Page 72 of The Witch

Did Ethel reorganize the combs? I sure didn’t.

I try not to think about it as I grab the remainder of my clothes from the dresser drawers. As I’m removing my shirts, I spot those two letters I swiped from the attic—one open and the other still sealed. I stuff them into the back pocket of my jeans, and then I heave all the clothes into my new bedroom.

I dump everything on the bed, suddenly too tired to sort through it all. I toss the clothes into the small drawers haphazardly, figuring I’ll fix them in the morning. Or sometime. I thought I was going to have nothing but free time on my hands when I came out here, but between cleaning the house whenever Ethel isn’t looking, caring for the grounds that Mick has neglected, keeping an eye on Gram, and applying for jobs, I’ve got my hands full.

After the clothes are off the bed, I remove the two letters from my pocket. I place the open one on top of the dresser, and then I hold the second in my hand, looking down at the mailing address made out to my great-grandmother.

Ever since I read that first letter, I’ve thought about asking Ethel about it, but I can’t figure out any tactful way to ask if she ever gave up a child. She was pregnant—I know that much—but what happened after? It doesn’t seem likely that she would have had an abortion back then. Did she give the baby up for adoption? Did a family member take it?

One thing is for sure: Ethel is never going to tell me what really happened. And Gram likely doesn’t even remember.

I’m tired of all this secrecy. The only way I will get the truth is to read this second letter.

And it’s not like Ethel will ever know that I read it. She wrote the letter decades ago. Considering we all have to coexist, reading this might help me understand her better. Ethel and I have never been the best of friends, and maybe this letter will help me feel closer to my great-aunt.

Is that enough justification?

Well, either way, I’m opening it.

53

Dear Mother,

I am profoundly disappointed by your lack of response to my situation. I know what happened to me isn’t ideal, but I would have hoped you’d be more supportive.

If you refuse to even speak to me on the phone, I am grateful that I have Letty’s support, at least. She and Celia have been incredibly good to me during this difficult time.

I am due in about two months, and my plan is to have the baby at home, as I do not wish to face the judgment from being an unwed mother when I show up at a hospital. I suppose since you gave birth to both me and Letty at home, I will be fine. Celia worked as a nurse’s aide for a short time, and she has had experience delivering babies. She says, based on the shape of my stomach, that I am carrying a boy.

As for my future plans, I still have not decided. I recognize that the path ahead of me will be difficult if I raise this child on my own. But I also believe that if I give him up, I will always regret it.

If I do decide to raise this child on my own, I hope that he will have his grandparents in his life. I hope that you will reconsider your feelings, if not for my sake, then for the sake of your grandson.

Your daughter,

Ethel

I finish the letter, my mouth hanging open.

When I opened this envelope, I don’t know what I was expecting. But I definitely wasn’t expecting this.

The contents of the letter are different from the last one. It seems that the letters were never sent, for whatever reason, but based on what Ethel said here, she must have communicated about her pregnancy to her parents on the phone or in person. It seems that her parents did not take it very well.

And this letter has one other thing that the last letter didn’t: a date.

This letter is dated two months before my father’s date of birth.

I keep staring, my head spinning. Ethel was seven months pregnant two months before my father was born. And she didn’t mention anywhere in the letter that Letty was also pregnant. It was Ethel who was having a baby. Ethel was expecting a little boy.

Then two months later, a little boy was born.

Oh my God. I think Ethel might be my grandmother.

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CAROLINE