The Secret of the Dark

by Barbara Steiner

  I assumed I didn’t need to listen to her all the time and got up to do the dishes. My fork fell from my plate and clattered to the floor.

  “Someone’s coming,” Granny said quickly, returning to the present. “A fork means a man.”

  “Then I’d better get to work.” I laughed and sped through the dishes, leaving them on a rack to dry. I was careful not to drop any more silver since we didn’t need company until I got the place cleaned up.

  First I tackled my bedroom. No more sleeping on the couch. I hung the bed clothes on a line I found outside the cabin near a mound Granny said was a root cellar. The sun would freshen them. There was no vacuum so I banished cobwebs with the broom and then attacked dust with a rag and some lemon oil I found in the bathroom cupboard. The label was old so I knew it had been unused for a long time. It smelled tangy and soon the room glowed. The walls were a rough boarding with knotholes showing. The photos were Rue’s. There were trees, rocks, clouds, arty scenery shots.

  There was a table and chair in the room, both antiques — or they would be in New York. They were sturdy and made from wood with a beautiful pattern in the grain. I had wiped both pieces when suddenly I cursed my thoroughness. A sharp pain pierced my hand as I swiped across the chair bottom. Tears welled in my eyes, and I squeezed at the splinter that lodged in the palm of my hand just below my third finger. Geez, it was in deep.

  I capped the furniture polish and backed down the stairs carefully, rag and bottle in hand. “Granny, where do you keep your needles?”

  She came from her room, shuffling along in the house shoes she wore. Beside one of the overstuffed chairs sat a sewing box on legs. I had thought it was an end table. “Tears on your cheeks, child. I told you.”

  “You’d cry too if you had this big a splinter.” I snapped without meaning to, sounding like a little kid, but it was amazing how a little thing like a splinter could hurt so much. I picked at it after sterilizing the needle with a match, but it was too far in.

  About the time I was giving up and wondering what to do — I couldn’t leave a chunk of wood in my hand — there was a knock at the door. I sighed. There was Granny’s visitor, and I wasn’t surprised if it was a man, like Granny had said.

  “Come on in,” Granny called out. Did she always do that? It wasn’t safe.

  A middle-aged man entered as if he’d been there before. “Hello, Annie. Did your granddaughter get here?”

  I wasn’t really Granny’s relative, but I liked the idea. I’d never known either of my grandmothers. I introduced myself. “Yes, I’m here. Valerie Wreyford, but I guess I’d be Granny’s step-great-granddaughter. I shook the man’s hand, forgetting the splinter. “Ouch.” I cringed.

  “I’m Dr. Gallagher. What’s wrong? I didn’t think I was that powerful.” He turned my hand palm up and looked at the ugly red welt the splinter had made.

  “It’s only a splinter, but it feels like a log in there.”

  Dr. Gallagher ran his forefinger over the wound. “It’s pretty deep. I thought Annie was my only patient, but I see I have two.”

  I started to feel embarrassed. A doctor for a splinter?

  “Neal, would you bring in my bag?” Dr. Gallagher called back through the screen door. “I hardly ever need it — Annie is so healthy — but I never risk having to climb those stairs twice.” He smiled and his touch was gentle. He was very good-looking, and some gray at his temples made him look distinguished. Not what I would have expected for Catalpa Ridge. That was dumb of me. Had I come here expecting everyone to be a hillbilly? The stereotype you see on television? Surely I was smarter than that.

  “I’m very healthy too,” I said while we waited for Neal. “This is a battle wound. Dusting.”

  “Dangerous work. Valerie, I’d like you to meet my son, Neal. Sometimes he makes rounds with me.”

  Neal was another surprise, and one that made me a bit excited. The boy who entered the living room, carrying the doctor’s bag, was a younger version of the doctor. He was as handsome as his father, with that gentle, sensitive look reserved for artists, musicians, and — I guess — doctors. Again I realized I was being narrowminded, but Neal Gallagher could never have been a boxer or a lumberjack. His smile showed perfect white teeth. It took a physical effort to look away, and yet I felt my face heat up, having stared at him.

  “I keep trying to interest Neal in doctoring, but he has this obsession with music and storytelling. It’ll never bring him any money, but it appears that young people today don’t think as much of money as my generation did.”

  “Dad just doesn’t consider wandering the mountains of Arkansas and recording, work. When are you going to sing for me again, Granny deShan?” Neal asked.

  “I’ll sing now.” Granny reached for her guitar.

  “I didn’t bring my recorder,” Neal said.

  “Then hold Valerie’s good hand. This may hurt a bit.” Dr. Gallagher had swabbed my splinter wound with antiseptic and it stung.

  So there I sat, Dr. Gallagher holding one hand, Neal the other, while Granny strummed a few chords. Then she sang a bouncy song about birds courting.

  “Hi, said the blackbird sitting on a chair.

  Once I courted a lady fair.

  She proved fickle and turned her back.

  And ever since then I’ve dressed in black.”

  Removing the splinter did hurt, and I jerked slightly when Dr. Gallagher had to cut into the skin to get hold of it. Neal squeezed my other hand, and I hoped if he felt the way my pulse was racing, he would assume it was because of the doctoring.

  Granny went into one of her drifting periods when she finished the song, and I turned back to see my hand.

  “This is pretty deep. But I’ll put this tape on it instead of a stitch. Leave it on tightly and stay away from whatever you did battle with.”

  “A chair.” I laughed, looking only at my hand. Then I got serious. “Dr. Gallagher. Why does Granny drift off like that?”

  “There’s no harm in it, Valerie. Older people often spend a lot of time in the past. You can get her attention if you need to. Just keep Granny fed and happy while you’re here. We’d like to keep her out of a home as long as possible. LaRue tells me you’re a very capable young woman. And a good cook. I know Annie doesn’t eat right. Too bad she can’t see how pretty you are. I may have to stop by more often,” he teased.

  Then I knew I blushed. I felt I’d pass, as far as looks go, but no one had ever said much to me about the way I looked. I certainly didn’t look like the popular girls at my school. I walked out onto the porch to keep from having to look at anyone. I knew Dr. Gallagher wanted to check Granny.

  Neal followed me. “Maybe I’ll stop by more often too. My summer in Catalpa Ridge has just gotten new life. I wanted to stay in Fayetteville to work. I’m glad I didn’t”

  “What kind of work are you doing here?” I chose a safer subject than me.

  “I run errands for Dad, deliver for the drugstore, anything anyone needs as far as minor medical emergencies or supplies. Sometimes I even take someone to the hospital in Harrison since we don’t have an ambulance. I don’t want to lead a doctor’s life, though.”

  “I like music a lot too.” I volunteered the information about myself, realizing I was trying to find a connection with Neal and a reason to see him again. “What kind of music are you studying?”

  “Folk. I’ve been recording all the old-timers here in the mountains for two years. They love to talk and tell stories — most of them are lonely — and some of them sing the old ballads. Granny deShan does. I play a recorder, badly, I’m afraid. Would you like to hear some of the tapes?”

  I turned and looked at him again. “I’d love to. Come back sometime. It’ll take me a couple of days to get things in order here but then—” I stopped short of what I started to say.

  “You may get lonely too?”

  “I hope not But I’m not used to this isolation.”

  “Not many people are. You’re from New York City?”


  I nodded.

  “It must seem strange here. I have an idea. There’s a dance — not the type you’re used to either, I’ll wager. Saturday night Go with me.”

  “Granny—”

  “We’ll take her. She’d love it. You can’t say no. She needs to get out even if you don’t.” Neal had blue eyes, darker than mine. And with his black hair, and coloring, we looked like we could be brother and sister.

  But the way Neal looked at me. I didn’t feel at all sisterly. I felt … very attracted to him. If he hadn’t asked me out, I’d have found a way to see him again. That wasn’t like me at all. I knew boys existed. My friend Pam never let me forget that. I just hadn’t been all that interested.

  My summer had taken a turn for the better, too.

  CHAPTER

  3

  GRANNY became interested in the living room when I started to clean there. I was careful of my taped hand. She helped where she could. When I took the fringed scarf off the piano and said it needed to be washed, she took my arm and led me to an old cedar chest in her room.

  Inside were crocheted doilies, lovely embroidered dresser scarves, and three beautiful old quilts. One was especially pretty, a combination of patchwork and appliqué, all in shades of blue. Because of my eyes and hair, I was very partial to blue.

  “Granny, if I’m careful with it, can I put this quilt on my bed for a spread?”

  “Certain you can, child. Hit’s wasting in here.”

  I gave up on getting Granny to call me by my name and looked back through the things in the chest. There was another scarf to put on the piano until I had found a safe way to wash the one I’d taken off and then a small round tablecloth with blue violets on the border. Folding the quilt and cloth over my arm, I added two woven, off-white pillowcases and headed for the loft. I had laid the aired-out linens on the bed and the whole room smelled of sunshine.

  Before long I had transformed the loft into a cozy nest. The quilt on the bed gave the room a folk-art look that decorating magazines would envy. My clothes were in the partitioned-off space at one end, hidden by a curtain, which was a faded blue. I moved the table and chair over by my bed and put my tape recorder on it.

  Putting on a soft Vivaldi tape to decorate by, I spun around as I experimented with knickknacks here and there, making the place mine. Valerie Wreyford lives here, I thought. I had also discovered that the slight ledge formed by the wainscoting was just the right height to hook my toe onto so I could stretch my legs out with exercises. There’d be no dance practice in the small area, and this would be the first summer with no dance classes. But along with finishing my junior year, I’d done some serious thinking. I was never going to be a professional dancer. I think I had known it for a couple of years, but it was hard to let go of the idea, the dream. Another dream I’d let go of was about being a pianist. I just wasn’t dedicated enough — no, to be honest, I wasn’t good enough.

  One reason I had jumped at the chance to leave New York for the summer was that I found myself getting depressed about my life. I’d put away some dreams, and now I needed new ones. But it would take time. Sometimes reality is very painful.

  It felt terrible to be almost good enough to dance professionally. Almost good enough to be a pianist. Somehow it left me feeling almost, but not quite, Valerie. I knew music would be a part of my life, but I didn’t want to teach. What else was left?

  Pam — all my friends — seemed to know what they were going to do after our senior year. I guessed I’d go to college, but it would be a waste of time and money if I had no goal — no major.

  I stood in the open window, my elbows on the sill. It was wonderful to stand there and think, looking for new dreams. I let the mountain air, the sight of trees and wild flowers climbing up the mountain slopes, calm me, settle the restlessness, the anxiety that crept into me when I thought of plans for my life. I tried to think only of this day, this setting, and my summer plans, to relax and take care of Granny. Hesitantly, I added the chance to know Neal Gallagher better.

  A strange-looking cat looked up at me and meowed. She was one of those cats you imagine was yellow before she slid down the chimney, a sort of Santa Claus cat. But her face was pretty, half black, half speckled yellow. I waved to her and went downstairs.

  “Granny, there’s a cat out back. Is she yours?”

  “Nobody owns a cat, child.” Granny rocked back and forth gently. Was that how she spent her days? “She comes here some. She’d be hungry.”

  I opened the front screen and called, “Kitty, kitty, kitty.” She trotted in as if she owned the cabin, even if Granny didn’t claim ownership of her. Taking a bottle of milk from the refrigerator and reminding myself to ask how we’d get more supplies, I poured the cat a saucer. She looked up as if to say thank you before she began to lap daintily.

  Listening to Granny hum as I watched Kitty eat gave me an idea. “Granny, can we have the piano tuned?” I had run my fingers over it earlier as I dusted and found it badly out of tune. Rue had been generous with housekeeping money for June and said she’d send more. Dad had given me spending money. It would be nice to play when I felt the urge. Maybe Granny would join me on her guitar for duets.

  “Certain. Hit would pleasure me to hear it played.” Granny kept rocking as she talked. “Fleecy’s coming.”

  Someone was coming again? Or was Granny off on a dreaming trip? I’d have to learn to recognize the difference or she’d keep me confused.

  If someone really was coming it was the excuse I needed. Before Dr. Gallagher left, he’d asked me to help Granny attend to her personal cleanliness better. I was pleased with the way the house looked. I’d even gotten in a load of wood and had a fire laid in the fireplace ready for any excuse to light it. I had beat the rag rugs and sunned them. They were faded but that added to the muted pastels of the living room. So the house was clean; Granny was next.

  “Granny, I have time to help you take a bath this afternoon. I’m not going to clean in the kitchen until tomorrow.”

  “I kin take my own bath.” She stroked the cat who had gone straight to her lap after the milk lunch.

  “Great I’ll run the water and be sure there are clean towels.” I don’t know what I’d have done if Granny hadn’t cooperated, but she did. While she soaked in the warm water I looked through her clothes. Some seemed clean, and I sorted out the dirty ones for a future wash. I changed the bed linens and spread out the colorful quilt she used for her spread.

  She protested a little over my washing her hair until I reminded her of the dance Neal was taking us to the next night. Then she went into a story of how popular she had been at dances. I had her dressed and her hair towel dried before she reached the end of another memory.

  Just as I settled her in the sun, which now streamed in the windows on the west, the phone rang, startling me. I’d almost forgotten phones existed, much less the fact that Granny had one.

  “Hello. Granny deShan’s, but this is Valerie.” I would never answer the phone that way in New York, but I was realizing that this little town was different. Granny left her door open and called visitors in. Whoever was calling would expect Granny, and I didn’t want someone to think this was a wrong number.

  No one answered.

  “Hello? Who’s calling?”

  Still no answer, but I could sense that someone was there. I could imagine someone breathing. Quickly I hung up. Someone was on the other end of the line. Oh, I hated that. If it was a wrong number the person could say so.

  “Was it Fleecy?” Granny asked.

  “Wrong number, Granny.”

  The phone rang again. “I don’t like that machine. Rue said I had to have it.”

  I hesitated. A second ring. I wasn’t sure I liked that machine either. But maybe there had been a bad connection. Whoever had called the first time had called back.

  “Hit’s Fleecy, child.” Granny didn’t understand why I didn’t answer it.

  “Hello,” I said hesitantly.


  “You must be Valerie,” a cheerful voice said. “Hit’s Fleecy here. Did Annie remember I was bringing dinner?”

  “I guess so, but I wasn’t sure you were real.”

  Fleecy laughed. “Granny does conjure up lots of people who aren’t — at least not nowadays. I guess they were onest. I’ll be there at five. My nephew’s dropping me off.”

  Good. Someone I could ask questions of, I hoped. How could I get to town? How could I get the laundry done? I wasn’t pioneer enough for a tub and a washboard, although sheets would smell good dried outside on the line. If there was a laundromat in town, I still could dry them here.

  Fleecy was a plump, hardy woman with kinky white hair. “I’m seventy-two, Valerie,” she told me later. “Me and Annie go a ways back together. I’m so glad you came. Not many young people would live here, but I’d hate to see Annie have to go to a nursing home. Hit’d be a misery to her. How are you feeling, Annie?” Fleecy had quickly set the three dishes on the table and went to bring Granny to the kitchen.

  “Well, I was a mite dauncy till a couple of days ago, Fleecy, but this child has cheered me up some.”

  “Yes, I kin see some improvements here, Annie. The place looks better ’n I’ve seen it for a spell.” Fleecy turned to me. “That no good CoraLou Perkins was supposed to be working here, helping Annie out, but she never lifted a finger to do any real work. I’m glad to see you ain’t lazy.”

  I smiled, pleased I’d passed Fleecy’s inspection, and left the two friends to visit while I set the table and made iced tea. Fleecy had brought fried chicken, potato salad, and baked beans. Everything smelled wonderful and I realized I was starved.

  Granny ate better than usual and I knew I had to start cooking. “How can I get supplies, Fleecy? I want to plan meals and cook at least one hot meal a day for Granny. And laundry. I’ve got a pile of dirty clothes.”

  “I’ll take the laundry and get it done for you. Maybe my nephew, Cedrick, can take you to the store. He’d complain ’cause he’s as good for nothing as that CoraLou. He don’t hold no steady job long.”