The Long Secret

by Louise Fitzhugh

  “Okay, the hotel first,” said Harriet, not hearing correctly.

  Grateful that she hadn’t had to ask again to go there, Beth Ellen pumped her bike with great energy and soon they were all flying along as happy as birds. The road was pleasantly flat and there were no frightening highways or railroad tracks to cross.

  Harriet rode ahead a little. Beth Ellen and Janie, feeling the heat of the sun, rode slowly a little behind. Harriet was having doubts about spying in a crowd. She had never done it before. It didn’t seem right at all. It was much easier to catch three people than one. She circled her bike around to come back to tell them this.

  “… so then,” Janie was saying as Harriet pulled alongside them, “the lining builds up again.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Harriet, “can’t you both ever talk about anything else?”

  She was so emphatic that they simply shut up and looked at her.

  “Well,” said Janie and smiled a superior little smile, “that’s because you haven’t—”

  Harriet knew so completely what she was going to say and felt so profoundly irritated that she banged right over her, shouting, “Listen, you two, I may be undeveloped but I know a lot about spying and I never in my whole life ever heard of three people going spying.”

  They looked at her as well as they could, considering they were all flying along.

  “So?” said Janie.

  “Well, you have now,” said Beth Ellen.

  Harriet stared at Beth Ellen. It was totally unlike Beth Ellen to say anything sharp.

  “That’s telling ’em, Mouse,” said Janie and laughed.

  “Well,” said Harriet, “if you get caught because you’re inexperienced, don’t blame me. And don’t even say you know me. Nobody knows anybody if we get caught.”

  “We’re just three strange girls who wandered into a hotel, is that it?” asked Janie, then added: “A likely story. What kind of fool would believe that?”

  “BUNNY!” shouted Harriet and almost fell off the bike at her own wit.

  Beth Ellen fumed but said nothing. Bunny wasn’t a fool. He was a sweet man who played the piano. She thought of his sweet plump face as he sang and played.

  Harriet, feeling much better, zoomed on ahead.

  “Who’s Bunny?” asked Janie.

  “The piano player at the hotel,” said Beth Ellen primly and rode faster.

  Janie kept up and soon they were at the hotel. They put their bikes against the high hedge and Janie, not knowing any better, started to walk up the front path. Harriet grabbed her shirt and frantically pulled her back. “Listen here,” she hissed, “you want to get us all killed? Now you follow me because I know what I’m doing.”

  Then they heard it. Beth Ellen stood entranced. It was the piano in the bar. Bunny was rehearsing a new song. Beth Ellen had to be pulled out of her trance by Harriet, who whispered loudly in her ear, “The best way into the bar at this time of day is through the front door. No one is there, and we can’t go through the kitchen because the chef is there.”

  She lined them up like recruits. “The best way to go unnoticed is to just walk in without looking suspicious.” She marched them through the yard and in the front door. The bar was to the right, the dining room to the left. Harriet pulled them into the dining room, which was empty. The long white cloths seemed to stretch for miles.

  “The best thing to do,” she whispered, “is to go in the back door of the bar so we come out behind the bar. Then we can see what Bunny’s up to by peeking over, and he won’t see us. Follow me.” She led them through the dining room to a back door which led into the hall and was directly across from the back door of the bar. They tiptoed across the hall and then, following Harriet’s example, they bent low as they entered the bar. They were nose to nose with thousands of bottles and it all smelled rather bad. Harriet pointed them each to a different position and they took it. Ever so slowly Harriet peeked over the bar, then ducked down.

  Well, she thought, this is really boring. There’s just Bunny playing the piano. I’ll let Beth Ellen get a good look at him and then we’ll get out of here.

  Just at that moment the phone, which was sitting on top of the bar, rang.

  Bunny didn’t stop playing. Someone will come in, thought Harriet, and being the good spy she was, took cover. The only problem with this was that the only place to hide was the beer cooler. She made a dive for it, got the top off and herself inside. She made a great noise on top of the beer bottles and her sneakers got sloshed, but it couldn’t be helped. She pulled the top over her, leaving herself room to breathe, and wondered what the other two had done. Bunny stopped playing and answered the phone. “AGATHA, darling,” he shouted. He always seemed to shout. “Yes, darling girl, I just this minute got back from Mass. I was just working out a little something here … working out, yes.”

  Agatha, thought Harriet; what sounds familiar about that? She wondered feverishly what Beth Ellen and Janie were doing.

  Beth Ellen, even though dying for a look at Bunny, had thrown herself prone with terror onto the bar floor. Janie, her scientific curiosity having gotten the better of her, had simply stood up and looked at Bunny. His back was to her and he was too engrossed in his conversation to notice her, so she had looked a little and kneeled down again.

  “Well, yes, love, yes … don’t worry about ole Bunny, love, I’ll take care of it. I’ll just tell them that Mrs. Plumber told me to charge it.”

  Mrs. Plumber! Harriet almost stood up and yelled. He was talking to Agatha Plumber. Harriet couldn’t believe her ears. Agatha Plumber was one of the very special people that Harriet had spied on all last winter. She was a flighty aging socialite who was forever trying to find something to do that would interest her.

  “Well, dear, I do think you should attend to some things here once in a while…. Yes, I know…. But we must remember that there’s no manager…. Well, I know he disappeared…. But I’ve run clubs all over the world, Agatha, in Capri, in Rome, Paris, New York, and—I do what I can here, but, Agatha, you’re the OWNER!” Bunny’s rasping frog voice was getting huskier with each yell.

  Harriet sat stunned on the ice. Agatha Plumber owned this place?

  “Darling, my wife and I ran a club like an oiled machine. … I don’t care…. Then fire me … I don’t care…. You run this place like a pushcart!” He slammed the phone down and stomped to the piano. Great, billowing music filled the room as soon as he sat down. He played ferociously. He played so loud the floor boards shook.

  Harriet stole from the cooler under cover of the noise. She beckoned to Janie, kneeling calmly, and to Beth Ellen, who looked up from the floor. They crept out after her.

  Harriet ran like a wet bird down the hall, her sneakers sloshing. The other two ran over her wet footprints and then they were all outside.

  “Thank heavens,” said Harriet; “my ankles were frozen.” As they were walking through the front yard they heard the phone in the bar ring again.

  “Poor Bunny,” said Beth Ellen. “He has to do everything.”

  Harriet looked at her. She started to make fun of her, then decided not to. “He probably does, with that Mrs. Plumber owning it,” she said importantly.

  “Who’s she?” asked Janie.

  “Oh, just some woman I know in New York,” said Harriet airily.

  They got on their bikes. “Does Bunny… is Bunny…?” Beth Ellen wanted desperately to know something about Bunny and Agatha but didn’t know quite how to say it.

  “Gee,” said Harriet, entranced by the idea, “I don’t know!”

  Beth Ellen slumped inside. Maybe this Agatha would marry Bunny and take him away.

  “Come on,” said Harriet. “Let’s go to Mama Jenkins’s.” She pushed off on her bike and Janie and Beth Ellen followed.

  Even though the sun was hot now, they rode very fast and were soon pulling into the driveway of the Jenkinses’ house. A strange silence sat over the house. They stopped in the back and looked at the empty garag
e. The big pot was boiling away frantically, but there was no one watching it. Most of the watermelons were gone, but there were still enough to feed thousands of people.

  “What is THAT?” asked Janie. She put her bike down and went over and looked in the pot. “You’d think it would be a fire hazard.” She peered into the bubbling mess.

  Harriet was already up the back steps and trying the back door. “It’s locked,” she said firmly. “They’re not here.”

  “It’s toe medicine,” said Beth Ellen to Janie.

  “WHAT?” Janie was incredulous. “That’s ridiculous. How can you make toe medicine out of watermelons?”

  “Well, I don’t know, but have you ever tried?” Harriet asked smartly.

  “Hmmph!” said Janie.

  “Come on,” said Harriet. “They’ve gone somewhere.” She got on her bike and rolled out of the driveway. Janie and Beth Ellen followed. “Let’s go to the beach,” Harriet yelled back at them.

  Janie put on her big straw hat as though the cancer were going to get her before she got there, and they pushed on through the hot day.

  hey were all sitting on the beach after a long swim. Janie was reading a chemistry journal and Beth Ellen was staring at the ocean. Harriet was working on her story about Bunny. She had decided that he had been brought up by a very old aunt because his own parents had disappeared. She planned, if she had not uncovered the note leaver by the end of the summer, to have Bunny turn out to be the culprit. To make this believable she had decided to have The Preacher turn out to be Bunny’s long-lost father. She chewed her pencil and thought about this. Bunny didn’t look a thing like The Preacher, that was the only drawback. Maybe it would be better to have Agatha turn out to be Bunny’s mother, or just have Agatha marry Bunny and have the whole thing end in a lot of rice-throwing. It was a problem.

  She chewed her pencil and looked around the beach. For a hot day it wasn’t very crowded. She turned around and looked everywhere.

  “Hey!” she said suddenly and pointed to the crest of the dune behind them.

  Beth Ellen turned around and followed her gaze. Her eyes widened.

  Janie looked up, irritated. “Can’t we ever have any peace and quiet around here?”

  “Nobody has said a word for an hour,” Harriet snapped, never taking her eyes off the hill. Across the dune marched Mama Jenkins like a behemoth out for food. Norman and Jessie Mae tumbled after her. Magnolia was a dot, struggling.

  “Listen, Beth Ellen,” said Harriet, “this is our chance.”

  Beth Ellen looked at her in astonishment and Janie pulled her hat down farther over her eyes and buried her nose in her journal. They were used to Harriet’s vagaries.

  Harriet snatched her spy notebook and wrote:

  WHEN THEY’RE IN SWIMMING, MAYBE I CAN SEARCH THEIR BELONGINGS AND WHOEVER HAS A RED CRAYON IS THE NOTE LEAVER. MAYBE I COULD HAVE BUNNY SOLVE THIS IN THE STORY, HAVE HIM A DETECTIVE AND NOBODY KNOWS IT. BUT HOW CAN I HAVE HIM SOLVE IT WHEN I CAN T EVEN SOLVE IT?

  She watched them walking across the sand on the top of the dune. Norman was carrying all the towels and Jessie Mae a huge picnic basket. Mama Jenkins carried nothing and Magnolia struggled under the weight of a large green rubber dinosaur.

  “HEY!” said Harriet and yelled all the way as she ran across the sand toward them. They finally heard her and Mama Jenkins stopped still as a rock. When she finally got underneath the dune so they could look down at her, Harriet yelled, “Why don’t you come sit over here? It’s cooler near the water.”

  Mama Jenkins looked down at her and laughed. “Hi,” said Jessie Mae, and Norman scowled. Magnolia giggled.

  “Let’s go down there, Mama,” said Jessie Mae.

  Mama Jenkins chuckled and launched herself down the dune. She wore the same black dress she always seemed to wear, but this didn’t stop her from descending in an avalanche of sand right to the bottom of the dune. She almost knocked Harriet over when she landed, but Harriet jumped away to avoid being hit by the rest of the Jenkinses, who came pell-mell after their mother.

  “Now, then, little chicken, where’s a good spot?” asked Mama Jenkins.

  “Over here, where we are,” said Harriet, thinking as she did so, Janie will kill me.

  She led them struggling through the sand over to Janie and Beth Ellen, who were watching her progress toward them with open mouths.

  “Reckon it is cooler here,” said Mama Jenkins, plopping down beside Janie, who gave her one agonized look and buried herself in her book again.

  Norman, Jessie Mae, and Magnolia seemed to be all over the place at once, spreading towels and taking all their belongings out of the huge basket. Mama Jenkins didn’t seem to care about towels but just sat right down in the sand.

  “Jessie Mae, this is Janie. Janie, this is Mama Jenkins and Norman and Jessie Mae and Magnolia, and you know Beth Ellen.” Harriet got it all out quickly because she was beginning to wonder what Janie would do.

  “Hi, y’all,” said Jessie Mae in a friendly fashion. Magnolia grabbed a drumstick from the picnic basket, and ate it. Norman ran into the ocean. Mama Jenkins nodded to them and fanned herself with a book. “Mighty hot, ain’t it?”

  “MAMA!” screamed Jessie Mae so loudly that they all jumped, “don’t do that. That’s the Good Book!”

  Mama Jenkins looked with astonishment at the Bible she was fanning herself with. “Why, so it is. What’s that doing here?” Jessie Mae snatched at it, but Mama Jenkins teased her by holding on to it. “Makes a mighty good fan, anyway,” said Mama Jenkins and bellowed a laugh that made Janie sit straight up. Jessie Mae leapt at Mama Jenkins, but Mama Jenkins just calmly opened the Bible. “Look here,” she said, reading, “‘Presented to Saint John’s Sunday School in memory of Miss Eulalee Banks.’ Who’s this here Eulalee, Jessie Mae?”

  Jessie Mae was grabbing at her Bible and now said in a whine, “You ’member, she’s that little girl that burned up.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember now, that Harvey Banks’s girl, struck too many matches, burned right up.” And so saying, she seemed to lose interest entirely and threw the book to Jessie Mae.

  “MAMA!” Jessie Mae was horrified. “You shouldn’t ever throw this book! This book is sacred!”

  Harriet was watching everything wildly, looking back and forth at this tennis match.

  “Ain’t the book what’s sacred, Jessie Mae,” said Mama Jenkins in a bored way. “It’s what’s in the book that’s sacred.”

  Jessie Mae stood stunned. Harriet, Beth Ellen, and even Janie looked at her to see what she would do next.

  “I’m gonna take me a swim,” said Mama Jenkins and heaved herself to her feet. “Come on, Magnolia, Mama’ll take you for a swim.” Without further ado she hoisted Magnolia onto her shoulders and marched toward the water.

  “She has on a dress!” said Harriet, horrified.

  “Mama don’t ever wear a suit; she’s too fat,” said Jessie Mae, looking after Mama Jenkins in a defeated way.

  They watched fascinated, as did everyone else on the beach, as Mama Jenkins walked straight to the water and straight into it. Magnolia clapped her hands with glee as Mama Jenkins walked solidly on and on.

  “Well!” said Harriet, having no words for the sight. Jessie Mae sat down, smoothed her towel, and appeared to brood.

  Harriet watched her through slit eyes, thinking. What kind of a pill would bring the Bible to the beach? It must be her leaving those notes. Who else would be crazy enough to? But how can I catch her?

  Norman came back to the towels, dove into the picnic basket, and started eating everything he saw.

  “Norman, ask the folks if they want some. Don’t just gobble,” said Jessie Mae, and when Norman said nothing, she looked at them all. “Would you like some fried chicken? There’s plenty for everybody. Mama made enough for an army.”

  Harriet looked at Norman gobbling and thought, There’s your army.

  Janie reached out one skinny arm as though Jessie Mae might bite her. Jessie Mae gave h
er some chicken. Beth Ellen and Harriet said No.

  Jessie Mae chewed distractedly on a chicken leg and watched Mama Jenkins in the water. She was sitting next to Harriet, so she spoke quietly to her. “I’m not sure but what Mama ought to wear a bathing suit up here. After all, we ain’t in Mississippi anymore.”

  Norman sat down beside her. “Why?” he said with his mouth full. “It’s cheaper this way.”

  “Money ain’t everything, Norman,” said Jessie Mae in a way that made Harriet wonder if this primness was being affected for her sake. “I’m just not sure it’s God’s way to wear a black dress in the water.”

  “God ain’t everything either,” snarled Norman and took another dive at the picnic basket.

  Mama Jenkins was out of the water now, moving like a black armored car through knots of people whose heads jerked around in amazement. The black dress clung wetly to the strange lumps which made up her body, her brown hair was a straggle down her freckled face. But she was beaming and Magnolia was crowing with delight.

  Beth Ellen was watching the whole scene with enormous eyes. There was something about the good-natured, bearlike rough-and-tumble of the Jenkins family that made her feel nervous and somewhat frightened. They made her want to hide so they wouldn’t suddenly notice her and jump on her or make her play some wild outgoing game. She looked at Janie, who was watching everyone stealthily from under her big hat. She knew that Janie wasn’t afraid, because Janie wasn’t afraid of anything. Certainly Harriet wasn’t. Harriet was not unlike the Jenkinses, always leaping into everything and thinking later. Jessie Mae isn’t so bad by herself, she thought; it’s the others. She watched Norman eat. Incredible, she thought. I bet I don’t eat that much in a week.

  Jessie Mae was sitting beside her now and she looked at her in a friendly way. “Sure you don’t want some? Mighty good.”

  “No, thank you,” said Beth Ellen.

  Harriet was leaning her head back to hear their conversation.

  Norman and Mama Jenkins now began a shouting contest over everyone’s heads. They seemed to be oblivious to other people.