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CWP #3   -  Pictures  46 and 36

 

 

20 years earlier

 

 

The young dark-haired boy sat in the windowsill looking forlorn.  His younger brother and sister were playing on the front yard, laughing and shouting.  He quickly picked up his book as a creak sounded on the stairs.  Without even looking up, he knew she stood there.  Couldn’t she just leave him be?

 

“Brian?”  Her voice was soft, hesitant.  He turned the page, pretending not to hear. 

 

Didn’t work.  He could feel her moving into the room.  “Brian?  Please look at me?”  Brian wanted to, so badly, but he was so hurt.  He heard the bed squeak, noticed Moms’ knees just in front of his book but he refused to look, just turned a page resolutely.  He waited for her to leave, yell, or touch him.  What he didn’t expect was a sniffle.

 

He risked a discreet look through his lashes.  Moms was crying.  Moms didn’t cry.  Moms and Dad talked, laughed, scolded, even yelled sometimes.  But Moms didn’t cry.  This time when she said his name quietly, he looked up.   She reached for him then pulled back.

 

“Brian.” She spoke so quiet it was nearly a whisper.  “Brian, I don’t know what to do.  When you get so mad, I don’t know how to help you.”  Brian had lost his temper with his brother and sister earlier.  His shouts had pulled her out from the kitchen and she caught him just before his fist came forward to hit Mart.  She had sent him to his room over an hour ago, telling him to come down when he had calmed down.

 

He hesitated.  She was trying to understand.  Maybe, maybe she’d listen this time if he could just keep from getting angry.  “Moms.  You don’t know how hard it is.  They don’t let me in.  They tease me because I don’t look like them.  Sometimes they don’t even do anything and I feel left out.”  A tear trailed down his cheek as he looked out at his younger siblings.  “They tell me I’m not their brother.”  He put his head down against his book as his mother gasped.

 

“They said that?”

 

Brian just nodded.  “Brian, those two can both say things without thinking.  I didn’t know they were teasing you.”

 

Brian interrupted.  “They know better than to do it when you can hear, even Trixie.  But, Moms, I’m not tattling.  I just get so mad sometimes when they tease that it hurts.”   He finally looked up, turning to face her eyes.  Her heart nearly broke, his shoulders drooped, his eyes filled with tears. “They don’t like me, the kids at school don’t like me, you and Dad don’t like me.” 

 

He let his book drop to the floor then, his legs now drawn up with his arms wrapped around his knees.  His head fell to his knees, but Helen could see the tears soaking his pants.  She dropped to the floor next to him and wrapped her arms around him.  “You have to tell me what is happening so I can help you.  Daddy and I love you but we don’t know what is hurting you until you tell us.”

 

That day, Brian let it all out.  How looking different made him feel different then his younger siblings; how the almost-twins would not behave when the kids were alone because Brian got in trouble being the oldest; how he was being treated roughly by his classmates because he was so much better at his schoolwork  

 

After Peter came home, there was a full family meeting.  Both younger Beldens were involved in a discussion about how to treat family members.  Helen had promised Brian she would call the school and work with his teachers to see if they could move him up a grade and find ways to challenge him more.  Most importantly to Brian had been the discussion between himself and his parents.  “Brian, you are our child.  Nothing anyone says can or will make that change.  You look like your dad because your genes make you that way.  Your brother and sister’s genes make them look how they do.  It’s love that makes us a family.  We love each and every one of you.” Helen had taken him and put her arms around him.  “You are mine, Brian, just like Mart and Trixie.  No one is allowed to tell you any differently.”  Those words meant the world to him… then.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Present Day

 

 

Brian passed by the photographs covering the walls and flat surfaces of Crabapple Farm everyday while he was growing up.  He never suspected that these frozen shots of life’s moments could hold the answer to a major family secret.  With the foundation of his life severely cracked, Brian knew his own mystery needed to be solved.

 

Brian and Honey walked to the door of his parent’s bedroom.  Honey waited patiently as he seemed to wage one last internal struggle with his decision to search his parents’ private sanctuary for answers.

 

Brian thought back to Moms’ words from so long ago.  After inadvertently viewing Trixie’s blood type and realizing he and his sister could not have the same parents, he had reverted back to that little boy on the windowsill, so unsure of himself.  He had trusted only one Bob-White with this mystery, his fears of not belonging affecting his familial relationships. 

 

“Nothing in the attic.  No pictures of me until I’m about six months old.  There are pictures of Moms pregnant with Mart, Trix, and even Bobby, but no baby bump pics of Moms with me.  No pictures of Moms or Dad with me as a newborn, but plenty of pictures of the other kids that young. This is the only place we haven’t looked, Honey.”  He pushed his hand through his dark hair again, just as he had so many times this past week.   Finally, he looked at her as he took a deep breath, turned the knob and opened the door.

 

She grabbed his hand, rose on her toes, and kissed his cheek.  “I’m here for you.  If there’s anything here, we’ll find it.  If not, we’ll try something else.  But remember - I’m with you.  Let’s get started.”

 

Brian started searching with the large walk-in closet.  Honey perused the framed pictures on the dresser.  Immediately she zeroed in on a picture.  “Brian.  I knew I had seen their wedding picture once.  Your mom showed this to us when Trixie was planning her wedding.”  She held up a framed photo.

 

Brian walked over to the dresser and she handed him the picture.  He studied it closely.  “I thought I remembered one.  That isn’t Crabapple Farm though.”

 

Honey took the picture back and, sitting on the bed, opened the back of the frame to pull out the picture.  “There’s more than one picture here.”  Brian sat beside her.  Honey took the first picture, laid it aside and showed Brian the other picture.  Her finger traced the small face in the young bride’s arms.  “There’s no question, Brian.  That’s you.”

 

Brian shook his head.  “But Moms should have been pregnant with me on their wedding day.”  Honey picked up the other picture again and looked at the back. 

 

“Brian, what is their anniversary date?  Isn’t it May 15, 1980?”  Brian nodded.  Honey turned the picture over to show him the date on the back.

 

“May 15, 1981?” Brian read the date aloud.  “Dad and Moms said they had to get married.  They told us that when I figured out the discrepancy between their wedding date and my birth date.  I was born only five months after their wedding….or so they said.”  Brian turned the picture back over.  “The question remains; who is my mother?”

 

Honey sat quietly for a moment, a hand on his leg providing comfort.  After a few moments, Honey stood up and went back to the closet.  She began searching through a few boxes on the bottom of the closet.  “Wait a minute.”  She stood and looked back at the bed.

 

Brian looked at Honey, his puzzlement showing again.  Honey went to the chest at the bottom of the bed.  “Brian.  Isn’t this Moms’ hope chest?  It seems like it would be an appropriate place to hide something personal.”

 

Brian nodded.  “Of course.  I think she only uses it for a blanket chest.”  He moved next to her as she started digging through the chest, feeling under the stack of quilts.  Suddenly she stopped and pulled a thick notebook sized box out of the chest.  Brian helped her up and took the box.  Opening it, they found a photo album labeled “Our Wedding.”  Brian looked at Honey and said, “Let’s go downstairs.”

 

 

Brian led her to the kitchen.  She had grabbed the pictures from the dresser and placed them on the table.  Going to the cupboard, she pulled out two glasses and poured some water for them.  Brian had pulled the book from the sleeve but hadn’t opened it yet.  “Here, sit next to me.  Let’s take a look.”

 

Honey sat down and put her hand to his hair.  “I’m here.  If you want to stop, we’ll stop.  We’ll forget you ever saw Trixie’s blood type.  We’ll put it all back.  We can wait until they’re back from Europe.  We’ll go find them in Europe.  It’s up to you, just tell me.  If you want me to look into this privately and you walk away, that’s okay too.  But Brian, you and I both know they love you.  I know that all of this was done because they love you.  Your parents,” and her heart hurt when he winced at that, “are good people.  I know this because they raised Bobby, Mart, Trixie, and they raised you, four terrific kids.  That much we know is fact.”  She put her forehead against his.  “You tell me what you want to do.”

 

Brian leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips.  “Honey, I just don’t understand why they lied.  They always expected the truth from us.  This hurts.”  He straightened up and pulled the album between them.  “But I have to see it through now.”  He opened up the book.  The first picture was identical to the hidden one from the dresser.  He turned to the next page.  “These are my dad’s brothers, my Aunt Eleanor and I think, my cousin.”  He turned the page and kept on naming whomever he recognized in the picture.  “Okay, that’s Grandma and Grandpa Belden with, umm,  Mrs. Vanderpoel and, yes, there are Dr. Ferris and his wife.  Now, here’s Mom, Dad, me, and Aunt Alicia, and Uncle Mart.”  He looked quickly at the next page.  “Hmmm.  There aren’t any pictures of Moms’ parents though.  Great.  Was I the reason Moms and Aunt Alicia didn’t talk much to their folks?”  Honey listened quietly while keeping a hand rubbing Brian’s back. 

 

“Well, the Fraynes were there too.  There’s another picture for Jim.  And here Nell is holding me.”  Honey sat up just a little straighter.

 

As Brian looked at her, she explained, “Brian, they gave a copy of that picture to Jim.  Since it was just the Frayne’s and you, she probably didn’t see a problem.  You wouldn’t have questioned where or when it was taken.”

 

Brian grunted.  There was a picture of a man who appeared to be the minister, more pictures of people he recognized in various informal settings.  Then, “Wait.  Who’s that?  I think I should know them.”

 

Honey looked closer, her brow wrinkled in confusion.  Then she brightened.  “You should.  I’ll admit he’s packed a few pounds on, but look at her.  She hasn’t changed that much.”

 

“Ed and Carolyn Lynch,” Brian looked again.  “Okay.  That makes sense.  Dad said he was the only one from Sleepyside High to go to college with him.   I know he spent a lot of time here after his father died.”  Brian sighed.  “But this gets me no closer to knowing who my mother is.”

 

He stopped.  There in the back of the book was the final evidence.  It was a marriage license issued by the State of New York for Peter Belden and Helen Johnson, witnessed by Alicia Johnson and Andrew Belden for May 15, 1981, a full year after their reported wedding date.  Now, why did they lie?