend of Nadalee's and wished to remain anonymous. She was upset by the series and especially upset I had not corrected Nadalee's spelling or grammatical errors in her journal entries. I tried very hard to explain that I felt it would be a violation of Nadalee's work to change it in any way. Nadalee was a strong writer with a clear voice all her own. I know this series has been difficult dif-ficult for a number of people and I wish there was no reason to tell this story. Unfortunately, the number of abused women in this country is growing at an alarming rate. Some mental health professionals have 5 iV'v' Vj ' . Nadalee's favorite sunhat Monaca says one of her fondest memories is of going on a moonlight cross country ski trip with Nrdalee and some of the people peo-ple her mother worked with at Hermans Her-mans sporting goods store in Park City. "Mother was always the slowest. But everybody would wait for her and she just made jokes. We would laugh and laugh and ski, and with so many layers of clothes on we were never cold. Mother was probably pro-bably the oldest one on those trips and I know I was the youngest at 15. But nobody seemed to care. We had so much fun." Her face clouds over. "Sometimes Daddy would come along and those trips were never fun. We learned with him we'd always get someplace an hour late and leave an hour early. Every time we wanted to have fun we left him at home. Nobody liked him...nobody." I look at the hand-tinted photo of the angelic looking boy in short pants with a tattered bunny in his lap. "Is this Jason? "I ask. "No, that's Don," points out Amy. I am startled to think about how this sweet-faced mother's child is now the pasty-faced hostile man I saw in court last week in the garish orange jail jumpsuit the man convicted of murdering his wife. Amy says just the other night she . caught herself opening the fridge and pulling out two wine coolers to put with the two chairs on the back porch a ritual she shared with Nadalee as often as they could the past few years. "She'd come over and tell me about her job, about funny people she had met. She'd always have great stories." We talk about the day Nadalee was killed. The girls had taken things over to Nadalee's rented apartment in Heber. She was to meet them there at 6 p.m. Monaca had had lunch with her that day her mother had left work at Hermans Her-mans and picked her up at Park City Ci-ty High School where she was a transfer student and driven her out to McDonald's. Both girls remember how excited their ... ... ... . -. m...-.-m..J. - - ' .,,,... 5,.-.. .m.J told me they have received calls since this series began from women seeking help in resolving abusive situations. I can only say to Nadalee's anonymous friend that in death Nadalee is helping women find a better life. Judging from her journals, jour-nals, I think that would please Nadalee ... It has been a painful process to touch and turn the pages that Nadalee wrote on and to hear, so clearly, her voice from her very private world. It would have been easier to have decided Nadalee's story didn't need to be told. It would have been easier, but it would have been wrong... S mother was to be moving into a place of her own. She had talked to them almost every day from the Women's Shelter. And they had driven down to see her once. "She was real depressed," remembers Monaca, " because she was away from us." After a phone call from an employee of Hermans, the girls were told there had been an accident acci-dent and to come to Park City. Once in town they learned about the shooting and Nadalee's death. "I just kept thinking I had to be tough," says Amy. "Nadalee would want me to take care of these kids. I've got to be tough," says the fragile-looking blonde. Monaca disappears a minute and then returns with a blue journal. "I wrote down what I remember of that day here," she says softly. "My mother gave me this journal a little over a year ago. She encouraged en-couraged me to write down my thoughts. You can read it. You can use it... if you think there's anything that might help..." I open the book to a journal entry dated just last month July 24th five months after Nadalee's death. ..."Well, Mother, you always said you wanted me to go on a date and then come home and tell you about it so here goes..." My eyes cloud up and I close the book and look away. I tell Monaca I will read it later. And I will... February 20th 1986 ..."I'v been thinking again, that I'd realy like to do more with my life. I have always wanted to write something. I wish I could take a class on writing. I'd like to learn some new things. I would love to learn more about how to paint. I'd like to help people too. I realy enjoyed en-joyed working at the hospital before Monaca was borned. Don hated it but it was so interesting, it was so wonderful, I couldn't wait to get there and I hated to leave. I'd like to get interested and excited about something again. 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