Nobody Knows Your Secret (10 page)

T
he old narrow
, twisting roads on the Whittaker land had never been surveyed or mapped, but Skip knew where each turn and switchback led. He had walked over these mountains so many times with his grandfather that he could not get lost. No GPS could keep track of his location any better than Skip.

He drove his pickup into a stand of trees. The small, red tail lights glowed for an instant as he braked and cut off the ignition. He retrieved his 12-gauge from its rack over the back seat and eased out of the vehicle. His steps were purposeful. Steady. He walked deep into the trees as the forest canopy swallowed him up, and he disappeared from sight.

He watched for the telltale flicker of a flash light beam. He listened for the hum of a four-wheeler. He waited and silently wandered up and down the slopes that belonged to him. The wind whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves of the oaks and poplars nearby. He thought of his grandfather. He thought he could just make out the ragged hoarse whisper of the old man.

“Skippy,” Pappy said, “you got it easy. I remember summers so dry, the corn died on the stalk. Leaves curled up and shriveled to brown husks right before your eyes. Pitiful sad days, those were. We still had taters in the cellar, but they was tryin’ to sprout. All withered, but ’at’s all we had to keep us goin’. We et taters mawnin’, noon, and night. Biled ‘er roasted on coals. Stewed and fried in lard. Usually not enough on our plate to keep the hunger pangs chased off. But just enough to keep us alive. Wouldn’t ‘a surprised me none to hear a knockin’ on the door ’n’ find the Grim Reaper on the doorstep. No, sir.”

Skip could the old voice droning on in his memory. In his mind, he saw the old figure of his grandfather. His big-knuckled finger pointing to the remains of an old poplar tree. A black scar ran up its craggy, rough bark.

“See ’at black char?” Pappy asked. “Biggest bolt a lit’nin’ I ever seed struck right over thair. Boy, howdy! Cracked ’at thunder blast ’bout same time the lit’nin’ hit. Hardly a second in betwixt. No time to run ’n’ hide. No time to take kiver. Thought I was a fried pup, fer sure.

“Jumped outta my skin. Felt the earth shake. Hair singed on my arms. Knew I was a goner. Thar I stood, shakin’ like a leaf.

“Ole tree cotched fyar like ole Mose burning brash.

“Mighty good thang I had all ’em acorns lined up on the winder sill. ’At bolt wudda struck the cabin fer sure. But it never wudda ’cause I had ’em acorns on the sill. Always pays to be cautious, son. Err on the side ‘a caution. Can’t hurt none. Careful is always best. Always. That’s why to this day, I make sure I line ’em acorns on that winder sill.”

Skip smiled. It was a good memory. He continued walking and watching, waiting for any sight or sound of an intruder. Shotgun at his side, he silently crossed the leaf-covered ground.

Mama wasn’t happy he spent so much time here. Skip felt his father didn’t care much one way or the other. His dad was too busy to notice. All it took was the killing of some no-account, drug-addicted thief like Kyle Winthrop to steal all his father’s time and energy away from his family. Not that it mattered. He was grown now.

What did they know?

Skip unconsciously gritted his teeth. Mama was old. She would never understand. Daddy was always roaming the county.

Would it have been better if his father had been in some other line of work?

Skip shook his head.

A sheriff’s kid!

Daddy might as well be a preacher!

Kids made fun of him all the time when he was growing up.

Kids his age thought hanging with the sheriff’s son was an automatic get-out-of-jail-free card if they got into trouble. Time and time again, they wanted to drag Skip into their escapades, thinking that if they got caught, the sheriff would turn a blind eye. Bill Whittaker would probably sweep it all under the rug if his son was implicated in any wrongdoing. Skip had never been fooled about the reasons behind his “popularity.”

Yes, he thought, Daddy might as well be a preacher!

And his teachers! They were just as bad. Those sharks were always waiting and watching for the sheriff’s kid to screw up. They wanted to see blood. Or worse, make friends so that if trouble came, Skippy’s dad would be willing to do them a favor. Let them slide on a parking ticket. Not write them that speeding ticket. It was crazy. It was stupid. Skip just kept to himself and tried to be invisible.

But what could he do?

How could he explain how he really had felt growing up?

His dad would laugh. His mother would worry.

They’d never understand. Skip unconsciously gritted his teeth.

Mama was old. She would never get it. Daddy was always roaming the county. He’d side with Mama. He always had whenever the rubber met the road. He hadn’t had the easiest road. But they’d never see it like he did.

There had been some good moments, though.

As a very young boy, it had been fun to ride with Daddy in the patrol car. Blast the siren. Wear his daddy’s star. Not now, though. All that stuff which had made him so happy seemed so childish now.

A branch broke. Skip’s senses heightened. He raised the shotgun. His finger ticked a nervous twitch as it brushed the trigger. The muscles clenched in his jaw. His breath came in short, uneven gasps. A bead of sweat broke on his forehead. He strained to hear a sound. Any sound. His eyes jerked left and right.

A cottontail zigzagged in front of him.

He smiled. The color came back to his cheeks. He lowered his gun and continued across the slope. Darkness swallowed him up as he disappeared over the next ridge. The rabbit hopped away into the night.

* * *

C
andy was developing
into quite a lollipop. Just eight years old, with the face of an angel and the hint of coming curves that made boys salivate. Willie Mae felt the first tinges of jealous anger flare. How could her own daughter do this to her? Candy was going to be twice as good looking as Willie Mae. She just knew it.

The resentment grew in Willie Mae with each passing day. It was incredibly unfair. And then when Candy had the gall to accuse her father of trying
things
with her, well, that just popped the cherry off the ice cream sundae.

It was ridiculous. It was preposterous. It was scandalous.

Hardy was a hard-working man. A good man. A good husband. Willie Mae seethed whenever she thought about her daughter’s malicious falsehoods.

“You lyin’ flirt!” Mama said. “You little hussy! How dare you! How gosh-darn dare you! Filthy-minded little tramp! You shut your wicked mouth, Candy Branwell! Just shut your mouth this instant!

“Your daddy works hard to keep a roof over your head and that’s the thanks you give him! You ingrate! Don’t you ever let me hear you say anything like that again! You hear me! You hear me, Candy Branwell!”

The side of Candy’s face burned hot. Mama’s small hand packed a wallop.

“You stay out of trouble. Don’t sass your granny. I’ve got to go. I’m late for work. Dave has been lookin’ at me funny. I’ve been late twice already this week. At this rate, I’ll be sacked before the month’s out.”

She brushed off a few stray hairs that had fallen onto her uniform.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you. But I’ll figure it out when I get home. It’s not bad enough that I have to stand on my feet all day talkin’ trash to the truckers at the truck stop. Slingin’ hash is hard work! Gosh, my life is miserable! And I gotta lyin’ slut for a daughter to boot.”

Willie Mae grabbed Candy’s fat cheeks and squeezed them hard between her polished fingers.

“Not one word,” Mama said, through her gritted teeth. “I better not catch wind you breathed one word of those lies to your granny or nobody else you know, you hear me? I won’t stand for such filth spread about your daddy! Where did you hear such? Television, probably. No more TV. If I ever hear you say anything like that again, you’ll be sorry. They could arrest your daddy! And all because you have such a filthy mind.”

Candy went to school. She wanted to skip. Her stomach was in knots. She wanted to have the school nurse call Mama to come get her. But that was out of the question. Dave was looking at Mama funny. If Mama lost her job as a waitress at the truck stop because she had to leave work for a sick child, Candy knew there’d be heck to pay.

So, she hid out in the bathroom during lunch. She threw up once and felt a little better. Somehow, vomiting relieved some of her stress. On the bus ride home, Candy made sure not to speak to one child. Mama had warned her not to breathe a word to anyone. Granny was making strawberry preserves. It was easy to remain quiet and keep her nose buried in her schoolbook.

Not that one word registered in her mind in any logical way at all.

Somehow, Candy made it through supper. She managed to swallow four or five bites from her plate. Granny was all excited that her preserves looked so pretty in their jars. She was rambling about entering some of them in the county fair. Granny watched the little girl walk the path to Hardy’s house. It wasn’t that far. Hardy insisted that Candy was old enough to sleep in her own bed, even if Willie Mae and Hardy were late coming home from work.

Granny didn’t like the fact that an eight-year-old little girl was in that house alone. She thought Candy was too young. Anything could happen. The house could burn down. But Hardy put his foot down. He said he didn’t want Granny breaking a hip traipsing home in the dark after Hardy or Willie Mae got out of work.

Candy opened the back door. It was never locked. The house seemed cold and empty, even though it was warm outside. She brushed her teeth and washed her face and got ready for bed. Soon, she was sound asleep.

It was the squeaking hinge that always awakened her. Even from the deepest recesses of oblivion. That slow screech of metal against metal. Someone was opening her bedroom door to check on her.

Candy lay very still, playing possum, hoping the intruder would just go away.

She squeeze her eyes shut so tightly, her head began to hurt. She felt the sheet being peeled back.

No! No! No, she screamed inside her head. Tiny tears traced down her cheek. Why was he doing this? What had she done to make him do this to her?

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

The words battered her like a sledge hammer.

Candy wanted to cry, but if she did, he became angry. It was worse. She held her breath.

Your fault. Your fault.

If only her tiny heart would stop this instant. If only she could die right now.

If only.

How long was he over her?

An hour?

A few minutes?

She was so scared, time had no meaning.

But whatever happened, whatever he did, she must keep it a secret. She must. She must. She must.

Mommy had said she must.

“
C
laire’s dead
,” Maury said.

“Merciful heavens, no!” said Hadley. “This will absolutely crush Virgie!”

“Yeah, I know,” said Maury. “But Claire was never the same after the accident.”

“I know,” said Hadley. “Virgie said it took something out of her. I don’t mean physically. I know she got that flesh-eating bacteria from the cuts she’d gotten. It took drastic measures to save her life. But Virgie said Claire was broken inside, too.”

“I don’t know how I’d have handled being chopped up so by the doctors. Mutilated, I’d call it. But still, they did save her life.”

“I don’t think that child ever got over the psychological pain,” said Hadley. “I know Virgie and Cleve didn’t. Virgie said Cleve took to the bottle even more after that day.

“Virgie said Claire was always complaining about being in so much pain after the coaster tragedy. We’d talk about it, sometimes. I just think Virgie needed someone to dump on. Anyway, she always said Claire took way too many pills. She’d try to tell Cleve that all that dope wasn’t good for Claire, but he’d turn a deaf ear. Virgie said she finally just gave up. Let Claire go to her doctors all over creation and left Cleve to his drinking. Cleve was probably eaten up with guilt.”

“I know I would be,” said Maury.

“Me, too,” said Hadley.

“Bill said it was a mess. He said Claire had been partying with some of Kyle’s druggie friends. Some kind of a wake or something. They’re looking for the ones who were at the party. Tryin’ to get statements. Bill said they scattered like roaches when the light’s switched on.”

“I’m sure dope is what got Kyle killed,” said Hadley. “And now, it’s taken Claire.”

“Yeah. I want you to be careful, Hadley,” Maury said. “Time’s are changing. Even here. I know you. You are just as likely to go off on a gallivant with Beanie or something and leave your house wide open.”

“Guilty as charged,” said Hadley. “I just don’t think about locking my doors. Half the time, the keys are in the house. I mean this is Hope Rock County, Maury. Nothing much ever happens in this backwater-no-where, except maybe every once in a hundred years.”

* * *

H
adley sent
word to Increase asking her if she wanted to help her fix some dishes to carry to Virgie’s. Increase agreed to help.

“I know Cleve loves pork. At hawg killin’,” Increase said, “I always save the pigs’ tails for Cleve. Virgie fries ’em up fer ’im.”

“I’m surprised Eucle would let you do that,” Hadley said.

“Eucle is a skinflint, that’s fer sure,” Increase said, “but Cleve is blood. So, it’s okay.”

“Huh,” said Hadley, “one way or another, we’re all interrelated.”

“You got that right, Sugar,” Increase said. “Some ‘a them limbs on that fam’ly tree though, er rotten to the core.”

Hadley thought of Kyle.

“What you fixin,” Increase said.

“Well, I ran by Pixies and got some stuff,” Hadley said. “Got a pantry full of jars I’ve canned on the shelves, too. Go in that little room and start pulling things out. We’ll work from there.”

“Landsakes, chile!” Increase said. “If this ain’t just about the purtiest cupboard I ever seed. I always love the colors when the jars are all in rows like you got them.”

“I’m thinking,” Hadley said, “about making hushpuppies, fried pork steak and gravy, kilt greens, fried apple pies, and anything else you want to make.”

“But, Hadley,” Increase said, “I feel so guilty. All I brought was this sack ‘a flair.”

“Increase,” Hadley said, “I’ve got so many irons in the fire that I can’t possibly get all these dishes done. I have to have help. If you don’t give me a hand, I’ll have to end up paying somebody to cook and send it over to Virgie.”

“Well,” Increase said, “I feel better. Since you put it that way.”

Increase and Hadley were knee-deep in preparations. They wanted to fix several dishes. The crowds that would show up at Virgie’s would be large. Everyone from all around would come to pay their respects, and Virgie had just fed the multitudes that had come for Kyle’s wake a few days before.

“You know,” Increase said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve never told a soul this. Promise me you won’t gossip about it.”

“You have my word,” said Hadley, “your secret is safe with me.”

“Eucle and me wasn’t married long. We had a coupla’ kids, ’n’ I had more work than I could poke a stick at. Eucle’s always been one to disappear fer a coupla days at a time. Off into the woods, you know.”

Increase laughed.

“I knowed what folkses says, Hadley Jane. I don’t rightly knowed myse’f if Eucle’s got a still in ’em woods. We been marriet so long, if it’s so, he’s probably wore out several by now. Anyways, I was up to my eyeballs in work. Kids were sickly, whining ’n’ cryin’ to beat the band.

“Eucle saunters in after being gone fer what felt like a month ‘a Sundays. I asks ’im to fetch me some eggs from the hen coop ’n’ some water from the well.

“‘At’s womun’s work,’ he says, all high ’n’ mighty, like I had ask-ed ’im to put Lum to his breast to suckle.”

Hadley and Increased laughed.

“I was so mad, I coulda busted a gut,” Increase said. “Fergit it, I says. I stomped right out the coop, gathered them eggs. Whilst I was there, I happened to look up, ’n’ I spies me the biggest waspers’ nest you ever laid eyes on.

“It was early mawnin’ ’n’ still damp ’n’ cool. ’Em waspers was movin’ awful slow. I got me a big stick ’n’ knocked ’at nest down to the ground. Stomped ’em waspers dead. I picked up‘’at nest ’n’ wropped it in my apron ’n’ went to the house.

“I tramped back out to the well fer some water, still so mad I couldn’t stand myself. I knowed where thair was some nice fat grubs in my flair bed. I dug around and found a few.

Eucle had nestled down in a chair by then. He was snoring ’n’ sawing logs.

I don’t know what come over me, but I just felt the meanest spirit inside. I took ’em wasper eggs ’n’ ’em grubs. I mixed up the purtiest bowl ‘a mush you ever seed.

“Had awl ’em extra
‘meaty ingredients’
I added in jes’ ’cause Eucle deserved ’em.”

Hadley kneaded dough.

“Eucle set down at the table, ’n’ I give ’im ’at bowl a mush. I nestled myse’f way back in a fer corner, tryin’ not to be too noticeable. I was scared white ’n’ wantin’ to laugh all at the same time.”

“I can imagine,” said Hadley.

Increase added sugar to the fruit for the pies.

“What did he say?” asked Hadley.

“Nuthin,’” said Increase. “He slopped up ’at mush like it was the best thang he ever et. To this day, I never told a soul what I done but you, Hadley Jane.”

“Increase,” Hadley said, “sometimes you just gotta do what you just gotta do.”

“Ain’t ’at the gospel,” said Increase.

“You know I read something, not long ago,” Hadley said, “where wasp larvae may become the new caviar.”

“Do say,” said Increase. “I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout ’em gour-mets ’n’ ’em fancy, chef dishes, Hadley. But I got a feelin’ ain’t too much a gour-met to be eatin’ no grub worms.”

“Ain’t ’at the gospel,” said Hadley.