The Dark Secret

The Dark

Secret

Molly Shy

Copyright © 2014 Molly Shy.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-0568-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-0570-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-0569-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014904124

Archway Publishing rev. date: 3/6/14

Contents

Acknowledgments

Picture True

Death

Yearning

Jon Paul

In Time

Who Cries for Me

Foreign Heart

The Stoop

Storm

Limbo

Restlessness

Scars

Lost Child

Rambling Soul

Love Missing

Mirrors

Each Day

This Old House

Misty Fog

Dark Side of the Moon

Yesterday’s Memories

Have You

Rapture

Acknowledgments

This book is written in loving memory of Cousin June, who made me promise to write it before her passing.

The spirit of my beloved Stanislaw remains in my heart and soul.

My daughter Mary Ellen and grand-daughter Jillian-Rae helped me edit this book.

Daughter Brenda, son David, daughter Kathy, and daughter Cindy gave me encouragement to follow through.

Picture True

If I could draw a picture true,

One of you I would try to do.

Recalling past your eyes so blue,

Your sausage curls, flaxen hair and skin so fair,

A smile so warm hearts would melt,

I would capture the sadness within your eyes so blue,

Remembering well the time long past,

Hungry and cold shivering so.

Ah yes, I would paint you true,

For in my mind I picture yet

That waiflike child of yesteryear past,

Left upon that stoop so lone while others passed by,

Not knowing of your plight that was.

I remember well, and my picture of you

Would reveal a lot, for my memory is

Quite vivid when I think of you.

For June

© Aurora

Lit candles surrounded the bier upon which the coffin rested. People encircled it, some softly crying, others in a strange sort of trance, like that of a bad dream from which one cannot wake. It was quite a shock that the once bubbly figure that lay there within, so still, without breath, hands cold to the touch, was indeed dead.

Many felt her hands, kissed her cheek; it was real, no dream. Annette was gone and would no longer be among those who loved her so, her zest for life silenced forever.

Why, oh why? thought Dora. Why Annette, her younger sister? Then again, Dora had warned her more than once that abortions were bad and not safe. This time she asked no one and found a doctor in a sleazy part of town. He was a drinker with a suspended license. His instruments were not sterile. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and she simply would not heed any warnings. How sad, Dora thought. What will become of the children?

They had found her bleeding profusely, huddled in her tenement flat. Her younger brother Raymond rushed her to Sacred Heart Hospital, which was run by Catholic nuns. Raymond even gave Annette blood. Raymond wanted to kill the animal that had left her in that condition, and he feared the worst for his sister.

Raymond shuddered at the thought of losing Annette; she had lost so much blood. He started to pray and cry, at that moment missing his mother and hating his father at the same time. Their father was a gambler and a ladies’ man. Even though the man had fathered twelve children, he had left his wife, had separated from her, and Raymond was never quite sure they had gotten a divorce.

Annette adored the two babies she had but wanted no more. Having lost her mother at such a young age, she had no one to guide her, and life had not been easy. Her father’s mistress did not care for the children, keeping only the oldest ones that could work in the mill, and taking all the money for their keep, while her father did nothing. The youngest was placed in an orphanage. Annette had not wed either child’s father. She was footloose and fancy-free, no strings, living for the moment and never caring about tomorrow. Perhaps Dora’s experience had scared the hell out of her.

Death

Precious waste, silent breeze

Engulfs a soul beyond reach.

Angels hovered long in wait,

Fiery flames sprouting

From the black hole of hell.

Satan visible, smothering its prey,

Smoldering ash while death’s

Triumphant smile holds tight.

Aura fills the heart, obliterating

Any memory that was.

© Aurora

Dora’s father, also Annette’s father, had forced Dora at the tender age of fifteen to wed a Greek man who lusted after her.

He was considerably older than she. Dora knew her father took money from him and lied about it. Dora’s betrothed was named Nicholas, and he was handsome, although far too old for Dora.

Her father promised her a good life and that she would learn to love him; Dora’s tearful cries fell on deaf ears. After all, her father had already made the deal, thinking Dora would be none the wiser.

She wed, and shortly thereafter Nicholas did not want her seeing either her family or any of her friends. He did not want her to leave the house unless she was with him. No family, no friends. Dora loved life and couldn’t stand to live this way, so she went out to buy a few staples at the corner store.

She met a male acquaintance and stopped to say hello. She never saw Nicholas coming as he pushed aside her friend, hit Dora, grabbed her by her hair, and knocked her to the ground. He hit her until they arrived home, and there he beat her into unconsciousness. Nicholas left her on the floor and went across the street to the Greek coffeehouse. From where he sat, he could view the front door, in case Dora should try to leave that way.

Dora awoke a few hours later. She picked herself up, washed up the best she could, and changed her clothes. Leaving through the back door, she fled to her sister Alice’s house. Ralph, Alice’s husband, opened the door just as Dora fainted. Ralph could see how badly battered she was, and as Alice revived her, Dora told them how Nicholas had beaten her for going out.

Nick, an in-law, treated Dora the best he could while Ralph and his brother Raymond went looking for that Greek bastard. They would make sure he would never be able to father a child, although no one ever did find out what transpired that night.

Dora never remembered how she got to Alice’s, and it took days for her to stop the fear within as she remembered how she had begged her father not to make her marry Nicholas. Through all the tears and protesting, her father had convinced Dora to give in. She would hold a grudge against her father the rest of her life.

Dora left for New York City to stay with her older sister Louise, who was living with a chef by the name of Patsy and their boy—whom they named Boy. Louise was married to another man, but one day she had suddenly separated from her husband. She left her children behind and never again looked back. She had just walked away—run, actually. Louise never talked about her children and did not seem to miss them.

Louise vowed vengeance upon Nicholas, the rotten, cowardly animal. She cursed the bastard and thought her father was goddamn greedy for making such a bargain with that devil. Louise was much wiser and far worldlier, and she knew she would have to help Dora get her life back together. But Louise also knew Dora would never again trust a man.

A few days after Dora’s arrival in New York, a suitcase arrived addressed to her. Inside were her bloody clothes, torn to shreds. Nicholas had found out where she was. He had found her! Louise never felt more like killing a person than she did at that moment.

Dora was barren, though she did not know this. She had an appendicitis attack and was taken to the hospital shortly after her marriage. Nicholas had given instructions to the doctor to tie her tubes without her consent. He wanted Dora all to himself, did not want her body to lose its shape while being swollen with a child. He secretly wanted to keep her as she was.

At Annette’s funeral, Dora Annette’s sister went looking for Molly, one of Annette’s children. As she dried her eyes, she found Molly and her sister, Babs, together sitting on a trunk. Molly was wide-eyed, staring at the crowd of people crying.

Babs, brave as she was, hugged and reminded Molly that their mother had gone to heaven. Can we go too? Molly asked.

At that time, Bertha was heavy with child and fainted. All rushed to her side. Babs said, Molly, we are all alone. Molly, it’s just you and me. I am scared of what’s going to happen to us.

Dora spoke up right then. I’ll take Molly, and Uncle Raymond wants you, Babs. It will be fine. But Babs did not want to leave Molly. Molly was much too little to understand what was happening. She knew not what lay in store for Babs or herself.

Babs was wise beyond her years. She felt the cold pangs of hollow emptiness, and yet she did not really understand what was about to happen, how it would change their lives, and she began to cry and cling to Molly. It would be the last night Molly and Babs would spend together for the rest of their years.

Raymond took Babs. He was the younger brother of Dora and Annette and was married to Mary, who was also carrying a child, who was soon to make an appearance. Raymond figured Babs could help Mary; besides, how much could a little brat that size eat?

Raymond was a large, brawny man with red-olive skin and jet-black shiny hair. He looked like an Indian, and although he was very handsome, he scared Babs somewhat. Babs would soon come to learn that Raymond had no use for kids. He would get drunk and beat Babs for the smallest infraction. Sometimes the buckle of his strap bruised her little arms and legs. She was so scared and lonesome and missed her mom so.

Over time Babs kept running away. She wanted to be with Molly, so she was quickly labeled a troublesome child, one that was hard to handle. The separation alone was enough of a trauma for a child that young without being abused by a drunk. She was so frightened.

Raymond’s wife, Mary, sometimes showed Bab’s affection, while other times she could not be bothered, because she often drank alongside Raymond. After the baby came, they left Babs alone a lot, and if she fell asleep, Raymond would beat her, because she was to stay awake to