Journals of the Secret Keeper (8 page)

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.
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 left 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.""