The Long Secret

by Louise Fitzhugh

  The wheelchair creaked away and Beth Ellen stood thinking. I would like to stick my head in the tub, run in naked, and splash water all over Zeeney’s white dress. Why did she always wear white? Tonight she had decided to wear white because Agatha was wearing white. I will hate white, she thought, for as long as I live. I will never again wear a white dress.

  After she was all dressed and Zeeney had buttoned her all wrong and her grandmother had rebuttoned her, she was led down to the sports car by Wallace. Zeeney was late because she had had to look in the mirror again. Wallace revved the motor loudly.

  A bicycle crunched on the gravel. Beth Ellen looked up with astonishment to see Jessie Mae stopping next to her.

  “Hello,” said Beth Ellen suddenly, oddly glad to see her.

  “Hi,” said Jessie Mae. “I wondered if you and your friend could come to the house for dinner? Mama isn’t here and I’m cooking.” Jessie Mae’s freckled face was alight with her plan and her small brown eyes were shining.

  “I can’t,” said Beth Ellen, grateful that Wallace was so busy listening to the motor, he hadn’t noticed. “I have to go to the Shark’s Tooth Inn for dinner.”

  “Oh,” said Jessie Mae, “I saw you there last night. I found out where you live from the garage man. Norman is working there now.”

  “I know,” said Beth Ellen.

  “He can’t drive and they don’t know it,” said Jessie Mae in a very worried voice. “I went last night to watch out for him, but I can’t go every night. I have Magnolia to watch.”

  “I’ll watch him,” said Beth Ellen, wondering how in the world she was going to do that. But she felt she had to say something because Jessie Mae looked so worried.

  “Oh! Will you?” The freckled face relaxed and smiled warmly. “I guess I’ll wait to ask your friend until you can come. Can you come tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know,” said Beth Ellen, “I’ll see.” I don’t plan to live at the Shark’s Tooth, she thought.

  “Come along, dear,” said Zeeney loudly, sweeping past them, glaring at Jessie Mae, and leaving them swimming in her perfume.

  Jessie Mae stared. “Is that your mom?” she said wildly.

  “Yes,” said Beth Ellen hurriedly and climbed in onto the gearshift. Zeeney slammed the door and glared at Jessie Mae again.

  The car went out of the driveway so fast that Jessie Mae was completely covered in dust and even sprayed with bits of gravel.

  “What in the world was that?” asked Zeeney, horrified. But she didn’t really want an answer, so Beth Ellen said nothing. A friend of mine, she thought to herself and wished like mad to be going home with Jessie Mae.

  ow, remember, Harriet, I am going to have one drink and you are going to have one Coke and that’s it! A promise is a promise, and you’ve promised me that you won’t beg to stay for dinner. We’ll just go in, listen to the piano for a while, and then go have a lobster.”

  “All right.” Harriet was all smiles. She would have said all right to having her head chopped off. They were in the car driving to the Shark’s Tooth Inn.

  They rolled down the hill and the country lane had never looked so beautiful to Harriet. “Boy! Won’t Beth Ellen be surprised!”

  “I dare say,” said Mrs. Welsch. “But is she going to be so happy with your beady little eyes watching every move she makes?”

  “Oh, Mother.” She laughed. Nothing could destroy her mood. The hotel was ahead of them. Harriet held her breath with excitement, then let it out with a great whoosh as they drove through the gates. “My God, there’s Norman!” she shouted.

  “What, what?” said her mother, narrowly missing the small fat boy who gestured them to a parking place.

  “Nothing,” Harriet said. “I just know that little boy.”

  “Well, even if you do, do you have to shout at the top of your lungs? And don’t say ‘My God.’”

  Harriet didn’t answer, because she was too busy watching Norman. He handed Mrs. Welsch a red ticket, then stuck the other half under the windshield wiper.

  “Can you drive?” asked Harriet abruptly.

  Norman turned his back on her and marched importantly back to his chair.

  “Well, come on,” said Mrs. Welsch, not seeing what had happened. “Let’s go see what’s so exciting.”

  They walked up on the porch. Harriet’s face was bathed in the radiance of victory. She sailed through the door like the Queen Mary docking.

  They walked into the hall, now brightly lit and festive, and on into the bar, which was cool in the late afternoon light.

  Bunny was just sitting down at the piano. He nodded a hello to Mrs. Welsch and then sat down to play.

  Mrs. Welsch chose a table near the window. Harriet was all eyes. There was no one else in the bar except the bartender.

  “Where is everybody?” she asked her mother.

  “That’s a good question,” said Bunny right through his own music. He smiled at them. “It’s early yet. They’ll be along, be along, all be along soon enough.”

  “Sit down, darling,” said her mother.

  Harriet sat straight up, swiveling her neck around with delight. She saw Bunny look at Mrs. Welsch in an appreciative way, so she turned and looked at her mother too. Mrs. Welsch wore a lime-green summer dress, very straight and slim, which made her look very tan. My mother, thought Harriet, is pretty. She doesn’t look like Zeeney, but she’s pretty in another way. She doesn’t look like she’s going to bite your head off like Zeeney does. She looked down at her own dress, which was yellow cotton with a yellow sweater over it that matched. I look all right too, she thought.

  There was a loud crash from the back, followed by some hushed voices, and Bunny raised his eyes to the ceiling. A waiter appeared. Mrs. Welsch said, “A vodka martini on the rocks and a Coke, please.” He left.

  Harriet kept swiveling her head around. So this is a bar, she thought. She had never been to a bar.

  Bunny’s mother came into the bar leaning on her cane. She said “Good evening” to Bunny. He looked away as though he’d been insulted. She hobbled into the bar and sat on a bar stool. Moo-Moo waddled in after her and went to lie at Bunny’s feet.

  Bunny began to sing. He sang like a frog. He had a small smile continually dancing at the corners of his mouth and his heavy-lidded eyes drooped in a sleepy, insinuating way. What can Beth Ellen think is so great? Harriet asked herself. He not only sounds like a frog, he looks like one.

  “He plays well, doesn’t he?” asked her mother.

  Harriet was about to answer when she saw the most astonishing thing. She saw Jessie Mae standing in the middle of the dining room.

  It was almost like seeing a ghost because she was only there a split second and then there was just a white tablecloth and the back of a chair. Harriet shook her head. Did I dream it? she thought. Of course not. What’s she doing there?

  In the next instant they heard a cry from outdoors. Harriet stood right up on the banquette and looked out the window. Jessie Mae was trying to drag Norman away from a chair that he was holding on to.

  “HARRIET!” Her mother was horrified and was almost pulling her arm off. “Sit down this instant. What do you think you’re doing?”

  Norman won, punching Jessie Mae in the eye.

  “HARRIET!”

  Harriet sat down.

  “I’ve never seen such behavior. If you want to come to a place like this, you’ll certainly have to behave better than that!”

  Bunny appeared to be laughing at Harriet. He played very loudly. Harriet sat thinking. If Jessie Mae and Norman are here all the time, that puts a different light on those notes altogether.

  “HOW SWEET!” and “How NICE it all looks” and “BUNNY!” came screams from the hall.

  “AGATHA!” screamed Bunny, and stopping in the middle of a note, he leapt to his feet and zoomed around the piano to collide with the vision who stood, arms flailing, in the doorway.

  “It is Mrs. Plumber!” said Harriet, delighted.

  �
�How in the world do you know that?” asked her mother, now visibly aghast.

  “Bunny, DARLING! Give Mums a kiss! HelllOOOOOOooooo, everyone, your founder is here!” She flailed her way to the bar with Bunny bouncing behind like a fat foxhound.

  In the middle of this their waiter arrived, and Harriet almost knocked her mother over trying to peer around his red jacket. She saw Mrs. Plumber give a resounding kiss to Bunny, one to Bunny’s mother, and almost give one to the bartender before she remembered who he was.

  “Harriet, do sit still, and don’t stare so,” said Mrs. Welsch.

  “Bunny, DARLING! Just HOW is everything going?” shouted Mrs. Plumber, throwing an arm and just missing the bartender’s nose.

  “Splendid, love, splendid,” said Bunny heartily. “Everything under control. Yes, yes, everything fine, oh, yes, oh, Lordy Day.”

  “And did you go to Mass, love?”

  “Oh, yes, oh, dear, yes, every day, every day.”

  “And do you think silly little Agatha can run a club as well as your dear wife?” said Agatha sharply.

  “Oh, dear, oh, yes, oh, Lordy Day, oh, Agatha, darling, I didn’t mean to imply …”

  “Play us a tune, Bunny darling, DO!” said Agatha, reverting to her screech and beginning to wave her arms around as though they were legs and were dancing.

  Bunny scurried to the piano. The bartender ducked one of the arms as it came too close. Bunny began to play. Agatha began to sing in a quavering whinny consistently one note flat.

  What an idiot woman, thought Harriet.

  “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Welsch. She turned to Harriet. Her face had a bemused, rather wry smile. “Do you think you’ve almost had enough, darling?”

  “Beth Ellen isn’t here yet, Mother,” said Harriet impatiently.

  “But are you enjoying this?” asked her mother curiously as though she obviously wasn’t.

  “Oh, yes!” said Harriet, her eyes shining. Her mother laughed.

  “Where ARE they?” said Agatha, loudly, peering at her wrist into a watch the size of an eyeball.

  Harriet felt her mother stiffen and sit straighter. She looked and saw that her mother was looking at the door. She followed her look.

  There was Zeeney, lounging against the door like an unwatered plant. She seemed to be holding up the trails of white which made up her dress.

  “ZEENEY!” screamed Bunny.

  “BUNNY!” screamed Zeeney.

  They rushed at each other like two gladiators. As Bunny was about to collide, Zeeney put out a stiff arm and he fell against her hand as though he’d walked into a parking meter.

  What are they doing? thought Harriet. They just saw each other yesterday. She looked at her mother out of the corner of her eye and was surprised to see her mother as engrossed as she was.

  “DARLING!” Zeeney spat.

  “SWEETIE!” sang Bunny and bobbed his head like a turtle trying to get to her face. Not being able to, he kissed the air all around her head.

  “ZEENEY!” screamed Agatha and scuttled across the bar in the knock-kneed stagger which was her normal walk.

  “AGATHA!” screamed Zeeney and they collided, each holding the other at arm’s length.

  Wallace appeared around the doorway holding the hand of a transformed Beth Ellen, stiff in a white dress, her face thinner-looking framed by the straight hair.

  “Hup,” said Wallace.

  “WALLACE!” screamed Agatha and threw herself on his chest.

  “WALLACE!” screamed Bunny and pumped Wallace’s hand up and down.

  “Hup,” said Wallace.

  “And what’s this?” said Agatha, looking down at Beth Ellen.

  Harriet got a wild smile on her face.

  “BETH ELLEN!” she screamed and leapt across the room, arms outstretched. She clasped a horrified Beth Ellen in an embrace. Beth Ellen pushed her away and jumped back.

  Foiled, Harriet stood in the middle of the group. Everyone looked down at her. She felt like a spilled drink.

  “OO,” said Agatha with obvious distaste, “it’s Kiddy Night.”

  “HARRIET!” said Mrs. Welsch loudly. Everyone then looked over at her.

  “Hi, Beth Ellen,” said Harriet calmly, deciding to save the situation by acting as though nothing had happened.

  “Hi,” breathed Beth Ellen and shrank back.

  “Harriet, come here,” said Mrs. Welsch. Harriet turned reluctantly after waiting a minute to see if anyone would introduce her. No one did.

  “Is this a little friend of yours?” asked Zeeney of Beth Ellen.

  “ON TO THE BAR,” said Agatha loudly, and grabbing Wallace, she pulled him forcibly to a bar stool.

  Zeeney had evidently decided to play “mother.” When Beth Ellen nodded, she said to Harriet, “What’s your name, darling?”

  “HARRIET M. WELSCH,” said Harriet loudly.

  “Harriet, come over here,” said Mrs. Welsch again.

  “Welsch?” Zeeney looked puzzled.

  “Yes. WELSCH,” Harriet said even more loudly. Beth Ellen looked as though she wanted to die.

  “Welsch … are you Rodger Welsch’s daughter?” Zeeney leaned forward.

  “HARRIET!” said Mrs. Welsch in that certain brisk tone which Harriet knew could not be disobeyed. This time, however, she was too enthralled to do anything but stare up at Zeeney.

  “Yes!” she said proudly.

  “Well, isn’t that the most enchanting thing! Rodger’s daughter after all these years!” Zeeney held Harriet away and looked her over for any telltale marks her father might have left on her. “Well,” she said doubtfully, “you don’t look a thing like him. Are you sure?” she added vaguely. Beth Ellen looked mortified.

  “Of COURSE I’m sure,” yelled Harriet.

  “Harriet!” Mrs. Welsch’s voice was urgent.

  “And this”—Zeeney was across the room in one white swoop—“this must be your mother!” She extended a hand to Mrs. Welsch. “I’m delighted to meet you. I’ve always wanted to see who Rodger married.”

  “Oh?” said Mrs. Welsch and for some reason looked at Harriet as though she wanted to tear her limb from limb.

  Harriet looked at Beth Ellen. She saw her scoop up Moo-Moo and carry her out into the hall.

  “I’m so sorry!” said Zeeney with a great show of white teeth. “I’m Zeeney Baines. I was Zeeney Hansen. Rodger and I used to play tennis together. We haven’t seen each other since we were fifteen years old. He’s never mentioned me?”

  Mrs. Welsch looked calm. “I know your daughter quite well,” she said pleasantly, “and, of course, your mother.”

  “Mmmm” said Zeeney, “naughty Rodger. Not even mentioning me…. What DAYS those were…. What CHILDREN we were…. Oh, the pity of it all…. Les histoires d’enfance ….”

  Harriet’s eyes were bugging. She watched her mother’s eyes narrow.

  Zeeney seemed to pull herself together. “You weren’t around then, were you, dear? I don’t seem to be able to place you…. Were you there … around the club, I mean?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Welsch sweetly, “but I was much younger, of course.”

  “Of course,” Zeeney hissed between her teeth and left the table. Over her shoulder, without even looking back, as she walked away she said, “Terribly nice to meet you. Give Rodger a BIG kiss,” and she floated to the bar.

  Harriet stood still. Mrs. Welsch looked after Zeeney with a smile of definite amusement.

  As though forgetting Harriet was there, she said, “So that’s Zeeney Hansen,” and then she laughed, looked around and saw Harriet.

  “What? What, what? What happened?” said Harriet without even sitting down. “What was that? What was that all about? What did she have to do with Daddy? Why does she talk like that? Why do you talk like that to her? What is it?”

  “Sit down, Harriet,” said Mrs. Welsch, and her voice was sharp. Harriet sat. Her eyes were very wide. She felt somehow shaken by this view into her father’s past. Mrs. Welsch signaled the wa
iter for another drink.

  “Do you want another Coke?” she asked Harriet gently.

  “No,” said Harriet.

  “No, thank you.”

  “No, thank you,” said Harriet and continued to stare at her mother.

  Mrs. Welsch turned and looked at her. “Harriet,” she said, and sighed just a little. “Zeeney Hansen and your father used to play tennis together when they were fifteen. Does that answer that incredible barrage of questions?”

  “No,” said Harriet. “RATS.”

  “Well,” said her mother, “I don’t know what you mean by ‘rats,’ but that’s all there is to know about it.”

  “But the way she talked… and the way you talked…” Harriet felt terribly frustrated. She knew that she was right and that her mother just didn’t want to tell her. This is one thing, she thought, that I really hate about adults. She knows I’m right and she just won’t tell me…. She forgot everything—Beth Ellen, the notes, Jessie Mae, everything but this.

  “Mother …” she began in a wheedling voice.

  “That’s it, Harriet. Now you mustn’t dramatize everything.” Mrs. Welsch looked over at Zeeney and her whooping friends in a distracted way.

  “I’m not doing that!” Harriet yelled. “I saw the way she was and the way you were and I want to know everything!”

  “Don’t raise your voice,” said her mother absently. Then in a totally different tone of voice, “Darling?”

  “What?” said Harriet.

  “Would you really like to stay here for dinner?”

  Harriet felt like running in three directions. Dinner was suddenly a minor matter compared to this glimpse into her father’s dark past. “Yes, I want to, but I also want to know this.” She’d ventured out of bounds as she said this and she knew it.

  “Well, drop it, or we won’t do either,” said her mother. The waiter arrived.

  Harriet watched the red arms put her mother’s drink down. I can ask my father, she thought. The world turned rose at this thought and she began to think about dinner. They were going to stay! She could watch them all at dinner! Her mother reserved a table. The waiter left.