Journals of the Secret Keeper Read Online Free Page B

her
dying while she was in the other bed dreaming
about fiances standing alone at the altar or tall
handsome black men saving runaway cars. Mama
Jean had always had a way of getting on her last
nerve and if ever there was a proverbial straw that
actually did break a camel's back, Mama Jean had
just delivered it.
#
Years later another journal would be written
and the beginning page would read something like
this:
I awoke the next morning with Mama
Jean still in my arms. She was dead with a
slight smile on her lips. I didn't know whether
to scream in sorrow or laugh at her crotchety
ole ways. I had always tried to win against
Mama Jean and had always been miserably
defeated. Even in death, Mama Jean was
victorious. I fled from her control eleven years
before, only to return and submit myself once
again under the mighty hand of Mama Jean.
I climbed out of Mama Jean's bed and
went to sit on the porch. I waited on Andrik.
His timely arrival that morning marked a new
chapter in my life; one filled with many
astonishments. I soon became unwillingly the
next Secret Keeper.
    CHAPTER 6
Volume 1, pg. 10 (January 1901):
"I want this
house so badly. It don't matter to me that I am
not a family member. I done cooked and
cleaned for Mrs. Williams for years. She ain't
got nobody left. I'm her kinfolk now. Her white
skin and my black skin makes no difference to
me. I made her sign the house and the land
over to me. She did it too, because I said I
was leaving if she didn’t. She in her quiet
moment; the one when you're old and nobody
comes around. Your peers are dead and all
you hear is the sound of the person taking care
of you. She needs me and I need this land."
#
    The final car to leave the yard was
that of the coroner's. Willetta and Andrik stood side
by side in the yard. They were two strangers bound
together by the death of one old woman. Andrik's
long fingers snaked around Willetta's forearm. The
single touch screamed a silent accusation Willetta
dared him to verbalize.
    "What happened, Willetta," he bit out.
"She died, Andrik," she said.
Andrik squeezed her arm and pulled. His
    nostrils flared. "What did you do," he asked.
Andrik was unable to voice his suspicions.
Somehow they seemed ludicrous and he
subconsciously knew they were unfounded. But he
was at a loss as to how to control his simmering
anger and grief. Mama Jean meant the world to
him, but she had not wanted him in her final hours.
She'd wanted this traitorous woman standing before
him. The one who ran away and never came back.
His hand tightened around Willetta's forearm.
"Let me go," Willetta demanded.
Andrik removed his hand, but stepped closer
to Willetta. This time he didn't get in her face. He
stood his full height and looked down his nose at
her.
"You need to tell me every single thing that
happened after I left last night."
Willetta took a deep breath and exhaled.
She knew how to be patient with bad tempered men.
Andrik was hurting and he was taking it out on her.
The best thing to do was to remain silent. Her lack
of response would surely bring him to his senses.
"Do you need something to drink, Andrik,"
she asked kindly.
"Don't start asking me what I need. You
have no idea how dangerous that territory is for you
right now," he growled.
Willetta backed away. "I didn't ask you
what you needed. I asked if you wanted a drink,"
she said.
"I distinctly heard the word 'need' come out
of your mouth," he said. "Should I tell you what I
need, Willetta? What I haven't had since I got back
to this stinking depressing place," he bit out.
Willetta ran to the porch and through the
screened door. "If you come through this door, I
swear I'll hurt you Andrik."
Andrik stood in the yard and watched the
screen door. He couldn't see Willetta through the
screen, but he could hear the fear in her voice. She
was afraid of him and she had every right to be.
Thoughts of their conversation the night before
washed over him and he felt sick. What was he
doing? She had told him