Keeping Secrets (31 page)

His mother stood by the wall, supporting herself on the back of a red wing-chair, watching with an expression that had no name.

S
ADIE NEVER THOUGHT THE
word “despair” would be suitable to describe a home, but it was the only word that fit the place where Amelia Van Syoc lived. It wasn’t the dust and grime as much as the atmosphere of a person living without hope.

The house had been full of beauty at one time but now held only decay. The carpet, the hardwood floors, and the ceramic tiles were covered in years of dust and dog hair. Every window was covered with insulated drapes, dark blinds, or simply with fabric. Even the sunshine and fresh air were trapped outside.

There were boxes piled everywhere, as if she had tried to fill the emptiness by purchasing things. Over time she accumulated huge containers filled with all kinds of useless items. There was a path between the boxes through the living room, kitchen, and dining room. Otherwise, they had to set things aside to be able to reach the bedrooms where Amelia had told them to put their suitcases.

They had each sleepless nights on lumpy mattresses. In the morning they sat across from each other at the kitchen table with nothing to say. There was no food in the cupboards, and they found the refrigerator almost empty, so Sadie made coffee and drank it black.

Mark was in that dark place, answering Sadie’s questions through averted eyes. He glanced at the bedroom door his mother had entered the evening before, gasping for breath as she did so, telling them she was tired and going to bed.

Was she still alive? Would she allow them to stay?

Sadie longed to get started on cleaning the house, but Mark had not yet given her permission. So she sat, drank the awful coffee, and gave up trying to engage Mark in any further conversation.

Sunlight filtered through the lone uncovered window, creating a bright patch of light on the ceramic floor. Sadie placed her foot on it, as if it would beat back the darkness creeping into her body and mind as she contemplated this lonely woman’s life.

The heavy oak door creaked on its hinges as Mark’s mother slowly pulled it open from the inside. Sadie looked away from the white face and piercing dark eyes that were creating a sort of panic in her chest.

She never said a word, only shuffled to the bathroom, her black satin robe clutched to her skeletal frame.

The dogs had been sleeping at Mark’s feet calmly, as if they knew help had arrived and were glad of it. Obediently, the dogs rose as if she had called them. They followed her down the hallway and laid outside the bathroom door.

Sadie tried desperately to met Mark’s eyes, but he had shut her out. His face was like cut granite, his eyes flat and black.

There was a hoarse cry, a shattering of glass, and a thump from behind the closed door. Instantly, Mark was on his fee with Sadie at his heels.

“Are you all right?” he called.

When there was no answer, he turned the knob, then went in. Sadie gasped when she saw the pathetic figure huddled by the commode, a glass shattered beside her and a bottle of pills scattered around her, absorbing the puddles of water on the floor.

Mark knelt beside his mother and called her name.

“Meely! Mam!”

The face was even more colorless now, the eyes closed.

Mark felt for a pulse, put his ear to the thin chest, then scooped her up in his arms like a child. He carried her from the bathroom to the living room, folding her long, thin body on the cluttered, brown sofa.

Out of habit, Sadie quickly returned to the bathroom to pick up the shards of glass and mop up the water. When she returned to the living room, Mark was calling his mother’s name yet again.

When she finally responded, he was so visibly relieved it was heartbreaking. Meely cried in low moaning sounds, her thin lips drawn back in agony. She turned her face away, a gesture to save her withering pride.

“I’m…,” she whispered.

Mark bent, then went on his knees beside the sofa, his hands hanging awkwardly by his side as if afraid to touch her.

“I’m…,” Meely tried again.

A long, broken breath.

“I’m … going to die.”

“Not yet, Mam. We’re here. Sadie and I.”

She nodded, struggled to sit up, then fell back on the sofa, closing her eyes. Her hands fluttered restlessly over the satin robe.

Sadie reached out, pulled up the heavy fabric of the robe, and laid it gently across her stomach.

“Meely.” The word was new, but she said it quietly, bravely. “We’re here to stay. We’re going to take good care of you. Is it okay for me to clean and buy some food?”

Another weary nod, then she twisted her body as she strained and heaved, completely sick to her stomach.

Sadie glided noiselessly to the kitchen, found a container, and returned to the living room, stroking Meely’s back as she strained.

“It’s okay. We’re here. You’ll be all right,” she crooned.

Mark watched her and remembered. The snow, the cold, the horse so thin, so evidently dying. Sadie kneeling by the horse, holding its head, stroking the mane, whispering words of endearment in Pennsylvania Dutch. It was then he had fallen in love with her, and that love had only grown stronger with time.

He was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion and put a hand reassuringly on Sadie’s shoulder. He did not look away when she turned to meet his gaze, burning now with intensity.

Meely wiped her mouth with a crumpled tissue, then moaned softly, waving her hand in dismissal. Slowly she turned to face the wall.

Sadie watched as Meely’s eyes closed, then turned and headed for the kitchen. Mark was suddenly behind her. He slid his arms around her and held her as if she was the anchor that grounded him to his very life.

“I love you so much,” he whispered in her ear.

“And I love you, Mark. Always,” she returned.

Anything was possible with Mark’s love. Her spirit lifted to new heights.

They cleaned all morning. They carried boxes to one designated room, swept, pushed aside the drapes, cleaned windows, scoured bathrooms, emptied waste cans, and moved furniture. By mid-afternoon they were absolutely ravenous.

They called Jeff, who whisked them off to the local grocery. They bought fresh meat and cheese, salt, flour, oatmeal, cereal, and all the staples they would need to cook nutritious meals that they hoped would tempt Meely’s appetite. They returned and filled the freshly cleaned cupboards and refrigerator.

They toasted bagels in the toaster, cooked thick sausage patties, and melted Swiss cheese all over them. They scrambled eggs and built huge breakfast sandwiches with ketchup slathered liberally in the middle.

They drank cold orange juice, talked with their mouths full, licked their fingers, and then Sadie jumped up for a roll of paper towels.

“No napkins. Mark, we forgot.”

“Sit down, Sadie.”

His voice was low and very serious, so she slid carefully into the heavy oak kitchen chair and watched his face as she wiped her hands on the paper towels.

The air was heavy with unspoken words and feelings too deep to be brought to the surface easily. The only sound was water dripping from the newly polished faucet at the kitchen sink.

“Do you…?”

His voice was drowned out by a piercing scream from the living room, propelling Mark out of his chair so swiftly, it fell over backward. He hurried through the arched doorway and into the living room to find Meely with her head pressed into the pillow, her body arched as she strained to escape the pain assaulting her back.

Her lips drew back and released another cry of agony.

Instantly, Sadie slipped an arm beneath her and held her thin shoulders.

“Meely! Don’t. It’ll be all right. Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

No amount of coaxing or massaging would soothe the poor woman. Finally, Mark suggested calling an ambulance, anything to still her cries and ease her pitiful suffering.

“No! No! No!” she cried.

The dogs rose, whimpering, until Mark let them outside.

After the initial wave of pain wore out, Meely calmed down and obediently swallowed the Tylenol they offered. Then she asked for hot tea.

“You should eat,” Mark said.

“No.”

“If Sadie makes chicken soup, would you eat that?”

“No.”

She drank the tea, then asked for more pillows.

Sadie went to the kitchen and put some chicken breasts in water to make homemade chicken corn noodle soup. Then she asked Meely if she would like a warm bath and a shampoo.

“No.”

“Meely, I think it would help you feel better.”

“Nobody’s going to bathe me. No.”

“Would you do it yourself?”

“No.”

Sadie sighed and looked at Mark. The sour odor from her unwashed hair and body was loathsome, but she was afraid to mention it, not wanting to offend Meely, or Mark for that matter.

The tea seemed to give her a measure of strength, and she patted the pillows with nerveless fingers, a sort of repercussion from the caffeine in the tea.

“I have to talk.” She spoke loudly, the words coming in quick succession, as if she might never be able to say the necessary words if she didn’t say them now.

Sadie quickly walked to the kitchen to turn down the burner on the stove. When she returned, Mark was sitting on the red-wing chair. Sadie stood beside it, a hand on the arm.

“Sit down,” Meely barked, angrily.

Obediently Sadie brought a chair from the dining room and sat beside Mark.

“I have cancer. It’s in my bones. It started in my breasts. Had that taken care of, or so they thought. You know…”

Her hands fluttered like white birds swept by a gale, seemingly propelled by forces beyond their control.

“The doctors don’t know what happened. Told me to quit smoking. Couldn’t do that. I always smoked. Well, not always, but…” A terrified glance at Mark.

“After I left, I smoked a lot. Helped my nerves. Evan smoked. The … you know, the man I left with.”

Mark nodded.

Her black gaze adhered to Mark’s eyes with a certain wildness.

“Say you don’t remember,” she ground out hoarsely.

Mark sat motionless, made of stone. Then he nodded again.

As if her soul were in Mark’s hands, Meely searched his face, earnestly hoping he did not remember the past.

“No. You don’t. You can’t. You were too young.”

Why didn’t he speak? Was it pride that kept Mark so still?

The dripping faucet in the kitchen violated the dead silence as effectively as a hissing scream, until Sadie thought the very atmosphere would fly apart.

“I remember everything, Mother.”

Sadie’s heart slowed, then dropped, when she heard Mark’s words, spoken in Pennsylvania Dutch.

“
Ich mind allus.
”

“Oh, God!” The sick woman understood. The words, spoken in the language of her past, sealed her fate, and it was a thousand times worse than she feared.

Out of the depths of her ravaged soul came the words, “
Nay! Nay!
”

Her response in Dutch made Sadie shudder. If ever there was a time when she felt helpless in the face of these horribly buried pasts, this was surely it. She breathed a prayer to God to stay here, in this room, with his power and strength.

Meely became defensive then.

“It wasn’t my fault. Atlee should have done something. He was so set in his ways. The farm was going downhill all the time. He … was so unconcerned. All he wanted to do was … lay around the house.

“He loved me too much. It drove me insane. I couldn’t deal with it. When you were born, it was okay, but they just kept coming. The babies. Crying, wanting food, there weren’t enough diapers. The washer was broken. Atlee… None of it was my fault. A person can only take so much. Not my fault.”

She turned her face away, the subject closed. The past was smoothed over by adjusting the blame to someone else.

Mark’s eyes blared with black fire, disgust, and fury leaping out of them. His mouth opened and then closed. He gulped like a dying fish receiving no oxygen but still floundering.

When he finally spoke, the words were cased in searing heat from anger pushed deep inside for much too long.

“No, Meely. Huh-uh. You’re not going to get out of this so easily. I don’t care if you are sick, you’re going to hear what I have to say. I was only eight years old, but I knew. I knew what you and that … that Evan were doing. I can still see him, that cringing lizard at the front door, coming to mislead my Mam. I can still see you leaving in his red car, the babies crying. No, Meely, it was not my Dat’s fault.

“He’s dead, you know. Dat. Atlee.”

She turned her head to face Mark, checking his face for any untruth.

“No!”

“Yes. Atlee killed himself after you left. He drowned. I found him.”

There was a snort of derision from the sofa.

“Guess you had a shock, huh?”

Mark stood up, towered over her. She shrank into the cushions of the couch, afraid he might strike her.

With a hoarse, nameless cry, he turned on his heel and stalked out through the front door, slamming it so hard the windows rattled.

Sadie looked at Meely, who looked back with a blank, cold stare. The dark glare withered any sense of goodwill Sadie may have had.