My Father's Secret

A/N: This is a story I wrote for my creative writing class. I'm just hoping for some extra feedback from you lovely people in addition to the "college level" suggestions and criticisms I'm bound to receive! Thanks for reading.      



                       My Father's Secret



       I snuck back to Green Harbor today. What an exciting feeling, rebellion. And honestly, I don’t think I could have stayed away for long anyway; the place had a way of calling me back, like magic. My father doesn’t want me to go there because he said the hippies will corrupt my mind and make me want a useless life of flower-growing and irresponsibility. He’s the CEO of the Northern Brazil Oil Industries; he’s always on the phone yelling at someone, or sending out emails with lots of exclamation points. When he’s not doing that, he’s monitoring the stock market on CNBC, grumbling to himself, writing notes and scribbling things out angrily in his red notebook. He’s been this way since my mother Patricia died when I was six; I can hardly remember him any other way. My faintest and fading memories of my father happy are of sunsets on the porch of our summer home in Connecticut, sitting between him and my mother on the swing as she rested her head on his shoulder, and hugged her arm around me. “Oh, Peter,” she’d whisper, like a favorite old record that played for me when I thought of her, “I could hardly be happier than I am at this very moment, with you, and my sweet, sweet Nattybean.” I would sneak a glance at them, smiles blazing on their faces in the rosy glow of the coming night. We were happy.
     But when my mother faded from us, so did my father’s smile fade from him, and from me. So as disappointed as I was to hear his grumpy reaction to my stumbling upon a beautiful garden, it was to be expected.
     “Damn Liberals,” my father growled over breakfast when I told him vaguely of my recent discovery. “They’d just love it if we all sprung up a garden of their ‘special plants’ in our backyards, wouldn’t they?”
     “Dad, that’s not—“
     “Don’t argue with me, Natalie, I know how those people are. There are hoards of them around here, growing their flower gardens and getting lost in them instead of working and being useful members of society. And don’t give me that face. I don’t want you going back there again, understand?”
     As if he doesn’t know that’s the biggest trigger to make someone want to do something- make it forbidden. Naturally, I vowed to return that very afternoon just out of spite. Besides, what else was I going to with a beautiful summer Saturday? After ten summers spent in Madame Cornish’s Boarding School for Girls in East Hampton, New York, I needed some adventure. As much as I cherished my secret getaways to Montauk, I had still been living the life my father had scripted for me, and I was longing for an escape. Surely this “secret garden” was the runway to my flight for freedom, so different from everything my father stood for.
     I swept aside the veil of ivy that served as an entrance to the garden. Yesterday, I had stumbled upon this mystical land through the ivy and down an oddly huge tunnel I’d tripped into while trying to capture a shot of a white bunny amongst some tiny pink flowers. I’d been so surprised to even have seen the white rabbit that my foot got caught, and as I was tumbling through the mossy tunnel I couldn’t help feeling a bit like Alice. Scared that I’d intruded on someone’s garden, I scrambled back up the tunnel and ran home. This time, I took a more graceful approach and slid down the tunnel. When I popped out the other end, I realized this gigantic meadow was far better than Alice’s wonderland.
     In the center of this seemingly endless realm there grew a fantastically large willow tree, its branches nearly sweeping the ground as they swung lightly in the breeze. Straight beyond the willow was a pond, probably only about four car lengths wide. It was surrounded completely by bright orange tigerlillies. To the left of the willow, a sort of compacted farm had been established- five short rows of corn looked almost ready for harvest, right next to a cluster of surprisingly large pumpkins. “A pumpkin like that would be perfect for a Jack-o-lantern,” I mused.  The leaves of what must’ve been carrots were poking out of the ground, alongside a few rows of rhubarb.      
Before I could take in the rest of the scene, I saw them- the “hippies,” as my dad would say. A smiling girl, not much older than me, with long, flowing auburn hair was floating towards me, leading a group of three others. She wore a huge sunflower behind her left ear. As she nearly sang, “Welcome to Green Harbor, friend. What is your name?” I couldn’t help but smile right back at her.
     “I’m Natalie,” I returned, “but I don’t really like that name anymore.” Blushing, I fumbled, “Uh, what’s your name?”
     “My name is Sunflower Freedom. This is Lily Love,” she paused, indicating another girl about my age with light blonde, pixie-style hair and brilliant green eyes. Sunflower ruffled the chestnut brown hair of the boy with them, about fifteen years old. “And this is our brother, Oliver Peace.” His brown eyes shone as he gave a quick wave.
     “Sorry for just uh, barging in like this, I kind of found this place yesterday and I really wanted to come back, it-it’s so pretty--”
     “Please! Don’t apologize,” Lily interrupted, much to my relief. “Your spirit is kind. You are quite welcome here!”
     Sunflower smiled in agreement. “Lily speaks truthfully, Natalie, we can sense that you are of pure spirit.” She gestured widely around the meadow. “This place teaches you those kinds of things. Ah yes, there’s a smile again!”
     Feeling my cheeks flush again, I managed to spit out, “So do you all live here?” gazing in awe around the expanse. The canopy of trees above us let in just enough sunlight, so that the vegetation flourished, but it wasn’t too hot. “It’s amazing!”
     Sunflower nodded, still smiling broadly. “Believe it or not, we live here year round. Our house is around the bend there,” she explained, pointing to a wide path through some birch trees. “Let me give you the tour!” She hooked her arm around my elbow and we started my “sight-seeing,” traveling east from the willow tree. An enormous flower garden spread along this side of the meadow, leading up to the birch-lined path. “We grow tons of flowers here with our mother. Daisies and roses are her favorite. Daisies stand for affection, and roses for beauty.” As we rounded the bend in the path, I caught a glimpse of the cabin we were headed for. On the left, where a garage would traditionally stand, a greenhouse had been built instead. The afternoon sun was trickling through the canopy above and highlighting it, as well as the closest half of the house.
     “Wow!” I breathed as it came into full view. “How awesome!” Oliver and Lily skipped ahead of us and entered the cabin, leaving the door open behind them.
     “Our mother built it years ago with her closest friend, Rosebud. They used to play here as kids, and fell in love with it. Mother couldn’t bear to leave, and promised to protect The Harbor for Rosebud when she was to be married.” Sunflower squeezed my arm and said excitedly, “Come on, let’s go inside!”
     I hesitated, a strange feeling shuddering down my spine. “Wait,” I protested, “It’s getting a little late. I really want to see it, I do! It’s just…my dad, he’ll be wondering where I am, and--”
     “Oh, don’t worry!” Sunflower assured me, still smiling her sweet smile. “Come back tomorrow around noon, we’ll have a lovely lunch by the pond. You can meet Mother and I’ll show you the rest!”
     It was my turn to smile. “I’d love to! Thank you, so much.”
     “Oh, and I have something for you! Wait here.” She scampered into the house, and within minutes she returned with a white flower in her fingers. “This is an orchid,” she explained as she tucked it behind my ear. “It stands for purity, energy, and hope.” She hugged me quickly. “It’s perfect for you.”
     “I—wow, it’s so beautiful, Sunflower…thank you,” I stammered.
     “Let me show you another way in,” Sunflower offered.  She led me to an incline off of the right side of the house, where there was another giant tunnel. I could just make out a sliver of light where it ended. “This will bring you out right by the marina. Do you know how to get to your house from there?”
     “Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow…thank you again!” She waved, and I scurried up the tunnel, knowing exactly where I was when I stumbled out the other end. Beaming, I turned five cartwheels in succession, and skipped the entire way back to our summer Tudor colonial. As I passed the simple white mailbox painted delicately with our surname “Giles,” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes thinking of our ridiculously ornate black mailbox at home, stamped with my father’s name. In his opinion, this house needed thousands of dollars’ worth of work, and paled in comparison to our manor in Hudson Valley. Though still fantastically overdone, I loved this house. We’d been there a week after ten years, and I’d been starting to remember little things about my mother. The scintillating aroma of the vanilla cake she’d baked for my fifth birthday, the scarlet dress she wore when company came, and her worn moccasins beaded with suns that she let me wear. I’d tried to tell my dad about my memories of her that were suddenly flooding back to me, but he’d ignored me, mumbling something about “being busy,” and “didn’t I have something more productive to do.” I’d resigned to writing everything down in my journal, every dream I could remember upon waking, every picture that flitted across my vision as I wandered aimlessly through the empty house.
     I closed the front door quietly and tip-toed to my father’s study. Even on our vacation he was still hard at work, grumbling to himself about “oil tax” this and “tree-hugging freaks” that.
“Hey, Dad, still working?”
He glanced over his shoulder at me and asked tiredly, “Where’ve you been all day, Natalie?”
My heart skipped a beat as I answered, “Oh, just down at the marina. Writing,” I added. “Lots of uh, nice boats down there, Dad.”
     “You were at the marina for three hours?” He turned to look at me skeptically. “Where’s your notebook, Natalie?”
     “Crap,” I swore to myself. “Dropped it in the foyer,” I grasped.
     “Really? Because I found it on the kitchen counter when I went out for a cup of coffee. So I’ll ask you again, where have you been all day?” Suddenly, his face turned to stone as his eyes fell on the orchid behind my ear. “Did you go to that garden, Natalie? After I specifically told you not to?”
     “Dad, I was just around town, exploring, I--”
     “Do NOT lie to me, Natalie, tell me exactly where you went today!”
     “Nowhere Dad, I was just near the marina!”
     Realization dawned on him. His nostrils flared, and his eyebrows knitted together in a weird mix of anger and sadness. “You found Green Harbor, didn’t you,” he asked quietly. “No, I don’t even want to know. Don’t you EVER go back to that place, understand me, young lady? Take that stupid flower out of your hair.”
     Tired of his irrational behavior over the past week, I snapped, “WHY can’t I go there? What are you hiding from me that’s so awful? You’re so pathetic, sulking around this house and doing your miserable work! We haven’t even eaten together since we’ve been here! I finally found a place where I feel happy and you just want to take it away from me, just like you take away everything else fun!” Breathing hard, I shoved a huge pile of papers from his desk onto the floor. “This stupid business is all you care about, you don’t care about me or what I like, you just order me around like a little puppet!! Do you even think about Mom anymore? Because I do, every day! I’m so sick of you!”
     His phone started ringing. “Go to your room, Natalie. If you go back there again, I will take you home in a second.”
     “I’m not done--”
     “Go to your ROOM, Natalie. I have to take this.” He answered the call, and sat down neatly in his leather chair like nothing had happened.
     Fuming, I stormed into the kitchen and grabbed my notebook, and proceeded up to my room. I tugged my duffel bag out of my closet, threw in a decent amount of clothing, and the few things I had brought with me from home. I ran into my parents’ old room, which my dad refused to sleep in, and threw open the closet door. Scanning the shelves, I found my mother’s moccasins on the topmost one, underneath her scarlet dress that had been folded into a tight bundle. I snatched them and tossed them into the bag. Returning to my room, I hid the bag underneath my bed and crawled under the covers. Five minutes had passed when I began to sob uncontrollably. I cried myself into an uncomfortable slumber, without the slightest disturbance from my father.
                             ***
        I awoke slowly on Sunday morning, rubbing the dried tears from underneath my eyes. I blinked the time on my digital clock into view- the green numbers glowed 11:12. I forced myself out of bed and changed quickly, dragged a brush through my hair, and opened my bedroom door, listening for the tell-tale sounds of my father. The house was still. I descended into the hallway leading to the living room, and noticed the double French doors were open, overlooking the back porch. He was sitting on Mom’s swing, nursing a cup of coffee. He didn’t notice me looking at him through the window, and for a second I felt bad for him. But remembering our argument from the night before, I crept back upstairs and grabbed the duffel bag. I left a note on the counter in case he got up, telling him I went to the marina for a boat ride. To make it believable, I stopped at the marina and begged the man at the counter to back up my story if anyone came asking about me.
       Finding the secret entrance easily, I scurried down the tunnel into Green Harbor. Instantly upon arrival, I felt a calm wash over me. About to knock on the cabin door, I noticed it was once again open. “Hello?” I called.
       Sunflower appeared at the door momentarily. “Natalie! You came back, how wonderful. Come in!” She grasped my hand and led me into the house. The front door opened into a tidy living room, with a full, grand bookcase covered in framed photos. A spinning wheel sat in the corner, and various flowers, no doubt from the garden, graced nearly every surface. Carole King’s “I Feel the Earth Move” spilled into the room from a record player standing by the couch, which looked as though it had been hand-carved. Leading me into the kitchen, I saw Lily and Oliver playing chess at the dining room table. And then, I noticed the woman standing by the sink, arranging flowers in a vase. The strange feeling from yesterday tingled down my spine again.
       “Mother, this is Natalie! Meet Mum, Daisy Hope Dreamer.” The woman’s sparkling green eyes, so like Sunflower’s, captivated me.
     “H-how do you do?” I stuttered.
       “Just lovely, child, thank you. You’re Natalie? I never—well, it’s wonderful to have you here. You have the most breathtaking blue eyes, dear.”
       The power this family had to make me blush was surprisingly comforting. “Thank you, I’m told they’re exactly like my mother’s…but hers, I mean, in the pictures, hers are piercing. Mine are nothing like that, I--” I cut myself off, realizing that I tended to over-speak in their presence.
       “Do join us for lunch dear, it’s almost ready. Would you like to see some pictures while we eat? I think I have a story you’d like to hear.”
       “Of course! I’d love to hear it.”
       “Splendid. Sunflower, why don’t you take Natalie out to the pond with Lily and Oliver, I’ll be right along.”
Sunflower threw her arm over my shoulders as we strolled to the pond. “So, how often do you come to Connecticut?”
       “This is the first time I’ve been back here in ten years. My dad hasn’t wanted to come here since my mom passed away, when I was six. He figured it was finally time to check on our summer home…and I managed to weasel my way out of boarding school this year. And honestly, being here is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
       Sunflower looked at me curiously, like she was trying to remember something. “What was your mother’s name?” she prompted.
       “Patricia,” I supplied. “She had the bubbliest laugh I’ve ever heard. I could never forget it…and she had long blonde hair that always smelled like roses.”
       A flicker of excitement flashed in Sunflower’s eyes, and then she said, “Here’s the pond. I’ve put out a blanket for us already. Shall we sit?” She sat cross-legged, her full-length skirt flowing around her and covering her feet. Lily and Oliver sat the same, creating a circle with us, leaving a spot for their mother next to me. “Have you ever played clap-pass?” Sunflower inquired.
       “Hmm. Sounds familiar,” I answered. “Let’s go ahead and try a round while we wait for your Mum!” We overlapped our hands and began the game, Lily leading the accompanying song. The game came to me as if I had played it yesterday, though I had never played it with any of my friends at home. Daisy arrived with a picnic basket, and a photo album bound with twine. She served us fresh cucumber sandwiches on her home-baked wheat bread, with sliced pink lady apples and oranges.
       “Alright, children, it’s story time,” Daisy announced. “Natalie, you scoot right over next to me, so I can show you the pictures.” I complied. “Once, there were two very dear friends, Daisy and Rosebud.” She opened the album to show me the first picture, of her when she was very young alongside a little blonde girl. “The girls were nearly inseparable. One day, they found a secret meadow with a willow tree.” I glanced over at the willow by which we were sitting.
       “Oh, is this your story? Sunflower was telling me about how you two built the cabin together! Oops,” I stopped myself, dropping to a whisper, “sorry to interrupt!”
       “It’s quite alright, child. Yes, this is my story, indeed.” She stroked my hair. “The girls grew older, always making time for the meadow. They made it their own, tending to it, making it grow.” She showed several photos of herself tending flowers, of the blonde woman kneeling next to the pond, her hair cascading over her face. “When they had just arrived at twenty, Rosebud met a wonderful man. They called him Hawthorn, which stands for hope.” I stared at the picture Daisy had stopped at.
       “That…is that--” I stammered, looking up at Daisy.
       She smiled knowingly. “The man’s family owned the land which Daisy and Rosebud had grown so fond of. His father wanted to demolish it to expand the marina. But Hawthorn, having become quite successful at an early age, bought the land from his father as a gift to Rosebud, after he asked for her hand in marriage. She accepted, and the girls could not have been happier.” She paused to show another picture of Hawthorn and Rosebud, a capture of the two of them dancing in the branches of the willow tree. “Rosebud was soon with child, and as Hawthorn had purchased a lovely home out of state to be close to his work, she asked Daisy to take care of Green Harbor. Hawthorn arranged for money to be sent every month for upkeep. When the baby was born, Rosebud visited Green Harbor as soon as she was able, with Hawthorn and her darling girl.” I viewed a photo of the two sitting by the pond, Rosebud holding the smiling newborn aloft. My hand flew to my mouth.
       “Every summer, the family visited Daisy. She had also birthed two girls in the same year of Rosebud’s girl’s arrival, and in the following year she had a son. The children got along famously, learning to walk, sing, and tend the garden together.” Sunflower squeezed my hand as we saw pictures of the two of us, holding hands and skipping, twirling in circles in matching purple dresses, and splashing in the pond. “In the sixth summer, Rosebud became very ill. Her sickness took her from her family with swiftness, and Hawthorn remained inconsolable. He did not return to Green Harbor the next year, or for several years to follow. Though payments still arrived, he did not write to Daisy and the children as he used to, and became very involved in his work. Daisy and the children thought they would never see Hawthorn or his daughter again, until one day they were blessed with a very special visitor.” Now, it was not only me, but Daisy who was crying. “Welcome home, child,” she whispered, and folded me into a deep embrace.
       Sunflower tugged at my hand. “I want to show you something,” she breathed. Leading me under the branches of the willow, she pointed to a flat bit of the trunk, where words had been engraved:
       “To my sweet Patricia, my Rosebud- may you always have your piece of Heaven. Love, Hawthorn.” The date of my parent’s wedding was carved below.
        “I used to call you Orchid Happiness,” said Sunflower. “We did everything together, I thought for sure I would never see you again- and here you are,” she said joyfully, hugging me tightly.
       Suddenly, a figure burst out of the tunnel I had first tumbled through. He stood there motionless, looking as if he was fighting back tears. “Oh, Dad!” I cried, running into his arms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything I said last night, I wish I had known! I wish I had known how sad you have been, all this time, why did you hide it from me?”
       A single tear slid down his cheek as he grasped my shoulders. “So very much like your mother,” he nearly whispered. And he couldn’t say anything more; but I didn’t need him to.