Secret Lives Read online

  October 3, 1941

  I got a terrible shock last night. After I left the cave I found Daddy sitting on the stoop of the house and I asked him what he meant, saying Mama wasn't right since I come along. He was holding the whiskey bottle and he took about five long swigs before he spoke.

  “Mama weren't your real Mama,” he said. He went on to explain that Mama had a sister, called Sissy, and that she was my Mama! She killed herself a few days after I was born because she wasn't married. Mama took losing Sissy real hard and Daddy and Mama took me in. “We adopted you,” Daddy said. “Figured we'd bring you and Kyle up brother and sister.”

  “You're not my real Daddy,” I said.

  “I'm your Daddy every way but one, girl, and don't you go thinking anything else.” He was part angry and part sad and I thought I better not ask him any more questions.

  At first I wasn't going to tell Kyle. But last night I was crying in bed and just couldn't stop and he came over and put his arms around me. He thought I was crying about Mama. But then I told him what Daddy told me and he kept saying, “It can't be true, it can't be.” But I said I knew it was. I was holding onto him tight because I was afraid he'd start to feel different about me and maybe never hug me again. But then he said, “Kate, I don't care who your Mama was, you'll always be my sister.”

  October 20, 1941

  Daddy talks more these days. At the dinner table when he's done eating, he pushes his chair back and talks about the mill, or work that needs doing round the house. Mostly he talks about Mama and I am surprised how much he misses her. I think it is not really the Mama I knew that he misses, but the woman she used to be long ago, before I come along.

  “She was so beautiful,” Daddy says, looking out the window. “And she could sing.”

  I try to picture Mama singing but it's impossible.

  “Dance too,” he says and smiles. “I bet you never thought your Ma could dance. She was like a winged angel on the dance floor, free and light. Always smiling, she was.” Daddy looked down at his empty plate and I tried to recall the last time I saw Mama smile. I couldn't.

  “What was my Mama like, Daddy?” I asked.

  “Sissy? Pretty as a flower petal. All the boys liked your Mama, which was part of the problem, I reckon. She was shamed when she had you, not being sure who your pa was and all. People was mean to her. Guess she didn't think she had much of a life left after that. But Mama wanted to take you in. She wanted babies more than anything,” Daddy said. “When you was born, Kyle, she'd cuddle you and kiss you and sing to you. She felt fine. She was up right away after you was born, happy as ever I seen her. Eyes glowing all the time. She'd take you to the market to show you off. Then when Sissy kilt herself and you come to us,” Daddy said and looked at me, “she took sick. Something in her chest. I thought at first that was the reason for her mood. She'd be up all night, coughing. That was your lullaby, Kate, Mama's cough. She didn't have the strength to hold you much. Then she started seeing things that wasn't there, imagining things. I thought it was cause she weren't sleeping enough. She just changed from night to day. She took no pleasure in Kyle, neither, after that.”

  “I'm sorry, Daddy.” I could hardly look at him.

  “No, Kate,” he said. “Don't go blaming yourself. Maybe it was having to look after two babies so close in years, right on top of her sister's passing. Too much at one time for anybody.”

  Daddy stood up and took his plate to the basin and I stood up too, wanting to get to my cave where I knew I would feel instantly better. Daddy turned to look at me.

  “Don't know where it is you spend all your time, girl,” he said.

  I just looked at him, my insides churning.

  “You safe there?” he asked.

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Go on, then.”

  I feel so sad tonight. There was a woman who was my mother that I never knew. Pretty as a flower petal and shamed by my birth. And Mama. Seems like she was a normal mother before I came along. A happy cheerful person. I guess I ruined two women's lives.

  December 1, 1941

  Miss Crisp thinks I am a good writer, just like Mrs. Renfrew did. I wrote a story about a girl who discovered a treasure (precious jewels) in a cave and Miss Crisp read it out loud to the class. She reads in a breathy voice with pauses in places I would never think to pause and it makes my little story sound like poetry. I got real nervous when she read it and could hardly breathe. Then she said, “You have bona fide talent, Katherine.” She pronounced bona fide “bona fi-dee” and everyone turned to look at me. I heard Sara Jane whisper something to Priscilla and Priscilla giggled. I hate Priscilla. When school started this year she asked me why I cut my hair off. She said it was the one pretty thing about me and I went and did away with it. I know I am the ugliest girl in the class. They all have long hair and they wear ribbons in it and Sara Jane has dimples that Kyle keeps bringing up in conversations that have nothing to do with anything. When he talks like that, admiring Sara Jane or some other girl, I feel about to have a heart attack. Truly there is a pain in my chest and one day I'm going to drop dead away at his feet.

  Kyle sits in my cave at night (we wrap up in blankets now because it's right chilly, though warmer in the cave than out) and asks me who do I think is prettiest? Who's nicest? This is all Kyle thinks about these days. Sometimes lately Miss Crisp will call on him and he has no idea what she's asking him about because he is so busy staring at the black braids running down Lucy's back.

  We are all changing in that class. Our bodies, I mean. Getch's forehead is covered with pimples. William has fine black hair on his upper lip. Sara Jane's breasts have grown so big that the buttons of her blouses stretch the buttonholes. I have come to realize that breasts are very powerful things. Kyle sometimes turns to jelly when he stares at Sara Jane's breasts, which is often and even I have felt the power of my own breasts. They are much smaller than Sara Jane's but if I pull my shoulders back when I walk past Getch or William I can feel their eyes on me and I know I have power over them. Also, when this happens, I feel an odd tingling in my breasts like Getch and William's eyes are actually touching me. Sometimes my breasts ache to be touched, and sometimes in bed at night after Kyle's asleep, I touch them myself. I am amazed that anything can feel so good.

  This is all very much on my mind tonight because of a talk Kyle and I had earlier here in my cave. Kyle is by far the handsomest boy in our class. He is tall—just fifteen and already near six feet. His hair is very straight and thick and always shiny and his teeth are beautiful and white (I have the same teeth). He is broad acrost the shoulders and wearing Daddy's shirts now.

  Anyhow, tonight he asked me if sometimes at school I tried to imagine how the boys look without their clothes on! I said “No!!! Why would I want to make myself sick?”

  Then he looked worried and I realized he was imagining how Sara Jane and Lucy looked naked and he thought he wasn't normal. Is he? Is that normal? I don't know.

  I heard Sara Jane and Priscilla talking about their “friend” and I know they mean ministration. I wish I could ask them questions about it because I still don't understand the purpose of this monthly misery, but as soon as they figured I was trying to listen in on their conversation, they stopped talking.

  December 7, 1941

  The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor today. Before today I'd never heard of Pearl Harbor. I know about the war—everyone does, but I never realized we were in any danger. All day that's all anyone is thinking or talking about and Daddy sits quietly by the radio, just listening. The president will ask for a declaration of war. We are in it now.

  When I reread all the silly things I wrote the other day, about breasts and ministration, I wish I could erase it all. It seems so unimportant when you think that people are dying, that many more people will probably die before it's over. Kyle says he wants to fight. He is only fifteen! Daddy says he's got to finish school first, but that's two years away and surely this won't go on that long. I'm hoping it's over
by Christmas.

  January 6, 1942

  I went to school drunk yesterday. I don't have a good reason why. I just wanted a taste of Daddy's whiskey and didn't stop when I should of. I stayed all night before last in the cave, drinking and reading Jane Austen, wrapped up in my quilt. It was warm in there compared to outside. Kyle came to get me for school but I told him I was too tired, to go on without me. Then I showed up later. I thought maybe the walk would sober me up, but it didn't. I took my seat and Miss Crisp said, “Katherine, are you ill?” and Priscilla said, “No, she's drunk. Can't you smell her?”

  I said, “You smell all the time” to Priscilla. Then I said to Miss Crisp, “I don't believe Priscilla ever takes a bath.”

  Priscilla started crying and Sara Jane said, “You are so rude and disgusting” to me and Getch said, “Hey, Kate, you got any more of that stuff for me?” and Miss Crisp started walking towards me. All I could see was her big head getting closer and closer. Suddenly Kyle yanked me out of my seat by my arm and dragged me outside. He pushed me against the wall of the building and held me there.

  “What are you trying to do?” he yelled at me.

  I couldn't speak. His hands pressed my shoulders into the wall and his hips touched mine and I felt real dizzy.

  “How do you ever expect to make friends with anyone when you do things like this?”

  “I don't need friends,” I said. “I've got you as my friend.”

  Kyle backed away from me like I'd sprouted thorns all over me. “I'm glad I'm not your brother,” he said. He might as well have hit me, but then his voice went real quiet. “Go home,” he said. “Can you get there all right? Do you need me to walk you?”

  I shook my head, feeling ashamed. I made a promise to myself right then and there I will never do anything like that again. I won't embarrass him again in front of the other children. I won't make him ashamed to be my brother.

  June 6, 1942

  Getch's older brother Pete, who lives in Washington, is home for a visit and took us (Getch, Kyle and me) to the library in Winchester. I wasn't going to go, one, because I don't like going into town—it makes me real nervous for some reason—and two, because of Getch being along, but the library! How could I resist?

  I felt funny being the only girl. Pete who is twenty three years old and more handsome than Kyle (in a way) said he was pleased to have such pretty company in his car and “I'm not talking about my brother or yours,” he said to me. I don't think there's a person in the world who has ever called me pretty and at first I thought he was making fun of me but I could see by the look on his face that he meant it. Pete left us at the library and drove off to do some errands. I left the boys and the first thing I looked up was menstruation. (I have been spelling that word wrong for a long time.) It was also the last thing I looked up because I got so interested in what I was reading that I never got around to anything else.

  There were pictures in the book and explanations and now I know exactly why I bleed each month. I am amazed that my body knows to do this and that someday a baby could grow in my uterus. I only wish I didn't have to have a husband to make that happen.

  On the drive home I found myself staring at Pete's trousers, remembering what Kyle said about imagining the girls at school without their clothes on. I was amazed I was doing it too. I was too obvious though because when we got to our house, Pete chased Getch and Kyle out of the car and then he took my hand and set it right on the bulge in his trousers and said, “Is this what you want?”

  I pulled my hand away and tried to open the door but he caught my arm and the next thing I know his hand was up my skirt, his fingers pressing hard between my legs. The shameful thing is that I wanted to hold his hand there instead of pushing it away, but luckily pride got the better of me and I set my mouth to his shoulder and bit him hard til he let go of me. I got out of the car and ran all the way to my cave where my legs almost gave out on me. I was shaking all over. I kept thinking about my Mama. My real Mama, how she was loose with the boys. For the first time I can understand how a girl could come to be that way.

  I lit just the one candle on the ledge near the reflecting pool. Then I undressed in the cool darkness of my cave and lay down under the quilt on my mattress and touched myself where he had touched. My fingers seemed to know what to do, and very quickly a feeling came over me, like the river rushing towards the falls. And then I cried out, my voice a surprise to me as it echoed around my walls. I hoped nobody could hear me. They would of thought I was in pain, but it was not like any pain I ever felt before.

  June 7, 1942

  Kyle and I were studying for our exams last night in the cave when I realized he was staring at me. When I asked him why he was looking at me that way, he said, “You are pretty. I never noticed til Pete said it. But you are.”

  –8–

  Eden got out of bed before her alarm rang and pulled on her robe. No use lying awake staring at the ceiling any longer. Her mind was too full to let her sleep anyway. She wished she could call Cassie, but it was far too early. She walked downstairs and stood at the glass wall of the living room, watching the forest change from gray to green as the sun rose from behind the trees.

  Lou's easel stood next to her and Eden stepped back to study the painting. It was typical of Lou's work—ramshackle houses made of mud and tin set against a vivid blue, cloud-flecked sky. Some little village in South America, no doubt. Lou and Kyle had spent most of the last decade traveling in Ecuador and Colombia, Kyle completing his research, Lou taking photographs to use in her painting. She had an eye for irony, for contrasting the poverty of man against the richness of nature.

  Eden turned at a sound from the kitchen, and in a moment Kyle walked into the living room and handed her a mug of coffee.

  “Thanks.” She took the mug from him and sat down in the Barcelona chair by the fireplace. She felt awkward with Kyle this morning. There were things he hadn't told her, a world of things she hadn't known.

  “You're up early.” He lifted his own mug to his lips.

  “I didn't sleep very well.” She'd lain awake the night before thinking about Ben. What a disastrous evening. She'd finally concluded that Ben was a manipulator. He'd probably never accomplished what he'd hoped to as an archaeologist. He'd gotten this job from Kyle and was now going to kiss up to him for connections so he could move on to something grander. She'd grown so irritated thinking about him that she finally got up to read the journal, and after that it had been impossible to sleep. That was probably just as well. Sleep was not a friend these days. It was just the waiting period between nightmares.

  “Why didn't you tell me you're not my uncle?” she asked, the words blunt, reproachful.

  Kyle stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean no one is who I thought they were. My grandfather was not really my grandfather. You're my…what is it, second cousin?”

  “Ah, I see.” Kyle sat down on the sofa and rested his mug on his knee. “I think it would be first cousin once removed.”

  “Why didn't you tell me?”

  Kyle ran a hand over his beard. “When you first came to us, Eden, you were so withdrawn. I thought it would make it harder for you, more confusing. I didn't think it was that important. Then later…” He smiled. “Well, you were not the easiest adolescent to talk to.”

  She found herself smiling back. She was having a hard time holding on to her indignation. “No, I guess I wasn't.”

  “Maybe Lou and I just didn't know how to raise a teenager."

  Eden sighed. “I think it was my fault, Kyle, not yours. I hope Cassie will be a little easier to deal with than I was.” The tenderness in her words surprised her.

  “So.” Kyle lifted the mug to his lips. “How was dinner last night?”

  “A little strained. I don't think we'll ever be the best of friends.” She waited, expecting him to say something nice about Ben, something to endear him to her.

  But Kyle leaned back on the sofa. “Well, that relieves me s
omewhat. It's probably best for you and Ben just to work together at the site this summer and keep things impersonal.”

  She was surprised. And curious. “I thought you liked him.”

  “I love him. Like a son. But he's the wrong person for you to get involved with right now.”

  “Why?” She was right in her assessment of Ben after all, but she felt disappointed all the same.

  Kyle shrugged and looked into his mug.

  “I thought he might be using me. For my money, or his ego. Or to get more from you,” she ventured. “Connections or something.”

  Kyle's eyebrows shot up and he laughed. “No, honey, you're way off. Ben has more connections in the field than I do at this point. And he's no schemer. He had a very messy divorce, that's all. He's not over it yet. I'd love to see you with someone outside of Hollywood, Eden, but it should be someone who has his life in a little better shape.”

  “But why is he working here for ... I'm sure with your loss of funding you can't pay him much.” She suddenly realized that Kyle was probably paying Ben out of his own pocket.

  “You'll have to ask Ben that question.”

  “Where did he work before coming here?”

  “University of Maryland. He taught there. He was vice-chair of the department.”

  She sat forward. “Then why is he here at such a tiny enterprise?”

  Kyle shrugged.

  “You're not going to tell me, are you.”

  “My advice to you regarding Ben is to treat him kindly but keep your distance.”

  She sat back again, wrapped her hands around the mug in her lap. This entire exchange seemed familiar. Kyle sounded just as he had when she was a teenager and getting in with the drama crowd at school. She had finally belonged. But Kyle didn't like her new friends. His admonishments were always gently offered but unyielding. Softly masked authority that made her want to slug him. The kids were on drugs, he'd say. The boys would use her. “They're no good, honey, can't you see that? The only thing they're good at is acting, and they can charm you into doing things you'll regret. They can only hurt you in the end.”