Nobody Knows Your Secret

by Green, Jeri

  “They are beautiful songbirds, Increase. And it is a mighty pretty day. What you got under the cotton towel?”

  “A cushaw pie,” said Increase.

  “You know, Pixies has a few of those. I’ve been meaning to buy one and make me some pies. I love that squash. I think it makes better pies than pumpkin. What do you think?”

  “I thank ennythin’ that’s edible is a gift of Gawd,” said Increase.

  “Amen,” said Hadley.

  “I’m worried ’bout Virgie,” Increase said. “How you thank she’s holdin’ up?”

  “I’m sure she’s broken right now,” said Hadley. “Who wouldn’t be? Kyle was her grandson. And just between you and me, Cleve doesn’t seem to be in any mood to share her burden and grieve along with her.”

  “I knowed whut you sayin’, and Claire shore ain’t no he’p,” said Increase.

  “Virgie’s from good stock,” said Hadley. “She’s strong. I’m sure she’ll weather through this storm, somehow. Her folks have lived on this rocky land for a long time. They’ve seen their share of heartaches, like the rest of us, I guess.”

  They drove in silence, soaking in the beauty of the afternoon.

  “Here we are!” said Hadley.

  “And there’s Dulcie, waitin’ on you like a liddle boomer stickin’ her hand out fer that cake I spied in the back seat.”

  “Ruth’s got a couple of boomers at the rescue center. It’s still hard for me to distinguish their chatter from cicada, sometimes. I love the red in those little squirrels’ coats.”

  “Yeah,” Increase said. “But they’s two sides to ever’ coin, Hadley. Them boomers can be like rats if they nest in yer attic. Tear yer house to smithereens, but settin’ on a branch, chatterin’ away like a magpie, a boomer is as purty as a peach.”

  “Dulcie,” Hadley said, “don’t forget to get your cake out of the back seat before you leave.”

  “I won’t. And thanks. I can’t wait to eat it with a scaldin’ cup ‘a black coffee. My mouth’s watering like a creek just thinkin’ about it. Y’all look mighty fine, today,” Dulcie said.

  “Aw, we do not,” said Increase. “We all look like a bunch ‘a buzzards ’round the road kill.”

  “I know I do,” said Hadley. “Black is definitely not my color.”

  “Claire’s not here?” Increase said, looking over the small knot of mourners who had gathered by the graveside.

  “Virgie said she’s under the weather,” Dulcie said.

  “Umm, more likely, Claire’s all doped up and can’t stand up,” Increase said. “I d’clare I never seed a woman who wasted her whole life chasin’ one pill high after anothern. It ain’t good fer her to be all loopy like that all the time.”

  “I don’t know ’bout that,” Dulcie said. “I’m just goin’ by what Virgie says.”

  “Come on,” Hadley said. “We don’t want to hold up the preacher. They might look to one of us to say a few words over the grave if we hold them up.”

  “Who’s Virgie got to say words over Kyle?” Increase asked. “I don’t think that boy’s darkened a church door since he was a baby. He cain’t be on any church roll I know of. I wonder who’s preachin’ his service?”

  “Ain’t from ’round here,” said Dulcie. “He’s some snake-handler from back in the sticks. Virgie came from way back yonder, ya know.”

  “Oh,” said Increase. “Ain’t got nuthin’ ’gainst no holy roller, long’s he keeps his moccasins on his feet.”

  “Shush up,” Dulcie said. “Virgie might hear ya.”

  Hadley saw Beanie standing nearby. She nodded his way. Beanie smiled. He looked very professional in his black pants and crisp, white shirt. He held his shovel like a palace guard holds a shiny sword. He wore a solemn expression on his face that was most appropriate. Hadley was proud of her friend.

  She glanced over at Virgie. Poor woman was a wreck. She looked like she’d been wrung through the ringer. There were dark circles and bags beneath her eyes. She needed sleep. She surely sat up with Kyle’s body all night before they’d taken him to the cemetery today.

  Virgie looked ashen and weak. She looked like she’d dropped 10 pounds since the last time Hadley saw her. Cleve Winthrop had made an appearance after all. In spite of his bluster, Hadley was glad to see he was here. But he hadn’t spent much time on cleaning up for the service. Cleve looked as disheveled as a skid row bum. His shirt collar was uneven and wrinkled. One corner of his shirttail cascaded over his belt. There was a three-day stubble on his face, and his eyes were bloodshot.

  Probably not from weeping, Hadley thought.

  Hadley could only hope Cleve kept quiet and did not embarrass Virgie further.

  Hardy Branwell stood on the other side of the group, quite a distance away from Candy and Virgie and Cleve.

  He looks like an outcast. He looks uneasy and uncomfortable, but at least he had the decency to show up, Hadley thought.

  Candy was distraught. Her two small children were fussy and whining and wanting to go home, but Candy seemed not to notice. Hardy looked down at the ground, never once looking Candy’s way.

  How hard it must be for him, Hadley thought.

  Hadley, like everyone in the valley, knew of Hardy’s heartache since Candy had taken up with Kyle Winthrop. Hardy blamed Kyle for the miserable state his daughter found herself in. It had been rumored that Hardy had offered to build Candy and her kids a brand new home, but Candy had declined. If Kyle was not welcomed there, then she would have no part of it. Rumor was that Hardy had punched a hole in a door when Candy told her father “no thanks.”

  Two little children and a daddy who was murdered. It was sad beyond words. What would become of those kids? Would they both turn out as sorry as their daddy, Kyle? Hadley felt a lingering guilt. She had often said those two kids would be better off if Kyle Winthrop was out of the picture.

  But Hadley had meant off in jail or something. Certainly not murdered.

  Candy’s future looked hard and bleak. She had made her bed among a thorn patch of the sorriest mountain dirt. Kyle had never married her. Why she had allowed herself to have first one child, and then another, was a mystery. It was almost as if she was willingly sinking in the mire and muck that was Kyle Winthrop.

  Candy took after Hardy. She was a smart girl, a pretty girl. It just didn’t make good sense. Hadley pondered why such a girl would ever want to hitch her wagon to such a no good nag like Kyle. Kyle was always no good, as lazy as the day was long. But love was fickle, and the heart made a girl do crazy things sometimes.

  “We gather here bound by ‘a cord ‘a sorrow at the death of Kyle Winthrop. Like seasons pass, a man lives out his mortal life then turns to dust.”

  The preacher opened a worn Bible and began reading. He ended the sermon with a prayer. No snakes, Hadley was glad to see.

  They all stood silently until the preacher finished.

  Hadley walked back to her car. Increase got in. They drove down the road a bit, and Hadley turned the car around.

  “Shoot, Increase,” she said, “I forgot to ask Beanie where he’d be next Monday.”

  * * *

  The few people at Kyle’s graveside had quickly dispersed. Beanie set to work filling the grave. It looked like a thunder cloud was brewing over the western ridge. Beanie hated to fill a grave after a rain. The dirt was cloddy and heavy. He liked to lay his people to rest with a cottony dusting of dry dirt over them. It just seemed more respectful.

  Beanie had rolled up his sleeves. It was hot. He was sweating and shoveling as fast as he could.

  “Worthless piece ‘a trash,” a man’s voice said.

  Beanie stopped and looked around, but he saw no one.

  Was it Kyle’s ghost, he thought, for one horrifying, sickening second. He was just before throwing down his shovel and heading for Harvey’s air-conditioned office.

  Then, he saw Hadley’s car drive up. She walked up to him.

  “Beanie, what is it? You’re not having a heat stroke
, are you?”

  “Naw,” Beanie said. “Maybe, I shudda held my breath, like the old ones do. You know, Hadley. They say that you need to hold your breath over a grave so you don’t breathe in the dead person’s spirit. But I’m okay, really. I just got startled. That’s all.”

  “Startled? By what?”

  “I thought I heard Kyle’s ghost talkin’ to me,” Beanie said.

  “What did he say, Beanie?”

  “It sounded like ‘worthless piece ‘a trash,’” said Beanie.

  “That wasn’t Kyle’s ghost,” Hadley said.

  “Are you sure?” asked Beanie.

  “Yeah. Kyle Winthorp always had an over-blown sense of himself. He thought he was God’s gift and the ground he walked on was sacred.”

  “I wonder who said that then,” Beanie said.

  “Me, too. You sure you didn’t see any one?”

  “No, Hadley. But the wind carries things, sometimes.”

  “Yes, it does, Beanie. Yes, it does.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Maury looked out into the darkness and wondered what in the world was taking Skip so long. He’d told his mother he was going to the farm and check out the land he had inherited from Bill’s father. Skip’s farm consisted of more than 150 acres of hardwood-covered, mountainous land. It had been in Bill’s family for generations.

  The term “farm” was a misnomer. The land was rocky and not really good for much of anything, but somehow Bill’s family had scratched out a meager living. It was the reason Bill Whittaker decided to run for sheriff.

  Farm implies rich soil, and tons of it. To have made this land produce anything, you needed prayer and a miracle. It was hard, back-breaking, heart-rending work. More often than not, the elements blasted you with late frosts that killed your crops, or Mother Nature turned her back on you and roasted you with long, scorching days, barren of rain.

  Or maybe the skies pelted you with hail. More often than not, something came along to make it harder to see a profitable year. Scrape by and pray for more of the same. Bill had watched the land and Nature break his father, turning him into an old man before his time.

  Growing up had been hard for Bill. The family lived from hand to mouth, not knowing where their next meal was coming from at times, or even if there would be a next meal. This was not a way of life Bill wanted for his new family. He had never loved the land for the land’s sake. His son, however, had.

  Skip was born with a passion for the hills. He loved roaming the mountain slopes with his grandfather in all seasons, regardless of the weather. Bill’s dad, Jubal had willed the farm to Skip after he died. Jubal hoped his grandson would keep the land in the family for another generation and that Skip would have a child someday to share his stories and experiences with. It made a man’s life worthwhile to have someone to pass on the knowledge and family history.

  From the time the toddler could walk, Skip followed Jubal up and down the mountains. Jubal knew the land, and he taught Skip about the native plants and wildlife that grew there. Skip cherished the rocky slopes just as much as Jubal. Recently, Skip had been spending more and more of his free time up in those hills. Maury wondered what he was doing up on that mountainside.

  On his days off, or after work, Skip would drive up, spending hours at the old cabin. He wandered the slopes, remembering the tales of his grandfather.

  Jubal had been had been a marvelous storyteller. Skip soaked up all his grandfather’s stories and kept them close to his heart. The young man worked at Pixies but his heart was on the mountain. Skip was fixing up the old cabin. Every extra dollar went to buy supplies. Just like Jubal, Skip wanted to find a way to live off his land.

  Bill had questioned his son at length about spending so much time on the farm. As sheriff of Hope Rock County, Bill knew too well the kinds of trouble young people were getting into. Skip denied any wrong doing, and Bill, not wanting to drive Skip away, pressed his son no further.

  Skip was like Jubal Whittaker in so many ways. Most folks said Skip was the spittin’ image of his grandfather.

  Jubal was a man of few words, a private person, and so was Skip. Both men seemed to hold council with only their own thoughts. It was just their way. But still, Bill worried. It was all too easy for kids to make the wrong decisions, ruin their lives. Bill fretted that his son would fall to the lure of drugs. So many kids in the area already had. The scarcity of high-paying jobs, the collapse of the coal industry, and a million other things had caused so many of Skip’s former classmates to toss away their futures.

  Bill could only pray Skip steered clear of those blood-sucking, life-stealing traps.

  Maury sighed and waited for the twin headlights of the old truck to cut through the darkness and signal the return of her husband. The house was quiet. It was easy to lose yourself in inner musings. She picked at a ragged hangnail, worrying it until it bled. The ringing phone tugged her back.

  Her heart always caught in her throat at the sound of the phone’s ring. Maury knew it was irrational, but she couldn’t help it. Bill was a lawman. Skip was out there where God only knew. Maury knew that life could snatch the rug out from under you when you least expected it. She never took anything for granted. And so, she worried.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Hadley said. “Just thought I’d see how you and the Whittaker crew are doing. Beanie and I got a lot of cleaning done at the Singlepenny palace of luscious litter, old junk, decaying debris, and gorgeous garbage.”

  “Glad to hear you’re making headway,” Maury said. “I’m just worrying myself white-headed over my boys. Waiting for those Whittaker men to get home. I know Bill’s tied up at the office. I think Skip is probably roaming the woods on the farm. I do wish both would touch base with me. It’s just getting late, and I’m starting to worry about Skippy. He might have gotten hurt or something.”

  “Oh, Maury,” Hadley said. “You are one who always likes to stew over nothing. You’ve been that way since you were a little girl. You enjoy making a mountain out of an ant hill. Skip’s a big boy. He’s cut the apron strings, Maury. And he’s smart. He can take care of himself in those woods.”

  “But he’s away so much,” Maury said. “Every spare minute, he’s off in those woods. I hardly ever see my own child anymore.”

  “Skip is not a child, Sis,” Hadley said. “I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to let go. And don’t say ‘spoken like a true mother.’ I know I have no kids, but I love Skippy like he’s my own son. You’ve got to face facts, Maury.

  “Skip’s a young adult, now. He’s got a lot to think about. Decisions to make on his own He’s got to find his way. Make his mistakes. Learn from them. Suffer and grow like we all had to do. Maybe he just needs time alone. To work out what he wants to do with his life. You know what I mean.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” said Maury, “but it still doesn’t make it easy. I tell myself all that, but my heart wishes I could protect him, you know, at least from some things. I’m his mother. You think he might confide in me. Tell me his dreams.

  “Sometimes just talking about problems helps you solve them. But Skip won’t talk about anything to me. He’s as tight-lipped as Jubal was. Those two were cut from the same cloth.”

  “Yes,” said Hadley, “they sure were. But Jubal was a good man, and Skip is, too.”

  “I worry about him, Hadley,” Maury said. “I can’t help it. I know he’s no longer a baby, but he’s still has my heart. There’s so much stuff kids can get into these days. Bill mentions some of the horrible things he runs into. It makes me want to take my little boy and hold him tight. What if Skippy is up in those woods smoking weed or worse?”

  “Do you smell it on him when he comes in? Does his breath stink like a still?”

  “No,and how would I know what weed smells like. Tobacco was the worst thing you and I smoked.”

  “Well, Maury, “speak for yourself. Do you smell anything like a skunky smell?”

 
“Hadley Jane Pell! I can’t believe my ears! You of all people! What would Harry say?”

  “Who do you think I tried it with, goofball? Harry wasn’t always a stuffed-shirt, old fogie. We were pretty wild in our younger days.” Hadley said. “Seriously, does he stink when he comes home? Does he go out wearing one shirt and return wearing another? That was an old trick Harry used in college.”

  “I would have never guessed Harry did anything wilder in college than try to make it to second base with you in the backseat of some old jalopy. To tell you the truth,” said Maury, “I don’t see enough of him to smell anything. He runs in once in a blue moon, grabs a bite, and heads out. He usually leaves early for Pixies and grabs supper at the Spoon. Then, he takes off for the hills in his truck. Since he got his own apartment, I’m only a stopover. He lights like a fly. It isn’t as if he calls me or visits weekly or anything. A son’s not like a daughter, you know.”

  “I don’t think we were that considerate to Mom growing up, either,” Hadley said.

  “Well, you were a handful, so, I tried to be the considerate one.”

  “Um-hum,” Hadley said, but her tone said she was not convinced.

  “Really, Hadley,” Maury said, “I don’t have a clue what Skip is doing up there or if he is even up there by himself! What if he is taking friends up there? What if he is taking a girl up there? Oh, gosh! He could ruin some slip of a daisy’s reputation, not to mention his own. They could be goin’ at it hot ’n’ heavy right this minute. Makin’ babies while we speak!

  “Oh, Hadley! I’m too young to be a grandma! And I don’t want him to ruin his life or someone else’s by getting her pregnant! Skip is too young to be a father. He doesn’t make enough money to support a family! Grandkids! I shudder to think about it. In some ways, he’s still a kid himself!”

  “Calm down, Maury,” Hadley said. “No sense falling off the boat when you don’t even know if you’ve struck the iceberg yet or not. Have you asked him? If he won’t talk to you, try writing him a letter.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Maury said. “I have to be careful. I could drive a wedge between us. I don’t know what to do.”