1924

Vera stared at the ten candles on her birthday cake intently, as she decided what to wish for, with her family (the only other member being Uncle James, since school was still in session for Fleta) eagerly watching. Finally, she made up her mind: I wish to become the best swimmer in the world. Her wish in mind, she blew out the candles.

Everyone cheered and Mrs. Claythorne began to cut some birthday cake. Because Vera was the birthday girl, she got the largest piece.

"You may be turning ten, but I'll be twelve next month," bragged Evelyn. "And you remember what Mother and Father said, right?"

"Right," sighed Vera. Her parents had told her and Evelyn that they'd get to find out where babies come from on their twelfth birthdays, as well as certain events that would happen to their bodies over the next couple of years. Vera was curious to find all this out and was jealous that Evelyn got to know before she did.

Vera dug into her cake, but found herself enjoying it a little too much because her fork slipped out of her hands and bounced onto the floor.

Vera sighed, got off her chair, and picked up the fork. She began to walk into the kitchen to wash it, but stopped and pressed herself against the wall when she overheard her father and Uncle James talking. She could hear Uncle James say, "Fred, she's ten years old. She's not a baby anymore. I think she's mature enough to handle the truth. And besides, we can't keep it from her forever, you know."

"I know, but I'd feel more comfortable waiting a few more years before telling her," said the voice of her father.

"Fred, if Lyle could hear you speak…"

"Don't make me out to be the enemy here, James. My daughters' safeties have to come here first, end of discussion."

"But Fred, I got a letter this morning saying that—"

"End of discussion."


Later that night, before going to bed, Vera felt the need to talk to her father in the living room.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about, dear?" asked Mr. Claythorne as he sat down on the sofa, Vera sitting the opposite side of him.

"Father…I overheard you and Uncle James talking, when I went to wash off my fork," said Vera slowly. "Who's Lyle?"

The look on Mr. Claythorne's face did not waver. He calmly said, "He's no one, dear."

"If he's no one, then why would Uncle James get so upset about him?" asked Vera.

"Well…Lyle was your other uncle," said Mr. Claythorne slowly. "He died during that Spanish flu epidemic."

"Then why didn't you tell me when you were talking to Evelyn and me about how our other relatives had died?"

"Well, er…do you remember me reading in the paper about how although it had died out in our town, it was still spreading like wildfire everywhere else? Well, it was during those years he died. Yes, he just got really sick and died."

"Oh." Vera went to bed without another word, but there was a nagging feeling inside her telling her that her father hadn't been telling her the truth, or at least parts of it.


The next day, Vera's father said he'd take her out on a little trip, but he didn't say where. She was told that the ride to see him would be particularly long, so she took the current book she was engrossed in (Jane Eyre) with her. The car ride was so long that by the time they reached their destination, Vera had reached the part where the Jane and Rochester were about to get married.

When Vera looked up and out the window, she noticed they were at a cemetery. Why would her father bring her here of all places?

"Come with me," said Mr. Claythorne in an expressionless tone.

Vera got out of the car and followed her father, a shiver going down her spine. This was her first time she had ever been to a cemetery and needless to say, she didn't like it in the least. She felt as though the dead spirits were watching her everywhere she went, as though they were angry that she and her father were disrupting their peace.

Finally, Mr. Claythorne stopped at a tombstone. Vera was shocked to see what it read:

Lyle Harold Claythorne

September 11, 1892—March 11, 1924

"Your Uncle Lyle was the youngest child in my family," said Mr. Claythorne, sounding as though this were the first time he had ever told anyone this. "Your Aunt Alice came first, along with your Uncle James—they were twins, you see. I came along a few years later and sometime after that, your Uncle Lyle was born.

"The four of us had a relatively happy childhood together. Then one day, Lyle and James were playing too roughly and Lyle was pushed down on a pile of rocks. He needed a few stitches, but was okay physically after that. Mentally, we weren't too sure. He was awfully quiet for exactly six months. It wasn't until Christmas that we all fully realized the effect that little bump on the head. During Christmas dinner, he suddenly picked up the dinner plates and threw them across the dining room and bit anyone who tried to stop him.

"My mother—your grandmother, may she rest in peace—was reluctant to put him in an asylum. She insisted she would teach him how to properly behave, that he'd get better if he was well-loved and cared for." At this, his eyes misted. "Alas, this was a fatal mistake on her part. One day, my father had to go out on an errand and invited my siblings and me along. My mother insisted she'd stay home and take care of Lyle. When we got back…to this day, I still can't quite describe the scene, other than my mother was lying on the floor, bloody and unconscious. It was then that my father—your grandfather, may he too rest in peace—put Lyle in an asylum and forbad us from making any sort of contact with him ever again, nor were we to mention him in a conversation.

"I believe I've already told you and Evelyn the story of how your mother and I met and how we fell in love over the course of the summer. One night, your mother and I were taking a simple, romantic walk on the beach, talking about our families, and—it just slipped out. I accidentally told her everything about Lyle. It wasn't until my mouth had stopped moving that I realized what I had said.

"Afterwards, I ran off the beach and all the way home, feeling quite ashamed. I was convinced your mother would be too horrified to ever speak to me again. To my great surprise, she came to me the next day and said she was impressed that I had told her something other people would be ashamed of mentioning, that it showed the virtue in my character. She also understood that what my brother did was by no means a reflection off my character.

"Suddenly, she had never seemed more beautiful to me than in that moment. I knew then that this would be the woman whom I'd spend the rest of my life with. Later that night, I proposed to her, and the rest is history.

"Yesterday, your Uncle James and I were arguing over whether or not to tell you and Evelyn about Uncle Lyle. James wanted to tell the two of you because he felt partially responsible for Lyle being the way he is, but I wouldn't have any of it because I was worried about what might happen to you and Evelyn. It wasn't until this morning Uncle James gave me the news that I decided to tell you: A few days ago, your Uncle Lyle strangled himself with his bed sheets. So you see, I had been telling the truth--he did get sick and die."

After that, the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the howling wind. Mr. Claythorne knew he didn't need to tell his daughter to get back in the car when he saw the look on her face. She slowly but silently walked back to the car with her father behind her, knowing she had just passed the mark of childhood and was narrowly stepping up into adolescence.