The Long Secret

by Louise Fitzhugh

  “I’ll tell you, boy,” shouted Mama Jenkins, continuing some previous conversation, “long as you live with me you work, and that’s the end of the whole thing.”

  “I’m not going to,” shouted Norman.

  “I suppose you want money,” yelled Mama Jenkins, drying her face.

  “That’s right!” said Norman, taking a huge bite of pecan pie.

  “Norman, you hush up.” Jessie Mae looked like an angry pencil. “There’s no reason we get paid. Mama wants to get paid too, and Mama’s gonna make money and then we’ll all make money.”

  “Listen here, you,” yelled Norman right into Jessie Mae’s face. “You don’t know nothing. I been getting twenty-five cents a toilet down there to Bridgehampton where they done tore down that ole hotel….” He reddened visibly as though he hadn’t meant to spill this.

  “Wh-a-at?” Mama Jenkins could hardly say it for laughing. Jessie Mae’s mouth fell open. Even Janie got her fierce smile on and sat up to listen better.

  “Tell me about this,” said Mama Jenkins. She didn’t seem angry. She seemed, on the contrary, to have a great deal of gentle interest.

  “We-e-ll”—Norman dug his feet into the sand—“I saw where they was tearing down that old hotel over there on the highway and I saw all these toilets and I asked the man and he said I could have ’em for a nickel apiece. …”

  Mama Jenkins gave a great whoop of laughter. “So you been making twenty cents profit on every one? How you been carting those toilets?”

  Norman looked even redder. “Well, I used the cart and tied it onto Jessie Mae’s bicycle—”

  “Is THAT why that bicycle has broken down five times? I oughta swat you right cross the head!” Mama Jenkins looked furious.

  Jessie Mae gasped. “Why didn’t you use your own bike, you mean thing?”

  “Listen,” said Norman earnestly, “I’m in business. That’s my transportation. I got to have somehow to get around. You just use yours for pleasure. ’Sides, I didn’t have money to get it fixed.”

  “Why, I think that’s terrible,” said Jessie Mae.

  “I do too,” said Harriet, and everyone stared at her as though they had forgotten she was there.

  “You use your own bike,” said Mama Jenkins shortly. Then she suddenly, inexplicably, smiled at Norman. “Well, I swan! You done take those toilets all the way the junkman, and you done made twenty cents profit on each one?”

  Norman nodded proudly.

  Mama Jenkins stomped across the towels and slapped him on the back in a rather man-to-man way. She and Norman looked at each other in a silly way for quite a long time. Then she leaned her head back and gave a great yell of delight. “Well,” she said, smiling broadly, “you my son all right. Always trying to make a little. How ’bout that? I think you make a better profit’n I do. I think I better go in the toilet business!” She slapped him again and he looked even sillier. Then she stomped across to the picnic basket and sang out, “Come on, you skinny things, my son and I’ll teach you how to live!” and she began to hand out food whether anybody wanted it or not.

  Beth Ellen looked at Jessie Mae and thought, I don’t think I’ll forget the look on her face as long as I live.

  t the end of the day, after they had waved good-bye to the Jenkinses, they took off for Harriet’s house for the clambake. Soon they were rolling very fast down the hill that led to Harriet’s cottage. It was at the foot of a hill and sat right on Mecox Bay. They zoomed down, hitting the rocks of the driveway, and Beth Ellen was sure she would fall on her face. She didn’t.

  They stopped and rolled their bikes. Janie stood looking a minute at the congregation of swan on the lake. In the late afternoon light they seemed to be engaged in some civic meeting.

  “Look,” said Janie. “See the big one in front? He’s the leader. They all follow him.”

  “Mmmm,” said Harriet, not caring a whit.

  “Really?” said Beth Ellen, thinking the leader looked a bit like Harriet.

  They went up on the deck. Mr. Welsch was lying in what looked like sound sleep in a deck chair, wearing only his trunks and holding a newspaper on his stomach. Mrs. Welsch was sitting on an air mattress, putting on suntan oil.

  “What are you doing, Mother? There’s no sun,” said Harriet in such a loud voice she woke up her father.

  “I put it on afterward. Hi, Janie. Hi, Beth Ellen; your grandmother said it was fine for you to stay. Hi, darling, come kiss me. Did you have a good day?” Mrs. Welsch smiled her pretty smile. Harriet leaned down and kissed a cheek that smelled of suntan oil and suddenly felt grateful. She was grateful that she wasn’t Beth Ellen, with a strange new mother arriving, or Janie, with a sarcastic mother, or Jessie Mae, with whatever aberration of a mother Mama Jenkins was. She was so grateful that she ran and jumped straight on her father’s stomach. He sat up with a great “Oooomph,” and grabbing her, gave her a hug.

  “Well, now,” he said and yawned.

  “Hey, Daddy, do we have to build the pit?” she said, bouncing.

  “It’s built. Why do you think I’m lying here like a dead man? Work all week, and what do I do on the weekend? Build pits!” He smiled at Janie and Beth Ellen, and they smiled back. They liked Mr. Welsch. “I know you, Janie. But who are you?” he said to Beth Ellen, who looked as though she might faint with embarrassment.

  “This is Beth Ellen Hansen,” said Mrs. Welsch.

  “Are you—?” Mr. Welsch looked curiously at Beth Ellen. “You’re not Zeeney Hansen’s daughter?”

  Beth Ellen nodded. I guess I am, she thought.

  “Listen,” said Mrs. Welsch a little hurriedly, “I think you all had better put on jeans. It’s getting cooler and it’ll get cold later. Harriet, give Beth Ellen a pair of yours. You have some, don’t you, Janie?”

  Harriet was not so easily dissuaded. “Zeeney is coming back!” she said to her father, much to the chagrin of Beth Ellen, who wanted the subject dropped immediately.

  “Back from where?” said her father.

  “I don’t know from where….” began Harriet.

  “Europe,” said Beth Ellen in a tiny little voice.

  “That’s a big place,” said Janie, always irritated by imprecision.

  “Athens,” said Beth Ellen in a whisper.

  “Come on, dear,” said Mrs. Welsch to a grateful Beth Ellen, “let’s find you some jeans.” She led her through the door to the house. Janie followed. Harriet lingered, staring at her father, who was looking off at the bay.

  “Yes, Harriet?” he said after a moment.

  “Do you know this Zeeney?” asked Harriet in the quiet tone she used to try to make her parents talk.

  “Well…” said Mr. Welsch, looking at the water as though he were in a trance.

  “Well… WHAT?” Harriet asked loudly, trying to wake him up.

  “I knew her,” he said dreamily, “many… many years ago.”

  “What’s she like?” she asked.

  “Well…” said Mr. Welsch.

  Harriet waited.

  “Well…” he said again.

  “Well, well—can’t you say anything but ‘well’? What is this ‘well, well’ all over the place?” Harriet forgot she was talking to her father.

  He still looked at the water. “Well, she’s … she’s rather an extraordinary woman, that’s all.”

  Mrs. Welsch came out on the deck as he was saying this last sentence. “Is that that skinny little Zeeney Hansen you used to play tennis with?” she asked Mr. Welsch.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Welsch. He sat up and seemed to come to.

  “What’s she like, Daddy?” Harriet insisted.

  “A rather … .flighty woman, I’d say, wouldn’t you, dear?”

  Mrs. Welsch looked at Mr. Welsch.

  He nodded and smiled.

  “Isn’t it funny …” said Mrs. Welsch, and Harriet held her breath. “Isn’t it funny how some days the swan are all over the bay and some days they disappear altogether?”

  “Yes,”
said Mr. Welsch. “Where do they go?”

  “Is that all you’re going to say?” Harriet squeaked through her frustration.

  “About what, dear?” said Mrs. Welsch blandly. “Oh, I must go start the butter melting!” She jumped up and went inside.

  Harriet was in a snit. She sat down on the railing and glowered at the bay. Why was it, she thought, that the most interesting things in the world are always kept from children? Isn’t there some way to force parents to tell the truth? They’re always telling us to tell the truth and then they lie in their teeth.

  “She’s really not a very interesting woman, Harriet,” said Mr. Welsch, who had been watching her. “She’s a very silly woman, in fact. She never thinks about anything but clothes and men and money. People like that always bore me.”

  Harriet looked at her father with new admiration. Not only did he seem to read her thoughts, but he seemed to say sensible things. Was it a ruse? Was there really more to know about this woman?

  “Do you know Wallace?” she asked.

  “Who?”

  “Her husband. Zeeney’s husband.”

  “Oh. No.” Mr. Welsch twisted as though he were uncomfortable.

  “No. I don’t know Wallace, but I imagine he’s very like Bernard, or Mario, or Alfred, or the one before that.”

  “Oh,” said Harriet, rather stunned and ill at ease now that someone was really talking to her like an adult. What did one say to this kind of thing? Her father looked sort of world-weary. Did one look world-weary back and toss over one’s shoulder something like “Oh, yes, they’re all of a kind”? She said nothing. She sat there, embarrassed, not knowing what to say.

  “I wouldn’t fill my head up with people like that,” her father continued, “and there’re a lot of them out here. But they aren’t really interesting. They always do the same things and they really are boring.”

  Was this a put-on? Was this designed to turn her away from what was really very interesting indeed? Harriet debated. There must be some way to find out if he really thought they were fascinating and was lying, or if he really thought they were boring.

  “How … uh, how did you know Zeeney?” This was dangerous and she knew it. It could clam him up completely. But it was worth the chance.

  “Oh, years ago, out here, as a matter of fact, at the club. Used to play tennis with her. But she was rarely here, even then, off to Europe all the time. Studied in Europe, as I remember, whatever studying she did, which, I dare say, wasn’t much.” Her father had a dreamy way of saying this which Harriet couldn’t decipher. He was always a little dreamy on weekends in the summer, but this could be a special dreaminess connected with Zeeney.

  “Is she stupid?” asked Harriet.

  “Well, no, she’s …” he started and then turned and looked directly at Harriet, then said, “Yes. Yes, she’s a stupid woman.”

  For some reason this made Harriet want to shut up about Zeeney. There was something powerful working in her father. He gave every indication of someone who didn’t want to discuss something. He kept turning his head away, for one thing. Harriet had long ago noticed that whenever people don’t want to discuss something they always look away as though to drag your eyes with them onto another subject.

  “Well,” said Harriet, “it’s a pretty day.”

  “Yes,” said her father with obvious relief. “It’s a great day for a clambake.” He laughed and smiled directly into her eyes.

  Mrs. Welsch came out then, followed by Janie in jeans and Beth Ellen in a pair of Harriet’s jeans. “Oh, I can’t wait!” said Mrs. Welsch. “When will it be ready? We have lobsters and clams and mussels and corn, and just think how it will taste.”

  “Hooray!” yelled Harriet, and Janie and Beth Ellen looked happy.

  “Not much longer,” said Mr. Welsch, getting up. “I’ll go change and then we’ll go look at the pit. Listen, Harriet, you kids better put those bikes away in the garage. You know what this salt air does to them.” He went inside.

  “Hey, Mother …” said Harriet.

  “Don’t say ‘Hey’ to your mother,” said Mrs. Welsch, absently cleaning an ashtray.

  “Well, anyway, can Beth Ellen spend the night?”

  “Of course, darling,” said Mrs. Welsch, smiling at Beth Ellen, who smiled at the floor. “I’ve already asked Mrs. Hansen and it’s perfectly all right.”

  “Oh, good,” said Harriet, watching Beth Ellen smile wildly at the ground.

  “Come on,” said Janie, “that ferric hydroxide is the devil to get off.” She leapt off the deck.

  “WHAT?” said Harriet, running after.

  “Rust,” said Janie pompously, “caused by an exposure to sodium chloride. Actually a combination of ferric oxide and ferric hydroxide. It tends to make pits in everything. Have you noticed the chrome on the cars out here?”

  “I can’t say that I have,” said Harriet, rolling her bike furiously toward the garage.

  Janie leaned hers against the inside wall and Beth Ellen did the same. Harriet was about to do the same, when suddenly she cried out. “LOOK!” She stood frozen, looking down into the basket of her bike. “It’s HAPPENED!”

  “What?” said Janie.

  “What is it?” said Beth Ellen at the same moment.

  They went over and looked in the basket. There was a piece of paper lying in the bottom.

  “I’ve gotten a note!” said Harriet in rapture. She picked it up as though it were a jewel and read aloud:

  HE THAT IS OF A PROUD HEART

  STIRRETH UP STRIFE

  BUT HE THAT PUTTETH HIS TRUST IN

  THE LORD SHALL BE MADE FAT

  “What is that?” yelled Harriet. “What does it mean? Why would they send that to me?”

  “It means you’re stirring up trouble because you’re so conceited,” said Janie simply.

  “AHA!” said Harriet. “You see they want to get me off the case. Well, they’ll see! I’m not putting my trust in anybody but myself.”

  “That’s just what it means,” said Janie. “You’re too proud. You’re going to fall on your face.”

  “Too proud for what?” said Harriet, very agitated. “And besides that, look at this part, ‘shall be made fat.’ Who wants to be fat?”

  “I think that means ‘get rich,’” said Beth Ellen timidly.

  “Oh, Beth Ellen, what do you know? Listen here, I bet you both haven’t even thought that the only person who could have put this here today is Jessie Mae Jenkins!”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Janie. “I could have put it there, or Beth Ellen, or that Norman or their fat mother or even the little one.”

  “She can’t even write!” said Harriet with disdain.

  “Or your parents,” said Janie. “You have a very sloppy mind. There are many variables in this.”

  “What would my parents do it for?” Harriet was turning very red in the face. “You’re just silly!” she yelled at Janie.

  “I may be silly but I certainly don’t leap to conclusions the way you do,” said Janie primly and walked out of the garage.

  “WELL!” said Harriet loudly.

  “Do you think,” said Beth Ellen in a low voice, “that they want you to stop trying to find out who’s leaving the notes?”

  Of course!” said Harriet. “That Janie hasn’t been on this case as long as we have. She doesn’t know a thing. This is a warning!”

  Beth Ellen nodded seriously.

  “Let’s just not discuss it with Janie anymore. She doesn’t understand the whole thing. And tomorrow we’ll really get down to business.” She clapped Beth Ellen on the back as though she were a police chief.

  They went back up on the deck. Harriet put the note carefully away in her pocket. Janie was standing on the deck. “Mum’s the word,” said Harriet, poking Beth Ellen.

  “Of all the unmitigated clichés,” said Janie.

  Mum … mummy … mother, thought Beth Ellen.

  “Where is everybody?” asked Harriet, ignoring Janie.


  “They’re out at the pit,” said Janie.

  Over near the end of the spit which curved into Mecox Bay they could see Mrs. Welsch waving at them as Mr. Welsch leaned over the pit.

  “Let’s go,” said Harriet, and they all ran across the sand.

  Mr. Welsch had taken the tarpaulin off, and with the aid of tongs, was heaping things into baskets as he got down through each layer. First there was corn, steamed in the husks. Harriet grabbed an ear, burned her fingers, and dropped it, screaming.

  “Wait,” said Mrs. Welsch, “just wait.”

  Then came a layer of steamed clams, then a layer of mussels, more corn, then the lobsters. They could hardly wait until it was all piled high on their plates. There was a big pot of melted butter, which Mrs. Welsch divided into cups for each of them.

  They all sat around on logs and rocks, dipping the lobster meat, the clams, the mussels, and covering their faces with butter and grins. Everything had a marvelous smooth, smoky taste.

  “This is great!” said Janie, gnawing on her fourth ear of corn.

  “Yeah!” said Harriet.

  Even Beth Ellen ate a lot. They all stuffed themselves. Harriet lay back on the sand and pretended she was dead from overeating.

  “That’s the beauty of this kind of dinner,” said Mrs. Welsch, “no dishes to wash.” She threw her paper plate into the fire with abandon and watched it burn. They all threw their plates in and the fire roared up. It was getting darker and darker. They lay back, watching the fire glow and the dark come, all thinking their own thoughts.

  After a while Mrs. Welsch stretched a little and said, “I think I’d like to walk out to the end of the spit. Anybody want to come?”

  “I do,” said Janie and jumped up. “Harriet says there’s a swan skeleton out there!”

  “There is,” said Mrs. Welsch. “Here, I’ll take the flashlight and show it to you.”

  “I’ll go too,” said Beth Ellen quietly and got up.

  “Not me,” said Harriet. “I ate too much.”

  “You shall be made fat,” said Janie and got a sneaker thrown at her for her trouble. She jumped away and laughed.

  “I’ll watch the fire,” said Mr. Welsch.

  They left and Harriet and her father watched the stars begin to come out one by one.