Small Town Secrets

by Roxanne Snopek

  He’d deliberately kept his distance, though he couldn’t have said why. And he was always… aware… of her presence.

  It meant nothing. She was interesting because she was different. That’s all.

  “Figured you could use a hand,” she said.

  Though she didn’t talk like the other girls, softly, with downcast eyes and an air of apology, her voice was low tonight. And instead of bending down to gather the shattered bits of kindling, she leaned against a tree trunk, one knee bent, her hands behind her back.

  The posture sent her chest jutting out and even in the dim light Nate couldn’t help but see her shape where it pressed tightly against her white blouse.

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  She laughed, a deep, husky sound that went straight to his belly. “Oh, I very much doubt that Nathan Jackson.”

  She was shameless. Her family was a bunch of shiftless, seasonal workers with too many children and too little money. She was too outspoken in school, too opinionated, definitely too much in favor of something she called sexual equality – which made him blush to hear it.

  But something about the way she looked him in the eye, the way she held her shoulders, squarely, like a man, stirred him. No, it irritated him. That’s all it was. Irritation.

  “You should go back to the fire. There are coyotes out here.”

  She laughed again. The girl was full of laughter, rich, ribald tones of pure enjoyment that made you want to join in.

  He bristled. “There are. You’re not safe.”

  She pushed off the tree and was suddenly in front of him, standing so close he could smell the burnt sugar on her breath. At such proximity, enclosed in darkness, it seemed all he could see were her eyes, capturing the meager light and focusing it into two tiny blazing points.

  “You’re right,” she said. She leaned closer. “I’m not safe. I’m dangerous. That’s why you like me.”

  She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him, a quick, easy brush of her soft lips on his, and then she was gone.

  He stood in the darkness, listening to the sound of her laughter bubble over the rise and fall of conversation as she rejoined the group at the fire. Had she really kissed him? Had she even been here at all?

  He touched his mouth with shaking fingertips and walked on numb legs back to the fire.

  Mary looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “You couldn’t find any wood?”

  One by one, his friends paused and joined her in looking at him questioningly. He felt his face warm, his hands grow thick and unwieldy. He hated being put on the spot, hated to be caught out in an error, or have any of his flaws brought to light. Worse, he hated feeling he had to explain himself, yet being unable to do so.

  If he wanted to walk into the bush by himself, he could do so, couldn’t he?

  If he wanted to let a strange girl kiss him, who was he hurting?

  Why was it so important to always follow the rules?

  “There’s nothing out there,” said Pansy, poking the fire with a wire coathanger turned wiener roaster. “The way you guys had this fire going, it’s all used up. We’ve scraped this place clean. But look how the coals are glowing now. This is way better for roasting marshmallows anyway. This fire will last as long as we need it. You’ll see.”

  She stirred the coals again. A log popped, sending a shower of embers rising up into the night sky.

  “Sit down, Nate,” beckoned Pansy. Then, seeing the look he shot Mary she added, “Oh, sorry. Never mind.”

  “No,” said Mary quickly. “It’s okay.”

  Nate took his seat next to Mary, wishing he’d never even come to the grad bonfire.

  But when Pansy passed him a perfectly roasted marshmallow, he bit into it, laughing and hooting with the others as the heat scorched through him.

  A week later, he could still feel the burn on the roof of his mouth. And he could still recall the sweetness.

  *

  September 1956

  Lewis family farm

  The hay wagon bounced up and down as the draft horses hooked to the front of it dragged it around the field. They sat on seats made of straw bales, the girls shrieking and pretending to nearly fall out, which allowed them to clutch at the arms of the boys sitting next to them.

  Mary, whose father was driving the horses, stayed quiet and Nathan, sitting beside her, was grateful.

  He’d arranged to spend the winter studying orchard management, by correspondence. He would remain on the farm, of course, helping his father, as expected. Such a course would not only help him build up the orchard business, but it would keep him busy enough that his time with Mary would be legitimately limited.

  It wasn’t that he wanted to break things off with Mary.

  Not exactly.

  It was just, her family was eager to see her settled while he felt inexplicably irritated at their impatience. They were both so young! Surely they had no need to rush into things.

  Through some miraculous effort on his part, he’d managed to cool things down with Mary enough that he wasn’t walking around in a state of constant arousal. He felt partly the greatest fool who’d ever lived and partly a shining example of manly behavior.

  Mary’s affection, certainly, indicated that she felt he was the latter. She merely wanted him claimed. If he could be hers, without lowering herself to the usual method of such claiming, so much the better.

  So they sat together at church, accompanied each other to the youth group functions and accepted occasional dinner invitations to the other’s home. It was an unspoken, but clearly understood, situation.

  It was all a matter of time.

  And, if it hadn’t been for that kiss in the darkness on the night of the campfire, Nathan likely would have never thought to question it.

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  Summer, 1957

  Jackson family farm

  Pansy let her eyes wander over the night sky, then took another quick drag, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs. She hoped Nate would join her out here but it was tough to say with him. He was pretty stuck on the idea of Mary.

  She’d heard the other girls talk disparagingly about girls who “went after” boys who were already “taken” and the very idea that a person could be considered property, something to be stolen or not, offended her.

  She took another sip of the skunky-smelling cigarette, wondering if anyone would recognize it, if they caught her. In this town, a girl smoking cigarettes was bad enough; a girl smoking pot was on a fast track to Hell.

  She didn’t care. Her unconventional upbringing may have left her with a few holes in her education but her sense of where she fit into the greater scheme of the universe was solid. Very few things really mattered, and the opinions of others were at the bottom of that list.

  Freedom mattered. Kindness mattered. Love mattered.

  A rustle sounded behind her.

  “You shouldn’t be out here all alone.” Nathan. Then, sounding shocked, he added, “Are you smoking?”

  Pansy pressed herself up from the grass, leaning on one elbow, trying to ignore the little jolt of excitement she felt at his presence. Nathan Jackson was as conventional as they came but that experimental kiss she’d given him the night of the campfire had lit a fuse inside her.

  Him too, if he’d agreed to meet her here, where the orchard looked out over the lake and the night sky rose above them like a black bowl dotted with diamonds.

  “I’m not alone anymore.” She patted the grass beside her. “I didn’t know if you’d come.”

  He lowered himself to his haunches.

  “You said you had something to tell me. Pansy, you shouldn’t be smoking.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “Don’t you?”

  “No,” he said. “Well, only now and then.”

  She held out the joint. “Here.”

  He hesitated, then took a drag. It took a second or two for him to react.

  “Is this marijuana?” There was pa
nic in his whisper and Pansy fell back against the grass, laughing.

  “There’s no one around for miles, Nate,” she said, motioning for him to smoke some more.

  “Miles?”

  “Acres. Yards. A football field, who cares? Come on. I practically grew up with the stuff.”

  For perhaps a minute, he battled with himself while she watched, trying to stay detached from the outcome, yet knowing she’d be disappointed if he left her now.

  Then she saw the end glow as he sucked in another mouthful, and she was relieved. He lowered himself until he was stretched out, lying beside her on the grass and together they breathed in and out, watching the sky.

  She’d always sensed Nathan was a person of great character, on whom much responsibility rested. He was the oldest child in his family and the only son. He had top marks in class, he was never late, he was a talented athlete and he was well-liked. He was courteous to the girls, not making passes or crude comments like some of the other boys did.

  He’d studiously ignored her since the day they’d met, despite the pull between them, keeping his attentions, prim and gentlemanly as they were, to Mary.

  She could have them, thought Pansy. She wanted the real Nate.

  Gradually, as they finished the joint, he relaxed beside her, his limbs growing loose, his knee falling sideways to touch hers.

  “It must be exhausting,” she said, eventually. “Being so good.”

  She felt, rather than heard, him chuckle. “Is that what you think I am?”

  She didn’t answer. She’d found that people often reveal themselves more when faced with the open space of silence.

  “It is.” His voice had changed, the laughter gone. “Is that what you wanted to ask me? If I’m tired?”

  She angled up so that she could look at his face. In the light of the waxing moon, his eyes shone, meeting her gaze. Again, it was as if a bolt of lightning passed from him into her, searing them together in one blazing connection.

  Slowly, she lowered her face to his, kissing his forehead first, then his eyebrows, his cheek, his jaw, his throat. She heard his breath quicken, felt him swallow, smelled and memorized the musk of his skin and the slight salty taste. This was the real Nate, a miracle under her fingertips, a living person, separate from her, yet so close to her own beating heart that they might be two halves of one whole.

  “Pansy,” he murmured.

  “I’m here.”

  She put her hand on the side of his face, pulling him closer, and kissed his lips.

  “This,” she said, when they paused for breath, both of them panting hard. “This is what I wanted to ask you.”

  He crumpled his jacket up to be a pillow for them to share, then cradled her head against his chest.

  “Okay,” he said.

  *

  Fall, 1958

  Jackson family farm

  Birds fluttered and complained in the rafters above them, disturbed at the unusual, and noisy, activity among the hay.

  “Shh,” hissed Nate, putting a finger over Pansy’s mouth. But he was laughing.

  Since consummating their relationship for the first time two months ago, their secret coupling had been as frequent as they could manage, frantic, explosive and addictive.

  “The universe does not intend,” said Pansy, gasping, “to experience this sort of thing quietly.”

  She fell back against the fragrant bed of alfalfa hay in the loft and pulled him down with her. His body was a thing of beauty, and she loved nothing better than to lie here like this with him, while the swallows swooped and dived above them.

  Nate laughed, a low rumble that rolled through him into her, making her respond in kind, as if their bodies were simply extensions of each other, feeling the same thing, pleasure and joy moving back and forth, swelling between them like waves. She always felt bereft when they had to put their clothes back on and go home, separately.

  She shook her head. Live in the moment, she told herself. This is what they had, now. The future would take care of itself.

  “You could be as loud as you like,” he said, tracing a finger down her chest to circle her belly button. “If we had a place of our own.”

  The moment, the moment!

  “Don’t,” she said. She angled away from him, brushing hay off her skin, looking for her clothes. The moment was gone.

  “Pan, don’t be like this.” Nate reached for her and she let him draw her back. Just a little longer, she told herself. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart, the utter reliability of this good, good man.

  And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was too good. Or, more accurately, she wasn’t good enough.

  “I’m only being realistic,” she said. “Your mom wouldn’t exactly throw a ticker-tape parade if she knew what you were doing up here with me.”

  While Nate denied it, Pansy feared his father might actually disown him. It was possible. She wasn’t ignorant of the way her family was thought of in Cherry Lake. It’s not like anyone was run out of town on a rail… but the Oppenheimers were hardly the sort of family the Jacksons wanted to align with.

  “She’d feel that way about me doing this with anyone,” he said, cupping her breast with his palm. “It’s nothing personal.”

  But he was wrong, she thought, as he bent his head to kiss her throat.

  Nate’s parents were strict and conservative. All things being equal, sex outside marriage was a sin, period. However, Pansy suspected that a little premarital indulgence with someone like Mary might be chalked up to a regrettable but understandable impatience, quickly forgotten once the rings were exchanged. Slaking his lust with Pansy Oppenheimer, with whom there was no chance of marriage – God forbid – would be an entirely different matter.

  She nudged her knee against his thigh, thrilled to discover that he was ready for her again.

  He was living in a fantasy world. And heaven help her, she loved the fantasy, too.

  “So this place you mentioned,” she said, taking him in her hand. “Tell me more.”

  He sucked in his breath. “Dad’s promised me the back forty acres.” He swallowed. “I’ve got enough saved to start building a house.”

  For his wife. The house was supposed to be for his wife.

  She loved the fact that he pretended this magic between them could ever be something real. She wanted it. She knew better, but oh, she wanted the fantasy.

  If only she’d stopped things right then. Everything might have been so different.

  But she’d insisted on stretching out their fragile, stolen moments. It was only a matter of time until they snapped.

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  Spring 1959

  Cherry Lake Community Church

  Nate hadn’t heard much of the minister’s sermon in church that morning but he’d made a point of memorizing the scriptural passage, in case it came up around the dinner table.

  1 Corinthians 10:13.

  There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.

  He stood in the yard outside the sanctuary, as they all did after the weekly service, friends and neighbors taking the opportunity to catch up with the latest news.

  Mary stood at his side, her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow.

  A middle-aged friend of his mother’s bustled up beside them.

  “So,” she said, with a knowing glance, “when are you two going to make it official?”

  Mary gave a self-conscious laugh and looked down. He felt himself blush to the roots of his hair.

  “We… it’s not…” he stammered, hoping no one else was observing the conversation. What business was it of this old biddy’s anyway? It was his life. Why did it seem like he had no say over anything?

  “Oh, never you mind.” She patted Nate on the shoulder and smiled at
Mary. “There’s nothing wrong with taking your time. We old ladies love romance, that’s all. Ignore me.”

  She looked at them and sighed, before turning and walking away.

  “That was awkward,” said Mary, brushing his sleeve. “But I believe your horrified reaction clarified things for her.”

  There was no trace of tears or anger in her voice. Her self-control was one of the things he loved about her. While there was none of the crazy fire that drove him wild about Pansy, it was… easy… to be with Mary. He understood her, he felt. She was like him. A known entity, familiar, comfortable. Safe.

  It was like there were two version of Nathan Jackson. By day, he was the hard-working, dutiful son and upstanding young citizen of Cherry Lake who would in time, settle down to become just like his father.

  But at night, the confines of his pre-ordered life chafed and sent him into the arms of the one person who let him question his existence, who encouraged him to be whoever he wanted to be and took pleasure in the carnal nature he’d long denied.

  How could he choose between his two lives?

  “It’s none of her business, that’s all,” he said, finally.

  “Maybe not,” she said calmly. “But we have been going together for almost three years now.”

  While Mary herself had put no pressure on him, he knew that his parents and hers, were hoping to see them get married. Obviously, the whole town was waiting for an announcement.

  Exactly how this had come about, he wasn’t sure. He’d certainly never proposed to Mary, yet somehow, over the months when he’d been preoccupied by his clandestine meetings with Pansy, an assumption had taken root and sprouted. He’d allowed it to grow up around him, grateful for the cover it provided.

  Now, he found himself balanced on a mighty limb of expectation, high above ground. No matter which way he jumped, he was bound to break a leg.

  Nate extricated himself from Mary’s hand. “I have chores to do.”

  To his surprise, she caught his sleeve before he could go. Daintily but firmly she stepped in front of him.