Poppies- Chapter -35-
By: Deena Thomson
Tags: Fiction Series, Fiction, Writing, Fiction Writing, Novel

Fiction Series

Poppies- Chapter -35-

photo owned by the author

-Chapter 35-

“I won’t believe it,” Alan said, running his hands roughly through his graying hair. His back was facing Jobeth who held Mara-Joy in her arms, hugging her tight to her breast.

“Believe it, Alan,” Jobeth snapped, “Joanna has stolen our daughter’s husband.”

Alan looked to his wife, unable to close his ears to the venom in her voice.

Mara-Joy sat up from her mother’s embrace, her face streaked with tears.

“Papa?” Mara-Joy didn’t want to ask the questions eating at her heart, but she had to.

Jobeth could feel her daughter tense and placed a protective arm around her shoulder.

“Yes, what is it, Mara-Joy?” Alan asked, unable to comprehend what was happening to his family.

His precious Joanna? Could it be true? Could she have really done this to Mara-Joy? He felt instant anger for the boy, Chad. He must have seduced Joanna, just as he had done to Mara-Joy years before. Joanna was still such a child, still innocent to the world. But he liked her that way. He wanted his children to be blind to the world and how cruel it could be. Hadn’t he and Jobeth been through enough of the ugliness of the world? Wasn’t it enough that their children could be spared?

He gazed at Mara-Joy’s shattered appearance.

He knew his daughter was no angel. She was tough and seasoned. His heart felt like breaking, seeing her so destroyed. It took a lot to knock Mara-Joy down and he found it hard to believe that what Joanna and Chad had done could do it all alone.

“She said some things . . .” Mara-Joy raised her courage. She had to know the truth. Too many of the horrible things Joanna said made her think. Mara-Joy looked at her father. He was the only one who would be truthful with her. Her mother would never say anything to hurt her. Jobeth was always there to protect Mara-Joy, even if it meant hiding the truth from her.

Mara-Joy took a deep breath. There was no point in postponing the inevitable.

“Mara-Joy, forget it,” Jobeth piped in, grabbing hold of her arm.

“Mama, stop,” Mara-Joy chided, pulling away while still looking at her father. Her eyes begged him for honesty. “Papa, please, I need to know the truth. The things Joanna said, they make sense, and that is what frightens me.”

Her hands flew to her face, unable to bear the truth.

Alan went to his daughter and pulled her up into his arms. Holding her firm, he asked what was eating her like this?

“Joanna said I am not your daughter,” she blurted out.

She had said it. It was out. The silence that followed was suffocating.

Mara-Joy held her breath, but from the look on Alan’s face, as it crumbled in resignation, she knew. It was true. It was all true. The two people she had loved all her life as her parents were, in fact, not even related to her.

“Mara-Joy, we should have told you, you had a right to know.”

“Alan!” Jobeth stood up in protest.

“Jobeth, no, we should have been honest from the beginning.” Tears were in his eyes. Jobeth shrank away from him; a look of horror plastered on her pale face. Alan averted his eyes from the ravaged woman. He would lie no more to Mara-Joy.

“Alan, please!” Jobeth implored, reaching out and grabbing his arm. He pulled away, ignoring his wife, something he had never done before.

Mara-Joy stood still as a statue, bawling like a baby as she listened to the man she had always known as her father.

“You were not born of your mother and me.”

“No, it can’t be true.” Mara-Joy sobbed, her hands covering her ears.

“I should have known this day would come. It was wrong of your mother and me to keep this secret from you. But, you see, we did it because you are our daughter.” He brought Mara-Joy into his embrace. Hold her trembling body close to his chest. “You are ours our daughter, as much as the others. In our hearts, you were ours and ours alone.”

“Pappy? Who?” Mara-Joy looked up into Alan’s watery gaze. Her blue eyes stood out, wet and red-rimmed, on her pale face. Alan clutched her tighter, not wanting to lose Mara-Joy.

“I am so sorry, my darling. Your mother and I were afraid of losing you. You were such an instrument of love in our lives. It was love. The desire to give you a loving home,” he looked at Jobeth. She sat shattered, not looking at either of them, “Your mother and I might never have been. The day you entered our lives, our future was sealed and it has been the life we’d dreamed of.”

Alan grasped Mara-Joy’s head between his strong big hands.

“Do you understand that, Mara-Joy? You may not be our child of blood and bone, but you are the child of our hearts. You are the reason our family came to be. You are us.”

Mara-Joy nodded, feeling warm and secure in Alan’s arms. He was the only man she could never trick or desire to deceive. He was the only man she knew that loved her with pure abandonment. It was a love that was simple and pure, a love that a father has for a cherished daughter. She had always felt it from both her parents and she felt it still — stronger than ever.

“Papa, who are the people . . .” It was hard for her to ask. She could feel her mother’s anxiety behind her, but she had to know. “Who are my birth parents?”

“They were both good friends of ours,” Alan began. It was time to air out the closet. He thought of Tamara. Mara-Joy was so like her in spirit. Sometimes when he looked at her bent out of shape about something. Her black curly hair so like Tamara’s flaming down her back, he would see Tamara inside her, still alive. But as soon as she turned around, it was Oliver that dominated Mara-Joy’s features.

“Tamara,” he began. Jobeth sat defeated, her head clasped in her hands. There was no point in fighting Alan anymore. He was determined to tell Mara-Joy the truth. All she had done to keep the secret of Mara-Joy’s paternity was in vain. Her daughter stood silent listening as Alan began the long story of how she came to be theirs. He left out nothing. Mara-Joy was a grown woman who wanted answers and Alan was there to give them. He told her how Tamara’s life had been and how she was as a person. He knew so much more than Jobeth. Jobeth had only known Tamara for a brief time whereas Alan had known her long before he had even known Jobeth. He laughed with Mara-Joy when recalling her birthmother’s spunk.

And he told her about Oliver.

Leaving nothing out, he told her how Oliver had stood back to let Alan and Jobeth raise Mara-Joy. He explained in kind words how Oliver had never abandoned her. He didn’t want to take her from the only home Mara-Joy had ever known.

“He knew how important you were and still are to us. That is all that mattered. You were our daughter, not his anymore,” Alan said.

They all sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee. It had been hours since they began talking. They were raw and exhausted from the exertion. Alan looked at the time on his watch. The other children were staying away, hiding in their rooms, trying to avoid notice. Knowing they shouldn’t interrupt.

Alan wondered when Joanna would be home and another explosion would take place. He had to get to the bottom of this mess. He loved Joanna but was very disappointed in her at the moment.

“I hope you can forgive us for keeping this from you.” Jobeth reached across the table and held onto Mara-Joy’s hand.

“I could never hate either of you.” Mara-Joy felt the ball of emotion choke her again. She inhaled, feeling lighter from the conversation. But there was still the matter of Joanna to deal with. At least she had Alan and Jobeth on her side.

“I need you both so much now. On so many levels.”

Jobeth stiffened.

“We are here for you, Mara-Joy. We are always here for you.”

Alan sat back in his chair. A cold shiver crept over him. He watched as Jobeth soothed Mara-Joy, who had broken into fresh tears once again.

He would be there for Mara-Joy to comfort her and help her heal from this ordeal. Yet he wouldn’t choose between her and Joanna. He would not abandon one daughter for the other. Not even for Jobeth.

— -

Alan received a letter a month after Joanna disappeared. It was addressed to him only. His heart pounded as he ripped open the envelope. He’d been sick with worry since Joanna ran off with Chad. He stood outside in front of the mailbox staring down at the familiar handwriting. Relief washed over him. Trembling, he read the words his daughter wrote.

Dear Papa,

I am sorry for the pain and trouble I have caused. To know I have disappointed you will be my cross to bear in life. I cannot excuse what I have done, but I also cannot deny my love for Chad any longer. Papa, I know we should never have let this happen, but it did. We love each other. Please, if you cannot understand, could you at least find it in your hearts to one day forgive me. I know Mama never will. Tell Constance and Pauline I love them and when I am settled I will write and tell you how I am doing. Please forgive me, Papa. I said some awful things to Mara-Joy that I wish I hadn’t. For everything that has happened, she is still my sister and I should never have said the things I did. I regret it with my entire being.

Love, your daughter, Joanna

P.S.

Tell Mama I love her and I am sorry. I know it will not be enough for what I have done to her daughter, but still, please tell her for me.

Alan folded the letter and walked back into the house. Jobeth was doing the dishes at the sink. Her back stiffened as he spoke.

“I got a letter from Joanna,” he said, clutching the paper in his hand.

Jobeth dropped the glass she was washing into the soapy water. Her hand froze in mid-air.

Joanna was safe.

Her shoulders sagged with relief. The weight of worrying and wondering what happened to her child was finally lifted. Alan came up from behind and placed his hands on her slumped shoulders, sensing his wife’s relief.

“She says she loves you,” he said, circling her waist with his arms. Jobeth relaxed into the folds of his chest. She’d been so sick with worry. Not just for Mara-Joy, who was a mental basket case after all that had happened, but for Joanna too. She had been gone for a month without a word. Jobeth was beside herself with worry.

“She says she is sorry and wants us to forgive her.”

Jobeth stiffened again.

Forgiveness was something altogether different.

She thought of Mara-Joy visiting with Oliver and Shawna. Trying to figure out who she was now that the secret of her heredity was out. Her daughter was with Oliver. Mara-Joy wanted answers that only he could give her. It wasn’t fair.

Mara-Joy was her child. What had Oliver ever done for her? It was Jobeth and Alan who raised her. Suddenly she felt angry. This wouldn’t be happening if Joanna had kept her mouth shut and if she hadn’t stolen Mara-Joy’s husband away. Mara-Joy would be home with her, not with Oliver. She wouldn’t be wanting to figure out who she was now that she knew he was her father. Oliver wasn’t her father. Alan was. Mara-Joy didn’t need to figure out who she was. She was their daughter. Their child.

“I don’t want to hear that name in my presence again,” Jobeth said coolly, her back becoming ridged.

“She is still our child, Jobeth.” Alan pulled away, still staring at his wife’s back.

Jobeth abruptly turned around with a look that frightened Alan.

“After what she has done to this family? Does she want forgiveness after destroying everything? Now that she has gotten what she wants with no regard for the people she hurt? No, I can’t forgive her.” Jobeth said her voice cold and firm.

Alan walked away without saying a word. There was no arguing with Jobeth at the moment. Yes, what Joanna did was terribly wrong, but she was still their daughter. Jobeth needed time to forgive, and with time she would forgive if not forget.

He hoped.

—

Mara-Joy lay alone in her bed, screaming into her pillow, her rage bubbling over. Beside her lay the crumpled divorce papers Chad’s lawyer had sent her. The words were burnt into her mind. Chad wanted a divorce so he could make a life with Joanna and their unborn child.

Unborn child. She lay back on her bed clutching her heart, her mouth open in a silent scream. Tears streamed down her face out of control. Joanna was having Chad’s baby — the baby she was supposed to have. Joanna, her sister, had taken everything that meant anything to Mara-Joy. Chad, his children, and her parents. Joanna had taken her identity. She rolled over and grabbed a Kleenex on the end table.

She blew her red tender nose and tossed the soiled tissue, not caring where it fell. Many tissues were littering the floor, one more would make no difference.

Betrayed by her own sister.

Mara-Joy began to laugh through her tears. Her sister? What a joke. Joanna wasn’t her sister after all. The family she thought was hers, wasn’t. She was Oliver’s daughter.

Oliver and a dead prostitute.

A heavy weight descended on her, crushing the living spirit out of her.

How would she live through this? She thought back to her stay with Oliver and Shawna.

She had visited them several months earlier, wanting answers. Oliver and Shawna prepared for her arrival and opened their doors with loving arms.

Oliver tried to explain why he stood aside and kept quiet. She listened as he told her he always loved her and wanted the best for her. How her parents gave her all he couldn’t at the time. He said he always wanted her, but all Mara-Joy could see was his daughter with Shawna seated happily on his lap.

The daughter he didn’t abandon.

Mara-Joy sniffed and sat up rubbing away the tears in her eyes. Anger fuelled her once again. Images of a woman with the same black hair as she filled her mind. What was her birth mother like?

Oliver said he loved her, but why would her birth mother leave him? It didn’t make any sense if they loved each other so much. Mara-Joy leaned over the bed once again and opened the drawer of the end table. She rummaged around until she found her cigarette case. She opened it up and took out one of her long cigarettes and lit it.

Inhaling deep, she wrestled with all that had happened. She wasn’t her parents’ daughter. She was the bastard child of a prostitute who killed herself.

And Joanna had stolen Chad out from under her eyes. Joanna was going to have Chad’s child — the child Mara-Joy would never have. Tears threatened to surface again but Mara-Joy sucked harder on her cigarette. She would not let Joanna defeat her. Someway, somehow she would live through this. Joanna wouldn’t get the best of her. She stood up and looked at her reflection in the mirror of her vanity. Her blue eyes were puffy and red-rimmed.

Oliver’s eyes. She shook her head pushing back her black coiled hair. She may look like Oliver and the prostitutes’ child, but she was Alan and Jobeth’s daughter. They were the only people who hadn’t betrayed her.

She reached for a tube of lipstick and sat down at the vanity. Putting her cigarette in a nearby ashtray, she began to apply the red color to her full lips. The motion of applying her makeup made her feel stronger.

Forget about Oliver, he was no one to her. She had her parents and nothing was going to change that, not even the truth about her birth. He had his own family and she had hers. His children were not her siblings. Constance, Pauline, and Alan-Michael were. Even Joanna. Her lips trembled thinking again of Joanna her stomach growing day by day with Chad’s child.

Yes, even Joanna. As much as she hated her, Joanna was her sister, which made what she had done to Mara-Joy even more despicable. Mara-Joy was no saint but she wouldn’t have hurt Joanna the way she hurt her. It was the truth, or it had been the truth.

She put the lipstick down, took another drag of the cigarette studying her reflection. She would make Joanna hurt the way she had made Mara-Joy hurt.

How she would do it was another question yet unanswered.