Patricia MacLachlan - A Secret Shared

C hildren know many secrets Some they keep Some they find ways to bring into the light. For Jamie and Lauren, Harry and Lucy. Love, P. M. I watch my mother spit into a plastic tube. A pot of fresh flowers sits on her desk.

Every week she walks to the cemetery to put flowers on the grave of her best friend from childhood. Flowers and spit?! I say to her with a grin. Funny combination! Why the tube? She smiles and hands me a pamphlet. Its a new simple DNA service, Nora. For exploring your life. You can find out your ancestors.

Where you came from. She replaces the combs tightly holding back her long hair. She calls it her professional look. Ill write about it in my newspaper column, she says. Im always looking for new topics and replies. WHO ARE YOU?Where were your ancestors born?Discover your past!SPIT, PAY, MAIL your DNA. At the kitchen table my father smiles. WHO ARE YOU?Where were your ancestors born?Discover your past!SPIT, PAY, MAIL your DNA. At the kitchen table my father smiles.

My twin brother, Ben, raises his eyebrows. My younger sister, Birdy, watches Mother spit, then goes back to turning the pages of her book. Birdy is becoming a reader. We learned about DNA in class, says Ben. Your DNA is who you are. You send your spit sample and find out your nationality.

And the family you came from. And maybe surprises, says Mother. Sweet things in my past. What kind of sweet surprises, Mom? asks Ben. More than youre Una Buckley from Ireland, he adds. Sometimes Ben is outspoken.

In class we had to write a sentence showing we knew the meaning of outspoken. My sentence was My brother Ben is outspoken. It made my teacher laugh out loud. I loved my third-grade teacher, Miss Schyler. We all call her Miss Skylark. I still love her.

I talk to her every day after school when I need toand when I wait for Birdy and Ben to walk home. Miss Skylark always listens. My friend Ellies mother found ancestors in three different countries, I say. Our principal found a new cousin he dislikes, says Ben, making Mother and Father laugh. Whatever it is, Ill find out! says Mother. The searcher, your mother, says Father.

Mother writes a column for the town newspaper on topics that interest her. She used to work at the newspaper office in town but likes working at home best. She has a kitchen alcove with her desk and computer. She put her nameplate in front of the computerwith her Irish name and her married name Una Buckley Rossi It reminds you who I am, she told us, joking. And that Im working. One new column is about bullies.

Unas View Do you know a bully? Are you a bully? Have you been bullied? Tell me. Una Rossi The column received over two dozen answers to this question. Mothers favorite response was from Robert. I was young when I was bullied. I got help. Robert M. Robert M.

Her column on goats brought responses from two family members. Unas View GOATS! Try goats to clear out your messy yards and woods instead of loud lawnmowers and chain saws. One local service brings an expandable fence, and three goats who will eat everything, even poison ivy! Una Rossi Goats?! Are you kidding me?! Jill Great idea! I hate mowing. Jills husband I used to write poetry, Mother tells us. But when I write a poem it flies up and away into the air. I guess I like quick responsesvoices coming back to me.

The searcher, repeats Father, kissing Mother on the top of her head. I have to work now. Our father is a university art professor and sculptor of clay, stone, and recently wood. Mother holds out the DNA padded envelope for him. I wrote permission for another DNA searcher. All you have to do is sign, says Mother.

Father shakes his head. He will not spit in a tube. I know where I came from, he says. And I know where Im going. Where did you come from, Papa? asks Birdy, looking up from her book. Im Giovanni Rossi! he says.

Geo to your mama. From Italy! And where are you going? asks Ben with a smile. To buy a new special sculpting saw, he says. Do you know when winter comes I can actually sculpt ice? But it will just melt, says Mother. Father sighs. Yes.

Thats part of the beauty of it, Una, he says. Its there and then changes as it melts. Surprising us, Mother goes over to him, stands on her tiptoes, and kisses him. Kissing! says Birdy. I dont get you, Mother says to him. I dont always get you either, he says.

But its all right. You may think that youll find sweet things in the past, Una. But theyre here. In the present. Like us, says Ben stubbornly. And me! adds Birdy.

Father goes out the door with a wave to us. Birdy, named Beatrix but called Birdy by us, closes her book and stands up. I want to spit! she announces. Of course you want to spit in a tube! says Ben. He hands her a tube. Here, Birdy.

Birdy spits and misses. She spits again. Mother looks up suddenly. Dont put Birdys spit sample in the return envelope, she says. We hear her careful strong tone. Okay, says Ben.

Mothers phone rings. I put the open envelope on the table. Lets read in Noras room, says Ben. Come, Birdy, I say. Coming! calls Birdy as we walk down the hall. We should have knownlooking back laterthat Birdy is beginning a new story.

W eeks go by. We should have knownlooking back laterthat Birdy is beginning a new story. W eeks go by.

Birdy reads all the time now. She has her very own library card. She reads to my captive father for so long at night he sometimes falls asleep. I hear her sweet voice in my dreams, he says. Mother still searchesfor topics for her column, for things unknownmaybe for sweet things in her past? I read her column from yesterday. Tell me. Tell me.

Una Rossi The truth? Ive never seen her ask for the truth in her column before. Just responses. What truth is she looking for? One response the next day is simple: I owe my family everyday truths. Thats my truth that you asked for. Bella Fathers students visit his studio in the side yard, swarming around his sculptures, his stone pieces, his sculpting tools and wood supply. The students love his new specially made sculpting saw.

He has a tall piece of a tree leaning outside against his studio. How did that get here?! I ask. I dragged it myself, Father says proudly. Maybe Im the true searcher. Ben shakes his head. Its only a dead tree, Dad, he says.

My idea of a treasure, says Father. Youll see one day. Ben and I walk to school every day, Birdy sometimes reading to us as one of us holds on to her. Sometimes she skips ahead. We pass the bakery and the library. Today Mother walks partway with us, carrying a pot of white lilies for her best friends grave.

We stop as she opens the cemetery gate and goes in, waving goodbye to us. We never go inits Mothers private time. Theres nothing there for us. We walk on to school. Birdys a favorite of the morning crossing guard, Billy. Good day, Miss Birdy, he says.

Its going to rain, Billy, says Birdy. Not on me, says Billy. Ill be home. With Mrs. Billy, says Birdy, making Billy grin. Im going to start calling my wife Mrs.