Diary of a Black Widow

Previous chapters
* Chapter 1
* Chapter 2

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Quick note: Dear gentle, #Steemit readers, this is a fictional story. I must confess that I personally have never truly enjoyed reading anything written in the first person. While I have no problem writing in the first person when they are my personal experiences, this is my first attempt at writing fiction this way.
I also want to note that this is not a happy tale. It has strong language, violence and sexual violence...and while I know the difference between reality and fiction, getting into Lainey's head to tell her story before transitioning to her mother's story has probably been one of the most difficult pieces of writing I've ever had to do on an emotional scale. I am committed to writing this and I hope you enjoy the journey.
Please be aware that this is a rough draft, original work which I hope to compile, edit, and publish later on down the road. All rights reserved. Thanks! ~ Meredith

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Chapter 3

My curiosity got the best of me as I gingerly lifted the lid of the old trunk and peered inside. Carefully, almost reverently I removed the contents and spread them on the table. There were several journals, a weathered old balsam shoe box, a file with some papers in it. They all looked about as old as the trunk, but what immediately caught my attention was a large, new envelope with my name written in mom's precise script.
Closing my eyes, I was rewarded with the faint smell of her perfume as I held it up to my nose, feeling a dull ache in my heart from missing her so much. My hands shook a little as I tore the edge of the envelope, careful not to rip the stationary inside.

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My dearest Elaine,
If you are reading this then I have finally died and joined your father in heaven.
As I sit here writing this letter to you, I am at a loss of what I can tell you - or whether I should. It is my dearest wish that my departure may set you free from the terrible things you are living through. I may be old, but I am not blind.
This trunk contains my diaries and mementos earmarking life events that no one has ever known about me.
There is a part of me which implores you never to read its contents. Take the entire thing and burn it without a thought.
Yet, another part of me that wants you to understand that life comes with hard decisions. I have made peace with my past a long time ago; every action justified.
I have not read my diaries since the days I have written in them. I have never been one to look back. But this letter also comes as fair warning. If you read them, Do Not Stop until you have read them all.
.
Elaine,
You are my greatest achievement and only joy in this life. I have never truly known love until I held you in my arms the first time. I swore that I would do right by you - protect you - raise you - and set you free to conquer the world. You are my only legacy and I know the apple does not fall far from this tree.
? You are stronger than you know.
Now it is up to you to decide what to do with the contents.
With love,
Mom

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I read the letter several more times, once while tracing her script with my finger as I tried to decipher each word and phrase. There was an air of mystery that piqued my interest but her warning made me pause.
What kind of secrets did she keep? What was her life like before she married my father?
Mom never spoke about her past. It was as if marrying my father was a fresh start. I could understand that. If I ever had the courage to leave Brian, I would want a clean slate too. Some things in the past should just never be, but we hide them deep in our consciousness...or put them in journals locked away in the attic.

Burn them. It was a strong compulsion to keep my mother's memory as is. In my youth, she was the cool mom in the neighborhood. All the kids called her Mama Rey because she always had homemade snacks in the cupboards; always had patience for the hoards of kids running through her yard; always had an ear if anyone needed to talk; always had a shoulder to cry on or strong arms to hug you. It seemed everyone in the neighborhood appreciated her more than I ever did. I felt a twinge of guilt with that admission. Her "crowning achievement" rejected her to run off and marry the first guy who proposed because...
"Because I felt like it was my only escape from home."

My whispered words seemed overly loud in the quiet house. Spreading mom's journals out, I quickly scanned them for dates and was able to put them in order then picked up the oldest one. Grabbing another cup of coffee, I walked toward the living room to settle on the couch, glancing briefly at the disconnected phone, wondering if Brian would be crazy enough to drive here and get me. Setting the journal and my coffee down, I went around the house to make sure all the windows were locked, then locked the deadbolt on the front door. Only after I did a second walk-around did I finally settle on the sofa to begin reading.

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August 29, 1941. Dear diary. This is the best birthday present I have ever had! Mama could barely hold her smile back when I ripped the paper and saw my very first diary. She said since I was 15, I was practically a woman now, and my diary is sacred. No one is allowed to read it without my permission. Can you imagine that? My brothers and sisters are not allowed to touch it - ever. Mama said I was safe to write anything I wanted and it was no one's business but mine. I feel so free! ~ Love, Becky.

I put the journal down and began to chuckle at my own expense. I was so excited about the find...and these aren't even mom's diaries! Mom's name was Rose and she never mentioned having brothers and sisters. I thought about packing up the old diaries to tackle the attic clean-up, but I had a niggling feeling in the back of my neck. Thinking back to the letter addressed to me, the memory of her voice was clear as a bell. "If you read them, do not stop."
Sitting down again, I continued to read a young girl's ramblings about her high school crushes, the mean girls at school, and the desperation of a teenager burdened with caring for her younger siblings.

I was able to figure out that she had eight siblings: five brothers and three sisters. Nine kids altogether! Holy smokes, that's a lot of friggin kids. Being an only child, I couldn't help wonder what it would be like to grow up in a house full of kids. As the oldest child, Becky had a lot of responsibility with house chores and helping her mother with the younger kids. It didn't sound like they had a lot of money, and from her brief descriptions, they probably lived in no more than a two-bedroom house somewhere in rural America.
As her story progressed her narrative became a little darker.

January 12, 1941. Dear diary. I don't know why mama is crying at night when she thinks we are all sleeping. I am ashamed to say that it scares me a little and I do not want to know what ails her. Daddy's been working really hard selling those encyclopedias and he's only been gone a week while old man Pedersen takes care of things around the yard. I do not think I ever want to miss someone so much that I cry when they are gone.

March 15, 1941. Dear diary. Mama and daddy were fighting...

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Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Rebecca heard the sounds of angry voices coming from the kitchen. Quietly climbing out of bed, she checked to make sure her sisters were still sleeping before creeping to the bedroom door, cracking it a tiny bit to eavesdrop. She felt her heart beating heaviy in her chest. She didn't know if it was fear of getting caught or the fact that mama and daddy rarely fought.

"...and that's final."

"Eamon, no! She's too young. I will not allow it!"

"You won't allow it? Who the hell do you think you're talking to, woman?"

Rebecca gasped as she heard the crack of daddy's slap and saw mama's head whip around as she fell to her knees.

"Daddy!"

She couldn't help crying out in mom's defense. She ran to mama and nearly cried when she saw her bloody nose. She grabbed the kitchen towel and knelt next to her mom, barely keeping her tears in check.

"Rebecca." Mama winced when she tried to smile and make her voice calm. "Get back to your room, sweetheart. Daddy and I was just having a little discussion is all."

"That's right, girl. We was having a discussion," he sneered. "Go ahead, Moira. Why don't you tell her what we been discussing?"

"Eamon please."

It was obvious daddy was drinking again, but never had he struck mama. Never. With a sense of fear, she wondered if daddy was going ot hit her next.

"I'm all right," mama whispered, her hand gingerly cupping her reddened cheek, her other hand dabbing her nose to stop the bleeding. "Go on back to bed."

"Mr. Pedersen says he needs a wife and he took a shining to you, Becky girl."

"But daddy!"

"Ain't nothing more to be said. I can't afford to feed you no more. Ain't no more jobs."

Mama quietly sobbed as Rebecca's world shifted.

"Please, daddy. I'll help mama with the washing and - and find more work for us. I only have a couple months of school left. I can skip a couple days to help."

"Well now you don't have to worry about school ever again. Now get back to your fucking room."

She felt mama squeeze her arm before releasing her, and on what felt like wooden pegs, she walked numbly back to her room and leaned against the closed door. Three sets of eyes stared at her through the darkness.

"Becky, is everything okay?" Tara whispered. She was three years younger but seemed much older than her 12 years. The two babies must have climbed into bed with her with all the ruckus. She coddled them and soothed their hair with her fingers. All four of them jumped a little when they heard the echo of the front door slam. All that was left was the quiet of the night and mama's muffled cries as she wept from the kitchen floor.

"I don't know, Tara. I think I'm getting married."

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Meredith Loughran blogs at ScribblingBandits.com | Follow her on Twitter & SnapChat or LinkedIn

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Other Flash Fiction written exclusively for #Steemit

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Or see what else I've been writing on my blog.