Secrets Rising

by Sally Berneathy

  "Doris," Rebecca said when the older woman didn't answer, "I need your help. Please."

  "Yes," Doris replied quietly. "Something has to be done. Can the two of you come to my house today?"

  "We'll leave right now," Jake said.

  "It's time to make things right," Doris said. "It's time, Rebecca, for you to meet your mother."

  Chapter 24

  "Mary, what's going on?"

  Mary looked up from her desk to see David standing in the doorway of her office at the library. She smiled as if nothing were wrong and waved a hand at the scattered papers. "I'm working."

  He shut the door behind him then walked around to put his hands on her shoulders and gently massage her neck. "Your muscles are even tighter than usual. Yesterday in church you were so distracted you'd have left after communion if I hadn't stopped you. Then I had to nudge you to get moving after the recessional. Now you're working on your day off, and Eunice called to tell me to get you out of here."

  "Eunice called you?"

  "Yes, she's worried about you. So am I." His gentle fingers continued to work on her neck muscles, but she knew his efforts were futile. Those muscles weren't going to unknot. Not for a while. A long while. Not until she knew for certain that her daughter was safe.

  She patted David's hand. "I'm fine. Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?"

  Socializing was the last thing in the world she wanted to do right now, but she had to act as if nothing was wrong, she had to continue with her twenty-nine year charade.

  He moved around to sit on the desk and face her. "I'd love to come for dinner," he said softly. "For dinner and the rest of your life."

  She turned away, back to her work.

  He took her left hand, his fingers rubbing the golden band she hadn't taken off since Ben had placed it there. She tried to pull away, but his grip was surprisingly firm.

  "I don't expect you to stop loving him," he said, "but surely you have room in your heart to love more than one person."

  She looked up at his concerned, familiar features. "David, you know how I feel about you."

  "No, I don't. For six years we've been together almost constantly, but we never talk about us."

  "When we first started seeing each other, we agreed that neither of us wanted anything but companionship, no involvement."

  "That was right after my wife died. Things change." He stood, a scowl wrinkling his brow. "I still love my wife. I'll never forget her, and I don't expect you to stop loving Ben or to forget him, but they're both dead and we're alive. Why shouldn't we continue to live?"

  "You don't understand."

  He threw his hands into the air. "Of course I don't! You won't give me the chance to understand. You've always kept a part of you secret from me, and now something's going on and you won't let me be a part of that, either. Mary, I need you, I love you, but I'm getting tired of waiting, of only having half a person."

  For a moment panic surged over Mary, fear that she'd lose David, a sudden realization of how much he meant to her. But she shoved that fear aside. "I'm sorry. That's all I have to give. I don't want to lose you, but I can't—" She shook her head. "I can't do what you're asking."

  She couldn't open her heart to him anymore than she could open it to the tall blond woman who'd come into the library last week, who'd walked out of Doris' house to meet her and later confronted them at the cemetery.

  Though Mary hadn't wanted to, she'd taken in every detail of her daughter at those three beautiful, scary, sad meetings. She knew the exact shade of Rebecca's hair, the way it swung about her face, the arch of her eyebrows, the single vertical line that appeared between them when she frowned, the curve of her cheeks, the length of her slender fingers, could probably even guess her shoe size.

  But if she ever let herself dwell on those details, on how she'd felt when she'd seen Rebecca, if she ever relaxed and turned loose of one hair's breadth of control, the entire structure of her soul would collapse. She wouldn't be able to bear the loss of her daughter, her husband, her world.

  She'd take Ben's gun—the one she'd fired to frighten Charles away from drowning her daughter—and she'd march over to the Mayor's office, and this time she wouldn't aim above Charles' head. She'd aim right at his black heart and squeeze the trigger until the gun was empty, until Charles was dead, until Rebecca was safe and—

  "Mary!"

  "What?"

  David shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "You did it again, went completely away from me, off into another world."

  The phone on her desk rang, and Mary's heart sprinted into overdrive, the way it had done with every phone call since Doris had casually, innocently mentioned the detective who wanted to talk to her about the blue dress and the woman who was searching for her mother.

  She lifted the receiver. "Mary Jordan."

  "Mary, this is Doris. You need to come to my house as soon as you can. We have to talk. Rebecca and Jake will be here in about three hours."

  "No! They returned to Dallas!"

  "I asked them to come."

  "But I told you—" She looked up at David. He stood with his back toward her, but she knew he was listening. "Just a minute, Doris." She covered the mouth piece of the phone. "I need to take this call."

  He turned and nodded, his expression strained. "I'll see you at your house later then."

  She gazed at him, unable to take in what he was saying, unable to think about anything except the fact that her daughter was returning to danger.

  "For dinner," he said.

  "Oh. Dinner. I don't know. I'll call you."

  "Right." He walked out, closing the door behind him.

  "David, wait!" She stood, wanting to go after him, call him back, then she remembered the phone in her hand. "Doris, we agreed that we had to get her out of town. I told you the whole story, and you agreed to help me."

  "Things have changed. There's been an attempt on Rebecca's life all the way up in Dallas."

  Mary's stomach clenched into a knot. "Oh, no! Is she all right?"

  "For the moment. Someone broke into her condo and turned on the gas, thinking she was sleeping upstairs. She wasn't. She spent the weekend at the Pattersons' old house in Plano. But we're going to have to tell her. We're going to have to do something about Charles. We've got to stop running and fight back."

  Mary searched the corners of her mind for an answer, a way to guarantee Rebecca's safety now that Charles knew about her. With a sinking feeling, she realized the time to run and hide was over. Doris was right. They had no choice but to fight. "Yes," she assented quietly. "It's time."

  "Mary," Doris said, her voice softer, "it's also time you met your daughter."

  "I met her at the library and at your house and at the cemetery. I can't bear to see her again. It's too hard." Mary spoke the words through numb lips, her mind already leaping ahead to what had to be done.

  "I mean really meet her. Tell her who you are." Doris paused. When she spoke again, her words were even softer. "Take her in your arms and tell her you love her. She needs that very badly, and so do you. All these years I've known something was eating away at you. I thought it was because you couldn't accept Ben's death. Now that I know the truth, I don't see how you've managed. This can't go on any longer."

  Mary couldn't think about what Doris was suggesting. It could never happen, and to even consider it then let it slip away would be too painful.

  "I'll come by your house when I get through here," she promised. "I have some things to finish."

  "All right, sweetheart. Get here as soon as you can."

  Mary depressed the button, breaking the connection but still holding the receiver. Without hesitation, she dialed another number.

  "City of Edgewater. How may I direct your call?"

  "Mayor Charles Morton's office, please."

  Charles had all his calls screened, but she knew he'd talk to her. And he did.

  "Mary, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"<
br />
  "I need to see you."

  "Come on by my office any time you want. I'm always here for you."

  "No. You come to that old farmhouse where you killed Ben."

  He clicked his tongue a couple of times. "Mary, Mary. You shouldn't make such accusations. Bad things happen to people who talk too much."

  "You be at that house in two hours or I'm going to talk about a lot more than Ben's death."

  He chuckled. "Are you threatening me? That's not a smart thing to do. Much as I'd enjoy seeing you again, I'm a busy man. Afraid I can't make your little rendezvous."

  She lied without the slightest hesitation. "Rebecca Patterson is going to be there with me. She has evidence about her birth that either you or the media is going to be very interested in. I don't think she much cares who has the story first. It's your choice."

  She slammed down the phone and turned to her typewriter.

  My dearest Rebecca, she typed. I'm not sure if I'll be dead or in jail when you read this. Probably the former. But one thing I promise you, you'll finally be truly safe.

  The phone rang but she ignored it.

  Chapter 25

  It's time for you to meet your mother.

  Over and over the words echoed through Rebecca's mind as she rode beside Jake, hands clenched in her lap, while they sped toward the small town she'd come to hate and fear. The town and the mother she'd vowed to put behind her.

  "You sure you're ready for this?" Jake asked as they passed the city limits sign a scant two hours after they left her condo.

  No, I'm not ready!

  "Yes."

  "You're a tough lady."

  "Yes." Her second lie in less than a minute. She didn't feel tough at all right now.

  Only this morning she'd told herself that her birth parents didn't matter, that Jake didn't matter. What a cruel twist of fate that, her rational decision made, she wasn't allowed time to implement it before being thrust into the company of the very people she needed to forget.

  Jake had barely spoken the entire trip as he sat hunched over the steering wheel, glaring at the road ahead, watching for radar traps. Those flickers of caring and concern that she'd thought she'd seen when she'd arrived home a few hours ago had obviously been her overactive, needy imagination. Even if he had been concerned about her welfare, now that she was safe...for the moment...that concern was gone.

  She was grateful, however, for his silence. She didn't want to think about what awaited her in Edgewater, speculate on who her mother might be. If she was going to be able to meet her, she assumed that ruled out Janelle Griffin. The alternatives would seem to be Ben Jordan's mistress or a complete stranger they knew nothing about or Mary Jordan.

  Surely even the cruelest fate wouldn't stick her with the cold Mary Jordan for a mother, a woman who so obviously disliked her, and crazy Charles Morton for a father, a man who was probably trying to kill her.

  Focusing on the dotted white line of the highway as it marched before them then disappeared beneath Jake's car, she forced her thoughts to Brenda and Jerry, to the happy times of her life, to the strength and love they'd given her. It would be enough to get her through this and out the other side. It had to be enough. It was all she had.

  Jake turned onto Doris Jordan's street, and she recalled how innocent the neighborhood had seemed the first time she'd seen it...how innocent she'd been. If anything, Brenda and Jerry had loved her too much, protected her too much. While she'd been living in the safe cocoon they'd provided, selfishly wanting to be the only special person in their lives, an entire world of pain and loneliness and evil had been going on outside.

  Jake parked in front of Doris' cozy white house with the colorful splash of flowers.

  "Rebecca, I—" Jake compressed his lips, twisted his hands on the steering wheel, looked away from her then back. "You fired me. I don't work for you now. I'm here solely in the capacity of friend. I'm here because I...I care about what happens to you."

  The kind comment was like a knife through her heart. Better he should turn and walk away than offer to be just her friend after the passion they'd shared, the passion that had meant so much to her and so little to him.

  "Thank you," she said. "I appreciate that." She had, indeed, become an accomplished liar.

  She looked up to see Doris hurrying down the walk toward them, her peaceful features contorted with worry and fear.

  "Jake, did you bring a gun?" Doris asked as soon as she reached them.

  Rebecca's blood froze.

  "Yes, I did," Jake replied. "It's in the glove box."

  "We're probably going to need it." Doris yanked open the back door and slid in. "We've got to get out to the old house where my son was killed. It may already be too late. Turn left at the next street and I'll direct you. It's about five miles out of town. Don't worry about speed limits. The entire police force is about to be turned upside down."

  Jake pulled away with a screeching of tires.

  "What's going on?" Rebecca's lips seemed to crack as she spoke.

  "Mary—your mother—"

  "My mother?" Rebecca gasped in dismay, whirling around to look over the seat at Doris.

  "Mary Jordan?" Jake exclaimed in disbelief.

  "Mary Jordan, your mother," Doris continued evenly. "She's going to kill Charles Morton and probably get herself killed. Turn right at the top of that hill."

  "My mother?" Rebecca repeated, unable to comprehend Doris' second statement about Charles Morton until she could grasp the concept of Mary Jordan as her mother. "Mary hates me! She won't even speak to me or shake my hand!"

  Doris smiled sadly. "Your mother loves you very much, enough to give you up so you'd be safe. She's spent the last twenty-nine years thinking of you and missing you and living in constant fear trying to protect you."

  "Trying to protect me? What are you talking about?"

  "From Charles Morton. He wants you dead."

  Rebecca's heart clenched painfully as if it would shrink to a hard, shriveled hickory nut. "So he is my father," she said dully.

  "We can't be sure, but he thinks he is and as long as you're alive, you could prove he raped your mother. You could end his career." Doris spoke briskly and without emotion as though she could thus make her words less painful. "After I talked to you, I called Mary and told her what happened in Dallas. I told her it was time to stop running and fight back. She agreed, but when she got to my house, she gave me two letters, one for you and one for the authorities. She told me not to open either of them until she got back, but I opened the one for the police as soon as she was out the door."

  She handed two envelopes to Rebecca who took them with fingers so numb she feared the paper rectangles would slip through.

  "It's the whole story," Doris went on, "including the fact that after I called her, she called Charles and told him to meet her at that old house. She lied to him and said you'd be there, too, so she could get him out there. She knows you'll never be safe as long as he's alive. She has Ben's revolver. It's the gun she used to scare off Charles the night he pushed you into the swimming pool."

  "She—" Rebecca licked her dry lips, but her tongue was dry, too. Sandpaper on sandpaper. Confusion swirled around and through her at this new picture of her mother...and the confirmation that the man who might be her father was trying to kill her.

  "Mary was there," Jake said. "That's how you already knew about the incident the next day."

  "She was there. She called your room to get you down to the pool when she saw Rebecca sitting alone. She was afraid Charles would try something, and he did. All these years she's devoted her life to making Charles believe you were dead, Rebecca, and then you two showed up asking questions. She tried to warn you off the first day with that phone call, but you're as stubborn as she is."

  "The snake?" Rebecca asked, barely able to squeeze out the two words.

  Doris nodded. "She had Lucinda do that. They went to school together. She also had Lucinda steal the dress because she was afraid
I'd remember it. But nothing worked. You wouldn't leave. When she found out you were going to stay with me, she told me the whole story. I'll tell you as much as I can on the way, but if I don't finish or if anything happens to me, the rest is in those envelopes."

  Between giving directions to Jake, Doris told Rebecca an unbelievable horror story of Mary's rape, her husband's death and Charles' determination that Rebecca was his daughter and that he had to kill her to protect himself.

  As Rebecca listened, her stomach tightened, and she thought she was going to be sick. The nightmare Mary Jordan had suffered, the inhuman cruelty of Charles, all the things that had gone on around her without her ever knowing. She had, indeed, led a sheltered life.

  "There's the place," Doris said grimly. "Or what's left of it after so many years, and there's Mary's car."

  Jake swung his car into the weeds that surrounded the ruins of an old house. He leaned over, opened the glove compartment and took out a holster then deftly extracted the black revolver. "Stay here," he ordered, opening his door.

  For an instant, Rebecca sat paralyzed, but then she scrambled out, too. She had to meet the mother who'd loved her so much after all, so much she was ready to sacrifice her own life. And she wanted to see Charles Morton again, to scratch out his pale eyes, to slap his arrogant face, to cut off his testicles for what he'd done to so many women.

  Jake shot her a scowling glance.

  "I told you, I don't take orders," she said.