The Secret Keepers

By Jeanette Perosa

Mandy and Jolee may live with their father Dale—but they can only rely on each other and Mrs. Mattern, the widow who lives next door. Dale is an erratic, sometimes violent drunk. The girls’ mother is dead, and a distant grandmother is their only other relation.

Hidden in Mrs. Mattern’s possession is a gold box belonging to the girls’ mother, a box containing a secret that only Mrs. Mattern and the Reverend Johnson know but one which deeply concerns the two sisters.

When an act of violence drives Mandy and Jolee out of their home, they suddenly find themselves in possession of the box and the address of their grandmother.

With no one else to turn to, the girls decide to seek her out, only to realize that traveling through the racially tense byroads of the Carolinas is a daunting task. As for the mystery that hangs over their family, its implications will demand that one sister sacrifice everything for the other—if she has the strength to do so.

The Secret Keepers is a haunting tale of love and the secrets that tear families apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeanette Perosa
• Release date: Feb 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311210869

Jeanette Perosa

Jeanette Perosa lives in Limerick PA with her husband, four children, a pack of miniature schnauzers and a cat. She is a graduate of Arcadia University with an MFA in Creative Writing. She is an avid reader and writes women’s fiction and young adult fiction. She currently has been published in numerous literary journals, both nationally and internationally. When not writing, teaching, or running her business she loves to travel, drink good wine and spent quality time with her family.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Pa was home: the rising rattle of the motor became louder before shuddering off underneath Mandy and Jolee’s bedroom window. There was only one slam of a door—only one occupant. Mandy could hear him as he stumbled in through the door, heavy boots pounding across the bare floors of the house. His footfalls trembled into the room, rattling the pictures that sat on the dresser. Mandy began praying under her breath, digging her fingers into her tattered quilt, pulling it around herself. She shifted to her side, gazing over to the sleeping form in the bed next to hers.

Jolee? Jolee, are you awake? she asked.

The soft rise and fall of the covers gave the appearance that her little sister was sleeping. Sleep had eluded Mandy. She had spent the last hours squeezing her eyes shut and trying to clear her mind. But she knew. She knew when she came home from school and Pa’s old pickup truck was missing from its spot next to the porch that there was going to be trouble. It had happened every time before. Mandy furrowed her brow, thinking of how Jolee had held out hope.

Maybe he’s just working late. Got caught up at the repair shop, Jolee had said, squinting her eyes against the sunlight.

Mandy frowned at her and nodded. Let’s hope so. But he probably went drinking. Happens all the time, Mandy had said. She placed her hand on the small of Jolee’s back and moved up the porch steps.

Hope the sheriff don’t bring him home this time, Jolee had said before bouncing across the wooden floor.

Maybe he won’t come home at all. Mandy’s words had been more for herself than for Jolee. She smiled down at her little sister and opened the door to go inside.

Don’t worry, Jolee had said.

Mandy did worry. Mandy worried all night, staring at the dark ceiling. Her anger had faded, and now she lay there full of regret, stomach souring. Now, he was home—drunk. Mandy closed her eyes tight and prayed that sleep would help her escape, but her heart was pounding too loud in her ears; every inch of her felt as if it was ready to leap out the window.

The moonlight trickled through the cotton curtains, lacing the floor with glowing light. The room was as neat as a pin, the bare wooden floor covered with mismatched area rugs bought from Mrs. Mattern’s table at the church rummage sale. Handmade artwork dotted the shadowy walls, finger paintings and Elvis Presley record jackets cut and taped to cover fist marks.

Mandy closed her eyes as she listened to her father’s voice drip in through the thin walls.

Mandy…Jolee, he said.

Pa’s home, a small voice said from the other side of the room.

Try to be quiet. That way he’ll just go to bed.

Mandy, I left my homework book on the kitchen table. I don’t want him to touch it when he’s like this. Jolee’s eyes went wide, glistening in the pale moonlight.

Boots pounded the floor next to them, shaking the walls like tremors as he lumbered his way downstairs.

Mandy, girl, git here! Pa slurred a shout into the stillness.

Why does he have to be like this, Mandy?

Close your eyes tight! Don’t concern yourself with him, Mandy said.

Jolee’s big eyes shone with tears. She pulled the blanket over her head, leaving strands of blond hair poking out for the moonlight to play in. Mandy twisted in her bed, nausea rising in her stomach. The crashing and thumping became louder and closer as her father made his way through the small farmhouse. He was humming. The tune swirled and blended in her mind as his footfalls made their way down the hallway.

Mandy, where’s my dinner?

Maybe we should have left dinner out for him, Jolee said.

Maybe I would have if we even had a real dinner, Mandy said back as the emptiness of her stomach soured her thoughts. Their dinner had consisted of apples leftover from the school lunch line and a loaf of bread that Mrs. Mattern had wrapped in a red-and-white checkered cloth and left in a small metal bucket by their door. It was soft and warm as Mandy bit into it. Jolee’s hands shook with worry when Mandy insisted they eat the whole loaf.

Don’t worry about Pa, Jolee. He sure has no concern over us, Mandy had said, holding the last fluffy piece out to Jolee with her other hand perched on her hip, letting her elbow point out. Jolee hesitated for a moment before snatching it from her like a starving wild animal.

I think there even might be a spot of preserves left in the icebox to put on it. Mandy jumped up and raced into the house, Jolee hot behind her as they raced into the kitchen toward the icebox. Jolee’s smile was as sweet as the teaspoon of preserves smeared on the bread. It left them licking their fingers, their mouths dotted with raspberry seeds, sitting together in the kitchen on their mother’s kitchen set. The shiny metal legs and bright yellow plastic seats looked odd against the backdrop of the rustic kitchen.

Mrs. Mattern makes the best bread, Jolee said as she swallowed her last bite. Mandy smiled as she poured more water into the Coca-Cola glass that sat perched on the linoleum-covered table.

Yes, she does. Maybe she’ll leave some fried chicken tomorrow night. Mandy smiled at her sister as they giggled for dessert. Mandy snapped the radio on and started dancing, taking her little sister by the hands and dragging her around to Elvis, laughter filling the air of the house while their mother watched—smiling from a photo beneath the weight of a magnet on the refrigerator.

The bread had filled their bellies for a while, but it sat hard and sour in her stomach as her father clanked around, breaking glass and knocking things over.

Mandy! Jolee! What was in the bucket? Where’s dinner? The bucket met the wall, tossed hard against it. The sound thumped into the room, metal hitting against the plaster.

There was silence for a moment. It fell over the house like a sheet of ice, catching everything tight within its grasp. Mandy didn’t want to move or breathe. Her heart pounded in her ears, causing them to ring. Small beads of sweat glazed her forehead and dampened her hair as they rolled down the sides of her face. Several more thumps broke into the night air before the radio belched static rough and hard and then smoothed out with the sweet sounds of Patsy Cline.

He was moving again. His boots shuffled up the stairs as he sang along with the song in a slurred voice laced with sobs.

He’s thinking of Momma, Jolee said, her voice small and urgent.

Jolee, be quiet! He’ll hear us and come in here.

The humming became louder and more rancid, stinging Mandy’s ears as if bees were caught in her head. She pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block out the sobbing that intermingled with the tune. There was a loud crash followed by a cry.

Pa fell! Jolee said, sitting straight up in bed, eyes wide.

Jolee, he’s drunk! He always falls when he’s drunk. Now hide yourself and go to sleep.

What if he’s hurt? Jolee asked as they heard him screaming before drifting back into soft sobs that bounced up the stairs.

Jolee, go to sleep!

The sobs became louder as light from the hallway drifted under the flimsy door. Mandy gritted her teeth and drew in a breath. His footfalls hammered in her ears as they came closer, the hum dwindling. The doorknob turned slowly after another large bang in the hallway. The door swung open and flooded the room with light; a silhouette casting a long shadow touched the foot of Mandy’s bed. She flinched and moved away from it.

I know you’re not sleeping, Mandy.

Mandy said nothing.

I want to know why there is no dinner for me.

She pulled the covers tighter as she heard the jingling and clanking of his belt buckle, as he moved deliberately and clumsily about the room.

You live under my roof, and this is the treatment I get, Pa said, sauntering around the room, landing in strips of moonlight before drifting into the darkness. I could have sent you to live with that bitch in Virginia, but no. I kept my girls. My girls. Now this is how I get repaid. Disrespected! Pa’s breath was hot and poured out over her face as he bent down over the top of her, burning her skin.

We were hungry, Pa. There was nothing in the house to eat, Jolee said from the other side of the room.

Pa whipped around, eyes flashing in the glowing light.

Are you sassing me? he said, taking one step closer to Jolee.

Leave her alone. You’re drunk. Get out of here, Mandy said, panic lacing her voice.

Pa whipped around, his face twisting with anger. He reached out for Mandy, grabbing a corner of her blanket. His fingers snaked up her bed quilt, pulling and tugging at it. Mandy held it, tearing her fingernails into it. His fingers were cold and rough as they brushed her skin. She kicked at him, flailing against the covers.

Leave me alone! Mrs. Mattern gave that dinner to us!

Her eyes met his as he stared at her, licking his lips. His face was a ghostly white, eyes dark and deep. He smelled like sour beer and body odor as he towered over her.

Always got something to say, don’t ya?

No, sir.

You need to learn to respect your pa.

Mandy’s heart was pounding in her ears. She sat up straight like an arrow and drove her stare into him. The sound of the slap left ringing in her ears. The sudden sting of his thick flesh hitting her cheek caught her off guard. She scrabbled to grab the covers and pull them tight against herself, mouth gaping. Jolee began to wail, the sound muffled by her quilt.

Next time, you don’t touch nothing until I get my share!

Pa’s eyes appeared like two black holes in his face, and he swayed slightly from the force of the slap. Mandy kept staring at him, her eyes like thin slits and a red handprint glowing on her cheek. He turned and left, stomping out into the night.

CHAPTER TWO

Jolee tiptoed past Pa, who lay circled by empty beer cans and old photos in the living room. She stopped for a moment, gazing down on her father, his dirty face streaked with tear tracks, unshaven, and peppered with gray hair. Jolee reached behind him, pulling Momma’s quilt down over his sleeping form before sliding out the door, holding tight so as not to let it slam.

The summer morning air was crisp, and the sun had just begun to reach out of its sleeping place and graze the earth with waking light. Mist hung over the evergreen trees like a veil, shadowing the mountain. The dirt road had dampness stuck to it, coloring it chocolate brown as her bare feet pressed down on it. She made her way down the road, pausing to pick some wild flowers that grew at the end of the way. She held them in her fist, the soft-blue flowers contrasting against her pale-yellow cotton dress.

The road led out into town, past Mrs. Mattern’s house, Harper’s Gas Station, and finally the United Methodist Church. The old church sat just off the road, perched like a guardian before Tom’s Bar and the town’s Municipal Building. It sat there like an old wise man, with its worn gray stone and weathered steeple tower surrounded a circle of sharp iron fencing and soft weeping willow trees. Jolee had never been inside, at least not that she could remember. On Sundays, when she and Mandy made their way into town to get Pa his cigarettes from Hadley’s Grocery, music would be pouring out the doors and into the street like water released from a dam. Mandy would tug Jolee’s hand to cross the street so they didn’t get wet with all that praising.

God never did nothing’ to help us—that’s what Pa always said. Mandy told Jolee that she believed it was true. Mrs. Mattern would often say, with her blue eyes shining, that Momma was in the eyes of God now; he had taken her to be with him. That made no sense to Mandy or Jolee. They must have needed her more than God did. God seemed downright selfish. That was all Jolee could think about as she knelt down in front of the gray stone with her momma’s name chiseled on it: Suzanne, Loving Mother and Daughter. She reached out, tracing the fancy letters with her small finger. The stone felt cold and wet, like the soft grass beneath her knees. Jolee placed all the flowers but one on the base of the stone; that one she held to her breast.

Good morning, Momma. She stopped for a moment, gazing upward as the sun pushed its way down through the branches, speckling the ground with small dots of brightness in a ring around Jolee. School ends this week. I’ll be finishing sixth grade. Mandy’s not too happy. She doesn’t like spending so much time at home with Pa.

Jolee paused as if to let her mother respond. She waited, twirling the flower between her fingertips, spinning it in circles.

Pa’s been having a hard time of it lately, always yelling and drinking. Mandy seems to sass back a lot. Gets her in trouble. Pa don’t like no sass talk.

Jolee sat there under the willows chatting away until the pastor pulled his car into the parking lot. Jolee jumped up, her hair like silk ribbons fanning out from her head.

Good morning, Jolee. Visiting your momma? Reverend Johnson’s tall, thin frame glided across the graveyard. Jolee stood watching him approach with a small black Bible clutched in his right hand. Jolee couldn’t’t remember a time when she’d seen him without the Bible. It seemed attached to his hand, and sometimes he would clasp it in both hands, say Praise God or God Bless, and then return it to his side, swinging it like a pendulum. His dark-brown pants were perfectly pressed, cuffs gliding over his shiny, dark shoes. His shirt was bright white, muted only by a heavy cross that hung across his heart on a thick chain of gold, which glinted in the early light. His hair was a splash of gray with pale-pink flesh peering through its thin strands, sitting above a long, thin face that almost seemed to have melted. Jolee often wondered if his face was like that because he was around all that sadness at funerals.

That funeral sadness had affected her pa.

Pa hadn’t been able to stop crying at Ma’s funeral. His tears had dripped down through his fingers and onto the sleeves of his army uniform, which Mrs. Mattern had pressed. She’d wanted him to be handsome as he looked at his Suzanne in her final resting place. Mrs. Mattern had stood there with her hand resting on his back, her gray braids pulled up tight in a bun.

Jolee remembered how smooth and shiny the wood had been on her momma’s casket—not unlike the cool marble of her gravestone. She had kept running her fingers along the side, of the casket feeling the coolness under her small hand, as her father had buried his face in his hands and wept.

Mrs. Mattern said that Pa became a broken man that day. Momma’s dying had opened up wounds he had from his time in the war. Some men don’t come back right. They are all messed up from seeing and doing all that killing. Makes ’em angry and scared all the time, she would say, her face as serious and stern as Reverend Johnson’s.

Mandy had stood there like a soldier on duty and watched her father slip down from his principles. She had stood tall next to Mrs. Mattern, clutching her small black patent leather pocketbook—a gift from Ma’s relations. It had come in a box wrapped in pretty paper that Mrs. Mattern had picked up at the post office. They had sent shoes and dresses for the two girls. Funeral dresses Mrs. Mattern called them; dresses that now hung in the back of a closet and were covered with gray dust. The box had also contained burial money and a scented card that said, Love, Grandmother.

Reverend Johnson had spoken soft, smooth words about heaven and better places, but Jolee didn’t understand how being put in polished wooden box in the cemetery was a better place than being with your family. Or why Pa had been so sad, if this was a time for rejoicing.

Rejoice, for our sister has gone to sit at the table of the Lord. She will sit in glory forevermore. Amen, Reverend Johnson had said.

Not one person had rejoiced as they all placed flowers on momma’s casket before lowering her into the earth. Her pa had collapsed, streaking his uniform with bright-green grass stains that Mandy said would never come out.

I’m dead without Suzanne. Oh God, he had wailed as Mrs. Mattern and Reverend Johnson knelt down next to him. Mandy had grabbed Jolee’s hand tightly and pulled her toward the gate. Let’s go, Jolee. Nothing for us here. Jolee had followed her sister all the way home. She remembered turning around to see Reverend Johnson’s head looming above the crowd, sunlight beaming down on him just like it was today.

Tell your pa it’s been a while since I’ve seen him. Suzanne always made sure he got to church. Seems he ain’t got time; now that she’s gone, he’s off carousing. I am sure you girls miss her. Darn shame that the Lord took her so soon, the reverend said. His eyebrows knit together in a gray line as he shook his head. Good woman…God-fearing woman. How is your pa?

Doing’ right fine, sir. Sleeping, I suppose. Jolee moved slowly past him into the shadows of the willow trees.

Jolee shuffled some under his gaze, her eyes never meeting his.

And your sister? She always was a strong one. I believe she’s finishing ninth grade, he said.

Yes, sir. She is.

Be nice to see you girls tomorrow at Sunday service. Your pa too, he said as Jolee slipped out past the stone gate and onto the road home, letting the flower slip out of her fingers to the ground below.

God bless! he said, clutching his Bible with two hands before letting it swing freely at his side once more.

CHAPTER THREE

Mandy woke with the sting still burning on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open; the blurriness of sleep was clearing away when she noticed the bed next to hers was empty. Mandy wasn’t alarmed when she awoke to find Jolee’s bed empty. Mandy figured that Jolee had sneaked into town, as she usually did after a bad night with Pa. Mandy had followed her once, keeping herself hidden in the shadows of the tree line as Jolee skipped through the town until she reached their mother’s grave. It was a morning just like this one, when the air seems so perfect; for a moment Mandy had felt content as she watched her little sister sitting cross-legged in front of their mother’s grave. Mandy had been able to tell by the movement of Jolee’s hands that she was deep in conversation. Mandy had slipped back home before Jolee had noticed her.

Sleep had eluded Mandy after Pa had slapped her. It wasn’t until the sun started breaking through the darkness that Mandy felt herself being pulled under by the veil of sleep. She had heard Jolee wake—the soft brush of the covers and the padding of her footfalls on the wood floor were just loud enough for Mandy to open her eyes and watch Jolee slip out of the room.

The floor felt cool as her bare feet pressed down on it. She sat on the side of her bed for a moment, softly caressing the sting away. Her cheek still seemed to tingle, a reminder that she had not been dreaming. The window was open, letting the morning air float in carrying the smells of honeysuckle and fresh grass. Mandy inhaled, and the smell tickled her nose as she made her way to the window.

The pickup sat in front of the porch, the morning mist covering it like fuzz. The trees were heavy with new leaves that glowed a yellowy green in the waking light. The road leading away from the house was bathed in light, and the sun was baking the footprints left by Jolee. Mandy shifted, stretching the shreds of slumber from her body. The sun was moving higher in the sky, touching the tops of the evergreens and making them glow like gold. Summer was coming; the warm morning air was sprinkled with heat and the music of cicadas.

A sure sign that things are wrong in our world. The Lord sent the cicadas to plague the sinners. Everyone better start praying, Mrs. Mattern had said as she shook her head. Mrs. Baldwin, Mandy’s science teacher, had told them that those cicadas only came out every seventeen years. It had nothing to do with evil and exodus, only science and temperature. Yes, this was going to be the year.

Mandy sighed and moved back into the room, knowing that soon Jolee would be rushing down the road, her hair streaming behind her. Mandy would have to get dressed and ready. Ready for whatever troubles she might find downstairs with Pa. Mandy