Journals of the Secret Keeper Page 7

  "I just came in. You didn't hear me," he said quietly.

  Willetta had never in her life been more sensitive to her naked state. Her skin seemed to take huge gulping breaths of air and she felt skinless, raw and overly exposed. The huge towel was little to no comfort.

  "Why didn't you knock?" She wanted to know.

  "We're supposed to be lovers. Remember," Andrik said. He felt foolish the minute it came out of his mouth. He had been pacing the hall and had impulsively walked into her room to ask her questions regarding Martha Thompson. The old woman gave him the creeps. He couldn't

  understand why she was here under the same roof with them. He needed Willetta to remind him and convince him they were doing the right thing. He had no idea Willetta would be up at this hour taking a bath.

  Willetta was at a loss for words. She had forgotten, but it served no purpose, in her mind, for him to be in her room at the very moment, when there was no audience. Martha had been in bed for hours. She had refused to eat with them and had taken herself off in a huff.

  Willetta pulled the towel tighter around her body and looked up into Andrik's face. He was staring at her feet and looking a little loss. He would not look into her eyes. This was not the first time Willetta had witnessed this lack of confidence in him. He was tall, extremely handsome, and educated, but she often felt that he wasn't exactly sure of himself or his abilities.

  "Do you need to talk, Andrik," she asked softly.

  "I just don't know if it’s a good idea to have that woman here," he said finally looking into her eyes.

  She understood his reticence and felt a little of it herself, but Willetta had seen a resemblance between herself and the old woman. It was enough to convince her that the woman was her

  grandmother. Martha Thompson's hands were identical to hers. Willetta could see it even though her skin was old and crinkled. The nail beds and bone structure were the same as her own. There were other similarities, but none as convincing as the hands.

  "Let's go sit on the back porch in that wonderful swing of yours and talk. I'll be down to meet you in a minute. Just let me get into my pajamas please. And Andrik, please knock before you come into this room," she said.

  Andrik stood his full height and slowly ran his eyes along her entire frame before grinning. He turned away and walked to the door. Willetta watched as he opened the door and made a big show of locking it, before closing it. Willetta shrugged. Yes, she should have locked it. It was an oversight that would not be repeated in the future.

  #

  Andrik's hands shook as he filled two mugs with hot water and stirred in cocoa and cream. He pulled out some apple fritters and placed it all on a tray. The musk-scented steam from Willetta's bath still clung to his skin and he trembled. Walking uninvited into her room had been a colossal mistake. He was not a lustful man, but he had exacting and unchanging tastes. He found Willetta extremely desirable and that would not change or lessen. He would have to be careful.

  It was anyone's guess why Mama Jean felt that a union between him and Willetta was plausible. The fact that she even suggested such a thing to Willetta bothered him. A connection between Mama Jean's request that Willetta marry him and Martha Thompson's sudden appearance was unlikely, yet very suspicious. The only thing he knew for sure was that Willetta didn't know anymore than he did and that Mama Jean was dead.

  CHAPTER 16

  Volume 14, pg.5 (January 1911): "She back already from Georgia. She got a child with her and say we gone call her Willetta. The child is scared to death. I'm scared too. I think she done lost her mind. She got this wild look in her eyes."

  # Willetta sat next to Andrik in the wide swing and sipped hot chocolate. It was creamy, thick, and absolutely delicious. She wanted more as soon as she finished, but satisfied herself with a few apple fritters instead.

  "Where did you get these?" She was surprised at how good they were.

  "I made them," Andrik said.

  Willetta believed him wholeheartedly. He was a man of many hidden values. She sensed that he was completely self-sufficient and his cooking skills were inevitable. He seemed perfectly capable of taking care of himself in every way.

  "These are really good," she murmured with her mouth full.

  Andrik's eyes never left her lips as she chewed on his apple fritters. All cooks liked to see people devouring their food. Willetta's bliss over his fritters was giving him a bliss all of his own. He laughed when she licked her fingers and reached for another one to find the plate empty.

  "Now maybe we can talk about your new grandmother," he said.

  Willetta sighed and settled against the pillows. Her pajamas were made of cotton and covered every inch of her body except for her head, hands and feet. She curled her feet beneath her and folded her hands in her lap.

  "I believe she is my grandmother," she began slowly. "But I don't know how Martha and Mama Jean are connected. She talks like she knew Mama Jean pretty well. It bothers me that Mama Jean never mentioned her. There are a lot of questions that need to be answered."

  Willetta was talking to Andrik, but her thoughts were more meditation than conversation. She almost forgot Andrik was sitting beside her until he spoke.

  "I've known Mama Jean all my life and I don't recall her having any relatives around, which is kind of strange don't you think," Andrik asked.

  "Did she always live in the little house down the road," Willetta said.

  "Yes. One time I asked her why she wouldn't come live with us in this house and she laughed and said she couldn't watch over me if she lived right under me." I never knew what she meant by that.

  "Well, that was a very interesting answer she gave you. You probably should have asked. I know what you mean though. She always did say strange things." Willetta said.

  They settled into an easy silence as Andrik made the swing glide smoothly to and fro. Willetta felt herself slipping off to sleep. She was tired. It had been a very long and emotional day. She was glad for Andrik's company. Death was never a pleasant thing, but death down a Mississippi country road with buried journals, mysterious grandmothers, and century old Victorian houses was not a thing for the faint of heart or the lonely. #

  Willetta awoke the next morning to find herself alone in the swing. Andrik had thrown a blanket over her and she was very comfortable. Cool air filtered through the screens. She snuggled further into the swing and under the blanket. She looked out across the fields and thought the golden brown blades contrasted nicely with the emerald blue of the sky. She heard knocking at the door and realized it was the noise that had awakened her.

  Willetta hurried upstairs and changed into a pair of dark jeans and an orange, silk blouse. She slipped into a pair of sandals and arrived downstairs in time to hear the young woman in the foyer explaining to Andrik who she was.

  "My name is Olivia Townsend and this is my grandmother, Mrs. Octavia Townsend. She is first cousin to the late Mrs. Jean Myers. We have come to pay our respects and to renew family ties, if possible."

  The young woman and older woman held a striking resemblance to one another. Their hair was red as fire. The skin on their faces was pale, almost white with freckles across the bridges of their noses. Full red lips adorned both faces. Willetta was at a loss for words. The women could pass for Caucasian any day.

  Andrik cleared his throat and stepped back to lead them into the living room, which was once called the parlor. "Please excuse me. Come on in. We've been trying to get a foothold on things since Mama Jean died."

  "It's okay young man. Your grandmother was a handful in life, she can't be no better in death." The elderly woman spoke softly and kindly. Her eyes twinkled up at Andrik. "So, handsome. Just like your daddy. Splitting image."

  Willetta squeezed Andrik's hand to keep him from saying anything further. She felt strongly that it would not serve him well to reveal that he didn't know Mama Jean was his grandmother. Something was happening on the Thompson Estate and Willetta was sure it had everything to do with the
secrets in the journals and Mama Jean. She would give nothing away to anyone, not even Andrik and she would help him keep his own counsel too. Only time could give them a lead as to what to do next.

  Mrs. Octavia's eyes lit on Willetta and she chuckled. "Well, things didn't work out quite like Jean wanted now did they? If you aren't Martha's grandbaby, I'll eat my shoe." She leaned heavily on Olivia's arm and took a deep breath. "Well, sir, tell me this. Did Martha beat me here?"

  "Yes ma'am, she did," Andrik said tightly.

  Mrs. Octavia wasn't one to miss a beat. Her eyes searched Andrik's, before she shook her head sadly. "Well, I'm here now. My aim is to bring an end to the rift in this family. I need to talk to you two before Martha comes down."

  Olivia made sure Mrs. Octavia was comfortable before she set at her feet. Her face was solemn and she was quiet. Willetta thought it strange that she didn't speak unless spoken to. She acted more like an employee than a grandchild.

  Willetta and Andrik set together on a small settee. They were so eager to hear what Mrs. Octavia had to say that they were unaware of how suggestive their positions were. Their bodies were flush to one another. Willetta's hip was half way on Andrik's thigh and he had his arm around the back of her. They certainly looked like lovers but were totally unaware of it. Their complete interest was in finding out more information. So, they sat staring and waiting, while Mrs. Octavia fought against reprimanding them for their indecent behavior. That would come in time. Olivia's eyes were to the floor where they stayed.

  "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away," she began. "My momma, Mrs. Olivia Thompson, was given the money as an inheritance. She was the baby. She had two sisters. Martha's momma, Aunt Willetta, was given the land. She was the firstborn. Aunt Sylvia Jean, Mama Jean's momma, was given the journals. She was adopted" She quietly let that sink in.

  Willetta's heart beat wildly. She knew Andrik would be devastated if he knew his own grandmother had not only refrained from claiming him, but had given his inheritance away.

  "Granddaddy loved Sylvia Jean more than he loved my momma and Aunt Willetta. He didn't have much to do with them. When he died in the field from a heart attack, grandma started writing her own journals. My momma thought she gave Sylvia the journals and nothing else to get back at granddaddy for not loving his other two daughters, but we believe it was a little more to it than that now."

  "That's another reason why we're here," Olivia spoke softly from the feet of her

  grandmother. "We came because of the journals. They need to be read by the entire family. Money is perishable and land is easily accessible, but knowledge about your past and where you came from is priceless."

  Willetta felt the feeble hands of a thousand grandmama's tightening around her neck and she fought to breathe normally. She knew now why she hated secrets so badly.

  CHAPTER 17

  Volume 14, pg.1 (February 1911): "She got a letter from her sister. She tried to burn it, but I saved it from the fire. That child is her sister's child. Po Mable think her baby dead, when she here in Mississippi with us. Etta stole her own sister's child. I'm gone wait on her to make it right. I pray to God she will."

  #

  Martha was glad to see her cousin Octavia. She wasn't too happy about her having "found the Lord," but refrained from saying so. They sat around in the living room passing old memories around and filling in where they had left off many years ago.

  "How did you get here so quickly, Martha," Octavia asked.

  "I was already here. I came to visit Aunt Olivia. She didn't tell you I was out there," Martha asked.

  Andrik and Willetta listened in disbelief. Could it be that one of the great aunts was still alive? Olivia sat quietly on the couch and her face gave nothing away.

  "Me and momma don't talk. We haven't talked in years. When I found the Lord, I had to give her up. Matthew ten! The Lord came not to send peace, but a sword. Daughter against mother. Momma couldn't let go of that money. She and Amos almost drove me crazy. I had to let both of them go. Amen," Aunt Octavia said.

  Martha rolled her eyes and shook her head, "Now Octavia you ought to be shame of yourself. Aunt Olivia don't care no more about that money than my momma cared about this land. She just knew that ole Amos was after the money instead of you."

  "Shh," Aunt Octavia hissed. "Get thee behind me, Satan. Matthew sixteen." She raised a hand to the sky and waved it.

  "Octavia if you don't stop, I'm gone pull out my whiskey and get drunk enough to not be able to see or hear you. I'm warning you. I can't stand too much more," Martha said.

  Willetta's whole body shook and tears filled the corners of her eyes as she tried to control her laughter. Olivia's lips were pressed tightly together and were thin slits. Willetta knew that she too was struggling not to laugh. Andrik was staring straight ahead. His hands were balled into fists on either side of his thighs. He refused to look at her and Willetta knew he too was trying not to laugh.

  "For the drunkard and the glutton will come to poverty. Proverbs twenty-three. Martha, have you a farthing? I know you don't, if you still drinking," Aunt Octavia said loudly.

  "Well, I think we should all go to town to see the body and get the arrangements made," Andrik interrupted. He stood abruptly and stepped in front of Willetta, who had lost all control.

  "That's a good idea, baby," Aunt Octavia said. "Olivia help me out of this couch. It sure is low. Too low for an old woman like me to be sitting on."

  Willetta didn't know much about the Bible, but she knew that Jesus taught forgiveness. Aunt Octavia had to be all of seventy and Aunt Olivia must be in her nineties. It was unthinkable that Aunt Octavia was holding a grudge against her ninety-something-year-old mama. She must be a pious old woman with no forgiveness and somehow that put her right in the same category with Martha. Both Martha and Octavia were bad women. One was worldly and amoral and the other was a hypocrite. She was afraid to find out what Mama Jean had been.

  #

  "She look like she smiling," Martha said.

  "Genesis twenty-five verse eight! Then Abraham gave up the ghost and died in a good old age, an old man, full of years. Amen." Aunt Octavia said.

  "Did you commit the whole Bible to memory, Octavia or have just lost your mind," Martha said irritably.

  "Please be patient with grandma, Aunt Martha. She reads the Bible day and night and she hasn't been out much in years. Her conversation is often filled with scripture," Olivia said quietly.

  Jackson Funeral Home had been in Clarksdale for years. It was the only funeral home for black people and the room had six more people laid out. The carpet was red and the walls were paneled. The room smelled of formaldehyde.

  "Who gave instructions to lay her out," Martha snapped.

  "I did," Andrik said.

  Everyone looked at him in surprise. Willetta couldn't remember when he had time to make such arrangements. She wasn't surprised at his efficiency. She had learned a few things about Andrik Thompson over the past few days.

  "Well, young man, when and where are the burial services," Martha asked.

  "I will let you decide," Andrik said amicably. "Mama Jean had no particular affiliation and I thought the conference room here would be fine on Saturday morning at eleven o'clock," he finished.

  Aunt Octavia and Martha conferred with one another in loud whispers and agreed the

  arrangements were acceptable. Olivia stood to the side and said nothing.

  #

  With the funeral arrangements made and lunch behind them, the elderly women were ready to settle down and put their feet up. Andrik, Willetta, and Olivia brought in the luggage and set up a room for Olivia and Mrs. Octavia. They also made the menu for the evening and menus for the rest of the week. It was Tuesday and there were four more days before the funeral.

  Andrik asked Willetta to accompany him to the store and left Olivia in charge of Mrs. Octavia and Ms. Martha. Olivia agreed without much show of emotion. She was truly a bland individual with a very insipid person
ality.

  The minute they were on the country road with red dust rising behind the car, Andrik began speaking. His voice was gritty with emotion.

  "Mama Jean was my grandmother. She never said a word," he said. His hands held the steering wheel in a death grip. "She never said she had a son. She never told me who my father was. Why, Willetta? Can you please tell me why?"

  "Stop the car, Andrik. Stop at Mama Jean's and let's talk," she said softly.

  "I don't want to talk anymore. Not unless you have some answers. I don't want to

  understand." He said the word "understand" so keenly that Willetta jumped. "I just want the truth." He hit the steering wheel forcefully.

  Willetta had never seen a grown man cry and certainly not one as huge as Andrik. His shoulders shook and he bit hard on his lower lip as he tried to restrain the tears. They seeped out of the corner of his eyes.

  "I was hated as a child. That man, your father, hated me. I didn't know why and I still don't know why, but they knew. Those old women at that house could have made a difference in my life and yours too. Mama Jean patched me up, but she didn't tell me what I needed to know. I needed to know I had a father who could have loved me and that I had a grandmother, not a nanny, who loved me too. It was just a waste. This whole thing is a waste," he cried. "What are they covering up?"

  Willetta flinched away from the fierceness in Andrik's tone and stare. He was angry and had every right to be. The secrets Mama Jean kept had caused him pain, but Willetta had no idea if the truth would have been more or less painful. She knew she was doomed to find out.

  He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "I have to tell you what it was like being an only child in the house with a man who hated me and my mother and living with a mother who was

  indifferent and sickly. All I had was Mama Jean. I would have given my feet, arms and legs just to know she was my flesh and blood and that she loved me because she was supposed to and not because she had a heart, because the people that were supposed to love me didn't and that messed with my head as a child," he whispered.