Hi – It’s Edith!
I have a birthday this week, and for the first time since I turned one and twenty, I don’t mind. It occurs to me that if you can add a year to your span in this uncertain world, you’re being rude and ungrateful to regret it. I don’t care what all the "humorous" birthday cards say. I’m getting older and I like it.
But speaking of years, something just happened to dilute my joy. This past week, someone in the Family unearthed a Deep Dark Secret that had been sitting there for over seventy-five years.
A Big Bad One.*
Those who lived through it, knew about it. Most of them are gone now.
Learning it, even after all these years, absolutely floored me.
Although I was horrified, I wasn’t surprised.
All children know their family has a secret. Why else would wandering into a room with adults in it often cause sudden silences, and "shhh, the child," significant looks?
And many children also know that they were stolen from a royal family and are being raised among peasants. Children have monstrous egos. Every secret has to be about them, even if the adults were only telling a dirty joke.
My Susie says that in the future such secrets won’t exist because of the Internet.
Words that used to be writ on water are now writ on the ethers, and yet there, they are able to be discovered. All is recorded. All is searchable.
The Internet knows all things and keeps them out in the open.
This secret lay in hiding since early in the last century. And were it not for the Internet, it would’ve stayed buried.
It really doesn’t matter anymore. Except to me. It explains a lot, and makes me me feel both betrayed and yet protected. It also bolstered my feelings of paranoia. I wonder if there’s another Secret out there.
I’ve had some real screamers of nightmares lately.
Then I remembered what I once read about people who collect antiques, as I do. A researcher said antique lovers are always searching for something they think they lost in their childhood. That would also make most archaeologists and historians — from Indy Jones to your friendly neighborhood professor of History — people who know that there is a Big Secret.
Yet all my research through the years has shown me that no one can really know History. History is a thousand stories that have been allowed to be passed down. The truth is often lost or purposely hidden in the retelling.
And then I got to thinking about why I love to read and write Historical Romances. Ithink those of us who do, do so because we too are looking for secrets, only we want to find a Happy Ending every time.
So maybe if my family hadn’t so closely guarded that Secret, I wouldn’t have read what I did, and written as I do.
What do you think?
Uh oh. I just realized that it’s also about love amidst secrets and distrust.
Oh my. 🙂
*Re: The Secret, in case you are wondering of the nature of it, my daughter forces me to divulge that no one was injured — no murder, no rippers, no rapists involved.
…uhmm. That is to say, none we know of yet…..