The Secret-Keeper

.:Chapter I:.

“Secrets are things we give to others to keep for us.”

-Elbert G. Hubbard

I prepared a cup of tea and brought it over to my late-night visitor. “Here you go,” I said, smiling kindly.

“Thank you,” replied the young woman sitting at my small, round kitchen table. The fire cackled warmly in the hearth as I slid into the wooden chair across from her. My dog Hugo, a black, floppy-eared Great Dane, grumbled from his place under my chair. It was late, nearly one in the morning, but I was used to visitors at this hour. Most people with secrets didn’t want others to see them coming in or leaving. This was also the reason that my cozy little cottage was on the outskirts of the small town, named Mulberry, where I grew up, far away from all the other homes. Tall hedges and a wooden fence surrounded my yard, and I had a back door that led behind my house, in case someone wanted to leave undetected or in a hurry. A small open room, with a roof, three walls and dirt for a floor served as a kind of stable where those who visited me could lodge their horses was connected to the side of the cottage. That was also where my own pony, Raindrop, spent her nights and days.

I sat quietly while the brunette in front of me nervously wrung her hands. Finally, she looked up at me.

“My name is Susana,” she told me. “I’m from Diego.”

I nodded, recognizing the city as being one on the coast of Melodia.

Susana took a deep breath. “I cheated on my husband,” she admitted quietly. “I know it was wrong but it was an arranged marriage and I don’t love him.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” I told her. “I’m not here to judge.”

“I know,” she nodded. “There’s… something else. I’m… I’m pregnant.”

“And your husband isn’t the father?” I guessed. She nodded again and I pursed my lips, thinking. “Come here.”

She stood up and walked over to me. I put my hands on her stomach and felt the familiar surge of magic course through me. After a moment, I took my hands off and looked at her. “I can’t change the parenthood of your child or your child’s genes, but what I can do is change who he or she takes after in looks. When the child is born, it will look like you in appearance, and bear no resemblance to its father.”

Hope filled her eyes and a small smile graced her lips. “Thank you!” she babbled, giving me a hug. “Thank you.”

I smiled back at her and nodded. “It’s your secret, whether you choose to tell it or not,” I said to her. “Your unborn child won’t reveal it for you.”

She thanked me again and then left, undoubtedly traveling back home.

I sat at my round little table for a moment before getting up and putting the half-empty cup of tea into the sink. Yawning wide, I decided it was late enough that I would be able to get some sleep before anyone else came to visit. I left the fire, now barely burning, and went into the bedroom, where I changed into a nightgown and slid under the covers of my cozy bed.

Hugo, sensing it was bedtime, came trotting in after me. After circling a few times, he laid down on the cushion that served as his bed. He gave a groan of contentment as his head hit the soft material, and I smiled to myself. I followed his example and closed my eyes, drifting into dreamland as I snuggled under my warm covers.

My peaceful slumber did not last long. A boom of thunder shook the walls of my house and woke me up. I got out of bed and went to the window just in time to see a bolt of lightning streak across the sky. Another crack sounded and Hugo lifted his head to look at me.

The rain pounded against the roof and I crawled back into my bed, groaning as I covered my head with my pillow. I tried to fall back asleep for several more minutes, tossing and turning, but now that the storm had woken me up it was nearly impossible for me to slip back into dreamland. Plus, there was a steady pounding in my head that wouldn’t go away.

Hugo, resting on his cushion, cocked his head and lifted his ears, looking towards my bedroom door. Huh?

I sat up, and the pounding got louder. Gasping, I jumped out of bed and slipped a housecoat over my nightgown and rushed to the front door. I flung it open and discovered the cause of the pounding noise.

A young man about eighteen, sopping wet, was standing outside the door. I quickly ushered him inside, expertly starting a fire in the hearth and bidding him to warm himself. Pools of water dripped off of him and collected at his feet as he took off his cloak. Preparing some hot tea, I unobtrusively studied him. His hair was a light brown, cut short and sticking up at odd angles because it was wet. His eyes were the same shade of light gray that most babies had when born, and his face was lightly tanned with a dusting of freckles. He was fairly tall and muscular, and, I realized with a start, he was probably the most handsome visitor I’d ever had. A ring that he wore on his right hand indicated that he was from Lexon, and some kind of noble; judging from his apparent age, he was probably heir to his father's land and title.

He sat down at the kitchen table, and I brought over a cup of tea for him and joined him with a mug of my own.

Taking a sip of the hot liquid, he sighed gratefully and grinned at me, showing off dimples in his cheeks. "Wet outside," he commented, a drop of water dripping off the end of his nose.

I couldn’t stop a smile from coming to my own face. “Just a little,” I replied as another crash of thunder shook the house. “Would you like a towel?”

“No thank you,” he answered, wiping his wet face on the damp sleeve of his shirt. “It’s just water.”

We sat in silence for a moment. Finally, he broke it.

“Okay, so…” he trailed off, giving an awkward chuckle. “I’ve never been to a secret-keeper before; well, you would know, you’re the only one around in like, four countries. Anyway, I’m not really sure how to do this.”

“Whatever you want to do is fine,” I told him. “There’s no ‘right’ way to tell a secret.”

“Alright,” he said thoughtfully. “Um… Hello, my name is Gabriel Gavant, eldest son of the Duke Orson Gavant of Lexon.” He extended his hand, and I shook it. “What your name?”

I blinked. “My name?” I repeated dumbly. Many of the people that came to visit me told me their names and where they were from, but none of them have ever asked me what my name was before. I guessed they just preferred to tell their secrets to someone that seemed nameless and anonymous.

“Yes, your name,” he said again, almost-smirk on his face. “You do have one, don’t you?”

“I’m Terra Bennet, secret-keeper of Melodia,” I introduced myself.

“Nice to meet you, Terra Bennet,” he said cordially. “I have a secret.”

I simply looked at him. There was nothing for me to say.

He took a deep breath. “My father took it upon himself to arrange a marriage for me. I told him I would do it, but I really don’t want to. And I lied when I said the girl he picked for me is ‘lovely.’ She’s not lovely, she’s cruel and horrible and ghastly. She only wants to marry me because of who I am and what I look like, and while her looks are stunning, like a porcelain doll, her personality is hideous. I can't stand her!” He paused. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“It’s fine,” I informed him. “I’m here to listen.”

He grinned again and looked at me. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m a spoiled noble brat who thinks of nothing but himself.”

“I don’t judge others,” I replied, “so I wouldn’t think you were a spoiled noble brat anyway.”

“Is that a secret?” he teased, eyes sparkling. “Or a well-known fact?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s well-known,” I joked back. “Don’t you know the secret-keeper doesn’t have any secrets?”

He put down his cup, now empty, and leaned back in his chair, studying me. “Everyone has secrets. You should know that better than anyone.”

I didn’t answer. I knew he was right, he knew he was right, and he knew that I knew. He also knew that, being the secret-keeper, I couldn’t exactly tell him he was right.

Another moment of silence fell upon us, not entirely uncomfortable, marred only by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. The hands on its face indicated that it was four o’clock in the morning.

“Would you like another cup of tea?” I offered, pulling my eyes from the clock and noticing his gaze was still on me.

“No thank you,” he said. He glanced out the window at the still-dark sky. “I guess I better go, while it’s not raining so hard. I have another secret for you: my father doesn’t know I left the house.” His eyes flashed with contained laughter and I let out a small snort. His lips formed a small smile as he got to his feet and put on his cloak, which had dried out somewhat by the fire.

I got up myself and walked him to the door. “Safe travels,” I bid him.

“Terra Benett, secret-keeper of Melodia, it was wonderful to meet you,” he said, grabbing my hand and kissing it.

“Goodbye, Gabriel Gavant,” I smiled. No matter who you were, in my home, all were equal. I helped everyone in whatever way I could. Usually, I didn’t apologize… and yet… “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with my magic.”

He waved me off. “It was nice just to have someone to confide in, who was nice enough to listen to my problems,” he replied. “And you can call me Gabe.”

With a wink and another grin, he was out the door. It clicked shut behind him. “Goodbye then, Gabe,” I whispered to the door. “I hope everything works out.”

With a light blush and a soft smile on my face, I washed our cups, put the fire out, and went back to bed. The rain had slowed to a slow but steady shower, and the sky-shaking thunderclaps had stopped altogether. Curling up under my covers, I drifted off into sleep.

Morning, like most mornings, came all too early. The birds were chirping happily outside, the sun was shining in through my bedroom window, and Hugo was staring at me with his big brown eyes, impatient for his breakfast. Sighing, I got up and got dressed. Hearing murmurs from the kitchen, I left my room to find my sister Angelique and our friend, Marjorie, sitting at my kitchen table. Between them, a basket rested on the table, full of soft rolls and cinnamon muffins.

“Hello,” they chirped, spotting me.

“We didn’t want to wake you,” Angelique explained, handing me a roll. “We figured you were probably up late.” Her golden curls, slightly blonder than mine, were piled on top of her head and tied there with a green ribbon that brought out similar colors in her dreamy hazel eyes and matched her dress perfectly. I loved Angelique’s eyes; the mixture of green, brown and gold could captivate anyone’s attention. She always told me that she envied my eyes, though; a pure, dark, forest green. We had the same button nose, milky skin (though I was a bit more tanned), and heart-shaped face, and actually looked very similar. However, I would always swear that she was prettier than me, and she would always tell me that I was being ridiculous.

“I was,” I yawned, sitting in a chair between them. “What time did you get here?”

Marjorie grinned, a kind of contagious smile that showed all her teeth. “About an hour ago. Usually you’re awake by nine thirty.” Marjorie grew up in the house next door to us in town. She was friends with both me and Angelique, and was sixteen years old, right between my seventeen and a half years and Angelique’s almost-fifteen. She had dark brown hair and light brown eyes, a pert little nose, full rosy lips, and a smile that never failed to make those around her grin.

I felt a cold nose push against my leg and looked down to see Hugo’s eyes, begging. Rolling my eyes, I held out the roll Angelique had given me, and he took it delicately in his teeth, happily trotting over to the corner to eat it. I grabbed another roll out of the basket for myself, taking a huge bite while Marjorie stood up to fill Hugo’s dish with food, his real breakfast.

“So, what’s new?” I asked when I finally swallowed and Marjorie had sat back down.

Angelique’s eyes sparkled. I knew she wanted to fill me in on the latest gossip, and I just gave her an opening. “You will never believe what I heard. Apparently, the butcher—”

“The cute son, not the old man,” Marjorie interjected.

“Was found kissing Evelyn Hayes, you know, the wealthy merchant’s daughter! Old man Hayes threw a hissy fit, saying his daughter was too good to be found with the poor butcher’s son.”

“And that she was to never see him again,” Marjorie added. “And that caused a fight with the butcher about well-behaved children and trampy, lying daughters. There were things being thrown and everything; it was not pretty.”

I just gave an amused smile. Evelyn Hayes had been to see me yesterday afternoon to tell me she was still going to see the butcher’s son in private. The butcher’s son, Ralph Metzger, had stopped by too, to tell me that he was in love with her. Walter Hayes, the merchant and Evelyn’s father, had also paid a visit, to say that he had stolen one of the butcher’s pigs and sent it off on a ship, simply to drive the man crazy looking for it.

“You’re no fun to gossip with,” Angelique huffed. “You know all the town’s secrets- heck, all the country’s secrets- and I never get a good reaction out of you.”

I couldn’t help it. I threw back my head and laughed. Marjorie joined in, and after a brief pretense of pouting, Angelique did too. “Sorry?” I offered weakly.

They stayed for only an hour, chatting about new dresses and hair ribbons, as well as filling me in on other rumors around town that only made me shake my head in disbelief. They left with a promise to visit me for a longer time tomorrow, as Sundays were my only day off. From twelve a.m. to eleven fifty-nine p.m., Sundays were mine. I could sleep late, go into town, or plan a day shopping with Angelique. For one day of the week, I was free of my secret-keeper duties. Of course, being the one day I could actually leave my yard, I normally spent Sundays buying food and other items I didn’t make myself, like soap or bolts of fabric for new clothes. And, of course, I occasionally did get a visitor on Sundays, though it was always late at night, so I made a few exceptions.

Almost immediately after they had left, my door burst open, revealing a group of children from Mulberry. I recognized all of them; they often stopped by to tell me secrets, simply say hello, or beg some snacks.

“Hi, Terra,” said Justine, a bold girl of about eleven. “Can we play with Hugo?”

The dog, hearing his name, stood up, tail wagging. He pushed his way past me and ran outside with the children before I could say another word.

I shrugged to myself and closed the door behind them, knowing that my oversized puppy was running around with the children in the yard and that he would come back inside when they went home for dinner.

I spent the rest of the day cleaning the cottage and reading under a tree in my front yard, the crisp smell of autumn in the air. There weren’t too many people who came to see me, just a few women from the village, a man from the neighboring country of Diraeron, and the butcher’s youngest son, ten-year old Stephen, who confessed that he had told some people about his brother Ralph and Evelyn Hayes, which led to them being caught.

The night was boring; quiet and dull, with only a few hushed hoots from an owl disrupting the silence. I spent the time talking to Hugo, telling him of the secrets I’d heard that day and the rumors, both false and true, that were flying around Mulberry. He was my sole confidant; as he could only speak in barks and growls, I knew he would never tell anyone what was going on in my head. Exhausted from the late nights of the week, I turned into bed early and spend the night in a dreamless sleep.