Ann Martin - Mary Anne And The Secret In The Attic

It was a simple headstone with a picture of a crane etched onto it. There was a small bouquet of wildflowers on the grave, and the yellow and white blossoms almost hid the name on the stone. But I brushed them aside to make

sure I had seen the name correctly. I had. Yamamoto. And underneath that, a nickname: Mimi. Mimi! I felt a wave of sadness, and suddenly I missed Mimi so, so much.

Mimi was Claudia's grandmother. She lived with them for years — ever since her husband died — and so I knew her all my life. She died not that long ago, and I miss her a lot. She was kind of like a grandmother to me, as well as to Claud. Actually, she was more than a grandmother. She was a special friend. Mimi was comforting, loving, and dependable. If you were upset, she could always make you feel better. And if you were happy, she shared your happiness.

I stood for a moment looking at Mimi's gravestone, and then I began to cry. Now, my friends call me sentimental and over-sensitive, because I cry so easily. I cry during the Movie of the Week, even if it’s not supposed to be sad, and I cry when I read certain scenes in my favorite books, even if I've read them a million times before. So, I admit that I cry pretty frequently. But this time I was crying from somewhere deep inside, and this time crying didn't feel as good as it usually does. This time it really hurt.

Why was I crying? Well, the tears weren't only about Mimi. They were also about my mother — but they were connected with

Mimi. Let me see if I can explain. Remember I said I knew Mimi all my life? Well, that means that Mimi knew me all my life, too, including the parts of my life that I don't remember because I was too young. She knew me when I was first born, which means that she also knew my mother. So did other people, of course, but the thing is, I could have asked Mimi all about her, and Mimi would have told me everything she remembered. Mimi would have listened to me when I told her how confused I was about where I came from, and she would have comforted me. But Mimi was gone.

I stood there crying for a long time, until I realized I had to keep working on this mystery that was driving me crazy. " 'Bye, Mimi," I said. "I miss you so much." I wiped away my tears, took one last look at Mimi's headstone, and left the cemetery. I'd had enough of that place for one day.

By the time I reached my house I had decided something. I was going to go back up to that attic, and I was going to keep looking through those boxes until I understood more about who I really was.

As soon as I got home, I headed upstairs. I figured I had about an hour before the rest of my family came home, so I knew I had to work quickly. This time, I didn't have to use a flash-

light. Weak sunshine was coming through a dusty window at one end of the attic, and I dragged the boxes over to an old armchair that sat in the light.

I looked quickly through the first box, reviewing the pictures I'd seen the last time I was up there. There were my parents again, on their wedding day. And there I was, baby Mary Anne, with those two people I hadn't recognized by the light of the flashlight. The sunlight didn't help — I still didn't recognize them — so I went on looking through the box. The rest of its contents were pretty boring: old spelling tests and social studies reports ("Alaska, Land of Contrasts") that I'd brought home to show my father.

I opened another box, which was marked "correspondence" and picked up a bundle of letters that lay on top. They were addressed to my father. I turned one of them over, looking for the return address, and my heart gave a jump when I saw what it said. The address read "Baker, Box 127, Old County Road, May-nard, Iowa." Were these letters from my mother to my father? I put the bundle down for a minute. Maybe I shouldn't read them. Maybe they were too personal. But I couldn't turn away from them. I picked them up, slipped the top one off the stack, shook the letter out, and began to read.

"Dear Richard," it said.

"We, too, miss Alma with all our hearts." Hmmm. So it wasn't from my mother. My mother was already dead when this was written. I read on. "But Mary Anne brings us such pleasure every moment of the day. She is truly Alma's daughter: her bright, sunny disposition is a joy. And she is so clever! Not half a year old, and already she knows our faces. We owe you thanks for sending her to us."

The letter was signed, "Verna and Bill."

Verna and Bill? Who were they? Why had I been sent to them? I picked up another letter and began to read. "Mary Anne smiled at Bill today," it said. "He nearly keeled over with delight." I read another one. "Enclosed is a picture of Mary Anne with one of our goats. Bill says he's sure our granddaughter will be a farmer's wife someday."

Suddenly my face felt hot and flushed. Granddaughter? That was me. I was Verna and Bill's granddaughter. They were my grandparents. Verna was my mother's mother! I had lived with them when I was a baby, and I didn't remember a thing about it. Not only that, I hadn't ever heard of these people! But suddenly I was sure they were the two people in the pictures I'd seen.

My mind was reeling. This was almost too much to take in. I picked up one more letter,

hoping it would help me understand more about this time I didn't remember.

"Dear Richard," it began. "We are glad to hear that you agree with our plan. Mary Anne is happy with us, and she is safe and secure here on the farm. Thank you for giving us this angel."

Oh, my lord. I couldn't believe what I was reading. My father had given me away. I threw down the letter and stood up. My legs felt shaky, and my head was throbbing. I'd wanted so badly to know more about who I was and where I'd come from. But now that I knew the awful truth, I realized I'd been better off before. I wished I had never found that letter. I left the attic without a second glance at the boxes that lay open behind me.

Chapter 7.

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I wasn't crying or anything — I was just lying there. I think I was in a state of shock. What I'd read had made me feel as if my whole life had been turned upside down.

"Mary Anne!" I heard Sharon calling from downstairs. "Dinner's ready. Come help Dawn set the table."

I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out. The last thing I wanted to do was eat dinner, but I was on automatic pilot. I swung my legs off the bed, stood up, and walked downstairs, feeling like a robot. Dawn was straightening the blue-and-white place-mats that we use for everyday, so I marched over to the silverware drawer and started to count out forks.

"Mary Anne!" said Dawn. "What's up? I didn't even know you were home."

I smiled at her — but it wasn't a real smile.

I just made the corners of my mouth curve up, and I knew it probably looked fake. Dawn didn't notice. She was busy folding napkins. "Stacey and I went to the mall today, and I got the cutest jumpsuit," she said. "It's turquoise, with a wide black belt. Wait'11 you see it."

I didn't say anything, and she just kept on talking. "Stacey got the same one in pink. I think we're both going to wear them to school tomorrow. Or would that be dumb? Like we were trying to look like twins?"

This time I had to say something, since she'd asked me a question. "Uh, no. No, it sounds fine," I said.

"Mary Anne?" Dawn asked sharply, looking at me more closely. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, feeling like I might burst out crying if I tried to talk. "Sure?" she asked doubtfully. I nodded again, and she shrugged. "Okay," she said. "If you say so."

Dinner was kind of an ordeal. Luckily, everybody else seemed to be in a chatty mood, and for a while nobody noticed that I wasn't talking much.

"The man from Sears called," said Sharon. "Our new washing machine is in, and they can deliver it on Friday." "Great," said Dad. Then they got into a long