"So, he knew I wasn't Richard's child?" Andrik laughed without humor and shook his head.
"He and Richard were like brothers. He knew Richard and Anita were waiting until they got married," she explained.
"Well, I'm not reading anymore letters. I don't want the journals either. I just want to live my life," he growled.
"You ain't got to read nothing then, but I know what I'm fixing to do. I'm going to that nursing home right now and me and that dusty old Ricky gone get to scrapping. Y'all get your bail money ready. Don't leave me sitting in jail," she said.
That got Andrik's attention. The pulse in his temple throbbed and his lips trembled as he held back real laughter. Martha and Willetta didn't miss the sudden twinkle in his eye. They pushed on past him anyway, because business was business. CHAPTER 34
Volume 4, pg. 1 (March 1972): "Ferguson M osley came by today. He made a big show of disowning Anita and the baby. He got so worked up he spit at Anita's feet to make his point. That's when I picked up a broom and ran him out of the house."
#
Andrik's pride didn't allow him to go with Martha and Willetta. The clock showed nine-thirty and any nursing home worth its salt wouldn't let anyone in at this hour. So, he gave Willetta the directions to the only nursing home in Clarksdale and washed his hands of their high drama. He was wiped out emotionally anyway. To think that Willetta and his mother both had endured the same crime and that he was a product of such a crime was a painful realization.
He climbed the stairs intent on retreat. He didn't want to see or talk to anybody for a long while. The last thing he wanted to do was go to see the man responsible for his birth. He knew depression was settling in upon him and he was unable to divert the tide as it rushed on in. As he entered his room, the sight of the journals and the suitcase they came in made his stomach turn. It would have been better if he'd never known anything. He put the journals none too gently back into the suitcase and dragged the whole thing out into the hallway. Reentering his room, he slammed the door violently.
#
Due to its dismal decline, the nursing home had no nighttime security. The two glass front doors were not locked and the front desk was vacant. Willetta was appalled at the obvious disregard for the safety of the elderly people therein. She and Martha walked the hallway and heard the moaning and groaning of some of the patients. The smell was acrid and that of urine and feces. Martha shook her head and held on tight to Willetta's arm.
"I hope I don't never end up in no place like this," she whispered.
Suddenly a very tall and thin white man turned the corner and came to an abrupt halt before them. His blue scrub and name tag identified him as one of the employees. "Can I help you," he asked nonchalantly.
"We're looking for Ricky Myer's room," Willetta said simply.
"Kinda late to be visiting don't you think," he said. His eyes were hard and he had a look of impatience upon his face. He obviously did not like his job.
"We buried his wife today and wanted to make sure he was okay," she said. Willetta knew she and Martha looked very suspicious, but she pressed on.
"Well, he happens to be awake. He's been a lot of trouble today. More trouble than usual. Maybe you can calm him down," he said carelessly and shrugged his shoulders. "Keep on going around this corner. His room is on the right. Number twenty-five," he shrugged again and made a clicking noise with his tongue. His eyes gave Willetta the creeps. He continued to stand and stare.
"Is there something else," Willetta asked dismissively.
"No. I just didn't know he had relatives. That's all," he said flatly. Then he was gone.
Martha's hold on Willetta's arm was becoming painful and she understood her fear. As nursing homes go, this was a cesspool pit.
"We're here now," Willetta said as they entered the room.
The sight that met them was unbelievable. Mr. Ricky Myers was tied to the bed and tears poured down his face. When he caught sight of Martha he tried to turn his head away.
"Ricky," Martha cried out. "What they doin to you?"
"Get out," he whispered.
"I came here prepared to hate you and to tell you that, but I can't leave you like this. This here is too much even for a man like you," she cried.
Willetta suddenly felt like an intruder. She felt the strong undercurrents between Ricky and Martha and didn't know what it meant. Ricky remained stonily silent as Martha cursed him and tearfully untied his restraints. She laid a trembling hand upon the curly gray hair of his head.
Ricky released a pent-up sigh of relief and ran his hand across his tear-stained face. He and Martha stared at each other and neither said a word for a long while.
"Martha, open that top drawer over there and pull out the white plastic bag, "he said tremulously. "I want you to open it up."
Martha hobbled over to the drawer and did what he asked. When she opened it up, her hands trembled fiercely. Her breathing became uneven and Willetta rushed to help her into the lone chair by Ricky's bed. She peeked into the bag and saw brown material. It looked like a coat.
"That's what she had on. Did you give that to her?" he asked quietly. The silence in the room was thick and even Willetta in her darkness knew that Martha's answer was important. Mr. Ricky Myers had the look of a man who had waited many long years for the answer to this very important question.
"Yes, I did. How did you get it, Ricky," Martha asked fearfully.
"She had it on. She came to our spot and I thought she was you. I was too drunk to know the difference until it was too late," he said sadly.
Willetta's heart beat fast as she began to understand the implications of their words. She watched as Martha clutched her stomach and bent over. The keening sound coming from deep within her chest was enough to scare the wits out of Willetta, but she stood her ground and watched the scene unfold before her.
Ricky found strength enough to pull himself up in the bed. He reached one long arm out toward Martha and rested his hand on her shoulder. She grabbed it as if it were a lifeline.
"I'm so ashamed, Ricky. All that mess. We caused all that mess with those young people. If Richy had lived, the truth would have killed him anyway," she cried.
"You were having an affair with your cousin's husband," Willetta asked incredulously. She had been silent too long and she wanted the details. Nothing could have surprised her more than this new revelation. She stared from Ricky to Martha and tried to imagine them young and in their prime lusting after one another. Regrettably all she had to do was think of herself and Andrik. She shook her head to dispel the comparison. She and Andrik were free to love each other. Martha and Ricky had not been.
"We were in love before Ricky married Jean. I broke it off and had an affair with Stanley's father and Ricky married Jean to hurt me," she said.
Willetta shook her head and sat on the end of Ricky's bed. "It sounds like a soap opera. So, who was Stanley's father," she asked.
"I can't tell you, child. It will only cause a lot of confusion. We need to sign Ricky out of here anyway. I ain't leavin him in here another minute," she said agitatedly.
Willetta didn't miss the look of alarm Ricky and Martha shared, before Martha changed the subject. But she herself was alarmed at the thought of taking Mr. Ricky uninvited back to Andrik's house.
"Before you get all in a huff, we gone stay at Jean's. I wouldn't dare bring this old coot to that boy's house," she said. Martha had regained her aplomb and was back to her same old frankness. CHAPTER 35
Volume 4, pg. 1 (May 1972): "Andrik is a sweet baby. He rarely cries, but he ain't no laughing baby either. He gone have a serious nature. Anita done left him to me. That child is so sad. She gone make herself sick. "
#
The plan was to keep it a secret. Andrik only needed to know that Martha had decided to stay at Mama Jean's after all. Willetta hoped he stayed away from the little old house. Although tolerant of Martha, he had yet to express any real fondness for her. For that reason, Willetta felt the
ir secret would be safe. Andrik would never suspect Martha was hiding Ricky Myers in Mama Jean's old homestead.
After helping Martha and Ricky into Mama Jean's house, Willetta drove slowly towards Thompson Estates. She laughed a little at how straight and tall Ricky stood as he walked out of the nursing home to the car. Both she and Martha were vastly relieved to know he could walk, because now his care wouldn't be so cumbersome for them. #
The talk on the way home had been about the night Ricky had raped Anita. It had been a horrible mistake on his part and he had lived in its shadow the rest of his life. At age seventy-six he still had little knowledge of all that had happened afterwards. The day of Andrik's birth had severed all his ties to Jean and Anita. Martha was gone long before Andrik was born. She'd left Mississippi for good the day after Richard's funeral. Ricky had always assumed she found out about what he'd done and just didn't want to see his face again.
"The truth was that I was ate up with guilt every time I looked at Jean. My son had killed her child and here I was sleeping with her husband. When she started talking about the journals and looking at me like she could see through me, I got scared. I told Stanley he had to marry Anita and then I left for California," she said.
Everyone settled into an uncomfortable silence. Willetta had no idea on earth what she was doing. Ricky and Martha had single-handedly destroyed so many lives and the effects were still rippling. She and Martha had saved Ricky from a punishment he most likely deserved. Willetta shook her head.
She wondered how Ricky must have felt when Richard died, "Mr. Ricky how did you feel when Richard died?" She wanted to hear it from him.
She heard his shaky intake of breath and felt his hesitation. "I almost lost my mind. Richard had written a letter for Jean to take care of Anita, if he should die. He gave it to me to keep in case something happened to him. I couldn't face Jean. So, I left it on the porch and ran. During that time, I was never at home. I was a cheater and a drinker," he said quietly.
#
Willetta finally turned into the gate of Thompson Estates, parked and turned the engine off. What was she going to do? She was sure she had lost her clients. Her cell phone was still off and even if she wanted to check her e-mail there was no internet service down this road. But to be honest, she hadn't had the heart or desire to do any marketing. She was most definitely unemployed.
She had a little money in her savings, but not enough to set up house all over again.
She was completely caught up in the past and could feel it down to her bones. She didn't feel like the Willetta she'd always known. She felt different and more complex. The past was calling for understanding and mercy on her part. It was draining and hurtful.
Her grandmother and Andrik's father had been lovers. Unspeakable tragedies surrounded their union and intertwined with their mere existence. Martha's son had accidentally killed Ricky's son. Ricky's wife was Martha's first cousin. Ricky's son's fiance married Martha's son. Martha's son raised Ricky's son. It was a tangle and a puzzle. It was a mind scrambler. Was there more? Willetta certainly hoped not.
In the meantime she had no help in dealing with it all. Andrik was despondent and wrapped up in the pain of being the product of a rape. He was angry and resentful. He couldn't see the beautiful lesson or the humorous irony. Willetta could see it all. She could see what Mama Jean was doing, had done. It was clear. This was the attempt of a very wise woman to stop the cycle of secrets and family dissension. It could actually work.
"I'll read the journals, Mama Jean," she whispered into night. "I'll read everyone of them. Believing in secrets is not the same as keeping secrets. You never told me to keep the secrets."
Willetta climbed out of the car and went into the house. She climbed the stairs quickly. It was now twelve o'clock in the morning. The long hallways were dark and the house was quiet. Andrik was probably asleep. She opened the door to her room and switched the light on. It softly illuminated the hallway and she could clearly see the suitcase of journals sitting beside Andrik's doorway.
"Perfect," she whispered. She was glad she had changed into jeans, t-shirt, and tennis shoes before taking Martha to Clarksdale. It would have been impossible to move the suitcase in her little black dress without ruining it. So, she dug her shoes into the wood and pulled on the suitcase. It didn't budge. "What is it? Bricks," she murmured. She pulled again without much improvement.
The door to Andrik's room opened. He stood looking down at her with a look of irritation sketched across his face. "Move, Willetta. Where do you want them?" he asked flatly.
"In my room, please," she said. This was the first time she had seen him without a shirt. The tarry black skin glowed in the dusky light. His chest was smooth with muscles. Damion Racy had been hairy. Andrik had no hair to speak of on his chest. Willetta liked it.
He grunted with his efforts to move the heavy suitcase. "This is scratching up my floor," he complained. "You could have just opened it and gotten what you needed out of it until in the morning."
"I didn't think of that," she said. This was the first time she had seen him in jeans too. He normally wore slacks and khakis. Willetta stared unashamedly.
Andrik was not unaware of Willetta's eyes on him. He wanted to make good of it, but his curiosity about their visit to the nursing home won out.
"So, how did you find my father," he said sarcastically.
Willetta was totally unprepared for the question. She couldn't think of what to say without telling him everything. She watched nervously as he gave one final push to the suitcase. It was completely in her room now. He stood up and turned all of his attention on her. His eyes were piercing and she knew he would not ask the question again, but he wasn't leaving until she answered it either.
"H…he was pitiful," she stammered.
"What does that mean," Andrik asked quietly.
Willetta had never been good at lying either by omission or outright. So, she did the only other thing that was on her mind. She touched him. The dark skin of his chest was just as smooth and hard as it looked. The heat of it was startling to the flesh of her palm and she snatched her hand away.
"What are you doing," he whispered. Andrik's eyes narrowed into slits and he watched her predatorily.
"I've never seen a man without chest hair. I just wanted to see how it felt." Willetta knew she sounded stupid, but she was unable to stop the idiotic flow of words.
"Oh, I see," was all Andrik said. He stood before her as still as a statue. "Are you done," he asked.
Willetta's experience consisted of the rape and Damion Racy. Andrik was new territory in more ways than one. She couldn't read him and didn't know what to do with him. One thing was clear. She was on her own. Martha was down the road. They were all alone. She knew that, but Andrik didn't. This, no doubt, was the reason for his reserve. Willetta could see the pulse throbbing in his neck. His body had responded instantly to her touch. All she had to do was say the word. Even though she wanted him, she felt a need to go slower and deeper with Andrik. She wanted more from him than sex.
"Yes, I'm done," she said and backed away.
Andrik wasted no time getting out of her room. "Dizzy female," he murmured as he walked down the hall and back into his room. Once again he violently slammed the door, but this time from a totally different frustration.
CHAPTER 36
Volume 4, pg. 1 (June 1972): "Anita talked some more today about the rape. She said he called her Martha. I got to think about this and what it means. It ain't soundin too good, but I guess a heart can't be broken again. Once its broke I guess its broke." #
Octavia and Olivia knocked harder. No one answered. "Now where is everyone this fine Sunday evening?" Octavia said.
Olivia's sedate expression changed to one of painful forbearance. She and her mother had been sent by Aunt Olivia back to the Thompson Estate on an errand. They were not to come home emptyhanded. Aunt Olivia had decided that forthrightness was the best way to handle this delicate situation. Their abject f
ailure at the last attempt was not to be repeated.
After knocking harder and in rapid successions, the knob of the door began to turn. It opened to reveal a very unhappy Andrik. Octavia grabbed Olivia's arm as she stumbled back from the ferocious scowl that adorned his face. They both took a couple of steps back, because his face was very very unwelcoming.
"We need to talk to you, Andrik. Could we please come in," Octavia asked nervously.
Andrik groaned inwardly, but backed away and let them file past him. He had not shaved and his face had a day's growth of stubble on it. His hair was unkempt and he still wore the jeans he fell into bed in. He had grabbed a white t-shirt on the way out the door. So, at least he was fully dressed. He looked at the clock and was shocked to see that it was one o'clock in the afternoon. He looked up the stairs and wondered where Martha and Willetta were. He followed Octavia and Olivia into the living room. They sat on the couch and he stood by the fireplace.
"What can I do for you ladies," he said stiltedly.
"We were sent by Aunt Olivia to inquire after an antique," Olivia began.
Andrik stared at her uncomprehendingly. The first thing he wanted to know was how she had the audacity to be here at all. After what she'd done to Willetta, it was pushing the limits to even expect him to let her past the threshold. He looked away from her dismissively and turned his attention to Octavia.
"Mrs. Octavia will you please explain to me what it is you want," he said with impatience.
Octavia fluttered nervously around on the couch until she sat perched on its edge. The timing was all wrong and she knew they were very close to being thrown out. Her interest in the piece was just as keen as her mother's and so she girded herself against Andrik's intimidation and pressed forward.
"You know that my mother was stolen from her own mother by Etta," she hesitated at the look of disgust that came across Andrik's face.
"Please don't go into the details. Get to the point. I don't want to hear anymore about the past," he barked.
"There is a picture of a white woman with red hair on a wooden screen somewhere in this house. My mother has reason to believe that woman is her actual mother. She wants it. She has sent us to bring it to her," Octavia finished.
Journals of the Secret Keeper Page 13