Wall of Silence
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
About the Author
Next
Title Page
Wall of Silence
a novel
dorey whittaker
Copyright
Copyright© 2013, by Dorey Whittaker
Wall of Silence
Dorey Whittaker
doreywhittaker@aol.com
www.doreywhittakerbooks.com
Published 2013, by Light Messages
www.lightmessages.com
Durham, NC 27713 USA
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-61153-091-9
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61153-092-6
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
NOTE: All names, companies, cities and events in this novel are fiction. Any similarity to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.
Dedication
This novel is dedicated to my wonderful husband Bruce.
Without his love and support this story would not have been possible. Thank you, Bruce, for loving each of these characters almost as much as I do.
Chapter 1
Susan’s carefully ordered life began to unravel in the summer of 1985. Accepted into one of Atlanta’s most respected families some eleven years earlier, Susan had married well by anyone’s standards. She had prestige, beauty, three healthy children, and a husband who adored her. Although those closest to her loved her dearly, Susan remained a guarded person. Her skill at avoiding personal questions had developed into a well-honed art—but that summer, everything was about to change.
After spending an hour settling the children into bed, she watched as they drifted off to sleep. She couldn’t really blame them for fussing. The idea of crawling into bed in this miserable heat repulsed her, but her exhausted children needed to sleep.
Susan opened the screen door, being careful not to let it squeak, and then slipped quietly onto the front steps and leaned against the porch rail. Rolling a chilled glass of iced tea across her forehead, Susan stared at the weeping willow in the front yard, hoping desperately to see the drooping limbs move even slightly. In a whisper she pleaded, “Please, move them a little. Can’t we just have a slight breeze?” This was one of those smothering summer nights that only those who have lived in the Deep South can truly appreciate. The air hung like a sweat-soaked woolen, blanket. Her every move had to be contemplated, necessity measured against labor.
Susan pondered her present circumstances: thirty-two years old, suffering from the heat, fussing with her children, tormented by her memories, and preparing for a murder trial. Her two worlds were finally about to collide, and she knew she would never be the same.
For the past eleven years, Susan had spent her every waking hour building a life as different from that of her parents as she could. The “code of silence” had been beaten into her as a small child. Needing to talk, Susan developed the habit of talking to trees. Trees represented everything missing in her life for as long as she could remember: strength, dependability, and tranquility. They were safe; they asked no questions and told no tales. It was this old habit that Susan found herself returning to in order to survive the pressures of her current situation. Sitting there studying this grand old weeping willow, Susan smiled. The tree reminded her of a weary old soul beaten down by life, yet stubbornly refusing to fully yield to the pressures around it. Its sad countenance was a strange comfort to her, as if it could understand the sadness these memories caused.
Susan told the willow stories she never dared tell anyone. “I have a wonderful life in Atlanta, but here I am, in Jefferson. My sister’s murder trial starts in a few days, and I feel like I’ve been reeled back into my family’s hate-filled world.”
Leaning her head against the porch post, she pleaded with her silent friend. “You know, it isn’t fair. I’ve spent the past few months giving my sister moral support and trying to help her attorney. I’ve studied dozens of police reports and reviewed all the depositions with him. After all my effort to put my past behind me, here I am in front of all these strangers spreading it out for everyone to see. This trial is forcing our family secrets into the open, and I have to deal with them all over again. It isn’t fair. Wasn’t once enough? My sister and I were forced to keep silent. I suffered countless beatings whenever a well-intentioned neighbor cornered me and tried to talk to me. Even though I never said anything, I still got a beating. When you grow up like that, you don’t easily break the habit of keeping secrets. Besides, it’s intolerable having everyone know what a terrible family we were.
“For three months I’ve spent every day in the attorney’s office reliving our past, and then I go to the jail and spend an hour with Lisa. No wonder I am emotionally drained! Most importantly, I feel so guilty about uprooting the children and moving them here to Jefferson so I could have them nearby. How they miss their daddy! It doesn’t seem fair, but I need to have them to come home to every evening. Their presence here is my reminder of our wonderful life in Atlanta. As soon as this trial is over, we’ll have that life back again. It is strange that we are only ninety miles from home, yet it feels like millions.”
Not liking the direction of this conversation, Susan picked up the glass, held it up to her silent friend, and smiled. “Every evening, Aunt Gladys has a pitcher of iced tea prepared for me. I don’t think I could have endured these past three months without her help.” Then, as if her tree might misunderstand the relationship, Susan explained, “Of course, Gladys isn’t my aunt. I mean, she wasn’t part of my family. Gladys Carter is my husband’s widowed aunt, and she has been living in Jefferson, Georgia, for many years. She is wonderful, one of those gracious southern women who always seem to know when it is impolite to ask questions. Gladys knows the memories I’m being forced to relive must be ugly, but she would never think of making it worse for me by asking intrusive questions. She comes here every morning to get the children up and dressed so I can focus on getting myself ready for a hard day. Then she makes us all breakfast and watches my children so I can focus on helping my sister. She always has dinner ready and often has the children fed and dressed for bed by the time I get home.”
Taking a sip of tea, Susan studied the ice cubes as they melted into oblivion and allowed her mind to wander, as it did almost every night once the children were asleep. Turning to the tree, Susan confessed,
“It’s been eleven years since I have spoken to my mother and fifteen since I have seen my father. Having spent the past three days in the attorney’s office reading my mother’s deposition, her words, so angry and bitter, ring in my ears as if just spoken. No matter how hard I try to silence them, mother’s hateful words swirl about my head bringing back to life all the memories I have worked so hard to forget. Reading her deposition showed me that little about Marjorie Miller has changed these past eleven years.
Looking at her tree for comfort, she set the iced tea down and sat up tall and straight, as if to prove that the statement she was about to repeat was not true. “My mother always badgered us with, ‘You have nothing, and nothing is going to be handed to you. You two girls had the great misfortune of being born into a southern, white trash family, and don’t you ever forget it. Don’t get uppity or they’ll put you in your place.’” Susan imagined she saw the tree’s shoulders slump ever so slightly, as if wilting under the force of her mother’s words the way she always had. It felt good having someone to tell this to, and since the memories were not about to go away, at least the tree would keep her company as she journeyed back in time.
Despite the sweltering heat, remembering the sound of her mother’s voice as she repeated this much-resented phrase caused a cold shudder to run down her spine. This misfortune her mother had warned her about had been reinforced throughout her early years. School friends were friends only at school, and rarely did these friendships carry over to after-school activities. Susan was never allowed, nor did she ever want, to bring friends home.
The combination of this heat and the memory of her mother’s warning took her back to a hot June day when “getting uppity” nearly resulted in a severe beating. “I was in the second grade and my best friend, Carol Anne, invited me to come over for a swim. I was so excited I could hardly wait for school to let out at noon that day, so we had the whole afternoon free. Carol Anne’s pool had just been opened for the summer, and I was curious to see her house. Carol Anne always wore such pretty dresses, and I marveled at the number of pairs of shoes this girl owned. I tried to imagine what kind of bedroom and toys my new best friend would have.”
Susan quickly shot a glance toward the tree, as if studying its reaction. “I wasn’t jealous of her. Actually, I never spent any time thinking of such lovely things belonging to me. Even at eight, I already knew my station. My mother had made sure of that. I knew that we came from two different worlds. My mother judged them only by wealth—or the lack of it, but I observed another kind of world that day, one of kindness, caring, and love; a world I had never known.”
Susan paused just long enough to listen for her children before going on with her story. “By the time we reached Carol Anne’s street, I felt uncomfortable. As we passed one large house after another, I had trouble breathing. I rode in the backseat of our family’s old car while my mother drove through neighborhoods similar to this one making deliveries for her part-time job. She would point to this house and that, telling my sister and me all about the people who lived in these big houses. She hated ‘these people’ and made sure we knew why.” Susan stopped her story for a moment and stared at the tree as she thought about how she had just repeated this part of the story. “That’s awful. I can’t even repeat her words without sounding like her. No matter how hard I try, they come out angry and hateful. She would tell us things like, ‘These people have more money than God! They probably were born into it and never had to work a day in their lives. These people would rather burn their money than give a nickel of it to people in need—unless, of course, there was a tax break in it for them. These people consider us poor white trash. Don’t ever get too uppity or they’ll put you in your place.’
“See,” Susan said mockingly to the tree. “I heard that phrase so many times I can’t even say it any other way but how she said it. All at once I realized Carol Anne was one of these people, and I was no longer so sure I wanted to go to her house. Though not quite sure what my mother meant by the statement, ‘They’ll put you in your place,’ I was certain I didn’t want to find out. As we came to Carol Anne’s driveway, I stopped and stared. It was a huge white house. It had dark-green shutters, a big porch that ran the length of the house, and the largest, most beautiful red front door I had ever seen. It was set way back from the street, the front lawn was as green as a forest, and huge trees shaded the house.”
Leaning back against the porch, Susan slowly allowed her memory to carry her back to that day. Like most of her childhood recollections, it became a little easier to think of it as if it were a home movie, as if the child in that movie was someone else. Anyone sneaking up and listening would have thought she was talking about some other Susan.
***
Carol Anne had made a run for the side door, held it open, and waited for Susan to catch up. Susan heard women inside talking, and she quickly froze in place. She had not counted on any adults being there, and without warning, she was consumed with panic. Her fear of what these adults might do to her was greater than her curiosity about what the inside of this beautiful house might look like. Susan stepped back and started to make an excuse about needing to go home. Suddenly, Carol Anne’s older brother, Scott, a freshman in high school, came bolting out the door with his bat and glove in his hands and an apple between his teeth. He ran right into Susan, knocking her flat and sending his apple flying.
As he scrambled to his feet and retrieved his bat and glove, his mother came to the door and scolded him for his bad manners. “Scott, please be polite. Help the young lady up and apologize. Don’t you realize you could have hurt her?”
Never wanting to be the focus of anyone’s attention, Susan was on her feet apologizing for being in his way before he could respond. Scott, realizing he was off the hook, gave Susan a sideways grin and was gone before his mother had a chance to detain him.
Turning her full attention to Susan, Carol Anne’s mother asked, “Are you all right?”
Taking a quick glance at her dress and elbow, Susan timidly responded, “Oh, I’m fine.”
After giving Susan a gracious smile, she turned to her daughter and asked, “What are your plans for this afternoon? Did you remember the club ladies are here today?”
Susan looked quickly from Carol Anne to her mother, trying to see if this was some subtle code about her. Carol Anne, seemingly unfazed by the question, answered, “Oh, I forgot.” Then, without any sense of dread at having done so, she added, “I invited Susan over so we could swim.”
Susan wondered if Mrs. Thomas was going to get angry for being bothered like this. Pushing the screen door wide open, Mrs. Thomas whispered, “That’s fine girls, just go quietly.” Then, remembering the chatty women in the great room, she quickly added, “You’d better slip up the back stairs so you don’t get trapped into visiting the afternoon away with these women.”
Susan noticed the sparkle in Mrs. Thomas’s eyes as she almost giggled this suggestion, and she thought, What a pretty lady. No wonder Carol Anne is always happy.
Carol Anne grabbed Susan’s hand and led her inside. As they reached the bottom step, Mrs. Thomas whispered, “Susan, I’m very glad you were able to come over this afternoon. Carol Anne, be sure to wait for me before getting into the pool. The ladies will be leaving soon, and I will come out back to watch you girls.”
Carol Anne’s bedroom was even lovelier than Susan had imagined. The walls were painted a light, creamy yellow with white trim. It had wall-to-wall carpet, and right across from the door was a beautiful canopy bed. The canopy and spread were a print of soft yellow flowers with dark-green ivy weaving through them, both edged with white lace. Part of her collection of dolls was propped on her bed and the rest arranged on a shelf that went around the room. Susan could not believe one girl could have so many dolls. How could she possibly play with them all?
As she walked around touching the dolls, Carol Anne pulled three swimsuits from a drawer and asked Susan which one she wanted to wear. Susan tried
to hide her amazement that Carol Anne had three bathing suits. She didn’t even have one. After all, they didn’t have a pool. When she and her sister wanted to cool off, they wore their shorts and took turns spraying each other with the hose. Her mother always chided, “If it’s hot enough to run through the hose, it’s hot enough for your shorts to dry off. You don’t need a suit; it’s a waste of money.” Having learned to keep her thoughts to herself, Susan simply replied, “It doesn’t matter to me. Any one of them will be fine.”
Carol Anne tossed her the blue-and-white polka dot suit and then opened a door by the dresser and ushered her friend into a pretty yellow and white tiled bathroom. “You can change in there, and I’ll change here in the bedroom.”
Susan quickly changed, placing her clothes on top of the clothes hamper and waited until Carol Anne called to say she was dressed. While sitting in Carol Anne’s beautiful bathroom, Susan was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of panic. What have I done? My mother is going to find out that I came here. What was I thinking? How can I get out of here without upsetting Carol Anne?
A gentle knock at the bathroom door made Susan almost jump out of her skin. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she saw herself in the pretty bathing suit and decided that whatever punishment awaited her would be worth it. She was going to enjoy today and not worry about the cost. She had come this far and was not going to let her new friend see her fear. Looking in the mirror, Susan forced a big smile and opened the door. There stood Carol Anne in a pretty green suit, almost the same shade of green as her eyes, which complemented her bright red hair, and Susan said, “You’re so pretty.”
Never paying much attention to what she looked like, Susan had no idea people thought of her as a stunning beauty. She had jet-black hair and a peaches-and-cream complexion. Her eyes were dark blue, and if you ever got her talking, you would notice that she talked with her eyes. They sparkled, and you would swear you could see her mind working in them. If ever there was a person who showed her soul in her eyes, it was Susan.