The Long Secret Read online

  “Harriet,” Janie whispered from behind, “let’s go.”

  She must have been overheard, for the next minute Wallace, The Mother, and Beth Ellen all turned startled eyes upon Harriet and Janie. They didn’t say anything. They just looked.

  “Pssst,” said Janie.

  Harriet felt strange. She wanted to watch. She also felt stupid just standing there. They obviously were not going to say the usual things that parents say, such as “Are these your little friends?” or “Say good-bye to your friends, dear,” or inanities like that. They just looked. It was impossible to do anything but turn around and ride off. She turned her bike.

  Janie was already out of the driveway. Harriet hopped on and rode out to the road. When she got there, she turned and looked back. Beth Ellen was being led inside like a handcuffed prisoner.

  Janie began to fuss as they rode along. “Why didn’t you come on when I said to? They didn’t want us there. Geez.”

  Harriet felt ruffled and somehow ashamed. She shrugged. “I just wanted to see what they look like.”

  “I,” said Janie, “don’t understand how you can be so curious about people. I mean, elements or why certain things do certain things, I can understand—but people. People are just silly. Look at the mess they make of their lives. You can’t ever depend on them.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything about elements,” said Harriet weakly. She felt excluded, most of all, and rather hurt. She also felt lonely in anticipation because Janie was going back to the city tonight, riding in with Mr. Welsch because it was Sunday night, and Beth Ellen would no doubt be incarcerated for some time with her new parents.

  “Of course,” said Janie, “the person I really don’t understand is Beth Ellen. She never seems to be curious about anything.”

  “Let’s go to the beach,” said Harriet. She was longing to begin a story about Beth Ellen’s parents. She would make Wallace a swindler and have it turn out that Zeeney murder him in his bath.

  eth Ellen was led inside. She was trembling. Her mothers hand felt thin and young, not like her grandmother’s. Wallace opened the living room doors with a flourish and there sat her grandmother in her wheelchair. This was an occasion, because her grandmother rarely got up except for church on Sunday.

  “Well, darling!” said Mrs. Hansen and smiled into Beth Ellen’s eyes. She looked as though she were trying to gauge Beth Ellen’s reaction.

  Beth Ellen looked up at the familiar face and felt the lump of impending tears rush into her throat.

  Mrs. Hansen didn’t seem to notice. She looked at Zeeney “Well… and what do you think of her?”

  “Delightful,” said Zeeney, dropping Beth Ellen’s hand as though it were sweaty. “Do ring for something cool, dear; it’s beastly hot,” she said to her mother and collapsed wanly into the sofa.

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Hansen and reached out to give Beth Ellen a hug. “You know where it is, Beth Ellen. Run, pull the rope.”

  As Beth Ellen ran across the room to where the ornate bellpull was concealed behind the heavy drapes she heard Zeeney say, “And that’s the first thing that must go. I can’t imagine what possessed her father to name her Beth Ellen.”

  “I believe it was his mother’s name, wasn’t it?” said Mrs. Hansen, rolling her chair closer to the couch. Wallace seemed to half rise to help her, then sank back exhausted.

  “That doesn’t matter a whit now,” said Zeeney. “It must be changed. It’s perfectly terrible.”

  “You can’t just change someone’s name when they’re twelve years old,” said Mrs. Hansen in her close-to-anger voice. She looked at Beth Ellen, who was standing lost next to the bell rope. She motioned slightly and Beth Ellen came to her like a homeless puppy. Mrs. Hansen put an arm about her waist and Beth Ellen settled against her.

  “We can, at least, call her Beth!” said Zeeney with what seemed like rage.

  “Hup,” said Wallace. Beth Ellen looked at him curiously. It seemed to be his noise, signifying only that he was in the room.

  Harry entered with a tray containing bottles, ice, and soda. He put it down on the side table. Wallace leapt to his feet, suddenly alive.

  “Hup, dear, what shall it be? Mrs. Hansen?”

  “A martini in the veins,” said Zeeney.

  “Nothing for me,” said Mrs. Hansen, looking at Wallace with a scrutinizing eye. “There must be a Coke there for Beth Ellen, isn’t there?”

  “Hup, yes, indeed,” said Wallace.

  Beth Ellen looked gratefully at her grandmother, who smiled and then hugged her.

  “She likes that,” Mrs. Hansen said kindly.

  Beth Ellen looked over at Zeeney. Zeeney seemed to have forgotten her existence. She moved closer to her grandmother. I hope she never remembers, she thought.

  “And then, of course, we’ll take her to Elizabeth Arden’s in Southampton. Thank you, darling,” Zeeney said, taking the drink from Wallace. “I’ve heard that’s the only oasis in this godforsaken place.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s at all true, Zeeney,” said Mrs. Hansen. “There are some quite pleasant places about, little shops … even some nice places to eat, I’ve heard. I don’t go out, of course, very often, and then just to the club, but—”

  Beth Ellen was amazed to hear Zeeney talk right through Mrs. Hansen. “Oh, yes, I did read something about one place … the Sharks Tooth Inn. That seemed to have some life. Who’s playing there, do you know?”

  Beth Ellen’s eyes widened.

  “No, I don’t, dear, but I’m sure it’s very easily checked. We could call if you like.”

  “BUNNY,” said Beth Ellen loudly.

  “What?” said all three adults. Beth Ellen lost her tongue.

  “Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Hansen, “that pleasant man we got for your birthday party. I believe you’re right. Aren’t you smart!”

  “Bunny, did you say?” asked Zeeney. Beth Ellen nodded. “Bunny. Well, there’s only one Bunny. It must be Bunny Maguire.”

  Beth Ellen nodded. She felt rather hysterical as the two worlds clashed.

  “Well, that is delightful,” said Zeeney. “Bunny Maguire. Old Bun-Bun. You remember, darling, that enchanting club in Capri, then later in Rome?”

  Wallace looked up. He sat like an anteater, his long nose always partially in his glass, in an advanced state of somnambulism. “Yes,” he said abruptly. “Hup, nice fellow. In Venice too, no?”

  “Yes!” said Zeeney, seeming perfectly happy now. “Of course; I’d forgotten. Lovely Bunny. Why don’t we take a run over there now and say hello?”

  “Um, hup, smashing,” said Wallace, finishing his drink in one gulp.

  “But you’ve only just arrived,” said Mrs. Hansen in some distress. “A lovely lunch is coming and I’ve ordered tea. Couldn’t you go later?”

  “Oh, Mother, we don’t want tea,” said Zeeney, getting up hurriedly in a graceful flinging of her long arms. “Come along, Wallace.”

  Beth Ellen looked at her grandmother’s disappointed face. She loved it when her grandmother had tea every afternoon. When there were guests, there was a special tea with tiny sandwiches and little cakes. She couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting it. Perhaps Zeeney didn’t know how good it was.

  “But Beth Ellen has only just seen you,” said Mrs. Hansen.

  “Oh!” said Zeeney, remembering Beth Ellen. “That’s no problem. There’s room in the car. She’ll just pile along with us.” Wallace had stood up and they were at the door now. “Come along,” said Zeeney coldly.

  “I don’t think that’s exactly the place for her—a bar? At noon?” said Mrs. Hansen.

  “Ah!” said Zeeney and turned like a rattler. “She’d better get used to it. She’s my daughter.” She walked across the room and took Beth Ellen’s hand. “She’ll be safe with us. Come along, Beth. We’ll go for a drive, and you’ll get a Coke when we get there.” She spoke as though to a young child.

  Mrs. Hansen wheeled her chair around as they got to the door. “Have the chil
d back for her dinner, Zeeney,” she said sharply, and when Beth Ellen looked back at her she could see the dark frown.

  “Of course, Mother,” said Zeeney and whirled Beth Ellen out the door.

  Wallace had brought the small car around to the front and Zeeney climbed in, pushing Beth Ellen into the middle. She found herself straddling the gearshift of the ornate-looking sports car, long and black with no top and red upholstery.

  “Hup,” said Wallace, “hope the bloody thing works.”

  “Of course it will, darling,” said Zeeney. “I ordered one that works. If it doesn’t work, we’ll send it right back and use Mother’s Rolls.”

  It worked. It worked so well that they sped out the driveway at a hundred miles an hour. Beth Ellen watched the speedometer in horror as they careened and skidded along the country roads.

  “MARVELOUS!” screamed Wallace.

  “PERFECTION!” shouted Zeeney above the terrific roar of the engine.

  I may be killed, thought Beth Ellen. She looked at each of their faces in turn and was amazed at the look of idiotic rapture shining there. Perhaps they are nuts, she thought as they narrowly missed a milk truck.

  “Let’s take her out on the highway,” yelled Wallace.

  “DO!” screamed Zeeney, and Beth Ellen wanted to hide her eyes. “No, no—here, darling, here’s the inn.”

  As the words were leaving her mouth they were passing the entrance, but this did not deter Wallace, who simply executed a hair-raising U-turn, and they plunged through the gates onto the lawn.

  “MARVELOUS, DARLING,” yelled Zeeney.

  Wallace cut the motor and leapt out of the car. “Cut the grass a bit for them, but it needed it,” he said blithely.

  “Get off the grass, get off the grass.” A wavering voice came from the porch, and looking up, they saw Bunny’s mother waving her cane and squeaking at them. “I’ll call the police, the police. Now get that car off of there.”

  “Oh, God,” said Zeeney disagreeably as she got out of the car. “Old ladies! What does the world need with them?”

  She means my grandmother, thought Beth Ellen.

  “Never mind, old mother,” said Wallace as he walked right past her cane. “We’ll be gone in a shot, hup.” He disappeared inside.

  The old woman raised her cane threateningly over her head as Zeeney led Beth Ellen up the steps. “Not one step further,” she yelled, “until you move that car!”

  “Why, it’s Mother Maguire, isn’t it?” said Zeeney in an ever so cordial way.

  The cane lowered and the old woman squinted at her. “You’re Bunny’s mother, aren’t you?” said Zeeney, meanwhile getting swiftly past the cane and to the front door.

  “Yes?” said Bunny’s mother. “And Bunny wants you to move that car too.”

  “Yes, of course, of course he does,” said Zeeney, pushing Beth Ellen through the door and into the bar.

  “BUNNY!” screamed Zeeney as soon as she saw him. He was getting up from the piano, and he had on a beautiful orange blazer and white pants. Beth Ellen looked at him with longing.

  “ZEENEY!” he screamed back, and coming over, he grabbed Zeeney in a bear hug. “Why, then, that’s Wallace!” he said, turning around and looking at Wallace, who had already gotten a drink from the bartender and was being an anteater again. “WALLACE!” screamed Bunny, and running over, he slapped Wallace so hard on the back that Wallace choked.

  “Hup!” said Wallace when he could breathe. “Bunny, old boy, good to see you.”

  Bunny was all over the place, grabbing chairs, ordering drinks. He suddenly saw Beth Ellen. “Why, this isn’t… Why, this couldn’t be … yours?” he asked Wallace.

  “No,” said Wallace shortly.

  “Yours, then!” said Bunny, brilliantly pointing to Zeeney.

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Bunny. I got her from the orphanage for the day. I heard you couldn’t get in here without a child, like that lovely party the Hibbards gave on Mykonos. Remember?”

  The three of them went into gales of laughter and whoops that lasted interminably, over that party. Beth Ellen, disowned, sat down.

  She looked at Bunny. Was he like Zeeney and Wallace? He seemed more like them than like Mrs. Hansen, certainly, or like Mr. and Mrs. Welsch.

  “But you do look familiar,” he was saying, and looking up, Beth Ellen saw that he was smiling down at her.

  “I think you must have played at her birthday party,” said Zeeney, “although how you can remember out of all those grubby little faces, I can’t imagine.” Zeeney turned her back on Beth Ellen.

  We weren’t grubby, thought Beth Ellen. We were all dressed up. Even Harriet was clean.

  “AH!” said Bunny. “Yes! That was it!” He put a finger on Beth Ellen’s nose and pushed gently. “You’ll be a beauty like your mother.” He smiled, and walking over, he put his arm around Zeeney. “It’s so good to see you. This summer is a crashing bore. Don’t tell her I said so, but Agatha has no more idea of how to run a club than a jack rabbit.”

  “Not Agatha Plumber?” said Zeeney with a whooping laugh. “Is she still following you? I haven’t seen her since Venice!”

  “Oh, dear, yes,” said Bunny. “Why, my dear, she owns all this.”

  “Wait till she sees Wallace! She’ll faint dead away—mad about him, mad!”

  Beth Ellen looked around. No one was looking at her. No one had offered her a Coke. She wondered if anyone would notice if she got up and went to sit on the porch. Their voices were giving her a headache. She saw Moo-Moo walk by in the hall, going toward the front porch. She decided to chance it.

  She made it to the door without anyone seeing. She bent down and petted Moo-Moo, who looked up with cow eyes. She picked Moo-Moo up, and holding tight to her collar so she couldn’t escape again, she took her out onto the porch.

  She sat down, holding Moo-Moo tightly in her lap. She watched a car go by. Bunny’s mother had disappeared. She and Moo-Moo sat all alone on the great wide porch. It was quiet.

  She kissed the top of Moo-Moos head. “We want to escape,” she said into Moo-Moo’s ear. “We both want to escape.”

  After hours of sitting on the porch steps, which were growing colder, and listening to the whoops from inside, Beth Ellen noticed that someone had brought a chair, put it down next to the driveway by the corner of the hotel, and sat down. She could only see the back of a head. I hope that whoever it is doesn’t come around here and talk to me, she thought.

  A car drove in and a man and a woman got out. The head jumped up and Beth Ellen saw with amazement that it belonged to Norman.

  “Right over there, park right over there,” he growled at the man, who got back in his car and parked it at the far end of the lawn. When the man came back, he received a ticket from Norman, collected his wife, and went past Beth Ellen into the inn.

  As Norman turned around he saw Beth Ellen sitting on the steps and scowled. Then he walked rather huffily to his chair and sat down like the chairman of the board.

  Thank heavens, she thought, he doesn’t want to talk. The whoops of laughter got closer to the door now, and suddenly Zeeney, Wallace, and Bunny were out on the porch.

  As soon as he turned his head and saw Wallace, Norman leapt from his chair, waddled over, and said loudly and importantly, “This car must be removed at once. The cars go over there.” Then, as he saw Bunny behind Wallace, his mouth fell open.

  “Never mind,” said Bunny sharply, “these are friends of mine.”

  “What was that?” asked Wallace in wonder.

  “It’s the new car-park,” said Bunny. “Can’t say that I like the tone he takes.”

  “Frightfully clever of you to hire midgets,” said Zeeney, sailing down the porch steps.

  “Is he big enough to drive?” asked Wallace.

  “Oh, he’ll manage,” said Bunny airily. “We have to do with what we can get. Agatha absolutely refuses to pay anyone a decent wage.”

  Beth Ellen looked over to see if Norman had heard this la
st remark. He had and was glowering. He’s planning, she thought, to ask for more money.

  They went down to get in the car and after much inane laughter and promises of dinner parties, sailing parties, picnics, and midnight swims, Bunny went back to the hotel and Wallace drove them through the gates at eighty miles an hour.

  Even though it was only a blur at such a speed, Beth Ellen saw Jessie Mae standing behind a snowball bush. I must tell Harriet, she thought, as they turned on one wheel. I wish I could just ride around like Harriet, only think about who leaves notes, and go home to a clambake every night. I wish I didn’t have to ride down the Montauk Highway at a hundred miles an hour.

  “HEAVENLY,” screamed Zeeney.

  “SMASHING,” screamed Wallace.

  fter dinner that same night Harriet sat alone with her mother. Janie and Mr. Welsch had left for the drive back to town. There was only a little time left before bed, and Mrs. Welsch was mending one of Harriet’s shirts while Harriet fooled around with a jigsaw puzzle that lay out on the table. It was a picture of a painting by Utrillo. She felt nervous and irritated for some reason and the annoying little pieces just wouldn’t fit into each other. She looked over at her mother.

  “Mother, do you pray?” she asked suddenly.

  Her mother looked up. Her eyes were very clear and brown. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well… Daddy didn’t know.” Harriet said this hesitatingly, not knowing whether she should be saying it at all.

  “He didn’t?” Mrs. Welsch looked down at her mending. “No. I suppose he doesn’t. Well, it’s a very private thing.”

  Harriet felt she should say no more on that subject. She waited for a moment to see if her mother would say anything else.

  Mrs. Welsch put down her mending. “We have discussed, however, your religious training.” Harriet looked at her in surprise as she continued. “We decided that since neither one of us are churchgoing people, we wouldn’t take you either. We decided we would let you make up your mind as you got older. Are you interested in going to church?”