Chapter Eight

Frieda’s Secret

 

 

Claire felt tingly all over, as she and Colin walked hand-in-hand at the festival. They’d gotten back in time to shower and get ready for the event. Colin wore a white polo shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, with no socks and slip-on boat shoes. Claire never before dated a guy who looked as handsome and well-dressed as he did. The closest was Chuck Winston, but other than his blazers with the elbow patches, his hair was always messy and he never tucked in his tee shirts. They usually fell below the dress shirts he wore over them.

The festival was an annual event. It always took place on the second Saturday of June, come rain or shine. Many of the locals rented space in the white tents that lined Main Street. They either sold their baked goods or something they’d made with their own hands: ships in bottles, baskets, or carved beach wood sculptures.

Claire stopped to look at some hand-blown glass. The lady who’d crafted them stood proudly behind the clothed table, smiling at her and Colin. The iridescent colors were majestic. She thought briefly about picking up one for her mother, and then became aware no one was waiting for her to return in their apartment in Queens. The feeling was a slow surge of suffocation that gripped her by the throat and made her stomach uneasy.

Feeling Colin’s fingers clasped around hers lifted her spirits a bit. They walked out from the tent and continued down the street to the other vendors. As people passed them, carrying their bags of homemade fudge and garden flags, she wondered what they saw when they looked at her and Colin. Did they look as in love as Mallory and Jason? Did they catch the fact Colin was holding her hand? Probably not. By all obvious signs, they were like anyone else at the festival. Only Claire felt much more like the queen of it, having found her first love.

It wasn’t until they walked into Colin’s parents that Claire realized she had been awakened from her dream. Colin suddenly released her hand as his mother approached them, holding one of the baskets Claire had just seen for sale. His dad stood beside her, wearing his usual annoyed look. Although this time he seemed to have more of a pinched lip look to him than usual. Perhaps Frieda had used too much starch in his underwear. His beady eyes darted from Colin to Claire. Melanie ran her normal interference of father and son.

“Look what I picked up over there, Claire.” She held up the basket for her to see better.

Claire was still reeling from the dropped hand at her side—it dangled like a withered bloom. She smiled at Melanie and gnashed her teeth, trying her best to seem normal—as though nothing monumental in her world just happened. “I like it. I saw a lady weaving one just like it over on the side street. It’s pretty.” She touched the weaving, still smoldering from the neglect of Colin.

“So where did you two run off to and spend the entire day?” His father looked at Colin with flames in the midst of his pupils.

“Oh, you know kids, dear. They probably spent the day downtown at the public beach.” Melanie twisted her necklace with fret. “You kids just love those waves. We just don’t get that at the cove.” She looked at her husband. “Frieda said you used to love the public beach, James. Do you remember?”

“Melanie, let the boy answer for himself and stop your rambling. I never went to that beach. Who wants to see a bunch of tourists taking pictures?”
      “I beg to differ, but—”

“You’re always trying to cover for him. Let him answer the question. Where were you, Colin?” His father stepped into Colin’s space.

Claire waited with bated breath. Now was his chance to declare their feelings for each other. He didn’t need his father’s permission to love the girl he’d chosen to love. Or to fly planes over running the business. Now was his chance—his golden opportunity.

Colin rubbed the back of his neck, perhaps searching for the top of his backbone—which was now vanishing before her eyes. “Mom’s right, Dad. We spent the day at the public beach. I asked Mallory and Jason to go, but you know how they’re acting. Then I dropped Claire at the shops and waited until she found something to wear tonight.”

“And what a lovely dress it is, Claire,” Melanie exclaimed.

The ticking bomb sound in Mr. Prescott’s head could be detected by passersby. But nothing compared to the gust of wind Claire’s was experiencing with each long sigh from him.

“Thank you.” Her voice was barely audible. She was crushed by Colin’s omission of their relationship. “Please excuse me. I think I’ll go back and get one of those baskets for myself.”

Claire walked away from the trio. Water blurred her eyes, exasperation clutching her throat. If Colin followed her, she was going to tell him to leave her alone until he knew how to tell the truth to his dad. Instead, she ran into Mallory and Jason two tents down from the couple. “Hey, girl. Love the dress.”

Mallory had hold of Jason’s hand, draped around her shoulder. She saw Claire’s expression. “Oh my goodness, Claire. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Claire wiped a stupid tear from her cheek. “I think I’m having an allergic reaction to the shellfish, that’s all.”

“Good Lord. You scared me. By the way, Dad’s looking for Colin. He’s irritated at him being gone all day. Do you know where he is? I thought he’d be with you.” She looked around after asking the question.

Claire pointed in the direction she’d just left. “He’s with your dad now. If you don’t mind, I’m trying to get some of that taffy on the corner before they sell out.”

“Sure. Are you staying for the dance?”

“I’m not certain. I’m really tired.” Claire said it walking backward, trying to get away from all the members of the Prescott family, Mallory included. She couldn’t take how she could date Jason and not care what Daddy thought.

Claire made it to the end of the street and looked back. The closed road was filled with people. She wondered whether Colin was trying to follow her. She tried to see past a man walking on stilts with a top hat. His red, white, and blue jacket sparkled with sequins as he waved an American flag to the people walking by. Sweet cotton candy from a street vendor permeated the air and among the happiest of sites, she felt the most desolated.

She crossed the street and noticed Frieda buying a candy apple from a rolling buggy with painted butterflies on the side. It was larger than any apple she’d seen for sale back home. Leave it to Kelly’s Cove to even have a market on the best apples. It was perfectly round and packaged in crisp cellophane paper. Frieda handed her money to the girl with blonde hair, wearing an apron that read, “Candied Apple a Day.”

Claire touched Frieda’s shoulder.

“Hi, Claire. It’s nice seeing you here. I think there’s more people than last summer.” She took her change from the girl and slipped it inside her worn purse. “I’m sorry you missed lunch and dinner today. I had your favorite—fried shrimp and garlic rolls. Just like you like them.”

“Have any leftovers?” Claire asked, hoping she did. With each letdown in Claire’s life, it seemed she gained five pounds. Eating was the only thing she could control. She was surprised she wasn’t obese from the passing of her mother. Although, strangely, with that she had no appetite at all. She’d lost seven pounds that first month she was gone.

“Sure do.” Frieda tucked the apple in her recyclable grocery bag. “Where’s Colin? Isn’t he with you?” She looked down the street, past where they stood.

“He’s with his parents. Do you think I could catch a ride back home with you?”

“Sure. Did you want to go now or look around some more?”

“I can wait until you’re ready to leave. I’ve seen all I want.” She tried not to seem anxious and ask for the keys to sit in her car and wait.

“We can go now. I’ve seen all I want, too. The fair is the same every year. Same people peddling their junk and same stale kettle corn. I’m ready when you are.”

They walked to Frieda’s car, parked down the side of a residential street. Claire tried to suppress her emotional breakdown for the confines of her room, but it didn’t work. As soon as Frieda turned right to take the bridge home, Claire burst out crying.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Frieda reached over and touched her shoulder tenderly.

“I miss my mother so much. Sometimes it’s a pain that jams deep inside my heart, taking away all the air until I can’t breathe.” She bent forward, holding her stomach.

“Oh, honey. I know what that pain feels like. But it’ll dull as time goes on. She was a good woman—solid and trustworthy. We had many a talks on that back porch after everyone went to bed.” She squeezed tight to the steering wheel, wiggled her butt on the seat and adjusted her rearview mirror. “Now mind you, I said it’ll dull. It won’t go away. At least not completely. But the sharpness of it will file itself down to a numbing throb.”

Claire looked at this wise woman and wondered who she’d lost that meant so much. Aside from making her food and bed, and playing with them a bit when they were smaller, Claire didn’t really know Frieda. “Did you lose your mother?”

“Oh, years ago. But that’s not who breaks my heart now and every time I think about him.”

Claire momentarily forgot how miserable she was and wanted to know about Frieda’s heartbreak. Misery loves company. “Can you tell me about it?”

“There’s only one person I ever trusted with my secret.”

“Who?” Claire placed her fingers on the top edge of her open window to feel the wind that whipped by the car.

“Your mother.”

Claire bent forward dramatically. “My mother?”

“Yes, and she took it to her grave, God rest her soul.” Frieda crossed her chest. “She said she would and she did.”

Claire wondered why her mother never told her about Frieda. Not that she’d go back on her word to someone, but they knew everything about each other. And about everyone else in their life. Like Claire’s mom knew Jenny McCallister’s dad wasn’t deployed in the army. He was really living in California with his mistress secretary. Jenny told Claire in secrecy but Claire couldn’t help but tell her mom. They told each other everything. So why didn’t she tell Claire whatever Frieda told her?

“Do you think I could know it? If I promised to take it to my grave?” Now that her mother was gone, it would be quite the possibility. And, anyway, her mother already knew. Claire always knew there was something locked behind Frieda’s lonesome eyes.

“I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t think it could help you.”

Claire’s interest piqued. What did her mother know and Frieda was hiding that could possibly help her? She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Frieda stared ahead, holding tight to the shabby steering wheel with both hands. She never looked away from the road while telling her story. Claire sat pensively, body hunched in the direction of Frieda, hanging on every word the older woman said.

“You love Colin? Or is this something you’re just doing to pass time this summer? I never know with young people these days.”

What? Claire thought she was going to hear Frieda’s secret. Instead, Frieda seemed to want to hear all about hers. “I love him. At least I thought I did.” She bit her finger and took a moment. “Yes, I love him.” As much as she wanted to erase all the feelings swelling inside her about that guy, she couldn’t.

“Well, I kind of figured you did. I can spot that look you’ve got. I had the same look, my momma told me. You see, I fell in love once with a boy I knew would never be mine, too.”

“What makes you think Colin can’t be mine?” She still held out hope this was a tiny setback. Thinking back to how Mr. Prescott breathed fire and Colin retreated made her angry.

“He’s a Prescott, that’s how.”

“Yeah, I know. But I also know Colin, and I believe in him. I know he can do anything. He just needs the courage. It’ll come. I’ve got to be patient.” It calmed her to know there was more chances for them to be together. She just had to let him work up the courage to face his father. After all, he was an intimidating man. It took Claire two summers before she could ask him to pass the salt at the dinner table.

“That’s what I thought, too. But Buddy Prescott Sr. would have nothing to do with me and my family. You see, Daddy was a fisherman by trade. And Momma, she was a housewife. It was the summer of 1954. I was fifteen, ready to turn sixteen the following month in August. The Prescott family put out word they needed a babysitter for their baby, Alexander. He had come as somewhat of a surprise to the family. Their daughter, Sally, was nineteen and already married to Bishop Campbell. She’d stopped coming with the Prescotts and began vacationing with Bishop’s family. After Sally, there was Buddy Jr. He was seventeen.” A smile spread to her face when she said his name.

“Anyway, my family could’ve used the extra money, so Momma drove me out to the beach house and offered my services. I came with lots of references. I’d babysat for some of the other families who vacationed on the island, too, and I was hired on the spot.” She turned onto the dirt road that led to the guesthouse and parked.

“Come on in. I’ll put on some tea and finish my story.”

Claire followed her inside, knots turning in her stomach, thinking of when she was last here with Colin.

Frieda turned on the little lamp by the front door. A black-and-white picture of a woman and man sat in a frame on the edge of the table. She threw her keys in a plate beside it. It was in the shape of a seashell.

Claire followed her to the kitchen, where she sat at the table, and watched Frieda scoot around the kitchen, pulling out a teapot and cups from the cabinet. Their finish was scratched from age. She took a package of tea bags from a canister that was placed on the folding table, pushed into the corner of the room. Old newspapers were stacked on it, almost falling over from abundance. It smelled like ripening bananas and Juicy Fruit gum in the small area.

Frieda rubbed her lips together and touched them with the tips of her fingers, seemingly going back in time to finish telling her story.

“I stayed there most all the time while Buddy Sr. and Sarah attended parties and went on outings with the neighbors on their boats. Buddy Jr. and I got real close. So close, we fell in love.” She shook her head back and forth, heavy with a look of regret. “I thought I wouldn’t be able to go on with life if I couldn’t be with him. He was so handsome.” She sat down and smiled, touching Claire’s hand. “Just like Colin.

“Coal-black hair, smoothed back on the sides. Blue eyes like the deep sea, and a smile that melted my insides and made me weak in the knees. I was complete goo around that boy.”

“I know the feeling,” Claire said, as Frieda stood to get the whistling teapot.

“Well, Buddy was a lot more courageous than your Colin is. He knew who he was and his daddy wasn’t going to get in the way with his plans of being an architect.” She poured the steaming water into the cups with strings dangling down the sides. “He loved buildings and how they were designed. Why, he’d take me downtown and talk up a storm about those little doo-dads etched on the wooden storefronts. Said they were different types of this and that.”

She sat down with their cups and took a hesitant sip of hers, as if not to burn her lips. “Summer was coming to an end and the Prescotts were preparing to leave. They handed me my final payment in a white envelope and Buddy spoke up and told them I was pregnant. We had it planned—he was going to stay on the island and go to school here until college. We’d get married when he turned eighteen, then him and me would move to wherever with the baby and wait until he graduated college and became an architect.”

Claire tried not to look completely astounded and took a sip of her warm tea. Frieda and a Prescott? And a baby? She waited for Frieda to take another drink to ask her a question.

“What did Buddy Sr. and Sarah do? What did they say?”

“They said no son of theirs would ever marry a fisherman’s daughter. Buddy Jr. was marked for something greater than that.”

Claire wasn’t surprised. It went hand-in-hand with the response a Prescott would give. “What did you do?”

“Well, they eventually came around to the idea I was gonna have that baby no matter if they liked it or not. So, I went home with them to their house in the city and waited to give birth and for Buddy to finish high school. Only they tricked me and when my baby was born, they gave him to Sally and Bishop to raise as their own.”

“How could they do that? Why didn’t you refuse and why didn’t Buddy Jr. step in and fight for his son?” Claire was on the edge of the chair, pressing the table with her index finger, demanding justice for Frieda.

“They forged my name on the adoption papers and sent Buddy away. We were told that if we tried to contact each other, my family would lose our home and Daddy would lose his boat and business. The Prescott arms have a long reach of destruction, my dear. I couldn’t do that to my family, and Buddy understood.”

Claire raised her legs and rocked back and forth on her knees, hugging them. Who were these people? How many generations did their control and monopoly date back?

“So, why are you here now, caring for them again? I’m pretty sure if you wanted to poison them, you would’ve already done it years ago. Albeit, it’s not Buddy Sr.”

“I’d heard that Buddy Jr. and Sr. died in a plane crash about ten years after we went our separate ways.” Her gaze fell to the floor and she remained still. “I was in shock for a while, I guess. I’d always dreamed of us being together and raising our son. But it wasn’t meant to be.” She ran her finger over the cup’s rim. “Some things just aren’t mean to be.”

She sat up and took a deep breath. “That’s when I changed my name and applied for a job to be caretaker of this place. Sarah Prescott never returned after Buddy Sr. died, but Sally and Bishop spent every summer here with their son, James.”

Claire nearly fell off her chair. Her leg slipped down and she grabbed hold of the table. “James is your son? James Prescott?”

“The one and only. I have no idea why they didn’t change his last name to Campbell. I guess his grandparents had something to do with that. But no matter how completely miserable and ornery that man is, he’s my son. I have to try to believe that it’s the Prescott curse that has him doing what he doesn’t want to and leaves him a bitter man.”

Holy moly. This was the kind of information that could rock the Prescott family. Claire took a drink of her tea and found herself a member by association of this disillusioned family. Her fate was cast when she fell in love with Colin Prescott. Now it was up to her to either fight for the man she loved or fade into the background like poor Frieda.