CHAPTER EIGHT: SECRETS IN THE WALLS

That evening, before dinner, I wandered the halls of the mansion, exploring every nook and cranny. As I wandered down the west wing, I heard voices coming from behind a closed door. I tiptoed over to the door and put my ear against it.

"I never approved of Priscilla," said a deep, gravelly male voice. "She was bad news. I knew it from the start. He'd have been better off with the Banks girl."

"Jack, please," said a woman, most likely my aunt. "Patrick was in love with her. He never loved Lilia. And they produced a lovely daughter."

Uncle Jack grunted, and I heard the clinking of ice cubes. "I'm sure Spring's a wonderful girl."

"We have to make her feel welcome," said another male voice, perhaps my uncle Owen.

"I never approved," muttered Uncle Jack.

"We know," scoffed my aunt. Footsteps sounded near the door and I backed away. The door opened slowly. "I'm going to find Spring." She opened the door fully and stepped out of the room, spotting me in the hallway. "Hello, Spring."

"Hello, Aunt Julia," I replied, slowly.

"Did you hear us arguing?" she asked softly, shutting the door behind her. When I nodded, she sighed. "You see; we're really an old fashioned Southern family at heart. We don't hate you, and we never hated your mother Father just never approved of your parents having premarital relations." She wrung her hands, sighing heavily. "Your father would have loved to have met you."

"I would have liked to have met him," I replied.

Aunt Julia led me down the stairs, to the kitchen. "Would you like Carson to make you something for a snack? We'll be having dinner around six."

I shrugged. "I guess"

Aunt Julia led me to the kitchen, where Carson, the cook, was making up snacks. "Hello, Carson. Spring would like a snack before dinner," she said, greeting the older man.

He nodded his head at me, running his thick fingers over his handlebar moustache. "You must be the O'Reillys' long-lost granddaughter," said Carson, his blue eyes sparkling merrily.

I nodded, accepting a plate of crackers, cheese and fruit from Carson. "Thank you," I said, smiling at the older man. There was something about his eyes, something that calmed me. He reminded me a little of my mother around his kind, gentle eyes.

As I sat at the long, mahogany dining room table, eating my snack, Uncle Owen and Uncle Ryan watched me closely, as if they were ordered to make sure I ate every bite.

"Is it good?" Uncle Ryan asked, sweeping a hand through his blond hair. "Carson's the best cook."

Uncle Owen sipped a lime spritzer. "Of course it's good, Ry. Carson accepts nothing less than best."

I finished my snack and finished off my drink. "Will I be starting school here?" I asked, folding my hands in my lap.

Owen and Ryan shared 'looks'. "Well, yes, I thought we'd decided that," Uncle Owen stated, slightly surprised. "You'll be attending the Wedgewood School. Our parents have all ready enrolled you."

I sighed, thinking of Cristina and Brad, my two closest friends in Los Angeles. "Well it sounds like a nice place," I said, dumbly, at a loss for words.

"It is," Owen said. "Your aunt Julia went there, and so did your grandmother."

"I went to a school in Maine," Uncle Ryan interjected, as he spun a piece of twine around his index finger. "Because I'm slow. I had a lot of friends there."

Owen nodded, patting his older brother on the back, sadly. It was so tragic to me that my uncle Owen had to serve as my uncle Ryan's older brother and protector, when Ryan was nearly a decade older. Owen's love for Ryan, and his desire to protect him touched me deeply. I hadn't seen that kind of love since my mother was alive. "You're not slow, Ry," Uncle Owen said, disdainfully. "You're special."

He shrugged, pulling at the string around his hand. "Well, I don't mind," he said, hanging his head. "I've always been like this. I don't know how to be any way else."

I gazed intently at the two of them. "I heard Uncle Jack talking to Aunt Julia about Lilia, how my father never should have married my mother. Why does he hate her so much?" I asked, mostly addressing Uncle Owen.

He lowered his hooded brown eyes to his hands, which were resting on the tabletop. After a long, drawn out pause, he began to speak. "Priscilla was not the kind of girl our parents wanted your father to associate with. She was Priscilla was a prostitute," he said, spitting the words out as his cheeks flamed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Spring. Your mother had a difficult life before she met Pat. He helped her turn her life around."

"My mother my mother was a hooker?" I gasped, staring at him.

Owen's eyes darkened. "You wanted to know, so I told you. Maybe you shouldn't ask so many questions, Spring. Maybe you should leave the past where it belongs." He stood up from his wing-backed chair and pushed it in, turning to Ryan and touching his arm. "Come on, Ry. Let's go take the dogs for a walk."

As Owen dragged him out the door, he paused to look at me, before following his brother out of the dining room.

I sighed, grabbing my empty dish in my hands. That discussion didn't help to quell my desire to find out the truth about Mommy. Not at all.

Now I was more determined then ever to find out about her past.