The Long Secret Page 4

  “Your grandmother’s awake now,” she said, smiling in a friendly way.

  “All right,” said Beth Ellen.

  “Go in and talk to her,” said the maid, still smiling in a conspiratorial way, and went down the stairs.

  Beth Ellen waited until she was out of the way, then went back into the room and put the book back under the bed. Then she went and knocked on her grandmother’s door. Mrs. Hansen’s “Come in” rang out in a cheery way. It can’t be too bad, thought Beth Ellen as she opened the door.

  “Come in, darling, I’ve got some good news for you.” Mrs. Hansen was sitting up in bed and looking cheerful. Beth Ellen stood by the bed. She noticed that the lines around her grandmother’s eyes, the little lines, were purple. Will I have purple eyes when I get old, she thought.

  “Guess what!” Her grandmother’s eyes were shining.

  Beth Ellen said nothing.

  “Your mother’s coming home!” Her grandmother let this out in a little treble of joy.

  Beth Ellen stood frozen to the spot. She could think of nothing to say. Why would my mother come here, she thought; she hates America.

  “She’s leaving for Paris in the morning, and although she cannot tell me exactly when, she will fly right on to New York after that. She says that Paris is terribly dead in the summer, so I don’t imagine she’ll stay long.” Her grandmother had a great smile on her face and looked at her expectantly.

  Beth Ellen could think of nothing to say. She sensed that she was expected to say something, so she said, “How do you know?”

  Her grandmother’s eyes widened. “Well, I know because she called me! She called me from Athens! Isn’t that exciting?”

  Beth Ellen just stood, feeling stupid. Was it excitement she felt? She didn’t know what to feel. She remembered her mother as a whitish blur in a large white hat.

  “It’s typical of Zeeney not to be able to say when she would arrive. She has hated being pinned down since she was a tiny child. I imagine that’s why she’s never been able to stay in one place for long. But it doesn’t matter, does it? It’s brought me the most adorable child in the world. But just think! You haven’t seen your mother since your grandfather’s death, since you were five years old! This must be the most exciting thing in the world for you!” Mrs. Hansen delivered this with great enthusiasm, then looked quizzically at Beth Ellen.

  Beth Ellen suddenly felt like running, crying, laughing, scratching, screaming, and jumping out the window all at the same time. She also felt nailed to the floor. If she could only get out of the room, away from that stare, and take this piece of news, squirrel-like, to her room.

  “Grandmother, I’ll be right back. I forgot to finish something that I was doing.” She held her breath.

  “Oh, my poor darling. Come here. Come here to your grandmother.” Mrs. Hansen held out her arms.

  This was awful, the worst that could happen. Beth Ellen’s heart leapt in terror. If she holds me, if she hugs me, if she says one word, I will drown in tears. She ran from the room. She ran as fast as she could down the hall. She heard her grandmother call but she knew she wouldn’t come after her so she ran into her room and shut the door.

  She stood with one hand on the doorknob, looking at it. The knob was made of brass and it was carved. She stared at the carving which twisted its convoluted way around the long, cylindrical handle.

  She went and sat on the edge of the bed. My mother, she thought, and then, experimentally, “Mother.” She said it aloud. “Mother.” It came like a soft purr into the silent room.

  No. Nothing. She felt nothing. What was there to feel? What was one supposed to feel? Her grandmother had used the word “exciting.” That was when something nice would happen. Or spying with Harriet, like the other day, that was exciting. She didn’t feel excited. This was not excitement. It felt more like an ache. Like a tooth felt right before it was going to ache. Not when it had started, because then it hurt. She didn’t hurt. She just felt rather limp and … sensitive.

  She tried to remember everything she could about her mother. The large white blur, the big white hat, the orchid … oh, yes, she had forgotten the orchid…. Why an orchid? … Wallace … there she felt something…. She would finally meet Wallace … the Wallace of all the letters … the Wallace this and Wallace that… and the photographs of her mother, a long, tall beautiful woman … and Wallace, a thin, handsome blond man … in ski clothes … on a beach … holding drinks at a party … leaving on a boat… leaving on a plane … going somewhere on horses … on camels … on elephants.

  Beth Ellen had seen each picture as it arrived. Her grandmother had offered to give her some so that she might look at them alone in her room, but she had said No politely and wondered to herself, What for? They were two strangers who by now looked familiar, the way it is when you think you know someone on the street and then you realize he is only a movie star.

  So now the photographs would move. She thought of them almost as dolls that one dressed up. They had riding clothes, swimming clothes, street clothes, evening clothes, and when she saw them they would have on traveling clothes complete in every detail. Or perhaps country clothes, since they were coming to Water Mill. Wallace would have on tweeds … no, it was summer.

  She felt exhausted suddenly. Try as she might she could not find one emotion connected with this piece of news. She lay back on the bed. She felt the bedspread. It was nice to feel something with her hands, something solid. Was her mother coming to take her away, like something she had bought at a dress shop and couldn’t wait to have delivered? Would her grandmother let them take her? Did her grandmother want her to go? Where do I live, she thought, and began to cry. She cried a long time, then fell asleep, her face lying in a wet patch of tears.

  An hour must have passed before there was a knock on her door. She got up and opened the door. It was the maid.

  “Mrs. Hansen said you’re to come to her room.” She looked curiously at Beth Ellen.

  “All right,” said Beth Ellen, then as she turned away, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” said the maid and swished away down the hall.

  Beth Ellen felt numb. She remembered everything. She went into the bathroom and washed her face. Then she marched herself out and down the hall to her grandmother’s room. She knocked on the door. When she heard her grandmothers voice, she opened the door with what was, for Beth Ellen, great determination.

  “There, darling, did you finish your little project?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sit down and tell me what you feel about your mother coming.”

  Beth Ellen sat down and looked at her grandmother. There was a gleam of something close to defiance in her round, blue eyes.

  Her grandmother didn’t seem to notice. “Isn’t it just the most exciting thing? To think that not only are you going to see your mother, but I’m going to see my daughter after seven years! I do enjoy her, in short doses of course. And Wallace! I’ve never met Wallace! Your mother says that he’s enchanting! Isn’t it enthralling, the whole thing?”

  “No.”

  “What, darling?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, it isn’t exciting.”

  “Why, what do you mean, dear?”

  “It isn’t exciting to me.”

  “Why, what are you talking about? Of course it is. It’s the most exciting moment of your young life, I should imagine. If I were to have seen my mother after seven years, I would have been terribly excited, so I know what you must feel.”

  “Nothing.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t feel anything.”

  “Why, that’s ridiculous. Of course you do.”

  “I do not.” Beth Ellen’s voice had an edge to it that she hadn’t exactly planned on. She felt a little startled herself at what she was doing. Still, was she wrong in feeling that her grandmother seemed a little pleased under all her reactions of surprise?

  “Be
th Ellen Hansen! What in the world is in your mind?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You come over here this minute and let me look at you. I can’t see that far.”

  Beth Ellen stood up obediently and walked over to the side of the bed.

  “You’ve been crying,” her grandmother said in astonishment.

  “I have not.”

  “Yes, you have. There’s nothing wrong with crying. Why would you lie about it? I’m rather glad to see you have some emotion about it.” Her grandmother said this, but she didn’t look at all glad about it. “I wouldn’t want you to act that way in front of your mother when she’s here. She has a tricky mind, your mother. She would think I had turned you against her in some tricky way. I don’t suppose you remember her well enough to remember that sort of thing, do you?”

  Beth Ellen shook her head. She was glad the conversation had shifted away from her onto her mother. What was her mother like? What kind of person?

  As though in answer, her grandmother began to talk.

  “She is a vital woman, your mother, a startlingly beautiful, vibrant, most exciting woman. She can turn a roomful of intelligent men into babbling idiots within a few seconds upon entering. But her mind is quixotic, volatile, takes great unknown leaps into curious bypaths. Wallace, I suspect, is one such path.”

  Mrs. Hansen said this last looking toward the window and rather as though Beth Ellen were not in the room.

  “Your father, of course, was a different matter. Rather stern, but an immensely likable fellow. Never said much. Never said a word, in fact, the morning he left—just got up, packed a bag, and left forever.”

  Beth Ellen rather liked that. Her father, at least, seemed a sensible sort.

  “But your mother was wild, is wild, and always will be wild. She is a strange, extravagant person, one to be admired for some things and avoided for others. Nervous too, high-strung like a horse.”

  Beth Ellen saw a horse in a big white picture hat.

  “You will like her, I’m sure.” Her grandmother looked doubtfully at Beth Ellen. “Well, perhaps ‘like’ is not the right word. But you will admire her. Of that I am sure.” Mrs. Hansen smiled and her eyes twinkled reassuringly.

  Beth Ellen wasn’t at all sure about anything. What kind of a mother was this? She sounded as if she danced a lot.

  “She loves to have a good time. I’ve never quite understood that because nothing ever seemed much like a good time to me. There are good times in life, but a good time is something else. To your mother, however, almost everything except serious thinking and serious people can be considered a good time.”

  Am I a serious person, thought Beth Ellen hastily.

  “Your father, I’m afraid, fell into the category of a serious person. Only because he accomplished things. Your mother has a tremendous appetite for doing nothing whatsoever. She never ever, from the time she was a little child, wanted to do anything but marry a rich man and have a good time. So she married your father, and of course now … Wallace.”

  “Why do I have your name and not my father’s?” Beth Ellen asked suddenly. She wondered why it had never occurred to her to ask this question before.

  “Because your mother was so livid when your father left that she had your name changed. A rich man who leaves and spoils your good time is naturally no good whatever.”

  Beth Ellen thought of what she had said to Harriet on the beach. “I must call Harriet,” she said.

  “Of course; call her at once. You want to tell her your mother is coming, don’t you? Run along, dear, and I’ll see you at dinner. Perhaps we’ll look over some of the photographs then. It’s rather hard for me to remember what Zeeney looks like.”

  Beth Ellen closed the door behind her, then stopped short. Zeeney? Oh, yes, that was her mother’s name. She ran to the phone.

  “Hello,” Harriet answered. When it was raining she sat by the phone to intercept any news.

  “It’s me. Beth Ellen.”

  “I know it. What happened?”

  “My mother’s coming home.”

  “WHAAAT?”

  “They’re coming home.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “My mother, Zeeney, and Wallace.”

  “Your mother WHAT?” screamed Harriet.

  “That’s her name. Zeeney,” said Beth Ellen patiently.

  “Who’s Wallace?”

  “Her husband.”

  “When?” Harriet was practically gasping she was so excited.

  “I don’t know. She doesn’t tell things like that. She just appears,” said Beth Ellen importantly.

  “WOW.”

  At least Harriet was having a satisfactory reaction. Beth Ellen was silent because she was thinking that Harriet always said “Wow.” Then she thought a long time about “Wow.”

  “Hello, hello, are you there?” Harriet screamed into the phone as though it were a transatlantic cable.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, when can I see them? Can I see them right away? What do they look like? Do you like them? I never knew you even had any parents. You don’t have any parents. Listen, Beth Ellen, I’ve known you since kindergarten and you don’t have any parents. What is this?”

  “I have a mother and she’s coming here.”

  “I never knew that. I didn’t know that at all. I thought your mother was …” Harriet stopped spewing and trailed off.

  “What?” asked Beth Ellen, interested for the first time.

  “I don’t know. I mean, I just thought she wasn’t around.”

  “She wasn’t.”

  “Well, why don’t you tell me some more. When can I see them?”

  “I don’t know. When they get here, I guess. There isn’t any more to tell.”

  “Listen, Beth Ellen”—Harriet’s voice dropped to a whisper—“I’ve got something to tell you!”

  “What?” said Beth Ellen, expecting a lecture.

  “That Jessie Mae Jenkins is, this very minute, in the filling station!”

  “So?”

  “Well, she has to be there an hour, getting her bike fixed, so I went over to her house and I saw something in the garage you wouldn’t believe!”

  “What?”

  “I can’t tell you. I have to show you. Can you come out?”

  “It’s raining.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s stopped raining. Haven’t you noticed? What do you think? I’ve been riding around out there dripping wet?”

  “Oh.”

  “Listen, come on. Meet me at the filling station. I have an idea.”

  Beth Ellen thought a minute of the coolish late afternoon air on her face as she rode along and said, “Yes. All right, I’ll meet you.”

  “Okay. In five minutes. Better make it at the post office. We don’t want to arouse her suspicions,” said Harriet.

  Beth Ellen hung up the phone and ran out of the room. She grabbed a sweater and ran out of the house without saying anything to anybody.

  arriet was standing by the post office. When Beth Ellen came up, Harriet whispered, “Now’s our chance.”

  “For what?” said Beth Ellen.

  “To talk to her!” said Harriet, rolling her bike toward the filling station. As she rolled her bike a hideous noise issued from the underpart.

  “What’s the matter with your bike?” asked Beth Ellen. Beth Ellen had one of those bikes that was continually breaking down, so that she had spent most of last summer in the filling station, but she had never known anything to go wrong with Harriet’s.

  “I broke it,” whispered Harriet, “so we’d have a reason to go in there.”

  “Oh,” said Beth Ellen, marveling.

  They pushed their bikes into the station. There was Jessie Mae sitting on a curb chewing a leaf. She looked at them with veiled curiosity.

  The bike man nodded to Beth Ellen and went to her bike, but Harriet said, “It’s mine!”

  He bent down and examined the damage. “How did this happen?” he asked.


  “I can’t imagine,” said Harriet and looked at the highway.

  “Well, it’ll take about an hour,” said the man.

  “An HOUR,” said Harriet. “What kind of SERVICE do you get here?” She dwindled down at the last because the bike man looked as if he might throw the bike at her.

  “An hour,” he said briefly, and picking up the bike in one hand, he went into the station.

  They stood there a minute after he left. Harriet looked slanty-eyed at Jessie Mae. “Let’s go,” she said finally to Beth Ellen.

  Beth Ellen wasn’t at all sure what they were doing, but she followed dutifully as Harriet sauntered over to Jessie Mae.

  “Hi,” said Harriet.

  Jessie Mae looked up and moved the leaf to one side of her mouth. “Hi, y’all,” she said.

  “Is your bike broken too?” asked Harriet.

  “Yeah. It’s most always broke,” said Jessie Mae.

  “So is mine,” said Beth Ellen, but Harriet looked at her as though to say: I am in charge of this investigation.

  “Well,” said Jessie Mae, “I’m Jessie Mae Jenkins, and we might as well talk a little while. What’s y’all’s names?”

  “WHAT?” said Harriet, who couldn’t understand a word.

  “What y’all called?” said Jessie Mae.

  “Beth Ellen Hansen,” said Beth Ellen.

  “Oh!” said Harriet. “Harriet M. Welsch.”

  “How do,” said Jessie Mae and moved over a little so they could sit down. Beth Ellen leaned her bike, then sat, but Harriet continued to stand so she could stare at Jessie Mae. If Jessie Mae felt those eyes boring into her, she showed no sign of it. “Mighty hot, ain’t it?” she said in a friendly way.

  It wasn’t, as a matter of fact, hot at all this late in the day, but Beth Ellen knew she meant it had been hot, so she said, “Yes.”

  “What are you talking about, Beth Ellen? It isn’t at all hot,” said Harriet, beginning to feel left out because she could hardly understand Jessie Mae at all.

  Jessie Mae looked at Harriet as though she were a tree stump and said brightly to Beth Ellen, “Liked to turn into a grease spot this morning in that kitchen. Over to the house you could fry nice couple eggs on the sidewalk,” and she nodded sagely.