#
"What we gone do with him, Andrik," Martha asked. She used Andrik's name for the first time. Any man who could tie knots in a man as big and muscular as Damion Racy and then carry his prone body inside a house, was a man deserving of her respect. Martha hadn't seen a good fight like this one in many many years.
"I see you have his hands and feet tied up. Do you think that's necessary," Andrik asked nervously.
Damion didn't seem to be in any condition to fight, but he was obviously scared. Through the thin swollen slits of his eyelids, Andrik could see his pupils move rapidly between him and Martha each time one of them spoke. He didn't feel sorry for him, but he wasn't comfortable denying an injured person medical attention nor holding an unwilling person captive.
Andrik stood in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his hips. He stared at the bamboo floors and admired the way the green of the kitchen walls cast a darker shade over the floors making them look a deeper and richer brown. The entire kitchen was his design. He wanted it to be spacious, open, and rustic. The brownish-red color of the granite countertops complemented the lightbrown oak of the cabinets and the greenish bronze of the sinks and fixtures. All the appliances were covered with the same oak wood of the cabinets. Even he had to take a second look at first to find the refrigerator and dishwasher.
Martha had settled Damion in the center of the kitchen in one of the chairs at the eat-in kitchen table. The table was a vintage black cast iron table set, which seated four. Damion's hands and feet were tied to his chair. Andrik had to give Martha some credit for her bravery. She dealt with Damion all on her own while Andrik frantically helped Willetta recover from the assault.
"Damion, Willetta told me why you're so angry, but I want to know why you hit her," Andrik said mildly.
Damion didn't say a word. He stared in Martha's direction. She jumped as if she had been sleeping. She was leaning against the sink waiting to see what Andrik would decide.
"Oh, go on and answer him boy. I ain't gone hurt you. I told him I would cut his tongue out with my fishing knife, if he said a word," she said and winked at Andrik.
Andrik laughed and looked down at Damion, "Looks like you got yourself in a pretty bad situation. What were you hoping to
accomplish?" he asked.
"I came to get Willetta. She's my fiancé. I was just showing her who the man is. You can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing. My whole family and all our friends saw her make a fool out of me," Damion cried plaintively.
Andrik pulled his chair right in front of Damion's. Damion flinched and pressed himself back against the seat. Andrik leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His whole intent was to intimidate and he was accomplishing just that. He stared deeply into Damion's eyes and without a word dared him to look away.
"So, its not against the law in Georgia for grown men to go around planting their fists in women's faces? Don't you know you could have killed her?" Anger made his voice hoarse as he spoke.
"I was just mad man. I saw you and then I saw her and I was just mad man," Damion offered.
"I'm going to make a deal with you, Damion." Andrik began. "I won't call the police and I'll let you stay here til you can drive away, but you have to do something for me."
"Naw, man. I can drive. Just untie me and let me go. I can drive right on out of here." Damion begged.
Andrik shook his head. "No, that's not the deal," he said.
"What do you want from me," Damion asked.
"Well, it occurred to me that Willetta did say she left Atlanta without a word in the middle of the night. She's been here four days and she never once mentioned you, but I knew she was hiding something. I want to know how you found her. I know she was smart enough not to leave a trail," Andrik said.
"I put a tracker on her car months ago. It's under the driver's seat in her car," Damion spilled out.
Andrik stared at him in amazement and disgust. He'd counseled men like Damion and he knew for a fact they rarely changed. They were cowardly, demanding, women-beating creatures that would never stand up to a real man. He felt an overwhelming desire to smash Damion's head in, but reeled in some self-control.
"You's a low-down dirty rat. Women used to grind up glass and poison men like you in my day. I hope you run across a woman mean and bad enough to take care of you. I wished I was young enough to have you. You wouldn't be live long enough to tell nobody you put a nothin under my seat," Martha spat. "I'm going up to check on Willetta. You can have this ole rotten egg, Andrik." She hit Damion in the head as she passed by.
"Well, that’s the deal then," Andrik said. He stood and pushed his chair under the table and turned to begin untying Damion.
"What's the deal," Damion asked,
unashamed of showing that he was scared out of his wits.
Andrik jerked him up from the seat, dragged him through the door and pushed him off the porch into the grass.
"I wanted to know how you found her. You've told me. Now you can go. You have ten minutes to get in your car and get off my property. If Willetta says she's seen you or heard from you, you better get me before I get you. I hope you're listening carefully, because what we had today was an old school fight, the next time it will be deadly."
Damion was so glad to be free, he barely noticed the pain in his side, the fact that his right leg wasn't working at all, and that he could barely see. He drove quickly through the gates and his speedometer reached the eighty mile marker before he reached the interstate. The dust from his flight floated in the air for long, long minutes after his departure.
#
Andrik noticed Willetta's car keys hanging out of her purse. He snatched them up and went out to her car. With a flashlight in his hand he began a thorough search for any tracking devices the idiot, Damion may have left. He quickly found the one under her seat. He also found her laptop and pulled it out to take in to her. He put the laptop on the roof of the car, as he bent to search above the tires for any devices. After finding nothing above her tires, he decided to check her trunk as well. He opened the trunk and knew it would be empty. He had taken all her things in days ago. He ran his hand all along the lining of the trunk, using the flashlight to see. He pulled the edges back and found no more tracking devices. But when he pulled the last edge up in one corner, the whole piece of lining moved to reveal an opening for a spare tire. Instead of a spare tire the hole was filled with books. The books looked old. Andrik picked up one and opened it. He turned the flashlight into the page and his hands shook as he read the little square handwriting of William Thompson.
CHAPTER 26
Volume 5, pg. 1 (January 1934): "I've lived my life for those girls and they don't love me. Olivia is afraid of me. Sylvia Jean hates me and Willetta cries all the time. I saved them and gave them good lives. They should be more thankful."
#
Andrik found a box in the garage and placed all the journals in it. He sat the box beside him on the porch and took a seat on the steps. He was changing. He could feel it. He had always thought he was a man, but the past few days hurt like an allnew rite of passage into manhood. Just as in the ancient tribal rites, how a boy dealt with his challenge determined what sort of man he was. Andrik had the strangest feeling that everything he did from this moment on would define his manhood.
Willetta had inherited the journals. He had inherited the land. This terribly unethical situation was the design of Mama Jean and the big question was why? He thought he and Willetta were on equal ground, when they most definitely were not. He was wandering in confusion and Willetta was leading him along with her knowledge of the journals and their contents.
Andrik was stricken with just how blind and trusting he had been all of his life. That would end here and now. No woman or man would ever hold his destiny in their palm. He would lead. The first person he had to deal with was Willetta. Whatever vow of secrecy she made with Mama Jean was now null and void. He now knew about the journals and he also knew that Mama
Jean was his grandmother.
Martha said that Sylvia Jean, his great great grandmother was willed the journals and her sister Willetta, who was Martha's mother and therefore, Willetta's great grandmother was willed the land. Hence, the rightful heir of the land was Willetta. She could have it. He was the rightful heir of the journals and he would have those.
Andrik stood and picked up the box of journals. He entered the house and went straight to the stairs. Without knocking, he kicked the door to Willetta's room open. Martha was sprawled across the bed talking to Willetta as she soaked in the tub behind the screen. When he burst in the room, she turned her head sharply in his direction and bucked her eyes.
"What's done happened? Did that boy get loose," she cried.
Andrik dropped the box loudly on the floor and said, "Ms. Martha, please leave. I need to talk to Willetta privately."
"The girl taking a bath. Ain't you got no decency?" She said this, as she slid off the bed. The stoic expression on Andrik's face was enough to convince her it was in her best interest to get on down the hall to her room. "Scream if you need me, baby," she said before scuttling past Andrik.
Andrik kicked the door closed and waited. He knew the moment Willetta stood. The sound of the water swelling and then receding as she stood reminded him of the rise and fall of his feelings for her. Then the trickles of water. It was the game. He could almost count them. Then the droplets of water sliding softly from her body. It may as well have been thunder. His heart pounded. He closed his eyes and waited some more.
"What is it, Andrik," Willetta asked.
She was standing in front of him. Andrik's chest expanded and he opened his eyes. The right side of her face was a mess. He stared at the swollen flesh of her cheek and the drooping damage of her eye.
"I couldn't get out of the seatbelt. Martha had to let me out of it. I panicked," he said simply.
Willetta wasn't sure how to respond to his intensity. She could feel a difference in him and had no name for it. She pulled the towel tighter under her armpit and laughed a nervous laugh.
"We were just talking about that fiasco. If you had not been here, he would have killed me. I'm sure of it," she said softly.
"Why didn't you tell me," he asked.
"I didn't know what you would think about a woman who told a man she would marry him and instead of telling him she couldn't marry him, ran away in the middle of the night with him thinking the wedding was still on."
Andrik began to breathe slowly. She cared about his opinion. From the very beginning she cared what he thought about her.
"If you had told me something about his character, I would have understood," he said.
Willetta shrugged and fidgeted with the towel. She looked at her wet feet and thought they were kind of ugly. She'd been in the tub for quite a while. She needed to be putting on lotion at this very moment. In a second or two she would most likely be the ashiest woman this side of the Mississippi River. Her eyes lifted away from her feet and she noticed the box and its contents. Her heart stopped.
Andrik's hands slid up her damp arms and settled against her neck. His thumbs gently caressed her bottom lip, "When you returned my kiss in the yard that night, was it real or where you afraid I'd find the journals," he asked softly.
Willetta was speechless. She stood rooted to the spot. The horrible realization that Andrik knew about the journals mixed with the sensations of his hands on her naked flesh, was heady and
overwhelming. She swayed on her feet.
Andrik's hands slid down her back and beneath the curve of her buttocks and he lifted her against him, "Answer my question, Willetta," he whispered.
"I..Wh..What did you ask me," she said.
Andrik's lips found hers and the rush was the same as when they first kissed. Willetta's arms wound tightly around his neck as he sat on the bed. The kiss remained sealed and passionate as she slid into his lap.
Minutes later Andrik set Willetta on the bed and stood up, "Get dressed, Lettie. I want to talk to you about the journals. Meet me downstairs on the back porch," he murmured.
Andrik quickly left the room. He needed a cold shower and a prayer. Those were the only two things that could save him from the sensual lure of Willetta.
#
Willetta's heart beat wildly. The nearly century old journals sat where Andrik left them. They symbolized the crazy turns one's life could take. The whole direction and meaning of her life had a new face. It was all tied up with the journals; the tall, black, and gorgeous, Andrik; her new grandmother, Martha; a century old Victorian homestead; Mama Jean's funeral; and the tall, black, and gorgeous, Andrik.
Willetta fell back against the bed and threw her arms up over her head. "Am I woman enough for this," she asked.
The aged and seasoned walls of the room seemed to whisper an answer. Willetta sat up and listened. The beating of her heart seemed powerful and steady and she knew the answer. She was more than woman enough and could handle both the legacy and the man.
CHAPTER 27
Volume 1, pg 1 (April 1935): Momma is dead. I don't quite know what to feel. She choked on a pecan. I watched and I watched. All I could think was that she was dying from what she put in her own mouth just like daddy died from what she put in his mouth. To know such things makes one feel dirty and evil too. I hate these journals."
#
"Where is Damion?" Willetta asked, as she climbed onto the swing.
"He's gone," Andrik said flatly.
"Oh," she said quietly. Andrik was not forthcoming with more information and Willetta didn't ask for fear of sounding concerned, which she certainly was not. Instead she busied herself digging into the sinfully delicious hot fudge sundae Andrik pushed into her hands.
"I want the journals, Willetta," he said.
Willetta licked caramel from the corner of her lip. Her eyes stayed fastened on her sundae, while her mind scrambled for an adequate response.
"But she gave them to me," she said simply.
"They rightfully belong to me. This land belongs to you. I don't need this land, but I do need the truth about my parents."
"She must have had a reason for giving them to me, Andrik."
Andrik ignored her comment, "I don't want all of the journals. I just want Mama Jean's," he said.
"No. I just don't think it’s a good idea. I should read them first," Willetta countered.
Andrik felt frustration building. It was of a very unpleasant sort. The feeling mingled with desperation threatened to make him choke. "Willetta, I'm not asking you for the journals," he said.
Willetta lowered the bowl of ice cream to her lap. She felt the coolness of it through her cotton pajamas. She was almost done. The small amount of ice cream in the bottom of the bowl would soon melt and she could drink it like milk. It would be good.
"I want you to tell me where they are," he continued.
"I can't do that, Andrik," she said softly.
Andrik stared at her in the darkness. The moonlit porch cast shadows here and there, but illuminated Willetta's face to perfection. He could see the emotion and determination in her eyes and his heart fell. If it was up to Willetta, he would never see the journals.
"That's your final word on it," he asked.
Willetta took a deep breath and nodded.
"Then I declare war," he said so quietly, Willetta could barely hear him.
Her heart began to pound in agitation. She didn't know whether to be afraid or enraged. Just what was he planning to do? She didn't have to ask, because he was ready to let her know.
"I'll be watching every move you make. There are more journals from where those came from. I'll be there when you get the rest of them. It will be like taking candy from a baby," he said angrily.
"What are you hoping to find out, Andrik? Aunt Olivia already told you everything," she said desperately.
"If you believed that, you would let me read the journals, Willetta. Don't play games with me. I'm a man, not a boy," he whispered.
He had showered. She could smell the soap. She could smell the hickory-wood scent of his deodorant and the mint of his mouthwash. The sweet smell of chocolate and caramel lingered in the air. She could smell the Mississippi dust carried by the wind and sifting through the porch screens. Her skin was no longer part of her, but a separate entity. It moved and shifted as she sat perfectly still. It was keen for Andrik and his attentions. It and her mind were at odds. This was physical attraction and desire at its basest.
Andrik knew what was happening. The tightening of his body and the pounding of his heart were not lost on him, but to fall for Willetta at this moment would be a certain premature defeat. He wanted to fight. He breathed in a ragged breath and reined in control.
"Go to bed, Willetta. What happened upstairs won't happen again. You are the last person I should have an interest in. It could turn out to be an incestuous relationship," he said
sarcastically.
His arrogance riled her and his blasé dismissal hurt, but Willetta didn't say a word. She slowly lifted the bowl to her lips and drank her melted ice cream. With even slower deliberation she stuck her finger in the bowl and wet it. Making a guttural sound of ecstasy, she slid the finger into her mouth.
Andrik couldn't have looked away if the ceiling was caving in. His eyes narrowed upon her lips and he watched in heated fascination as she withdrew her finger. Her eyes lifted and bore into his, as she said, "I'll be sure to let you know if we turn out to be kin."
#
Over the next few days Willetta spent most of the time in her room reading William
Thompson's journals. Andrik did not try to bother her, but he watched her every move. Every time she came out of the room she could sense his eyes on her. He was waiting for her to seek out the rest of the journals. Willetta knew that getting the rest of them from the grave would be tricky, but she was working on a plan.
Journals of the Secret Keeper Page 10