Melanie climbed the
long flight of stairs finally reaching the stuffy attic. She was
thinking that it was foolish to retreat to the sweltering hot
room on a day like this; but it was her place of solace, and the
only place that could soothe her at the moment. She immediately
went to the half moon window, undid the latch and pushed her
shoulder against it. The creaking old frame, with its uniquely
cut pieces of glass finally gave way, even though at first it
seemed determined to remain shut tight, as it had for so many
years.
The
attic had been used as attics are, for storage, and little more.
It consisted of one large unfinished room, with exposed beams,
creaky floors and dust everywhere. There were dozens of packing
boxes from several generations of her family, several pieces of
old furniture, a smattering of useless knickknacks and two old
trunks that held Melanie’s greatest interest, because they
belonged to her Aunt Daisy, whose house this was.
When Melanie first started
retreating to this haven so hidden away from everything else,
she’d brought the vacuum up the narrow stairs and cleaned
every nook and cranny. Though now it seemed her efforts were
wasted, the dust too thick and old and defiant to be so easily
swept away. So, Melanie made due wearing her oldest clothes to
her favorite place, deciding to enjoy the dusty smells of her
family’s history.
The first waft of outdoor air
that greeted her nostrils was thick with summer heat and
moisture, quite unlike the refreshing breezes she remembered
from the early spring. Plugging in the antique fan, its noisy
rotor jerked to a start and began to move the hot air around the
room enough to make it bearable. Collapsing into the
over-stuffed chair like a weary rag doll, Melanie let the lumpy
old chair and its musty perfume ease the tension that had been
brewing in her all day.
The
oppressive day had been made all the worse by her argument with
her husband, Tony; one of many they’d had in recent weeks. It
seemed she was always interrupting him in the middle of his
work; and anymore, he was furious with her, even when her
interruptions were about things she considered important. Of
course that was the problem, they didn’t see eye to eye about
what was really important.
Melanie
closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the soft
cushion, replaying the most recent altercation in her head,
looking for some hint of how it might have gone differently. It
was a simple power struggle over nothing, she decided. If he’d
just answer her questions, he’d save a whole lot of time and
anguish. She couldn’t understand why he was so fanatical about
his work. After all, when they took over the house, he decided
to work at home, just so he could be there. If he wasn’t going
to help her out, why then did he bother to stay at home?
The dilemma was perfectly simple
to Melanie. But try as she would, Tony just didn’t see things
her way.
Melanie pulled at a tuft of
stuffing coming out of a faded red flower in the chair fabric.
She wondered about Aunt Daisy, who had once lovingly picked out
this pattern of roses on the dark green background. Melanie
loved living in her Aunt’s grand home, even though it was
tattered around the edges, and the renovations had put such a
strain on her relationship with her husband.
The
only thing Melanie could do was to put the disagreement out of
her mind, and think of other things . . . .
She
had such delicious fantasies that were much more appealing to
her now; thinking of the fine parties she’d have in her newly
decorated home, thinking of a dashing Tony—out of the memories
of their courtship—standing with her on those great front
porch steps greeting their guests. She smiled to herself as the
pleasant pictures of marital bliss filled her. She even imagined
Tony carrying her away in his arms, and making love to her in
the gazebo that was in the backyard.
Looking
out of the attic window, Melanie could see the grim trellised
structure. Time worn, like everything else, the floor now sloped
so badly that Tony demanded she quit using it for fear that
she’d run a foot through a rotting board. That was so silly,
Melanie thought; she’d danced her way about that gazebo
hundreds of times in her growing up years, playing “princess
in her castle”. The gazebo seemed no different now, just in
need of a good coat of paint and a few well placed nails.
Melanie
remembered her Aunt Daisy serving tea to her garden club, in the
once elegant backyard. In her memories, she remembered her Aunt
as an older woman, well past the youthful romantic she liked to
imagine—the young woman that used to wear the flowing flowered
dresses that were packed in her trunks.
Leaning
forward in the chair, Melanie pulled her favorite trunk closer
to her, and jiggled the familiar latch until it at last gave
way. Opening the creaky lid, she gazed admiringly at the dresses
inside. Melanie was about to pull out her favorite, when she
noticed that the inner lid looked strangely cockeyed. Tapping on
the upholstered piece of wood with her hand, she tried to push
it back into place; but instead, it suddenly gave way, spilling
the contents of a secret compartment onto the dresses below.
Melanie’s eyes widened as she discovered a packet of letters
and a book. They appeared to her like buried treasure, suddenly
unearthed from a different time. The letters had been written on
some fine tissue paper stationery, and now tied with a faded
blue ribbon, she thought them too fragile to touch, let alone
open. The book, on the other hand, was bound with a leather
cover, and appeared in good condition. While the inside had
yellowed some at the edges, and the paper crackled softly when
she turned the pges; it seemed resilient enough to withstand
some inspection.
Opening to the first page Melanie
read:
Daisy
Markham—1939
The words were neatly printed
with a fountain pen. A quick look revealed that this was a diary
filled beginning to end with Aunt Daisy’s flowing penmanship.
From the center of the book dropped a photograph, a black and
white on hard cardboard backing, with two young faces staring
back at Melanie like ghosts. Melanie recognized Aunt Daisy’s
soft blonde curls, neatly tied back with a ribbon. Behind her
was a young dashing man with dark eyes and curly black hair, his
arms wrapped around her then svelte female frame.
Aunt
Daisy’s sailor, Melanie immediately thought, seeing the neat
uniform the young man wore. Melanie had heard of her Aunt’s
beau, only in whispers and half phrases, the man who’d claimed
her heart, and whose mysterious disappearance had haunted her
family history for years thereafter. Melanie had only known that
her Aunt’s beau had been a sailor; and though she’d gone on
to marry another man, she’d secretly pined for the sailor
until the day of her death. Melanie often imagined Aunt Daisy
thinking of him, when in later years, she found her Aunt gazing
off into no where with a winsome smile on her face.
Cautiously
turning back to the front page of the diary, Melanie’s hands
were actually trembling, thinking of what Aunt Daisy might
reveal about her life before Uncle John. Perhaps this book would
explain what was behind the hushed gossip about her scandalous
past. Melanie felt a little guilty reading the personal words,
but then who could it possibly hurt with Aunt Daisy, Uncle John
and no doubt the young sailor, long dead.
Excited
about what she might discover, Melanie began to read.
I hesitate to even
write these things, but I am compelled to do something with the
private thoughts I have, especially those I hold of my dear
Joseph.
“Ah yes!” Melanie exclaimed
aloud. The sailor’s name was Joseph!
How strangely
different our friendship is from anything I’ve ever known, or
even heard of. Even
the magazines I get from the East Coast do not tell of such
things, but when I think of the bliss I have with Joey, I cannot
imagine life to be any other way. He’s able to make claims on me in ways I never believed
possible. Not that
I’m such an experienced woman, I am older than so many friends
who rushed off to marry after high school.
Those high school boys were so silly, with their anxious
eyes and easy grins. Oh
yes! Some made me
blush, especially Victor Hodges, but he’ll never be anything
but a farm-boy. I
can’t imagine dusting off farm dirt from my shoes all my life!
Joseph is different
than all of them, so calm and reasoned. He makes me feel like a woman, like a real woman, not a giddy
school girl from a small town—which I fear is exactly what I
am. He makes me
shiver so when I’m with him.
That first dance,
he was the only man I could even look at.
He stared at me from across the room.
I was laughing so hard at Gracie’s joke, when his eyes
caught mine. He
made me stop laughing with just that once glance.
His broad shoulders, that curly dark hair and his olive
skin. It’s
because he’s Italian. I’ve
never known an Italian man before.
He says his parents were born in Italy, that’s so
romantic in itself. He’ll
take me there some day to ride on the gondolas in Venice.
I think of him like a movie star, that’s how different
he is from the other boys I know.
He’s so worldly, coming from New York; to me that’s
like coming from a foreign country.
I felt so foolish
when I fell down in my fit of laughter. I really just stumbled over Gracie; but then Joseph was there
offering me his hand, as I looked up at him through my giggles.
He was so serious, almost like I was a naughty girl
having done something terribly wrong.
But then he smiled
at me, and I thought the whole wide world was opening.
Joseph is always like that, one moment almost
threatening, the next surrounding me in his broad arms and
smiles. It makes me
blush to say how I feel when he holds me.
There’s a knot in my stomach, and a sensation that
seems very carnal.
But I’m
digressing to avoid why I’m really writing.
I know I have to tell someone and these blank pages are
the only listener I have. It’s
such a strange story, I still don’t know what to make of it.
I thought that writing it down this way would help me
make sense out of this tale.
I suppose this came
about with Joseph, because I’m so often stubborn and
pigheaded. And of
course, I have such a temper, it’s often gotten me in trouble.
Daddy’s always said, I would be one miserable handful
to any man that would have me.
Anyway, it all
started yesterday when Joseph picked me up at the dress shop at
5:00, as he always does. My
day had been a hectic one, and I was already out of sorts;
though I didn’t realize how much so, until Joseph told me that
we were going to his Uncle Zito’s house before we had dinner.
“Oh, please,
no,” I whined at him. I
couldn’t bear the thought of an evening in that smelly old
apartment, with Uncle Zito and his pipe, and his loud voice
blaring some stupid thing in my ear.
“Daisy?” Joseph
looked at me surprised. I’d
never countered him on anything, I’ve never had reason to.
“I don’t want
to see your Uncle Zito,” I said, trying not to sound too angry
with him.
“Oh? Why not?”
he asked.
“I’m just so
tired, couldn’t we just have dinner?”
“It won’t take
but a minute,” Joseph said, and taking me by the hand we
walked in silence the three blocks to his uncle’s apartment.
By the time the
“minute” turned into an hour I was fuming. As we were out the door and on the way to the restaurant, I
heard Joseph whisper something about not being such a whining
brat.
“I am not!” I
said, indignantly.
“Oh?” he said,
looking at me with one fixed eye.
Sometimes Daisy Markham, you act more like a twelve year
old than a grown woman.”
Melanie shivered reading those
words, as they reminded her of Tony’s accusations about her.
Joseph led me to a
small diner just down the street, while I smoldered in my
incensed state the whole way.
In the restaurant I refused to talk to him, and that only
made him look at me all the more irritated.
“Would you settle
down, so we can enjoy our dinner,” Joseph said.
“What do you mean
settle down, I’m just fine.”
There was a very deliberate snarl in my voice. Sometimes I’m so foolish, the little things that bother me
end up being so small.
Joseph looked at me
as if he didn’t know what to say, he was appalled that I was
acting this way with him. Usually
my childish moods vanish in a few minutes, but this one was
lingering on dangerously.
“Would you please
talk to me?” he finally said, when my bristling silence had
bothered him enough.
“If you don’t
like the way I am,” I said, “then I’ll leave.” I grabbed my purse and started toward the door.
“Oh no you
don’t!” Joseph said, pulling me back.
“We just ordered dinner.
You’re not going anywhere.”
“You think you
can treat me like a child,” I said.
I was very angry, and my raised voice was beginning to
draw attention to our argument.
Joseph flashed
those dark eyes at me, and I should have realized how upset he
was then, but I HAD to stamp my foot, and pull away from him.
I walked out leaving him with two uneaten dinners to pay
for. I can see now
why he was so upset. Then,
I thought I was perfectly justified in my attitude.
When Joseph caught
up with me, he grabbed my hand and held it tightly, so there was
no way I would get away. He
didn’t say a single word, all the way home, but when we got to
my bungalow his next measures stopped me cold.
Following me into
the house, he stood for some seconds in the midst of the living
room.
“Do you have a
hairbrush, Daisy?” he asked.
His question took me completely by surprise.
I told him yes.
Of course I have a hairbrush.
“Go get it,” he
said. The
tone of voice was so demanding, but I was still too naive to
realize what he planned to do with it.
I ran off to my room and retrieved my hairbrush, thinking
that Joseph simply wanted to brush his hair.
But when I handed the black lacquer brush to him, he took
it in his hand and walked toward the dining room where he pulled
out one of the dining room chairs.
“Come here,” he
ordered me.
I was flustered, as
it dawned on me what he had in mind. I felt just like a little kid again, as well I should, the
way I was acting.
Joseph didn’t
wait for me to respond, but closed the several steps between us
and pulled me by the arm toward the dining room chair. I’m sure I shrieked out loud, but I remember now so little
of what happened. I
do remember that Joseph was more serious than I’d ever seen
him.
“You behave like
a brat with me, I’ll treat you like one,” he said.
I was trembling all
over; but it was so strange, I didn’t have the courage to
offer a protest. I
was simply stunned. No
one, not even my father has ever stood up to me this way.
I still don’t know what to make of it.
“What are you
going to do,” I asked, as if I didn’t know.
“Spank you,” he
said quite calmly. His
cold strength was so compelling I couldn’t do anything but
submit, as he sat down and pulled me over his lap.
He immediately administered several hearty smacks across
my rear end, the hairbrush giving quite a good sharp smack.
I was so shocked, I
didn’t utter a word until the second half dozen smacks.
Then with my wits about me, I began to wail like the
dickens, kicking and screaming with all my might.
“Joseph, you have
to stop this!” I cried.
“I certainly do
not!” he insisted. He
let that brush land harder still.
“Stop it now!”
I tried again.
“Hush!” he
blared at me, as he continued to lay the horrible thing on my
bottom.
I quieted at least
for a moment, though I continued to try wiggling away from him.
That only made Joseph spank me harder.
And with his free arm clamping itself about my waist, my
furious struggles were all the more pointless.
The brush came down
with such fury that I thought he’d never stop.
Before long, my bottom seemed to burn, each new smack
just adding to the ever growing warmth in my rear.
I was so humiliated, I was no doubt blushing, though
neither of us would know that right then, since my face was
nearly on the floor.
I couldn’t
believe how much this hurt.
I imagined my poor bottom glowing rosy red under my
skirt.
“Joseph,
please,” I wailed, very loudly.
“If you don’t
be quiet my love, I’ll pull up your skirt and get a little
closer to your bare skin!” he informed me.
That quieted me
altogether, I couldn’t imagine anything more horrible, or more
improper; though I have to admit that there was a certain
fascination with the possibility.
The hairbrush
continued with an amazing steadiness, until I thought I could
stand no more. And
just as I was about to squeal loudly again, Joseph stopped.
“Now,” he said,
as he pushed me back to my feet.
I was about to run bawling to my bedroom, but his voice
leapt out at me and hauled me back.
“Don’t you go
anywhere,” he said, very sternly.
I shrank back,
embarrassed to let him see my tears and my red nose, rubbing my
poor wounded rear. It
still felt mighty sore, though the burn was beginning to
subside, leaving me with the most lovely warm feeling on my
punished rear cheeks.
“Don’t you ever
pull a silly stunt like that again.
Do you understand?”
“Stunt?” I
questioned him foolishly.
“Making a scene
in the restaurant, and walking out on dinner,” he reminded me.
“You’re much too old to act like that.”
He was completely
right, I know, but there was just enough defiance left in me to
scowl at him nastily.
“I’d better get
an apology Daisy, or I’ll start again.”
He waved the hairbrush in his hand.
I knew he wasn’t kidding.
“I’m sorry,”
I said at last. “You
were right.” I
believed every word I said, and I hoped he heard the sincerity
in my voice. I guess I was still so stunned by the whole thing, that I
couldn’t believe it had happened.
Even today, I still don’t know exactly what to make of
the amazing incident, or my dear Joseph, but strange as it
seems, it’s only made me love him all the more.
After my apology,
Joseph came to me and put his arms about me and held me.
I didn’t say a word, and neither did he.
Explanations were unnecessary, as if the treatment was
normal and perfectly appropriate for a courtship like ours.
When he finally
spoke, he was as loving and tender as he’d always been.
All the horrible irritation and anger had vanished, and I
could only remember the sweet things about our time together.
I cooked him
scrambled eggs and potatoes, and he said it was the best meal
he’d ever had. I
don’t know if he was telling the truth or not, but it didn’t
seem like honesty was quite as important right then, as the
quality of affection we had for each other.
And mine, as bizarre as it may seem, has risen by leaps
and bounds, in this short time.
“Melanie!”
The young woman jerked, awakened
from Aunt Daisy’s world into her own.
The harsh sounding tone in Tony’s voice concerned her.
“Melanie,
where are you?”
Melanie
snapped the book closed and pushed it back into its hiding
place, along with the packet of letters. She could hear Tony’s step on the stairs, and didn’t want
to be caught with the dairy in hand.
It was a foolish worry, since Tony couldn’t care less
what she was doing, but Melanie felt she should guard her
Aunt’s privacy as if the woman was still living.
“Melanie,”
Tony said, stepping up into the attic.
Seeing him there in the shadowy light of the entry, she
was instantly reminded of Aunt Daisy’s description of her
Joseph. They would
be about the same height, with the same muscular Italian build,
dark curly hair and gleaming black eyes.
Melanie closed the lid of the trunk slowly as Tony peered
at her from the gloomy stairwell.
She hadn’t realized until that moment how much the
light of day had dwindled away.
Long shadows would suggest a summer evening about 8:00
p.m., though nothing had happened to change the stifling heat. The fan still hummed along noisily; though suddenly its sound
grated at her ears like nails on a blackboard.
“Haven’t
I told you about that old thing,” Tony said, as his eyes
followed hers to the squealing metal appliance.
Melanie
was feeling such blissful thoughts, that the reality of Tony’s
irritation surprised her. Then
she remembered that this was how things often were between them
anymore.
“It
works just fine,” Melanie said, “I haven’t had a problem
with it.”
“You
keep using that old thing, you’ll likely start a fire and burn
the place down. But
then, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” he mused.
“Tony
no!” Melanie fumed at his attitude.
She watched as her husband walked
toward her, snatched the fan cord and yanked it from the socket.
Then jerking the cord from the machine, he showed her the
fraying end.
“Humph!”
was all the response she could give.
“It’s
nearly 8:00, Mel, I was hoping for a little dinner?”
“I’m
sorry, I just get lost up here sometimes, with these old
things.”
Tony
nodded absently, and turned to leave, as Melanie was pushing the
old trunk aside. It
held more treasures than she ever imagined.
Her curiosity was peaked, as she wondered what other
tales her Aunt would tell on the pages of her diary.
Melanie
made dinner in a hurry. She was thankful that she had all the ingredients for
Tony’s favorite salad, and she served it to him as he waited
not so patiently at the kitchen table. A cold shiver raced down
her as spine as she realized that it might just be HER
going over Tony’s lap, if weren’t careful!
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