Old Secrets

           I have been keeping secrets since I was six years old.

           My first secret was when the teacher at our one-room country school came to board with us. Teachers used to board with our neighbors across the road but when Mrs. Watkins became ill, Momma and Daddy thought it would be a good way to make some extra money. So, Miss Trent came to stay with us. I was just starting Grade Two and at first I thought Miss Trent was terrific. She was pretty and funny and had wonderful blond hair and was not nearly as strict as our last teacher. Did I say she was pretty? I wasn't the only one to think so, which is where my first secret came in. When Momma had taken the old car to the store for groceries, I was out playing and when I heard giggling and Daddy's voice, not a regular combination in our household, I peeked around the corner and saw Daddy and Miss Trent in an embrace I didn't really understand at six years old. However, I did know enough to realize it wasn't the sort of thing Daddy would ever talk to Momma about, so I kept quiet.

           It wasn't until the third time I saw them together that Daddy caught a glimpse of me watching and made a point of asking me if I knew how to keep a secret. What could I do but say yes?

           I don't know how long it took Momma to catch on, but catch on she did. When Daddy was away with a load of calves to be butchered, Momma and Miss Trent had an all-out free for all by the garden behind the barn. This time I could see them from the vantage point of the barn roof, behind the air vent column, a favorite spot of mine. They weren't shouting, just locked in a tight hold, and at first it looked like they were practising some strange sort of dance. But then Momma pulled free and swung a punch at Miss Trent's face. When Miss Trent stopped to put her hand to her jaw, Momma grabbed her and shoved her really hard. Miss Trent landed against the concrete base of the corner post that marked the garden. After that, she didn't move. Neither did Momma for a few minutes. Then, after a long, slow look around, she turned and ran to the barn.

           I watched Momma dig a big hole with the shovel, stopping every once in a while to look around as if she could feel someone watching. Then she turned back to the house and came out with the suitcase Miss Trent had brought with her. This Momma threw in the hole after Miss Trent.

           By the time Daddy got home, Momma had cleaned up and expressed great surprise along with Daddy when Miss Trent didn't show up for supper. For some reason, people accepted the fact that she'd left without a word; I think our community thought she'd been a little too exotic for our school area, just got bored and left. It only took a week for the school board to find a new teacher for the rest of the year. By now Mrs. Watkins was well again and the new teacher was back to boarding with her.

           I figured that, as I had kept Daddy's secret, I had to keep Momma's. It wouldn't have been fair to do otherwise.

           I don't know if Momma was aware I'd seen the fight or not. Sometimes, she'd look at me in a puzzled way as if wondering why I never mentioned it. Maybe she caught a flash of color from the barn roof when she ran back to the house and it only partly registered. I don't know. I do know Momma and Daddy went on as if nothing had happened. I don't think anything of that kind ever happened again, but then how would I know.

           Last month I came back to help Daddy with Momma. She was showing signs of worsening dementia. I was starting to be afraid—not just of the dementia, but of her mind straying back to the past. She would come out with cryptic comments sometimes, maybe a reference to teachers or to Daddy's fascination by blondes, and then she'd give a little giggle and look at either Daddy or me with a glance of conspiracy. I was afraid Daddy would soon figure out what had happened all those years ago. What would happen then? Would he still care for her as he had throughout her illness, or would he feel revulsion towards her? Would other people find out and would justice have to take its course with a sick woman? I didn't want to find the answers.

           Sometimes Momma had good days. That's when she'd realize what was happening to her and she'd clutch my hand and plead with me for help. She had problems sleeping and took a strong sleeping pill at night. One day I caught her with the bottle, dumping the pills into her hand and staring at them for a long time before putting them back with a heavy sigh. Daddy and I started hiding the pills from her, only giving her the one at a time.

           Then one night when I gave her the pill, she grabbed my hand, taking the pills from me and holding the bottle tightly. The pleading look she gave me was heartbreaking. I turned and left the room.

           When we found her lifeless in the morning, the doctor castigated us for not keeping the pills out of her reach. There had to be a hearing of course, but it was ruled suicide while of unsound mind and no-one asked many questions. Neighbors fell into two groups—those who felt she was probably better off this way and those who expressed regret at the loss of years she still could have had with her family, whatever quality they were.

           And now I have one more secret to keep. Secrets can be lonely when you can't share them with anyone.