Hidden Secrets

"Water."

She put the diary down and looked at her patient. "When did you wake up?" she asked, turning to pour a glass of water for him.

"Just now, thanks," he took a few sips from the glass she handed him. "What were you readin'?"

"My mother's diary. Kid found it in the attic here."

"Here?" Buck asked incredulously. "Why would it be here of all places?"

"I'm not sure, but apparently this was where me and Jeremiah and Teresa stayed when Ma died; before we were taken to St. Joe."

"Did you have any idea when you bought the place?"

Lou shook her head. "No. The widow we bought it from, Mrs. Sutherland, thought she knew me, but I couldn't remember. A portion of the attic looked like it had been lived in, and it was only then that I remembered. Kinda remembered, anyway. It's kinda patchy still. Like I know we were attacked by Indians at some point while comin' here, but I don't remember ever bein' afraid of them. I don't remember an actual attack."

"If you don't remember, then how do you know you were attacked by Indians?"

"Because we found a woman's blouse in the attic. It had blood on it and some tiny holes. Jeremiah thought they were bullet holes, but I just knew they were made by Indian arrows." Lou shrugged again. "That's why I'm readin' the diary. I may find some answers. I know I'm findin' out more about my father than I ever wanted to know."

"That's bound to happen. Lou..." It was on the tip of Buck's tongue to tell her about something that had happened when he was a boy, about eight or so; but before he could form the words, Rosa Veloz came in.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Andrews," she said softly. "But your husband asked me to come in and sit with your friend while you got some rest."

"That's sweet, Rosa," Lou replied, "but unnecessary. I'm not a bit tired, and you have been busy all day. Why don't you get some rest?"

"It is later than you think, Mrs. Andrews. I have a few hours rest already. And Mr. Andrews was very firm about it. You need some rest."

Lou shook her head good-naturedly and turned to find Buck grinning at her. "What?" she demanded.

"Nothin'" he replied. "Kid's name is Andrews?"

"His surname. Does it surprise you to know that Kid has a surname? Most people do, you know."

"Yeah, but Kid's been so tight-lipped about it, I wouldn't be surprised that he didn't have one. What about his first name? That's still a mystery."

"Yeah, and that's gonna remain a mystery too." Lou stretched. "I'd better head up to bed, or Rosa here will tell tales. Before I forget, Rosa, this is Buck Cross. Buck, this is Rosa Veloz. She's the wife of one of the men who stayed here when Kid and I bought the place. She helps out around the house. Good night, Buck, I'll see you in the mornin'."

"Night, Lou." Buck watched his friend leave, the hazy memory he was going to mention still unspoken; of a young, half-blood Kiowa boy playing with a young white girl with dark hair.

Lou went up to the bedroom she shared with Kid, and undressed for bed. Standing in front of the mirror, brushing her not-quite shoulder-length dark hair; she noticed that the firelight was produced an eerie glow about her. Staring at her reflection, the shadows flickering over her, she imagined she could see her mother, MaryLouise McCloud, in her reflection. Was this how her mother started out? Lou shook her head, banishing the thought. The Kid was nothing like Boggs. Even if Boggs seemed like the perfect husband in the beginning, there were signs even then of his shady dealings. MaryLouise just chose to ignore them, or did not recognise them.

But looking into her reflection, shadows from the firelight flickering across her, accentuating the hollows in her thin cheeks and the faint circles under her eyes; the resemblance to her mother was uncanny. Did her mother ever stand in front of the mirror like this, wondering at the direction her life took? Did she ever wish that someone could take her away from the pain in her life the way Kid had for me?

Lou put the hairbrush down and made her way to the bed, but something prevented her from climbing in beside her husband. Her thoughts swirled with images: her mother lying in bed, weak from giving birth to Teresa; the despair from the way her life had turned living in the attic of her best friend's house; a younger, happier version of MaryLouise, keeping house for her "perfect" husband, oblivious to the fate that awaited her; her mother begging her not to tell Jeremiah and Teresa about how bad their daddy really was; the guileless look in Teresa's eyes when she asked whether Boggs was really her father... How could she just go to bed without knowing the truth? How could she face her siblings in the morning knowing that she was lying to them without knowing the whole story behind it? Leaning down to brush Kid's head with a kiss, Lou made her decision. She picked up the diary off the bureau and moved a chair closer to the dying fire. After stoking it for a moment, she settled down to read some more.

July 17, 1842 Well, I have finally found out the truth. Why so many men come to the house looking for a man named "Boggs". Why Eamon has become so ornery lately, and so secretive. I cannot believe that I have missed it all this time. "Boggs" is really my husband, Eamon! For some reason, most probably greed, Eamon has decided that farming was not good enough, and he has started an illegal and dangerous activity on the side, using the name "Boggs" to fool people and give himself a place to hide so perfect that the law, such as it is out here, cannot touch him. I have to give the man credit, the plan is almost perfect. I say almost because I have found out about it, and I do not intend to let him get away with this nefarious scheme. It all started about mid-afternoon. I had Louise's cradle out on the porch with me as it was too hot for the baby upstairs. We had only been there for about thirty minutes when a dirty-looking man approached. He had a scraggly beard, red hair poking out from an old sea-captain's hat, and he introduced himself as Peters. He was looking for "Boggs", said he had found a large shipment of guns just ripe for the taking. Naturally, I had no idea what he was talking about and said as much, but he refused to believe me. I denied all knowledge vehemently, but to no avail; he finally drew a knife from his pocket and held it to my throat. "Now you listen here, Missus," he said. "You had better pass on my message to your husband or you will find yourself in a whole heap of trouble. You and the baby." Frightened, I glanced down at Louise, who slept unperturbed in her cradle, but having made his threat, Peters was gone, leaving me very shaken. That was when I pieced everything together, the alias, the gun-running scheme, even the various times Eamon mentioned the local Indian tribes: Apache, Kiowa, Paiute, Sioux, and others I cannot think of right now. Although why he would sell or trade guns with the Indians is beyond me. That road can only lead to trouble. I have decided what I am going to do. I am going to pack a few precious things together, and tonight, after Eamon is asleep, I am going to bundle Louise up and

Whatever MaryLouise had written next, Lou found impossible to read. The writing had been completely blotted out by a large amount of ink, as if somebody had knocked an ink pot over the page. The page itself was very wrinkled, and partly torn. Something violent had happened whilst her mother was writing this entry, that much was clear.

Lou had to turn several stiff, inky pages before she found the next entry. It was not dated.

It is no use. I cannot get away from Eamon. Now that there is no pretence as to what he is up to, I am guarded night and day, because Eamon knows that I was planning to escape with Louise. If I try anything, these guards, for lack of a better term, have orders to kill Louise. Eamon knows that I would rather die than let anything happen to my baby. It is a pity that Eamon does not feel the same way, but all he wanted was a son to carry on with his work. He has no use for a daughter. I am making a vow right here in this diary. Under no circumstances will I ever allow any son that I should have to fall under that sort of influence. I will die first.

Lou shivered. An image involuntarily entered her mind, a memory.

She was standing in a room, one arm around Jeremiah, the other around Teresa. Kid had gone through the secret passage, to see if it were safe for them to escape through, and Jimmy was covering the door. Suddenly they hear a gruff voice.

"He never gave me a choice either," she replied.

As Lou came back to herself from reliving the memory, she was aware of another presence in the room. Looking up, she expected to see the Kid, smiling down at her, ready to give some good-natured scolding. Instead she saw something else, someone else, the last person she would expect to see.

"Hello, Louise," Boggs said.

Lou gaped. "H... how can you be here?" she stuttered. "You're...you're..."

"Dead?" her father asked. "Kind of you to notice. You really don't think I'd let a little think like death keep me from unfinished business, do you Louise?"

He started moving around the room, looking about thoughtfully. "This is a nice place you have here, Louise. Of course, you really shouldn't have married the man who killed me to get it." He gave the Kid a contemptuous shove. "But that don't really surprise me. You always were a bad little girl."

Lou opened her mouth to protest, but Boggs cut her off. "The way you carried on with this man was somethin' shameful, and the way you treated him? You said you loved him!" Boggs advanced on his daughter menacingly. "And do you know what your worst sin is. Louise?" he paused dramatically, his hands outstretched to her throat. "You took my son away! And for that, you die!" His hands closed around her throat.