Journals of the Secret Keeper Page 8

  The scales fell away at that moment and Willetta understood. She reached for him and he leaned into her arms. They held on to each other as the lost little boy Andrik used to be, wept with renewed pain.

  CHAPTER 18

  Volume 18, pg. 5 (June 1915): "She done brought another baby home. This baby white with red hair like the woman on that picture. She say we gone call her Olivia."

  #

  The discussion during dinner centered on the journals. They were on everyone's mind and no one's more than Willetta's. Andrik asked her to join him on the back porch again and she refused stating she had a headache. The real reason was that it was past time for her to begin reading.

  As soon as she entered her room she locked the door, carefully checking to see if it was indeed locked. The curtains were swaying from the nighttime breeze. Willetta crossed the room and slid the new windows closed until they clicked. She pulled the curtain panels together. Next, she lit one of the gold candelabrums she'd brought from Mama Jean's house. She turned off the lights, changed into a gown and climbed into bed with the journal. The clock read nine-thirty.

  She opened the aged journal with

  trepidation. It wasn't the first journal. She was disappointed, but began reading anyway. The masculine handwriting was square in character and painfully consistent. Each letter was the same height and as neatly written as any typewritten symbol. The message was just as clear as the handwriting. Mr. William Thompson was afraid of his wife, Mrs. Etta Williams, and declared her insane.

  #

  It was two o'clock in the morning when Willetta opened the door to her room and crept into the hallway. The keys to her car were held tightly in her hand. She had no wish to jingle them and awaken any light sleepers, namely Andrik or Olivia. Her intent was to get to her car and get as many of the journals out of the trunk as she could.

  She tiptoed down the staircase biting her lower lip the whole way. She could taste the blood of her split lip. She heard a sound above her head at the top of the staircase and froze in place. There were no lights on, but moonlight filtered through from the back porch and shrouded the living room and foyer in pale green light. Willetta waited. There was no other sound.

  She reached for the doorknob and turned the lock up.

  "Don't open the door, Lettie. You'll trigger the alarm," Andrik said. His voice came from the top of the staircase.

  Willetta stood still with her hands at her sides. "I..I'm sorry if I woke you up. I need to get something out of my car," she stammered.

  "Okay. Let me turn the alarm off. I'll walk you out," he said mildly. As he descended the stairs, Willetta noted that he was still fully dressed in jeans and a white undershirt. He held a mug in his hand and his feet were bare. "You missed some really good hot cocoa tonight and my chocolate oatmeal cookies." he said teasingly.

  Willetta smiled tightly as he set the mug on the wide rail of the staircase. Her mind raced to figure out what she would get out of the car. Everything was in her room. The car was completely emptied of her things except for the journals.

  Andrik opened a small box on the side of the wall and punched a few keys. He then opened the door and gestured for Willetta to go ahead of him out the door. Willetta felt like a mischievous child as she walked through the door and onto the porch. What could she do? Andrik must know that the car was empty. He emptied it. He had patiently brought in all her things. Then she remembered. Her laptop was underneath the passenger seat. She barely controlled a sigh of relief.

  "Give me the keys. I'll open the door for you," Andrik said.

  Willetta handed him the keys and was surprised when he took her hand and pulled her into his arms. He lifted her completely off the ground and settled her onto the trunk of her car. His hands stayed at her waist as he bent his head and settled his lips on hers.

  She could smell the hot chocolate he'd been drinking, the soap he had showered with and something else. She decided it was his essence and she liked it. His lips opened over hers hungrily and she opened to him. Willetta was never sure exactly how it happened, but before she knew it he had lifted her off the trunk of the car and her legs were around his waist. He held her effortlessly as the kiss deepened and became slightly erotic.

  Neither of them soft the slim figure of Olivia as she descended the porch and stood behind them. The gown she wore was thick as wool. The ruffles of its collar covered her chin and the hem rested on the ground. It was a prudish gown to say the very least.

  "Grandma sent me down here to tell you 1 Thessalonians 4:3-8 says, " For this is the will of God, even your sanctification, that ye should abstain from fornication. That every one of you should know how to possess his vessel in sanctification and honor; Not in the lust of concupiscence, even as the Gentiles which know not God….."

  "Okay, Olivia. Okay. We get it. Are you her grandchild or her employee," Andrik asked irritably. He let Willetta down slowly. She was thankful for it, because her head was simply swimming.

  "I am both. I have worked for grandma since I was fifteen and decided I couldn't live with my stepbrother and father anymore. Well, I've delivered the message and will see you in the morning. Goodnight, please," she said

  meaningfully and turned sharply to go back into the house.

  "Willetta, pull your gown down," Andrik growled. "And whatever you came out here for can just wait til in the morning."

  He dragged her back onto the porch, through the door, which he slammed. He pulled her up the stairs and nudged her through her bedroom door, after which he locked it before closing it firmly.

  Willetta stood rooted to the spot as she replayed the entire scene. The realization that she had been standing with her gown hitched up to her neck, while Olivia quoted scriptures to her and Andrik, sent her burrowing beneath the covers in mortification.

  #

  Andrik was lost the minute he saw her standing in the moonlight. Her entire body was outlined through that sheer gown. There was absolutely nothing left for the imagination except for the color of her skin and he had that committed to memory.

  Her beauty, honesty, kindness, and simple nature were things he'd only dreamed of finding in one woman. He'd never in his life been enthralled by any one woman. But when Olivia started quoting that scripture, while he held Willetta in his arms, a primal ferocity rose within his chest and it was all he could do to keep from chasing her back into the house or picking up rocks and throwing them at her.

  Andrik laughed at the picture his thoughts evoked and then he couldn't stop laughing as he remembered how Willetta looked with her gown jumbled up around her hips, while Olivia recited passages from the Bible. He put a pillow over his head and roared with laughter.

  CHAPTER 19

  Volume 1, pg.1 ( August 1930): "William is dead. Sylvia Jean is heartbroken. I think she blames me. She never learned to trust me like the other girls do. She's asking for the journals. I will give them to her when I die, because they say confession is good for the soul. "

  #

  Martha Thompson announced the plans for them all the next morning. "We're going to see Aunt Olivia and spend the day with her. She got pictures of some folks I want you and Willetta to see, Andrik. You going too Octavia," she said.

  "Exodus fifteen verse 17! And he that curseth his father, or his mother, shall surely be put to death. Amen. Get my bag, Olivia. We're going out of respect. Momma probably too old now to say what's on her mind anyway."

  "Don't count on it. Her mind is fine, Octavia," Martha laughed.

  #

  As it turned out, Aunt Olivia only lived thirty minutes away in Batesville, Mississippi. No one said a word as they drove down a long, paved drive with a fortress of magnolia trees. The lush green yards were well manicured and spread grandly around what had to be the most palatial home Willetta had ever been this close to in her life.

  "She lives here," Andrik asked in disbelief.

  "Yep. Don't get all uptight. She ain't hoitytoity. She just live this way because this how her husband le
ft her situated," Martha said by way of explanation.

  Andrik stopped before an electronic gait and announced to the attendant who they were. There was a moment of silence, as the attendant conferred with someone. Then every gate on the

  establishment opened simultaneously.

  "Genesis twenty-two verse seventeen! 'and thy seed shall possess the gate of his enemies', Amen!"

  "What we gone do with you, Octavia?" Martha asked.

  "Grandma, please," Olivia said softly.

  Andrik looked across the seat at Willetta. She was a pretty picture this morning in her sundress. The bright colors of pink and emerald green complemented the deep brown of her skin. Her hair was pulled back and hung in a pony tail. The ends were curled under attractively. Little pink earring studs were in her ears and multi-colored jewelry studded sandals were on her feet. She looked young and fresh.

  They hadn't had a moment alone this morning and so had not discussed what happened between them last night. Andrik knew she was embarrassed, because she was the last one to come down this morning.

  "Watch the road young man," Martha said.

  Andrik ignored her and drove slowly through the last gate, which brought them onto a circular brick parkway at the front entrance of the three-story home. A woman in a nurse's uniform came through the huge double doors pushing a very small and frail woman in a wheelchair. She stopped and waited as they piled out of the car.

  As they mounted the three-tiered brick steps, the nurse pushed the elderly lady closer. "You came back, I see," she said to Martha, "and brought some more family with you. Good!" she said merrily.

  Martha bent over to kiss her leathery cheeks. "I told you I would," she said and winked. "This is Willetta Jones, my granddaughter. This tall man here is Andrik Thompson, Mama Jean's grandson." Martha turned and looked at them, "This here is yall's Aunt Olivia Thompson Lewis. The oldest living family member we got. She ninety years old."

  Aunt Olivia smiled at them and the twinkle in her eyes belied her age. She was a sharp old woman and there was no mistaking it.

  Willetta hurried forward and bent to hug her, "It's so nice to finally meet you."

  Andrik bent his tall frame in half to embrace her as well. Aunt Octavia and Olivia stood to the side looking acutely uncomfortable.

  "Come here Octavia and Ollie," Aunt Olivia said. "That child still looks just like you Octavia. I sure hope she has more sense than you. Yall give me a hug and a kiss. A woman my age can't afford to be mad."

  Olivia seemed relieved and eagerly gathered her great grandmother in her arms. The hug spoke volumes. Olivia loved her great grandmother. Next, Octavia kissed her mother gently on the cheek and backed away. She was silent for a change.

  Silence fell over the small group and Willetta felt uncomfortable. Aunt Olivia sat in her chair and looked at each of them. Her eyes landed on Andrik and she said, "You look just like Ricky Myers, your granddaddy. He was a tall man and black as a spade." Her voice was strong but gravelly with age.

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Lewis, but we should get you out of the sun," the nurse said.

  "Please pardon my bad manners, children. Do come on into the house. I don't get much company and excitement done overcame me." She covered her lips and giggled like a little girl.

  The moment they entered the house, Willetta was enchanted. The inside was a total contrast to the outside of the home. This was no den of luxury. This was the home of a ninety-yearold woman. Century old furniture was pushed against every wall. Shelves and shelves of ancient books adorned the walls and darkened the interior, which was lit by myriads of antique lamps. Throw rugs were scattered here and there in no particular order along the wood floors. The oddest thing about the home was the pictures. They were literally everywhere. Black and white pictures of faces long gone with smiles of the past were displayed in an unending assortment of frames. Every length of wall unoccupied by books was occupied by pictures. The eyes literally had no respite in this place.

  The picture of a boy about fifteen years old caught Willetta's attention. Recognition registered and as if walking through a very narrow tunnel Willetta walked toward the picture. With shaking hands she lifted it from its resting place. The conversation going on around her became muted and she felt herself falling.

  Andrik turned just in time to see Willetta sink to the floor in a dead faint clutching the picture of a young boy in her hands.

  CHAPTER 20

  Volume 1, pg. 10 ( August 1930): "I blame William for my Willetta's death. If he had not killed that old woman for this house and land things would have been so different for him. 'Soul for a soul,' says the Lord.""

  #

  Aunt Olivia's nurse pressed a cold towel against Willetta's face. Her eyes fluttered and then opened wide.

  "Are you okay, child," Aunt Olivia asked. The old lines of her face furrowed in worry.

  "I don't know," Willetta said. Her heart beat wildly.

  Andrik's strong hand held hers tightly and provided consolation and strength as she grappled for control.

  "Wh…who is the boy in the picture," she asked in a small voice that didn't sound like her own.

  "Why that's Ollie's brother, Octavia's grandson and my great grandson," she said. "He's a bad seed though, child. He's in prison right now for some unspeakable crimes he committed. You don't know him. That's a picture of him when he was in school."

  Willetta could not control the shaking that overtook her. Andrik slid beside her on the love seat and wrapped his arms around her. "What is it, Lettie. Tell us. So, we can help you," he pleaded.

  "I can't," she cried. "Please, Andrik, get me out of here. I can't stay any longer. I have to go." Willetta knew she was out of control when she threw her arms around Andrik's neck. She was desperate for an anchor, any anchor.

  "Child what is it? Did that boy do something to you?" Aunt Olivia demanded.

  Andrik swiftly hefted Willetta into his arms and stood. His face was a mask of iron and steel as his voice fairly boomed, "Is there a room where I can take her. She needs some privacy."

  The nurse literally ran towards the stairwell to lead them out of the parlor and up to one of the private bedrooms. She closed the door on them as Andrew laid Willetta on the full-sized sleigh bed and opened a window.

  "Willetta, he's the one who raped you isn't he?" he said.

  #

  Olivia Thompson Lewis had not lived to be ninety without being shrewd. She rarely missed a thing. So, she had not missed the bored look of resignation on young Olivia's face when she saw Willetta on the floor clutching the picture of Orlando Jr.

  "Nurse Becky, please tell Olivia Townsend to come to me. Tell Martha and Octavia to stay where they are. I just want Olivia."

  A little while later Olivia entered the private reading room where Andrik, Aunt Olivia and Nurse Becky had taken Willetta to revive her. The room was small and cozy. There was a fireplace and of course, two walls devoted to books and one wall devoted to portraits. A small desk sat in front of a window flanked by huge cactus plants. A long sky blue couch and cherry wood coffee table sat in the very center of the room.

  "You wanted to see me," Olivia said. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back. The black slacks and black blouse she wore made her skin appear ashen and sallow.

  "Black does not become you. Maybe you should try pastels. Have a seat, child," Aunt Olivia said.

  Olivia obeyed the same way a pet or a dog would. Aunt Olivia did not like it. "Child you have allowed your grandmother to turn you into a slave. Is money that important to you." she asked.

  "Ecclesiastes 7: 12 says, 'For wisdom is a defence, and money is a defence: but the excellency of knowledge is, that wisdom giveth life to them that have it.'" she said.

  "I agree. Wisdom does giveth life to them that have it. That is why you will listen to me. I am ninety years old and I can help you. But first things first, what did your brother do to that child?" she asked.

  "He raped her," she said.

  Aunt Olivia was
too old to be shocked. "How old was she when this happened."

  "She was fifteen."

  "How do you know all of this, Olivia?"

  Olivia shifted in her seat and looked at the floor. She seemed to be giving serious thought about how to answer.

  "Just spit it out. I'm old. I don't have forever to sit here and wait on you," Aunt Olivia snapped.

  "Grandma sent me to pick Junior up from school. Seniors were getting out early that day. When he got in the car he was smelly and sweaty and laughing like he had lost his mind. That's when I saw her crawl from out of the bushes with her clothes torn off. Junior was eager to let me know what he had done. He called her 'Jones' and said he had 'jumped ole Jones' bones'. I made him get out of the car and I left him there," she finished.

  "How long have you known Willetta," she asked.

  "I just met her yesterday," Olivia said.

  "When you saw her did you know she was the same one your brother molested," Aunt Olivia asked.

  "I do have a very long memory," Olivia replied.

  #

  Andrik sat on the end of the bed with Willetta's feet in his lap. He massaged them until her trembling abated. Neither one of them said a word. Willetta had only nodded her head in affirmation that the boy in the picture had indeed raped her. Long moments passed and when her breathing finally stabilized and she no longer felt the need to run in terror, she began to talk.

  "Now this is what they mean by coming full circle. It was foolish of me to think I could run away from something like this. I should have stayed and gotten it over with back then," she said. "He gave me money to run away and keep my mouth shut. He said his sister, that witch

  downstairs, said it was for the best. Even told me where to go. Atlanta, Georgia. And I went. He could have found me and raped me again. Who knows, maybe he tried. I was so stupid," she cried.

  Andrik remained silent. He wanted her to talk about it freely. She needed to get it out of her system. There was only one way to get rid of this kind of poison. It had to be purged. He would listen.