Lightning Strikes (Hudson 2)

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.