The Secrets Of The Peaches

Chapter 1

The summer of 1961 was my very first summer in Louisianna. The year Momma and I moved into the big white house on Mayberry Street with Aunt Jean. That was the same summer I turned fourteen. The year that changed my life forever.
I sat at a round yellow table at Bakers Drugstore sipping a Coke. I sat there in silence all alone, watching the fizz through the glass bottle. My drink was already about half gone, and I started to think about walking home. At least that was what I had been calling it for the past two weeks. No matter how many times I called it home it didn’t feel like out house in Indiana. Especially with out Daddy, without him my world just wasn’t the same, and I knew it would always be that way.
I looked up from the scratched table and watched a colored boy about seventeen scrubbing a table. Sweat glazed his forehead and neck, the scorching midday sun pounding through the window. I leaned back in my chair bringing the bottle of Coke to my lips, the dark liquid spilling down my throat. A small brass bell that hung above the door rand and two girls walked in. They both looked around my age but their looks were totally oposite. One had dark blonde hair that was braided in millions of tiny braids. Her eyes glowed bright green, and the freckled skin around her nose was sun burnt. The other girl had brown hair, cropped short. Her presence was calming and serene as she walked to get two Cokes with her company. They glanced over my way and started walking towards me. I tucked loose strands of brown hair behind my ear, my pony tail tickling my back as I shifted in my chair.
“Mind if we join you?” asked the blonde. I assumed this wasn’t a question; they had already begun to take seats next to me. “I’m Rowan and this is my sister Eva,” she said setting her Coke on the table.
“I’m Cassy,” my fingers nervously tapping against the wet bottle.
“You’re new around here aren’t you?” asked Eva her violet eyes watching me softly. Making my nerves start to calm.
“Yea, only been here about two weeks,” I said unsure of what else to say.
“Where you from?” asked Rowan, as if she knew I was shy around people I didn’t know.
“Indiana,” I told her, my gaze moving down towards the table.
“That’s up North isn’t aint it?” Rowan questioned her southern accent heavy.
“Yea pretty far up there,” I answered feeling like my old geography teacher Mrs. Harring who was a wicked old woman, with a huge wart on her chin.
“So you’re a Yankee?” asked Rowan. I saw Eva kick Rowan under the table, but Rowan barely even flinched.
“I dono,” I answered. I truly didn’t know. “Well I better get home,” I said standing from my chair.
“See ya’ around,” said Rowan, she too standing up.
“Meet us here tomorrow, eleven o’clock. Maybe we can have lunch” said Eva using a napkin to wipe up a wet ring left on the table.
“Alright, see ya’ then,” I said walking out the door. The bell ringing behind me. The heat outside was stifling, I could feel beads of sweat beginning to form on my forehead. I walked down Main Street, the only paved street in Watermill. Watermill was the smallest town I think there ever was. Barely a town at all, just a few shops, a food store, the drugstore, and a barber shop. But that was where Momma wanted us to go when we left. It was where she herself had grown up. Not only that but it was a place where no one knew of our tragedies, where we could make sure no one would find out. I finally reached Mayberry Street, the street where I lived, at the very end of the road. I wiped my hand across my forehead the sweat on it becoming sticky in my hand. The top of our house then cam into view above the magnolia trees, the black roof tiles shiny in the sun. Then a breeze caressed my face, the scents of Louisiana drifting under my nose. The smells of magnolias, the ocean, and something unfamiliar all mixed together making the wind satisfy your nose. The south was a whole other country, basically everything was completely different. Even the way people spoke was different here. I reached my house walking down the path towards the house. Momma said it was an old plantation house from the Civil War and that it had been captured by Yankee soldiers from a rich southern family, and they murdered the family in their sleep. I stepped onto the stone porch swinging on one of the big white columns. I could only imagine what was going on inside, Momma probably cleaning up from her lunch, and Aunt Jean complaining about something or other. Aunt Jean was always complaining, I used to think it was her form of entertainment, and maybe it was. I didn’t know much about Aunt Jean, she was very secretive, usually locked up in her room or by herself somewhere else in the huge house. I heaved open the big white door and stepped into the long empty hall way. I heard talking in the sitting room and headed towards it. Inside Momma and Aunt Jean were painting. Momma perched on a ladder trimming along the ceiling. She scooped down to dip her brush in paint and saw me.
“Hey baby,” she greeted, just a trace of her southern accent shining through.
“Momma guess what. I met these two girls today, Rowan and Eva, and I'm meeting them tomorrow at lunch,” I told her leaning against the pink unpainted wall. Thank God they were painting over the horrible old pink paint, turning the room into a cream paradise. I watched Aunt Jean, she wore an old white dress with a stain across the front, a red handkerchief around her hair. I was surprised to see her not complaining, let alone working.
“Oh honey that’s wonderful!” Momma chattered “I’ll give you some money for your lunch, and some in case you all want to go out to the shops or anything. Do you have somethin’ to wear? We could go out and get something if you don’t,”
“Momma I have plenty of clothes, “ I said giggling. Momma had been so worried the first two weeks because I had been alone the whole time. She said I was going to become and old spinster if I didn’t get out and meet people. That was typical Momma, wanting the best, but always pushing just a little too hard. I sat down on the sheet covered couch. All of the furniture had been pushed to the center of the room and covered in sheets, making the room look like a room in a haunted house. Aunt Jean started to mumble under her breath about wasting money on to much material items. Momma told me when we first moved in with Aunt Jean to just ignore most of what she said. So I barely even paid attention to her anymore. Momma turned to me and rolled her eyes, chuckling under her breath.
“Open the window Cassy,” Momma instructed, trying to stifle her laugh. She gracefully stood up at full height and began to pain again as I headed toward one of the windows and threw it open. The fresh air raced in, circulating through the paint fumes and through our air. I sat down on the sheet covered couch and lay down, watching Momma’s paint brush move rhythmically back and forth against the wall.
Chapter Two
About an hour and a half later I realized I had dozed off. My clothes were now wrinkled and my brown hair tangled. I smelled dinner cooking in the kitchen and heard the voices of Momma and Aunt Jean. I got up and took my hair out from my rubber band, long tresses falling onto my shoulders.
“What are you all doing?” I asked walking noisily into the kitchen. I could hear a faint trace of southern twang beginning to enter into my voice. I didn’t want the accent though; I didn’t want to become some southern belle like the ones I had seen in the movies. I knew deep down, that I would eventually turn into my very own version of one, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop it. It wasn’t something you could prevent; it was something that came in time, no matter who you were. Momma pushed herself away from the table where she had been leaning over Aunt Jean.
“Glad to see you’re awake,” Momma said smiling, and ignoring my question entirely. She walked over to the stove and stuck her head right in the middle of the steam coming from a pot cooking on the burner. Aunt Jean kept her rigid eyes glued to my face though, her fingers drumming against the table. I stared right back, not relenting for one single second, showing her I could and would outlast her. The tension just kept building, just like the steam that I could see out of the corner or my eye. Both of us refused to give in, our eyes watering in their sockets, begging the lids to shut, just for a second. I knew that I could keep mine open, how hard was it to stare down some old lady? I walked towards the table, my steps slow, concentrating on not blinking. I sat down, my brown eyes boring into her gray ones. I could see the water surrounding her eye, the large black pupil dilating. It was a crucial moment, the seconds ticking to the point when one of us would finally just let it go.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Momma said eyeing us suspiciously, a large red tomato clutched in her hand. We both turned towards her in surprise, our focus lost, same as the contest we had both been fighting to win. Momma’s stern gaze kept on us as she started to slice the tomato into small pieces, the sound of the knife hitting the surface comforting my loss. The silence was icy, I sat staring at the wood floor beneath me, trying to avoid Momma’s piercing stare. The door bell rang, the chimes echoing through the hall and down to the kitchen. We all looked at one another until Momma silently volunteered to get the door, her bare feet padding down the hall way.
“Hello Vivy!” someone screeched, the high pitched voice coming down the hall and meeting Aunt Jean and I who sat at the table. We heard the door shut and footsteps and talking came nearer to the door. Momma and an older woman burst through the door. The woman was radiant, the lines on her face told me she was about the same age as Aunt Jean but she acted and sounded much younger. Her face alone was captivating, her lips painted bright red, and blue powder coming from her eye lids all the way up to her perfectly arched eyebrow. Her platinum blonde hair was twisted into an elegant knot atop her head, a few wisps protruding to her face. She wore a bright yellow sundress, and held a white purse in her hands. Her nails were long, and painted to match her lips, the sun from the window making them shine.
“This must be Cassy! Hello darling, I’m Liz Hunnington,” she said dramatically pulling me into a hug. I looked over her shoulder at Momma, she smiled and covered her mouth trying to hide her giggles. Liz let go and fluttered about the room like a humming bird talking so fast that I barely had enough time to take it all in. Aunt Jean still had not moved, she just sat there making it quite obvious that she was extremely unhappy. Momma went over to the fridge and got out a pitcher of lemonade and grabbed some glasses from a cabinet. Liz sat down beside me and poured the yellow liquid into a cup and took a sip, finally taking a breath. “Now Cassy you have got to tell me just everything about yourself,” Liz instructed her blue eyes scanning over my face. Before I could answer she began to talk again, “You look just like your Momma, except for that hair!” I forced a smile, I had never heard anyone say I looked like Momma. But with a breath her focus changed over to Momma, “I am so sorry I haven’t been over to visit before now, but you know how it is. There just isn’t any time left these days!”
Momma smiled “No Liz, it’s quite alright. I know just what you mean. With all this unpacking and painting I barely have time to sleep anymore.”
Eventually my mind began to drift off. I was going deep into my thoughts far away from our kitchen. I felt I could just leave everything behind and just float through oblivion. I had been in this state before, but I never stayed in it for very long. Eventually I always got interrupted. I began to think of what had happened today. I thought about Rowan and Eva, maybe I would finally make some friends here in Watermill. I never had many friends back in Indiana; I wanted friends more than anything but I was desperately shy. When Momma and I left though I changed a lot, well that’s what Momma said. I wasn’t afraid to talk to people anymore; I needed friends now more than ever. That was when I realized I would have to come out of myself and try to talk with people.
Then my thoughts faded back to that night two weeks ago, when Momma and I decided to leave Daddy. As usual, Daddy had been out drinking and I had fallen asleep before he got home. I woke up in the middle of the night to piercing shouts from Momma and Daddy. I crept out of bed my bare feet hitting the icy linoleum floors. The screaming never stopped and the thick tension wrapped around my body making it hard for me to think. I came to their door, it was mostly shut except for a sliver of yellow light streaming into the hall way. The smell of liquor was strong and joined the tension around my head.
“You’re a worthless piece of shit Viv!” Daddy shouted his words slurring together.
“Well no one wants you to stay! If I’m so worthless than just get the hell out!” Momma fired back. That wasn’t true though, I wanted Daddy to stay. I loved Daddy despite his drinking, I didn’t talk to him much, but I felt I had a special bond with him. I was after all his daughter, his only daughter. I saw a shadow nearing the door and I ran back to my room and slammed down on my old iron bed. I wept into my pillow, hoping the feathers inside it would stifle my sobs. My parents argued a lot but I had never heard Momma told Daddy to leave. Would Daddy be gone in the morning? What would people say? Momma would need to get a job to support us. Millions of awful thoughts turned into awful dreams when I drifted off to sleep again. I woke up later to find Momma throwing my clothes into a large brown suitcase on the edge of my bed.
“Momma what are you doing?” I asked lifting my head from the pillow and wiping the sleep from my eyes.
“We’re leaving Cassy, hurry up and get dressed,” Momma instructed throwing some clothes towards me. It was still dark out the moon was peeking in to my room from the window. I got out of bed and changed quickly.
“Take all that bedding off your bed.” I took my sheets pillows and quilt and wadded into a big ball. “Grab anything else you want,” Momma said shutting the suitcase and pulling it to her side. I looked around quickly, I grabbed an old cigar box I had put all of my favorite things in, and an old scrap book Momma had made me for my twelfth birthday. Unsure of what else I could hold I followed Momma who had already started to make her way down the hall.
“Momma where are we going,” I called to her as she went down the stairs. The wad of sheets gently hit my thigh with each step I descended. Momma didn’t answer; she just kept walking as fast as she could without running out the door. I walked out into the moonlit yard, the trunk of our white car thrown open, and Momma’s suitcase already inside. She threw mine beside it and closed the trunk with one swift movement and motioned me to get in the back seat. I got in still holding my sheets and the other things I had time to grab on my way out as Momma turned the key in the ignition.
“You can sleep back there if you want. We've got a long drive,” she instructed turning out of the driveway.
I didn’t realize she mean a long drive meant a drive to Louisiana. We drived for days, I stayed in the back my bed sheets spread over top the leather seat. We were silent most of the time, the only noises the whole drive were the sobs, and the slamming of doors. Momma cried the most, her eyesight blurred and the car would swerve violently on the road. At night we would just pull over on the edge of the road and I would sleep. Momma never slept, she just sat in the front seat staring at the black steering wheel in front of her. When I would wake up in the morning we would already be on our way. We stopped at gas stations and drugstores for food. I wondered how much money we had left to spare so I barely ate anything the whole way to Louisiana. Momma didn’t eat at all she just drove and kept driving. Driving for what seemed like and eternity, and I totally unaware of where we were going or when we would get there. When we finally reached the sign that said “Welcome to Louisiana” Momma sighed a big sigh that told me we were here to stay. When we finally reached the big house early one morning Momma smiled and told me this is where we were going to live. Aunt Jean strode outside wearing an old navy blue bath robe, and gave Momma a big hug. The white plantation house was a beacon of light, a beacon of pure hope shining to Momma and me.
I quietly pulled myself back to reality. Liz was still talking, and Momma was listening closely across the table. Aunt Jean was at the stove stirring whatever was in a big chrome pot. There were dishes waiting to be set on the counter, and the lemonade pitcher had been put away.
Liz stood up “Really Vivy, I must be going. It’s almost six and I’m meeting my good friend Gloria for dinner.” Momma looked at the clock and then stood up. I stood up next to her knowing that if I wasn’t polite then she would be upset with me. Liz walked over to me her heels hitting the floor; “Cassy I expect you to come see me sometime soon,” Liz said kissing my cheek.
“Yes, Ill be over real soon,” I reassured her. Momma led her out of the kitchen and down the bare hall. Aunt Jean turned away from the pot and rolled her eyes at the door.
“That woman drives me insane,” she grumbled. I couldn’t help but laugh. Liz and Aunt Jean were total opposites that was for sure.
“Really? I can’t imagine why,” I said sarcastically. Aunt Jean actually smiled at that. It was a beautiful smile that made her eyes sparkle and revealed a dimple on her left cheek. She wasn’t always so bad, I thought. I barely knew anything about her, but Momma obviously cared a great deal for her. She motioned towards the dishes on the counter, a silent command for me to set the table.
Chapter Three
I groggily woke up the next day not even realizing I had ever fallen asleep. The book I was reading lay across my chest the pages open. The lamp on my bedside still poring light on my face. I got out of bed, my tired feet wobbling beneath me as I took my first few steps. The blue clock in my room read 8:07. Only three more hours I thought to myself. I was starting to get excited

My Message to the World