Secrets 01 Secrets in the Attic (23 page)

I waited in the doorway, keeping one ear turned toward the downstairs to listen for any sign of Mama or Jesse coming up. I heard nothing in either ear.
"Karen, I just have a moment. Please. Do you know? Are you all right?"
I waited but still heard nothing. Was she too frightened even to speak to me? Did I chance going in further, maybe putting on the dim ceiling fixtures? Would that put her into a greater panic and then expose us both?
"Karen?" I tried one more time, listened, and then backed out and slowly, as quietly as I could, closed the attic door. She probably had all she needed for tonight, I thought. She had probably decided not to take the chance I was willing to take. Perhaps she was smarter. What could I do if she didn't have what she needed now, anyway?
I practically tiptoed down the stairway, but I didn't have to. Mama, Daddy, and Jesse were all talking at once now in the living room below. I heard their laughter, too. For a long moment, I just stood there at the top of the stairway, listening, a smile on my face. It sounded like old times. I wanted so much to be part of it, to descend those steps and dive into the warmth of their love, to turn my back on the attic and all it contained. I felt guilty about it. I had this raft in the middle of this sea of turmoil, and I could swim to it and be safe. However, it would be truly as if I were leaving Karen out there to drown, deserting her to save myself. No matter which way I turned, I felt terrible.
The best thing to do was throw myself at my homework. I had lots of reading to do and a theme paper to write. It worked. I lost track of time and didn't look up until I heard Jesse come to my doorway and tap on the jamb.
"You all right?" he asked.
"No. I hate Mr. Whittier. He expects us all to be Hemingways."
Jesse laughed and came over to my desk. He glanced at my paper.
"Can I?" he asked, picking up a pen.
"Go ahead," I said. "Have a ball."
He circled words, found grammatical errors and spelling mistakes, and made some quick suggestions. "I'll never be good at this," I moaned.
"It's all right. Not so bad. You probably would have picked up most of it in proofreading, anyway. The trick is to do it early, first, and put it away. Whenever you look at something after time passes, you can see the mistakes clearly."
The way he was looking at me, I thought he meant a lot more than a school theme paper. I nodded, thanked him, and made the corrections.
"I'm going to do some chores around the house tomorrow. The back lawn is wild. Bushes need trimming, and I promised Mom I'd fix two shutters. Later, I'll ride your bike into the village for some exercise. Don't worry about the police thing. Dad's got it under control, I'm sure."
"Thanks," I said. I glanced at the ceiling. What
would Karen do now? She would have to wait for him to leave. His arrival meant she would be trapped up there for much longer periods of time, and our time together would be quite reduced.
It's over, I thought. This is coming to a fast end. It brought me a sense of relief but also a sense of deep sadness. I listened as hard as I could before I went to sleep, but there wasn't a creak that was unusual. She was probably asleep herself, I thought, and closed my eyes. The tension had driven me deeper into exhaustion than I had anticipated. In moments, I was drifting off, not waking until the first rays of morning light snuck through the curtains to twirl about my face and draw me back into reality.
Everyone was up early. Jesse was down before our parents, in fact, and had put up the coffee. He behaved like a starving student, preparing scrambled eggs, sliced fruit, some bacon, and a pile of toast. As if their laughter had been put on pause, Mama and Daddy broke into immediate hysterics watching him shovel the food into his mouth. I wished I had half his appetite.
Dad drove me to school again. All the way, he talked about Jesse and how proud he was of him because of his school grades.
"Despite his activities and being a freshman, he's doing better than I did. Don't tell him I told you," Daddy added. "No sense blowing his ego up any more than necessary. The truth is, I nearly flunked out after the first semester. My mind was on other things."
I shook my head in disbelief.
"You did?"
"Yes, Zipporah, we all make mistakes and perform less than perfectly. Don't you think you have to live up to any legends here."
Was he making all this up to help me feel better about myself and about what I had kept secret concerning Karen's terrible experiences with her stepfather?
"There is good reason for distinguishing between the actions of minors and the actions of adults," he added. "Not that it serves as a total excuse, mind you, but at least it helps us understand. Do you understand?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. I did. He was giving me an out, and I was eager to wrap myself around it as I would a teddy bear.
The school day went much the same as it had the day before for me, except that I was somewhat more alert in class. One of the other girls, a borderline zero in Karen's eyes, Jackie Forman, was actually very nice to me.
"It must be hard for you," she said between classes when we walked beside each other in the hallway. "You're probably in a bigger daze about it than anyone."
I nodded.
Later, she joined me at lunch, and then Sally and another girl, Terri Buckner, a friend of hers, joined us, too. No one talked about Karen. Our conversation was built around our classes, some upcoming activities at school, and the impending summer break, what everyone was planning on doing. For a little while, at least, I felt almost normal. I believed I could come back from all this and enjoy my high school years. What was it my grandmother, Daddy's mother, always said? "This too shall pass."
Everything does eventually, I thought.
Maybe I would be all right after all. Maybe even Karen would.
Daddy was there waiting for me in the parking lot. I had been so happy about making new friends and participating in school, I actually forgot about what awaited me. The sight of him filled my stomach with snowballs. I hurried to his car and got in.
"How are you doing?"
"Good," I said. "I got an A on my English paper. Mr. Whittier stopped me to tell me before I went to my last class. He had corrected the papers during his free period."
"Wow, that's great."
"Jesse helped me," I confessed.
Daddy smiled. "That's legal," he said. "Any familial assistance on a theme paper is okay. That's why they call it homework." We both laughed.
I don't deserve him, I thought. I don't deserve the family I have.
We pulled into the parking spot for visitors at the police station twenty minutes later. He shut the engine off but sat there.
"The big question they are going to have for you, Zipporah, is why didn't you tell them all this the first time? Have you thought about that?"
"I swore to Karen that I would never tell," I said. "I promised."
He nodded. "Okay. Let's go."
This time, when we entered the chief's office, there was a tape recorder on the chief's desk. The two detectives were in the seats they had been in, and the chief was behind his desk. Chairs had been set out for us.
"Do you have any objections to our recording this interview?" Lieutenant Cooper asked Daddy immediately.
"No," Daddy said. He nodded at me, and we sat. "I'd like a copy of the transcription, however."
"Understood," Lieutenant Cooper said. He turned to me. "So, apparently there was some significant information that you withheld the last time we spoke."
"Great way to begin with a cooperative minor," Daddy muttered.
Lieutenant Cooper glanced at him and smirked. "There were things you could have told us before but didn't," he corrected. "Why not?"
"I had promised Karen I wouldn't tell anyone," I said. "She was very embarrassed about it, ashamed. She told me it made her feel dirty."
"Okay, but now you know this is about as serious as things could be, and you are required to give us any information that pertains to the situation, right? You're not going to keep anything else secret?"
"She came to tell you what she was told," my father said very slowly. "Why don't you just get to that without all these dramatics?"
"Jesus," Detective Simon muttered. Daddy glanced at him
"Go ahead, Cooper," Chief Keiser pressed.
"All right. Tell us what you told your father Karen said was happening."
I began, describing the first incident as detailed as I could manage without blushing and being embarrassed myself. As I spoke, they all stared at me, only Chief Keiser looking shocked.
"How many of these incidents occurred? To your knowledge, that is?"
"Nothing she has said so far is to her knowledge," my father corrected. "She is telling you what she was told, not what she witnessed. I just want to make that clear."
"Right. How many incidents like that did Karen Stoker describe?"
"I don't remember any number. She just said it was getting worse and worse, and when I asked her to explain, she was too embarrassed to get into any more detail about it. One time," I added, "I came into town to buy an ice cream, and I saw her walking and crying. She didn't want to talk then, but later, when I asked, she told me it was because of what was happening. She told me she was having headaches because of it, too. I already told you about the headaches."
"Right. Okay, let's get to what you claim she said about her mother's involvement or lack of involvement in all this. Did she tell you she told her mother about any of it?"
"No, she didn't tell me of any specific conversation, but she said her mother knew. She said her mother knew about her bruise, and she said her mother ignored it."
"What bruise?"
"She had a bruise on her shoulder one morning. I asked her about it, but she was too ashamed to tell me about it then. Later, she told me Harry would often get violent, frustrated with her, and do things like push her or pinch her too hard."
"And her mother knew about this?"
"She said she did but ignored it."
"And the reason she ignored it? Did she tell you?"
"She said her mother thought that she was making things up because she just didn't like Harry or her marrying him. She said it was always worse when her mother was away and she was alone with Harry."
"To your knowledge, did she tell anyone else about these incidents?"
"No. I mean, I don't know if she did or didn't."
"You mentioned her telling you that she spied on Harry when he went to his mother's apartment, that she saw him talking to a manikin head in the bed with a wig on it?"
"Yes. Karen said his mother wore wigs because her hair was getting too thin," I said. I wondered now if they would think about the wig found with Harry's body in Karen's room, but they said nothing or asked nothing about it.
Instead, the detectives looked at each other for a moment before Lieutenant Cooper flipped open a small pad he had in his hands and read something Then he looked up at me.
"We're kind of intrigued by the fact that Karen called her mother from New York City the same day you were in New York City. We've followed up pn that with the phone company. Did you see her there?" he asked.
"No," I said. I looked at my father.
"She was with my wife all the time and never out of her sight. You were told that the other day."
"Remarkable coincidence," Lieutenant Cooper muttered.
"Still a coincidence?'
"What makes it even more remarkable is that the pay phone we traced back to is maybe a minute from the hotel you were at."
My father just stared at him for a moment and then looked at me. "Did Karen call you at the hotel, Zipporah?"
"No," I said.
"Did she come to the hotel?"
"Did you in any way know she was in New York at the time?"
"No."
My father sat back.
"Thanks," Lieutenant Cooper told him "I'll send you part of my paycheck."
"When you get my bill, it might be a bigger part than you anticipated," my father responded, not waiting a beat.
Chief Keiser laughed.
"So, all you're telling us here about Mr. Pearson, you heard from Karen Stoker herself? You never witnessed anything, nor were you present when Karen spoke to her mother about it or tried to speak to her about it?"
"That's true," I said. "Correct," I added, trying to sound more like my father now. I caught a slight smile on his lips.
"Okay," Lieutenant Cooper said after a deep sigh. "More than likely, we'll be talking to you again, Zipporah. You'll probably be a major witness at a trial. For now, we would rather you don't discuss this interview or any of this information with anyone else besides your father."
"Anything new on Karen's whereabouts?" my father asked.
"We're working on it," Lieutenant Cooper replied. He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing, and added, "She can't hide forever."
After a pause, he added, "No matter who helps her."

This time, after my interview with the police, Daddy was silent most of the ride home. If he were angry at me, I'd much rather he would show it, and if he were afraid of something, I wished he would tell me what it was. My brother and I knew that whenever Daddy was so pensive as to make you feel you weren't even there, he was worried about something very serious. We would tiptoe around him, stealing glances but avoiding his eyes, as if he were on the verge of some explosion and merely looking at him the wrong way would set it off.

Finally, just before we arrived at the house, he turned to me.
"The stuff about the pay phone is troubling, Zipporah. It's too much of a coincidence for Karen to be making that call so close to where we were, where you were. If you knew for sure she had gone to New York City, you should have told us, told me. That is technically holding back pertinent information."
I started to cry.
"Well, what's done is done, but if it comes up again, I want you to tell the absolute truth," he said. "Okay?"
I nodded, and we drove on.
Jesse was waiting for us in front of the house, where he was whitewashing the porch railing. He turned as soon as we pulled into the driveway. I got out before Daddy pulled into the garage and held my breath in anticipation. Had Jesse discovered anything?
"How did it go with the police?" he asked.
"They weren't too nice. They were angry I hadn't told them all this before."
"Not too nice? They should have been happy you came forward with the information. Most people never tell what they know, because they don't want to be involved."
"They didn't act grateful. That's for sure," I said. "I felt like I was the one going on trial, not Karen."
"Why? Didn't they believe you?" he asked me.
"I'm not sure," I said.
Daddy came out of the garage.
"What happened?" Jesse asked him. "Zipporah makes it sound like they weren't appreciative. Didn't they think what she had to say was important to the case? Aren't they going to use the information she gave them?"
"Well, she told it just as she heard it from, Karen. They recorded her testimony."
"What do you think?"
"I think they have trouble with the story," Daddy said, glancing at me.
"Why? Why do they think it's untrue?" Jesse demanded, as if Karen were his sister and not me.
"For one thing, I imagine they've heard only good things about Harry Pearson from everyone they've interviewed so far, including Darlene Pearson. Other than Zipporah here, Karen apparently told no one, and Zipporah admitted she had never witnessed anything herself."
"That doesn't necessarily mean it wasn't true:' Jesse said, with more passion than either Daddy or I expected.
"No, it doesn't mean that, but it does mean that it needs more collaboration. Also, according to what your sister said she was told, Harry Pearson starts to resemble Norman Bates in
Psycho."
"Maybe he did," Jesse said, without hearing any details. "You didn't really know him that well, did you, Dad?"
"No, but you don't know the rest of it."
"Well, what was the rest of it? What about Harry Pearson?" Jesse asked.
My father glanced at me again. "This is very upsetting for Zipporah, Jess. I know she would like it all to end. She hasn't had an easy day since."
"It's okay," I said. I wanted the story out in the open now. I wanted the world to know what Karen had been facing and suffering.
"You want to tell him the rest of it?" my father asked me.
I nodded. "Fine, go ahead."
"Karen told me Harry Pearson wouldn't give up on his mother, wouldn't believe she was dead. He would go to her apartment at the rear of their house and sit by her bed and talk to her wig. It was on a head like they have for wigs. It was also made up like his mother made up her face, with lots of makeup, clownish."
Jesse nodded, his face thoughtful.
"So what do you think of all that?" Daddy asked him
"Who knows? It could have been true. No one suspected Norman Bates, did they?"
"That's a movie, Jess."
"All I'm saying is, could be."
"Did you hear what she's saying . . . talked to a wig, made up a head, and who knows what else? We're talking about the pharmacist, a man who had contact with most of the village residents."
Jesse shrugged, as if he had heard similar stories all his life.
"I don't know what's with you kids today," Daddy said. "In my day, a story like that would turn my bones to ice. Anyway, let's put it aside." He checked his watch. "I'm taking us all out to Frankie's for dinner. I've already told your mother, so clean up," he added, nodding at the paint. "We're going shortly after she comes home." He gazed around. "Nice job on the lawn, by the way."
"Thanks," Jesse said. He looked at me, and I dropped my gaze to the walk. "You did the right thing," he said as soon as Daddy entered the house. "Whether the police appreciate you and believe you or not."
I glanced up at the attic window in front. There was no sign of Karen, but I felt her presence as I would if she had been standing right beside me.
"I hope so," I said, and walked into the house. My brain felt as if it was bubbling in my head. What had Karen done all day while Jesse was there? What was she doing now? Was it possible she had been unable to get herself food and water?
"Let's get ready to go out," Jesse said, passing me on the stairway. "Dad's right. We need a night out together," he added, and hurried up the stairs to his room. I followed slowly.
I felt drained, exhausted, and very worried about Karen, but at least when we all went out to dinner, she would have the house to herself, and she could fetch whatever she needed. I thought I would leave a note in
The Diary of Anne Frank
for her, not only about Jesse's earlier arrival but briefly what had occurred at the police station. Surely, she was on pins and needles about it. I made sure to tell her that Jesse supported her story, gave it credence. She needed cheering up as much as I did, if not more. I stuck the note in the book and placed it on the shelf, sticking out an inch or so as usual, so she would know something was in it for her.
While I was getting dressed, my mother came home and came directly to my room. I was just finishing brushing my hair but hadn't yet picked out what I would wear.
"Hi," she said, looking as if she had expected to find me brooding in the corner or something. "Hi."
"Your father told me about the police today and how unpleasant it was for you."
"They were terrible. Even Daddy got angry."
"You should have told them it all the first time, Zipporah. It didn't do Karen any good. But," she quickly added, "I understand why you felt the need to keep it to yourself. It's just that . . . well, after what had happened, why worry about her being
embarrassed or her feeling betrayed? It didn't help matters, as you saw."
I turned away, the tears burning at the rims of my eyelids. What was I going to tell her? Karen's not gone; it's not over? I'm still her best and only friend? And what about what Daddy had told me about, not betraying a friend? I didn't say anything in my own defense, however. If I were too adamant about it, she might suspect something more, I thought.
"Her mother should have been the one to tell them," was all I could think to say.
"Yes, she should have. You're certainly right there. What a horrible mess. Anyway, your
involvement in it all is over. There isn't anything more you can do or tell them," she said, mostly for herself, it seemed. "It's up to them now. I'd better get changed," she added, and hurried out.
Later, at the restaurant, my parents did all they could to keep the Pearson tragedy out of our conversation, but unfortunately, there were people at the restaurant whom my father knew, and when they stopped to say hello, they had to make reference to the news in Sandburg. One man, another attorney named Clarence Hartwick, thought he was amusing telling my father he had picked the wrong small town to settle in, a town full of Lizzie Borden's relatives.
"He's a sick S.O.B.," my father muttered to us as soon as Hartwick walked away. "I never liked him in court or out."
"I don't think it's fair comparing Karen Stoker to Lizzie Borden anyway," Jesse said. "There's quite a difference in what motivated each."
"Let me give you a little advice," Daddy said, sitting back. "Be miserly when it comes to just how much faith you spend on your clients' honesty. You'll be far less disappointed in the end, even if you win your cases."
"What are you saying, Dad? Zipporah is lying about what happened to Karen?"
"No, of course not. Why should Zipporah lie? But we're going completely on hearsay, Jess. Don't fault the police for being skeptical. They won't do a good job if they're not skeptical."
"Yes, well, I just can't imagine a girl like that doing something like that out of the blue," Jesse insisted.
A
girl like that?
I had mixed feelings about his support for Karen. On the one hand, it made me feel better about myself and my own investment in her, but on the other, it made me uneasy, even a little jealous, to see him come so vehemently to her defense. He didn't know her as well as I did, and if he knew how she had found his journal and read it, he would not be so eager to come rushing to her aid. These contradictory feelings I had confused and disturbed me. I must have been showing it, too. I saw my mother staring at me, her face molding into an expression of deeper and deeper concern.
"Can we change the subject?" she asked. "I'm so tired of this. It's running away with our lives."
"Absolutely. So, Jesse, you're coming to the office tomorrow, right?" Daddy asked him. "I'd like you to meet everyone and work out how you're going to help out there this summer. I have an interesting case, too, and you'll be of real assistance with the research."
"Not tomorrow. How about the day after? I have a few more chores to do around the house."
"Chores? You keep surprising me, Jesse, but don't be a better handyman than your father. It makes him look bad," Daddy told him.
"I won't. No worries there."
"We might have a surprise or two in store for you before the week's out," Daddy told him, and winked at me.
"What surprise?"
"Wouldn't be a surprise if we told, would it, Zipporah?"
"No."
"You're finally going to break down and get us a dog, is that it, Dad?"
"No clues," Daddy said. "And don't try to trick your sister into telling you, either. She's sworn to secrecy, a blood oath."
The laughter and teasing helped us all ease out of the tension. By the time we were on our way home, we were all in a lighter mood, and once again, I felt as if I were back to a time before the Pearson tragedy. In the morning, I would get on the school bus and wait for Karen to board. We would play our mind games and laugh about some of the other students. Our conversation would be light and airy and full of silliness. Oh, how I wished that would be. Why couldn't we just close our eyes and wish really hard for good things? How easy it used to be to imagine and pretend. There wasn't anyplace Karen and I couldn't go, any world we couldn't enter through the magic of our own fantasies.
However, as we drove up to the 'house and into our driveway, the darkness of the attic windows brought me quickly back to reality. I hoped, Karen hadn't done anything to leave any traces of herself or any clues to her presence in our home. I rushed into the kitchen ahead of my mother to check the countertops and table, to be sure every cabinet door was closed and there were no crumbs or wrappers, anything that would draw attention and curiosity, as she had done the first time. Fortunately, the kitchen was as spotless as we had left it.
Daddy went to his home office for a while, and I went up to my room. Jesse remained below watching television with Mama. I felt so helpless just sitting there and, again, so guilty because of the good time I had just had with my family while Karen sat in the attic darkness. I just had to chance it. It had been too long, and too much had happened since Karen and I last spoke to each other. I had to know how she was doing. Once again, I tried to fly up those noisy attic steps unnoticed. I paused at the door and listened. The television was on below, and I could vaguely hear Mama and Jesse talking.
I opened the attic door and slipped in, closing it softly behind me. For a long moment, I stood there with my back against the door, panning the attic. The clearer night sky painted everything in a skeletonwhite illumination. It looked like a room full of ghosts. The far wall creaked.
"Karen?" I called in a loud whisper. "Come out. Speak to me," I said. "It's all right. We have a few minutes. It's safe. Karen, where are you?" I
demanded, more forcefully.
"Why did you come up? They're all in the house," I heard her say right beside me. She had pressed her back to the wall just behind a cabinet. She didn't move forward, however. She remained there as if she had been hung along with some of the old pictures and frames.
I stepped further into the attic.
"It's all right. My brother and my mother are watching television, and my father's working in his office. How are you? When did you realize Jesse was back? How have you managed with such little time?"
"Just go back out and down to your room," she said. "I'm fine."
"But . . . food, water. Did you get what you needed when we were out?"
She was silent, and then she stepped away from the wall and walked softly into the dim pool of light. She was wearing one of my nightgowns. Her hair was down. She had a smile on her face, a smile I didn't expect. She looked happier, comfortable, content. How could she be?
"No," she said, smiling at me. "I got it all before you left, way before you left."
"Oh. You mean when Jesse left the house?"
"No, Zipporah. I got everything I need for now from Jesse," she said.
"What? From Jesse? I don't understand. What are you saying?"
She seized my hand and pulled me toward the sofa. We both sat.
"Listen to me," she began, speaking quickly and excitedly. "I didn't know he had come home. I had fallen asleep and was still asleep when he drove in and parked his car behind the garage. He didn't make much noise after he entered the house, either. I woke up and went down the attic steps to get some fresh water and something to eat. He didn't hear me coming down the stairs, and I didn't know he was in his room, but the door was open and . . ."
"And what?"
"He was changing and standing there in his underwear when he turned and saw me in the hallway." "Oh, no."
"Yes. Of course, like you, I thought this was the end. I'm done for, and so are you."
"Jesse didn't say anything about it," I told her, shaking my head. I was convinced she was making it up. Maybe it was one of her fantasies. I started to feel sick.
"Of course he didn't. A brilliant solution came to me instantly. It was almost as if . . . as if Lucy Doral was whispering in my ear," she added, which brought even more chills sliding along my spine.
"What solution?"
"I pretended as if I had just arrived."
"Just arrived?"
"Yes, don't you see? I pretended that you didn't know I was there yet. He didn't even bother putting on his pants. He charged forward to the doorway. 'What are you doing here?' he asked. I started to cry, standing there with my arms around myself and sobbing so hard I imagine I looked like I might just crumble at his feet. He thought so. He reached out to hold me, and I pressed my face against his warm skin and let my tears soak his chest. 'What are you doing here?' he asked again. I cried harder, and he took me into his room and sat me on his bed while he went for a warm, wet washcloth to wipe my face. He squatted in front of me and held my hand and waited for me to catch my breath. I was so good, Zipporah. I wish you had seen me. Too bad they don't give Academy Awards for everyday real-life performances. I'd be making an acceptance speech."