Secrets Hidden

Prologue – MISSOURI NIGHTMARE

     A long stretch of Missouri road breaks through the scorching vapors of a late afternoon haze.  It’s the end of summer, 1956, and the dusty tail of a dark green Mercury whips along the hollow between lion colored hills.
     “We’re taking you home now, Miss Jones,” drawls a syrupy voice with a thick Georgia accent.  “Mister Jones is waiting for you.”
     “I’m not Miss Jones, I’m Robin Rae Schillereff,” pleads the child.  “I’m your little girl.  I’m Robin.  ROBIN RAE SCHILLEREFF!”  She starts to cry then.  “I’m not a Miss Jones, I’m…”
     Her older brother Johnny cut her off with loud yelps and dog barks.  Then he shot his air rifle out the side window.  The man driving joined in with the taunting.  The three of them did a sing-along over the girl’s persistent cries.  This was a game that they played.  The “Where are you now, Little Miss Jones” game.  It was the game that her parents played ever since she could remember.
     Her mother saw something up ahead and tapped on the sweating man’s shoulder.   She pointed and they both nodded in agreement.  The father took his foot off the pedal and slowed down the car.  He pulled over to the side of the two lane roadway, pumping the filthy Mercury to a stop.
     When the dust settled, the right front door opened and the slim attractive woman in her late twenties peeled off the seat.  She was fine boned with short, cropped, tar-tinted hair.  A Pall Mall dangled from her painted lips as she took one step back and opened the rear door.  Crossing around she reached in and lifted out her daughter.  She placed Robin in the dirt about three feet from the car.
     The little girl was dressed in a faded smock with just the hint of a white petticoat beneath it.  Her straight vanilla hair was cut china bowl shaped.  Without moving she watched her mother walk between the broken cowboy fence and the stalks.  Turning around her mother pointed to a desolate shack leaning on the rise of a hill.
     “There’s your home, Miss Jones.  Mister Jones is waiting for you,” she said.  “Now go on.”
     But the girl stood motionless.
     “That’s where you belong.  You’re not our little girl.  We’ve just been keeping you till we found your husband, Mister Jones, and now we have, so go on.”  Then with a puff on her cigarette and a few hand flourishes she sashayed on back to the car.  After the car door slammed, Robin heard some low chuckles and hushed giggles.
     Little Robin tried to talk but the words got stuck in her throat.  Paralyzed with fear, she stood frozen.  The Mercury started up and shuddered.  She shook her head, no, NO!  The purring engine growled as the accelerator was pressed down.  Her brother from his open window aimed the shiny long gun at her.  Smiling a wide toothless grin, he cocked the air rifle, then fired.  Bang!  Immediately a large hand slapped him back into his seat.
     “Go on in now,” her mother called out, tossing her tobacco butt down on the dirt and pointing again toward the leaning shack.  “Mister Jones has got supper on and he’s waiting for you to come on inside.”   Then with one last hand gesture she turned away.
     The car rolled off the dirt and drove out onto the road.  The girl disappeared momentarily under a cloak of swirling dust and fumes.  When the cloud subsided she saw that the car was going away.  Quickly wiping the grit from her eyes she ran after the fading green car.  After a few feet she tripped and sprawled flat, her Buster Brown shoes left behind in the dirt.  Looking for her lost doll, she crawled into the dry gully.  Her tiny frame, rocking back and forth, convulsed with great sobs.
     As the last remnants of day whipped wildly around her, she stood up, exhausted, and walked toward the road to the shack.  Numb, she stared down at the melting violet sky.  The first twinkling of twilight hovered just above the grass.  She listened to the whispering shadows, then waiting, she stood shoeless by the side of the road.