The Truth (A Secret Past - Volume Three): A Secret Past, #3

Volume 3 of the A Secret Past series

Clara has spent twenty-three years watching life pass by from her family’s country estate while they enjoyed all the pleasure and company available to the wealthy in 1920’s America.

Now, in the wake of learning the truth about her parentage, Clara is overwhelmed by a multitude of questions, unsure how to go about finding the answers.

With Martha enforcing new rules and limitations on her, Clara must rely on Helen to keep her informed and in touch with Robert, who may have a way to help her with those answers she seeks.

But will his help come in time...?

Note: Parts of A Secret Past were previously published as Clara’s Secret.

Also includes a Sneak Peek at an upcoming novel!

Volume Three

Clara struggled to produce any sound. Helen took a step back and wrapped an arm around her sister. No, not her sister; her cousin. I’m sorry, Clara. I wanted to tell you but I didn’t know how. I didn’t mean for it to come out this way. I was only able to put it together yesterday after stopping over at the Sanders’ farm.

Ah, yes, Martha said, finally speaking up. Mary Sanders’ sister-in-law. That’s how she must have heard. I knew I should have pushed harder to have her fired but Mother was insistent she stay because she was a favorite of Amelia’s. It makes perfect sense she would have passed on a version of what happened that’s so completely at odds with fact.

Clara was trying to focus on what her mother, no, her aunt was saying, but she felt light headed. A ringing in her ears drowned out words and she found she had to squeeze her eyes shut to keep from falling over. Helen helped lower her back into her chair. When Clara reopened her eyes, she sought the window and strained to make out the imprint of tread on the drive where Robert’s car had been only a few minutes earlier.

Calm down, Helen, Oliver said, setting his newspaper aside and wading into the conversation for the first time. There’s more to the story than you could possibly know or understand and I’m sure when you’ve taken the time to learn and reflect on all the facts, you’ll see—

I’m never going to see how you could possibly justify treating Clara the way you’ve done, Helen protested loudly.

I’d like to know what it is that’s set you on this little mission of yours, Martha snapped. Was it Gertrude? She’s coddled Clara far too much over the years, indulging her with those fairy tales of hers. Or is this because of that boy in the city? The one we refused to allow you to continue seeing?

Helen’s face went red, but whether from anger or hurt, Clara couldn’t tell. It worked to snap her from her daze. Giving Helen’s hand a squeeze, she spoke up. Why didn’t you tell me about my mother? Were you ever planning on telling me the truth?

Oliver’s expression was sympathetic as it turned to focus on Clara. No, we weren’t planning on telling you. We believed the truth would be more painful. Maybe the reasons we gave for keeping you restricted to the house and grounds were... a stretch. Helen scoffed loudly and drew a glare from her mother. But we really did do so in order to protect you.

People can be unnecessarily cruel, Martha added.

You would know, Helen snapped, but she looked into her lap as she said it.

Clara ignored the other two women and kept her attention on her uncle. He seemed to be the most calm and the most willing to speak. Now that I do know that you’re not my parents, would it be too much to ask for the lies to stop? I think I have a right to know the truth.

He paused with his eyes locked on Clara’s. He could not see the warning his wife directed his way. Helen continued to look away as if uninterested but Clara could feel her body tense up with anticipation.

Your mother, Amelia, was a... disturbed individual. She had no care or concern for anyone but herself, upsetting everyone in her immediate family and inviting scandal. Your grandparents had her institutionalized when they learned of an... inappropriate relationship she was having with a man. It was difficult for everyone involved and the strain of it went a long way towards killing your grandparents. You were born out of wedlock and it was as a kindness to her that your moth— that your aunt, took you in rather than sending you to an orphanage.

He turned to face his wife again. The hard expression of a moment before had faded from her face. A softer, pained one replaced it.

The rumors were dying down when I first met your grandfather. He asked me to dinner, believing I’d turn the invitation down like many others already had. But I took the chance and was rewarded when I met the kindest, most generous, and forgiving young woman. Later, she told me the truth of everything that had happened and what she’d undertaken as far as providing for her unfortunate sister’s child.

Martha smiled fondly at her husband, but when he looked away again something sad and pained began to peek through.

You say that we’ve kept Clara here to protect our family’s reputation, he resumed, addressing Helen who had finally looked over at him. "But it was to protect her."

Clara’s brow contracted as she attempted to make sense of the influx of information but all she could think about was her mother. Her... uncle, hadn’t said much of anything about Amelia herself and what she was like... at least, not to Clara’s satisfaction. And what about her father? Did he even know about her?

Helen remained skeptical. Protect her?

Yes, protect her, Martha muttered. For weeks after Amelia was sent away, it was impossible for any of us to go anywhere without hearing the chatter die as soon as we entered a room, without catching people looking at us only to have them look away again, without having our ‘friends’ approach us apologetically to try and worm the juicy details out of us so they could continue to feed the gossip mongers who took delight in judging all of us, for what Amelia alone did. Her voice had begun quiet but her volume built steadily as the long suppressed resentment rose to the surface. It was humiliating and it’s not something I would wish on anyone, especially not... especially not my sister’s... bastard child.

Clara watched her, transfixed as Martha’s gaze looked through her. Who was she seeing reflected in Clara’s features? The sister whose selfish actions brought shame to her family?

Looking down from Clara, Martha’s fingers found a string on her chair to pick at.

It was kinder to keep you here on your own than expose you to the stares and whispers. If no one knew about you, they couldn’t ridicule or judge you. It was the quickest way for everyone to put the... incident behind them; the quickest way to get the talk to turn to someone else’s family. She looked back up, finding the girls’ eyes still trained on her unwaveringly. Besides, you were a bit sickly as an infant. You’ve always been prone to colds and such. It seemed better to be safe than sorry.

Silence fell on the group as they each tried to find the right thing to say, deciding that it would be best to wait for someone else to speak first. Trudy cleared her throat from the doorway.

I was sent to ask if you had a preference for luncheon today, ma’am.

Tell the cook to make up some sandwiches with whatever is leftover from dinner last night, Martha instructed. The four of them looked between one another and Trudy who kept her face stoic under the scrutiny.

Very well, ma’am, she said, sneaking a solitary, sympathetic look at Clara before hastening away from the tense room. Clara knew then that Trudy had heard more of their conversation than she would ever admit to either the master or mistress of the house.

Oliver decided that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. The matter was settled and if the women insisted on continuing with the topic, he would do better to remove himself.

I think I’ll take a turn around the garden before we eat. Could do with a little exercise and work up a bit of an appetite. Putting his newspaper aside, he muttered about something he’d been meaning to address with the gardener, expecting no reply.

When he was safely out of the room, Helen resumed her attack on her mother.

Surely you couldn’t expect to keep Clara hidden forever. What were your plans for her now that she’s an adult? Did you have someone in mind to marry her off to? Did you think she wouldn’t have anything to say for herself?

Clara’s first impulse was to laugh at Helen’s remark. So far, Helen had been doing most of the talking. Her outrage made Clara feel that she should be more offended. While she didn’t condone the actions, she clung to the reasons they’d given in her effort to make sense of everything. Besides, curiosity about her parents outweighed whatever indignation she felt at the moment. She only felt the slightest twinge over her lost visit with Robert. There was simply too much else to think about.

I assume you’re referring to turning Mr. Flint away, Martha remarked facetiously. There was a relaxation in her tone and posture in the absence of her husband. She was more willing to challenge and outright argue with her daughter rather than adopt the condescending tone Oliver preferred they use in addressing anyone not each other. "Well, on that count, you are half correct. It’s only natural for us to want to preserve the secrecy surrounding Clara. It’s worked well to protect her so far. Mr. Flint’s unexpected association with her and his connection with the Robinsons has jeopardized what we’ve spent more than two decades building. If the time has come for Clara to be... introduced... into society, we would have liked for it to be in the manner we deem fitting and most productive. Encouraging Mr. Flint and his relatives to go resurrecting rumors and scandal are not in anyone’s best interests, especially Clara’s."

She rose from her seat and crossed the room to her daughter and niece. Helen refused to let go of her skepticism, no longer trusting anything her mother said. Clara was either more forgiving or too numb. She wasn’t put on edge by her aunt’s aggressive assertions of having her best interests at heart nor did she feel like bothering to consider whether or not they were true. Clara needed time alone to think but she couldn’t make herself leave and she couldn’t bring herself to ask the others to do so instead. She simply sat and let more information, more truth wash over her.

Mr. Flint is a charming young man from a respectable family. He has inherited several extensive properties that are rented out to farmers, families, and other businesses. I’m not sure how it all works but it brings in more than enough to support a family and his cousin mentioned the multitude of opportunities he’s exploring for further investing. He’ll be quite the catch for any woman who can land him. But it won’t be you, Clara.

She locked eyes with her niece who continued to stare back blankly, leaving Martha unsure how much of an impact her words were carrying.

"As soon as he discovers the truth about your origins, he’ll drop you faster than hot coals. What’s more, he’ll spread the news far and wide, making it impossible for you to ever marry, tainting Helen and the rest of us in the process."

Yet you seem more than willing to match him up with me, Helen pointed out, successfully relieving Clara of Martha’s exclusive attention.

As I said, he’s a charming young man and he would make a fine match. The simple truth of the matter my dear, is that you and Clara are not sisters. Your situations are not separated by a few years. You have more to offer. And because you are my daughter, it is my duty to assure you make the most of it.

Clara slid off her chair and stood on wary legs. Helen stood too, forcefully and pushing her face towards her mother’s. And I’m to have no say in any of it? she said loudly.

When I can trust you to make the right decisions, then you can have a say. But if you’re going to moon over the likes that Brandon fellow, then no; you’re not to be trusted to make such important decisions.

Martha stepped closer to Helen, further closing the distance between herself and her daughter. Clara was behind both of them now, and had no trouble slipping silently from the room.

"This... this has nothing to do with... anyone in particular. It has to do with the fact that it is my life, my future, my happiness at stake and I think that entitles me to—"

Trust me when I tell you that I know what’s best. You think you know what’s best, what will make you happy but you’re too invested to see the truth. If you let yourself be guided too much by your heart, you’ll be overlooking too much else. You’ll see what you want to see instead of what is actually there and that’s where you get hurt.

Helen opened her mouth to reply harshly but she stopped when she saw tears brimming in her mother’s eyes, when she heard the break in her mother’s voice as she made her remark about getting hurt.

Martha looked down, blinked several times, and cleared her throat before continuing on in a calmer, quieter voice.

I’m not saying that you shouldn’t let your emotions factor into the equation; I’m just saying not to let them make your decisions to the exclusion of all else. You have to think about things like your future family and providing for them; think of your current family connections and how your decisions affect the rest of us; think about the material comforts you’re accustomed to and consider which of those you’re really willing to give up and for how long. I don’t care if you have a romantic streak so long as you can show me that you also have a practical one to balance it.

Helen fought to hold onto the righteous indignation that had kept her resistance fueled. She looked over to where Clara had been but found the seat empty. Quickly glancing past her mother, Helen realized that the two of them were alone. She could keep the argument going for Clara’s sake but she was tired and couldn’t help but notice the marks of exhaustion in her mother’s face too. The lines around her eyes and on her brow were deeper than she’d ever appreciated before; there was sadness in her eyes that usually hid behind the steel that was her judgment peering out. Helen discovered that, while her mother remained a force to be reckoned with, she also felt a measure of pity for the woman. Maybe she did believe that what she’d done to Clara had been done from a desire to protect. Or maybe she’d only told herself that excuse so many times that she was finally starting to believe it. It didn’t matter anymore. Arguing with her mother in this manner wasn’t going to accomplish anything for either herself or for Clara.

I understand, Mother, Helen whispered.

Martha sighed with relief. She looked at her daughter but Helen wouldn’t meet her eye. She reached out with her hand and gently lifted the girl’s chin, the action drawing Helen’s gaze back to her own.

I love you, sweetheart and I’m sorry your father and I lied to you. I just want what’s best for you. Helen nodded as best she could, keeping her lips pressed together. Martha had an impulse to wrap her arms around Helen and draw her close for a moment, but thought it would be better not to draw the matter out any longer.

Dropping her hand and stepping back, Martha glanced around the sitting room, noticing for the first time that they were alone. She moved back over to the settee and took up the newspaper her husband had abandoned, lowering herself onto the seat with care. Helen remained standing in silence, contemplating what to do next, peeking over her shoulder to the window where she and Clara had watched as Mr. Flint had been turned unceremoniously away a short time earlier.

Excuse me, she muttered quietly before sweeping determinedly out of the room.

***

Clara found herself on a bench in a secluded corner of the garden, the hedge to her back and either side preventing her from being surprised by someone approaching outside her line of sight. She was staring at the photograph of her mother and Martha in her lap but she couldn’t recall detouring to her room to fetch it from the jewelry box. All her thoughts centered on the face of the woman standing in the photo, with Robert’s distraught face making an occasional, brief appearance.

What had happened to Amelia in the twenty-three years since Clara had been born? Martha mentioned her sister had been sent away, but where to? Did her mother think of her at all? How had her infant self come to be in Martha’s care? Did her mother send her away willingly or had Clara been reluctantly surrendered, taken even? Where was her mother now? Was she even alive? And exactly who was her father?

She stared at the image of the woman in question as though if she willed it enough, the photograph would blink, stretch a little, lower her parasol conspiratorially to shield the conversation from her rigid-sitting sister, and start explaining everything. But instead the image remained static, her knowing smile taunting Clara from the depths of her unknown past.

Sitting in solitude was doing nothing but making her feel more lost. The longer she sat, the more questions and fewer answers she