Lightning Strikes

  "No, wait. Please," he said.

  I sat.

  "When Megan became pregnant, she left and I was of the understanding she was giving the child away for adoption. You are that child?"

  "My grandfather paid someone to take me, if that's what you mean," I said. "His name was Ken Arnold and I was brought up as his daughter. Latisha Arnold was the only mother I knew until relatively recently. We lived in Washington, D.C. Ken Arnold was never much of a father to me or to his own children. He and his son Roy got into fights

  constantly. Roy is in the army now. Latisha died of cancer a few months ago. Before she did, she made sure I was taken care of by contacting my real mother, who arranged for me to live with my grandmother?'

  I recited my history quickly and took a breath. Despite his poise, he looked bowled over, speechless, and for a college professor, that was something.

  "I see. Wow," he said, shaking his head, "what a difficult life you've had. This is very complicated." He thought a moment. "Megan must be married, I'm sure."

  "Yes. To an important lawyer. She has a daughter and a son. None of them, except for Grandmother Hudson and her other daughter Victoria, know the truth about me. Yet," I added.

  Once again, he simply stared at me.

  "I didn't mean to worry your wife," I continued. "I just was curious, but don't worry about it. It won't happen again."

  He shook his head.

  "You're my daughter," he said as if the fact just had settled in. "My God, this is ..."

  "Terrible, I know."

  "No, no. I didn't mean to imply that" He nodded and smiled. "The fact is I've often fantasized about this. I mean, I knew you were going to be born and I couldn't help but wonder about you."

  "Everyone couldn't help but wonder but no one cared to do anything about it," I said dryly. "Except my adoptive mother who turned out to be the only one who ever loved me."

  "Yes," he said. "That's probably very true. What sort of relationship do you have with Frances Hudson? As I recall, the Hudsons were one of those old Southern aristocratic families."

  "I have a very good relationship with her. She's even included me in her will."

  "Is that right? Amazing. Well," he said. "You must be a remarkable young lady then. How long are you supposed to remain in London?"

  "The school year," I said.

  "Well..." He sipped his tea, which I imagined was quite cool by now. "Well I'll have to see more of you. We'll have to get to know each other a bit."

  "Why?" I asked coldly.

  "Why? Why, simply because... we should know each other. Look," he said, putting his cup down quickly. "You have to understand. Megan and I were rebellious young people then. We had no sense of real responsibility. We were both infatuated with ourselves, our youth, our idealism. We wanted to be at the forefront of causes, fight for a new world. When she became pregnant, it was as if someone had thrown cold water in our faces and woken us to the reality of what we were doing.

  "Even so, I volunteered to do right by her, but her parents were devastated, especially her father, and they swept her off. She disappeared from campus one night and I heard from her only once afterward. That's how I knew you had been born and given away for adoption."

  "Sold away," I reminded him.

  "Yes. I imagine that was the way Everett Hudson wanted to do it: just wipe the error off the record books and then pretend it never happened."

  "Didn't you do the same thing?" I tired back at him. He was silent a moment and then he nodded.

  "Yes," he admitted. "I did. In fact,I'll confess to being grateful to Everett Hudson. I was in no condition to raise a child. I barely had enough for my own survival, and Everett wouldn't have permitted Megan to marry me or given us anything but his hate and anger if we had.

  "Despite all our so-called intelligence and sophistication, we were mere children socially. Neither of us was old enough to do the right thing."

  "You were just old enough to do the wrong thing," I said. He blinked as if I had struck him.

  "I can appreciate your anger," he said softly.

  "Can you? You can read about such things in your precious collection of Shakespeare, I'm sure, but can you have any idea what it must be like for me to have no one, no real roots, no identity? Sometimes, I feel like I'm invisible, like I'm some sort of ghost who never had a body."

  His eyes grew sharper, but rather than look offended, he seemed to become more appreciative, almost proud.

  "You're a very articulate young lady. A good student, I bet."

  "Yes. I worked hard at it because I saw how much it pleased my adoptive mother."

  "That's good. But you're not exactly right about me and my understanding your situation. Megan didn't tell you everything about me. I was something of an orphan myself. My parents split up shortly after I was born and I ended up living with my

  grandmother, too, only she was sickly and died after a little more than two years. I was then farmed out from one uncle to another and finally to an aunt, who, ironically enough, lived in Richmond, not all that far from where Megan was raised.

  "There were many times when I wondered about myself, my identity. I concluded it's something you have to create for yourself anyway. You're not me or Megan or your adoptive mother and you shouldn't be. You should be yourself and from the looks of things, you're well on your way."

  "Right," I said. "Nice rationalization. That way no one is responsible, no one's guilty, everyone can go on their merry little way."

  He winced as if I had slapped him.

  I glanced at my watch. "I have to go. I can't be late."

  "Late for what? What do you do?"

  "I help with the domestic chores in my greataunt and great-uncle's home."

  "And they don't know who you really are?"

  "Will you ever tell them?"

  "It's not up to me. It's up to Grandma Hudson. She says for now it's better that they don't know. They might be embarrassed and ask me to leave."

  "I see. Can I see you again?" he asked quickly. "How about coming to my home on Sunday for tea?"

  "You're going to tell your family about me?"

  'Well, not exactly," he said. "Not right away. I hope you understand."

  "Oh, I understand," I said. I rose and looked at him. "Better than you can imagine. Thanks for the tea." I turned and hurried away before he could respond and before he could see the tears streaming out of my eyes. I didn't look back. I charged into the tube station, panicked for a moment because I didn't know where I was going, and then caught my breath and found the correct platform. My train was just arriving. I got into it quickly and buried myself in a corner seat. The train filled with people and then the doors closed.

  I closed my eyes. What did my real parents bestow on me?

  Anger and fear, I thought. They were the twin sisters always haunting me now.

  When would I be able to send them packing? When would I be what my father said I would be, my own person? Would that ever happen? I wondered.

  11

  On Shaky Ground

  .

  The weather changed quickly before I reached

  my home station on the tube and once again I found myself scurrying with my head down, trying to take advantage of every overhang to kie-p myself from arriving at Endfield Place soaked to the skin. When would I learn that in England carrying an umbrella is almost as necessary as wearing shoes?

  Suddenly everything about the country angered me. Why did they have to drive on the wrong side of the road? Why did they have to have all these silly expressions? Why didn't they just call a subway a subway? How could they want to be traveling in a tube anyway? Everyone around me looked just as displeased, rushing here and there with stem, grouchy looks on their faces. I felt like stopping on the next corner and screaming.

  Just before the last two hundred yards or so, the rain grew heavier. It was as if God was dumping a pail of water over me to snap me out of my misery or maybe drive me deeper into it. Running didn't
seem to help since I was splashing in puddles and doing more damage anyway. I just stopped trying to avoid the rain and casually strolled the remaining distance. Some people, well protected in their rainhats and raincoats and with their umbrellas, gazed at me as if I were some lunatic loose on the streets. Even drivers in passing automobiles slowed down to look my way. I smiled back at all of them.

  "You think it's raining?" I said to myself. "The sun is out. It's a beautiful day. You're just too stuck in your English ways to see it."

  By the time I reached the front entrance, my hair looked like a mop and my clothing was thoroughly soaked. Little streams of water ran down the sides of my face, down the back of my neck and down the front of my blouse. Leo stepped back and grimaced as if a wild creature had come through the door when he opened it.

  "Blimey, miss," he said. "You'd better get into drier clothing quickly or you'll catch the death."

  "Nonsense, Leo. I was named Rain because I love to be in it. I love it so much, you'd think I was English," I added and his eyes widened. He looked like he didn't know whether he should laugh or not but wanted to very much.

  As I started down the hallway, Boggs stepped out of the sitting room and, after taking one good look at me, shouted, "Stop."

  I did and drew myself to military attention, too. "May I help you?" I asked him.

  "You're tracking a stream of water and making a mess. Take off those wet shoes."

  "Yes, Commander," I said and did so. My feet were just as soaked. I shrugged. "Sorry."

  "Get the fool a towel, Leo, and let her dry off a bit before she continues," Boggs ordered.

  Leo hurried away as quickly as he could with his pronounced limp.

  "Why don't you take an umbrella when you go out?"

  "It slipped my mind," I said.

  "Well, here on, don't let it slip," he snapped. "Get yourself presentable and ready for your work," he added, his words like little whips being snapped at me. Then he turned and walked off.

  Leo returned with the towel and I dried my hair, my feet and brushed off some of the water from my clothing. I thanked him, gave him back the towel and hurried to my room. I could hear Mrs. Chester working in the kitchen. As I passed by, Mary Margaret stepped out and stopped when she saw me. For a moment I thought my eyes would tell her what I knew, what I had seen her doing with my Great-uncle Richard in the cottage, but as shy as ever, she looked away quickly, nodded and went into the dining room to finish setting the dinner table.

  "I'll be right along," I said and continued down the hallway.

  I got out of my wet clothing and dried myself off as quickly as I could. When I returned to the kitchen, Mrs. Chester glanced at the clock, which was her way of telling me I was a good ten minutes late, and then nodded at the hot potatoes.

  "Peel 'em and mash 'em," she ordered.

  "Sorry I'm late," I muttered.

  "I'm not the one you need apologize to," she replied. "Got along well before you came. I'm sure we'll get along well after you're gone."

  I knew she meant it as simply a statement of fact, but to me it sounded as if she was just another person telling me how insignificant I was to her life. If I disappeared off the face of the earth, who would even notice? Roy, I guess, but not for that long. Grandmother Hudson would, but she would also load that spine of hers with steel and continue on as if I'd never existed. Maybe Randall would miss me for a moment or two as well, but certainly not my real parents. I truly believed they would all recuperate quickly and in time probably even forget what I looked like.

  "'If you work at that pace, Mr. and Mrs. Endfield will be on their afters before we serve 'em those potatoes," Mrs. Chester commented.

  I realized I was daydreaming and got back to my work. I finished everything I was supposed to do and then helped serve the dinner as usual. Only now, when I entered the dining room, my Great-aunt Leonora applauded and started to talk about the school's showcase night again.

  "We have a budding new star in our home, truly another Vivien Leigh," she said.

  Great-uncle Richard grunted.

  "I think there are a number of more recent actresses she should emulate, Leonora. You and that Gone with the Wind. I can't tell you how many times I've been forced to watch it," he told me as I placed the bread on the table. I was surprised at how intently he stared at me and how long he watched me move about the dining room. He scarcely took note of Mary Margaret, who shuffled about with her eyes down, trying to be invisible.

  "You must keep us up with your progress at the school, dear," my Great-aunt Leonora said. "And let us know when you will be performing again. Will that be soon?" she asked.

  "I don't know, Mrs. Endfield. I intend to try out for the production of Taming of the Shrew, but I hardly think I'll get a significant part. Former students also audition and some of them have been in dozens of plays already, some professionally. It's the school's biggest production, a fund-raiser."

  "Nonsense. You'll get a big part I'm sure," she insisted. "Won't she, Richard?" she asked as if he had the definitive opinion like some sort of theater god.

  When I glanced his way, I saw he was still looking at me as if he was considering me for a part himself. He nodded. "Absolutely," he said.

  "Absolutely."

  I glanced at Mary Margaret, who had paused to watch me and listen for a moment. Great-uncle Richard felt her eyes on us and shifted his toward her angrily. She hurried away. He looked after her and then back at me. She was so afraid of him, I thought, and yet, she knew the most intimate secret about him. Why didn't she just tell him to treat her better or else?

  "Thank you," I said and went back into the kitchen. I looked at Mary Margaret, who had begun to wash dishes and pots. Should I just walk up to her and tell her I knew what was going on in that cottage or would it put her in a panic? When she glanced back at me, I thought she appeared so fragile, so small and frightened, I decided it was better to let the skeletons in this house remain in their closets.

  I had my own closets to think about now anyway and they were packed with hanging bones.

  Think about them was what I did, too, almost all night. I was haunted by the question of whether I should or shouldn't go to my real father's home on Sunday for tea.

  Wasn't it like torturing myself to sit there and pretend I was someone I wasn't? Or would he eventually see my pain and decide that he wanted me to be his daughter in every possible way, wanted it so much that he pulled his wife aside to tell her our story. I lay there, dreaming wishes, hearing him say the things I wanted him to say with all my heart.

  "A long time ago, when I was an idealistic but reckless young man, I had an affair with a rich young woman and she became pregnant; maybe she did it to defy her family. Her father swept her off and they had her give birth secretly. They then put the baby up for adoption. I never had a chance to do the right thing, you see.

  "Now, it's years and years later and here she is, a beautiful young woman. I'd like to lay claim to her. What do you think?"

  His wife would take one look at me and say, "Of course you should, Larry. We'll make her part of the family immediately. She's seen far too much unhappiness."

  Then the two of them would hug me and insist I move in with them right away.

  I fell asleep dreaming this dream, but in the morning, the cold reality of where I was popped my fantasy like a soap bubble. Boggs thundered by my room as usual and I got up to wash, dress and help with breakfast. I knew I was moving about like a zombie, doing everything mechanically. Mrs. Chester and Mary Margaret both looked at me with curiosity.

  Mary Margaret nervously folded and unfolded napkins for a moment before hurrying out. Now it was time for my suspicious little mind to lift my

  scrutinizing eyes and search the shadows through which Mary Margaret moved each and every day. I made a mental note to talk with her the first chance we had for some privacy. She needed someone to talk to more than I did, I thought.

  I didn't eat much of a breakfast after my chores. Desp
ite what I had thought was a good night's sleep, I still moved like someone carrying pails loaded with rocks on her shoulders. Yesterday's rain left a cool breeze behind and there were still dark, brooding clouds hovering around the city. I did take an umbrella this time, but it didn't rain at all before I reached the school.

  Randall was waiting for me in the lobby and jumped up the moment I appeared.

  "I tried to call you last night," he said, "but that grinch who runs the house answered the phone and said they don't take phone calls for you. I should contact you on your own time, whatever that meant. What happened? Why did you come bursting into my vocal lesson and where did you go?"

  "I don't want to discuss it, Randall, other than to say you had no right to tell Leslie and Catherine about me. They think it's amusing and to tell you the truth, I'm very disappointed in you," I added.

  "I just thought you needed female advice," he explained. "If anyone here could understand what happened to you, I thought it would be those two."

  "You should have asked me first," I said, unrelenting. He nodded.

  "I'm sorry. I'll make sure they don't go blabbing it about the school."

  "As my mama used to tell us, once the bell's rung, you don't unring it. I've got to get to class."

  "Wait. Do you want to meet for lunch? We can talk some more and decide what to do," he suggested.

  "Whatever I do from now on, Randall, should be something I've decided on my own. This isn't some little drama we can play out together."

  "But..."

  "Let me have some private time," I said. "I really need to be by myself for a while."

  "Okay," he said reluctantly. "I'm sorry."

  "You know," I said thinking a bit, "I bet I have the record for receiving apologies from people who should be kind and loving to me. My mother should have named me Sorry. Then, I could always reply, I'm sorry, too, and it would make some sense."

  I hurried away from him, up the stairs and to my drama-speech class. Before class began, Leslie and Catherine tried to talk to me about it all again, and I told them in clear terms to mind their own business. Neither was offended, no matter how sharply I spoke. I began to wonder if anything would offend them.