Farm Secrets

I spent my first 24 years on a tiny 4 acre farm in between woods on the Key Peninsula in Washington state. The farm held our yellow farmhouse, vegetable fields, and pens for our several chickens, pigs, and bunnies. This farm is just a blip in the world, but it was an accomplice to a dark and terrible family secret. My name is Eva Little and this is my story.

When I was really young, I loved the country lifestyle. I spent hours in the animal pens watching them live their best little lives. My grandpa told me not to name the pigs and chickens lest I get attached. Eventually though, he simply bought me my own pig. I named him Hamilton. On hot summer days, I would take Hamilton down to the creek. I’d sit with my feet in the creek and he would roll around in the mud.

Eventually I just got tired of the same old same old. I begin to dream of more. These feelings were only spurred on when I received a letter in the mail at age 10, from my supposed uncle whom I had never heard about before. Until then, my family consisted of my mom, her dad, and I. My dad died before I was born. My mom sat me down and explained to me that I did have an uncle, Uncle Eniks. Apparently, when my grandparents divorced, my Grandpa got custody of my mom and my Grandma got custody of my uncle. Until recently, Uncle Eniks had had no contact with Grandpa and mom. Now that he knew he had a niece, he wanted to have a relationship with me as well.

My uncle was so cool. He was the pilot of a private jet and got to travel the world. I think he liked not being stuck in one place forever. I didn’t blame him one bit. I started to dream of all the places I could go someday. I kept a world map on my wall and marked all the places Uncle Eniks had gone with blue push pins. If it was somewhere I wanted to go someday myself, I would first colorr the flat side of the push pin with a black sharpie. We exchanged dozens of letters and postcards over the years. I kept them all in a tin box under my bed.

Everything became about conquering my dreams. My math and science grades dropped exponentially, but my geography and history grades did the opposite. I checked out books from the library about every place on my map. After every book, I would relay facts to my uncle about the place he had been. Eventually, he started asking me to research the places he would be going next.

All that changed one day when I came home from school to my mom and grandpa all red and blotchy at the table. “What’s wrong?” I asked

“You better come sit down.” My grandpa replied. I pulled the chair out and sat down. My mom pulled my hands into hers. “Eva, we just received a call. It seems your uncle was crossing the street somewhere in Japan when he was hit by a car and he, well he-”

“He what? Mom?”

“He passed away, Eva.” My grandpa finished.

“I don’t understand. I told him to always be careful, I told him!”

“I know this is hard, Eva. He meant a lot to you. We’re here if you want to talk about it.” Mom squeezed my hands. “No, I need to go. I have homework.” I calmly got up and walked to my bedroom. I sat on my bed with the box of letters and postcards in my lap. I didn’t open it, I simply held it close.

I looked up at the map with all those stupid push pins until the sun went down. I wasn’t sure if the sun would come up the next morning; I didn’t even know whether I really wanted it to either. The sun did come up the next day, and the next. I went through the motions of the days as a grief Zombie. My uncle was my hero. Although I never met him in person, he was the closest person to me in the world.

As time went by I removed the maps from my wall and left the box unopened for longer . My uncle was always in my heart, but the sadness hex on the memories of him began to lift. I gave up my resentment for the farm. I spent more time with Hamilton, I helped out more, and I was all around less miserable and less miserable to be around.

10 years later, I was living in a tiny house my grandpa and I helped build on the farm while I saved up for land of my own . I had my own PO box and had a job working at a daycare. When I checked the mail that day, there was a cereal-box-sized package that said it was from Italy. I’m glad I waited until I was home to open it, because it was quite a shock. Inside the package was a letter that read:

Ms. Eva Little,

We are writing to inform you that Eniks Elom has perished from smoke inhalation after going back into his burning building to retrieve a journal. Mr. Elom has named you his beneficiary. Combining his life insurance and his finances, you will find enclosed a check for twenty thousand dollars. Also enclosed is Mr. Elom’s possessions. Our condolences.

Signed,

Jenna Jacobs

Vice president of

Nineteen ninety seven life insurance

The only other thing in the package was a little leatherbound black book with scuff marks. Based on the smoke aroma the book was drenched in, I assumed it was the very thing that the man they were talking about died saving from the fire. I was at a loss, Sure Eniks can’t be a very popular name; but It couldn’t have been my uncle, because his last name was Little not Elom. Besides, he had been gone for ten plus years. I figured the journal would give some answers, so I took it out of the box when several pictures stashed inside the journal fell to the floor. I looked down to see my sixth grade self looking up at me.

I picked the picture up and twirled it between my fingers, trying to wrap my mind around what was going on. That’s when I noticed the inscription on the back of the picture My beautiful daughter. Shock does not even begin to describe what I was feeling at that moment. All of the pictures were those I remember picking from my school photos in 5th and 6th grade, specifically to send to my Uncle. On the back of each picture was something similar to the first, except for the last one in the stack. The last one’s inscription was longer, It said: the last picture I received from my daughter. So I might recognize her the next time I see her. It was all my uncle’s handwriting, there was no doubt about it.

Knowing where I needed to go for answers, I tossed the journal on my bookshelf by the door, and ran for my Mom and Grandpa’s house down the driveway. I threw open the door. My grandpa was in the kitchen. “Well hello, Eva. What ya got there?”

“Where’s mom, Grandpa? I need to talk to you two.”

“She’s at the store, she’ll be back in a moment. Sit down and breathe, child. Good gravy.” I remained standing, “how long did you think you could keep this from me?” I waved the photos in his face. “What are you talking about? You could have seen those pictures any time. They weren’t hidden.”

“No! Grandpa, not the pictures! Here, look at the inscriptions.” I pushed the pictures into his hands. His face became progressively more white as he read each picture. For a moment I was concerned he may have a heart attack or just keel over right then and there, but he remained standing. Finally he spoke, “Oh dear, Eva, how did you get these?”

“I received a package from Italy. Turns out Uncle Elom didn’t die ten years ago like you and mom said. He just recently died and named me his beneficiary, despite the fact that he probably thought I hated him since I hadn’t sent him anything in ten freakin years! These were in his journal. The journal that got him killed.”

“We should, uh, really call your mom. She can explain things to you.” Grandpa reached for the phone but I blocked him. “No, I need answers now.” He sighs. “Okay, let’s sit down and I’ll tell you the truth, the whole truth.” We sit down. “The pictures don’t lie, Uncle Elom is not actually your uncle, he’s your father.”

“So my father didn’t die before I was born?”

“No. However, right after you were born, your father was laid off after the company he worked for went under. As a farewell gift from his boss he received a big bottle of whiskey. That was the start; after that he was rarely sober. He started to become abusive. One day, I said enough. I kicked him out and we got a restraining order.

Years later, He sent a letter saying he was sober and traveling the world looking for his passion. He promised he would never ask to see you in person, but he desperately wanted to know you. Your mom agreed against my wishes to allow you two to write. She told him to pretend to be an uncle because you thought your dad was dead. For the first 3 years, he kept his word. I have to admit, reading what he wrote to you, was changing my opinion on him.”

“So why did you guys tell me he died?”

“He showed up one day, begging to see you in person. Your mom was afraid he would tell you the truth, so She called the police to report him breaking the restraining order. That was the day we told you he was dead. He must have served his time and went back to traveling the world. Soon we received letters for you from him. Your mom threw them in the fire. I don’t know how they managed to get that package to you.” Just then, my mom pushed the door open. “Hey, Honey. Didn’t expect you-” She stopped when she saw the pictures face down on the table. “Oh-” I won’t repeat the words she said after that.

Without saying a word, I rose from my seat and walked out the door. She raced after me, “Eva! Eva, please! I can explain.”

“Don’t want to hear it, mom.” I locked the doors as soon as I got in my house.

I called my best friend who lives a few minutes away. She said I could move my house to her property. They have an outhouse I can use or I can go inside, since my tiny house wouldn’t be connected to water, so the next day a couple friends came over and helped me move as far away from my family as I could in a day and I’ve never gone back. It’s probably obvious what I did with the money. I ended up buying 2 acres of land to put my tiny house on. Combining my uncle/father’s finances, a small loan, and my own savings, I had enough money to settle in quite comfortably in life. My mother and Grandpa both have been trying to contact me ever since their secret came out a year ago, but I’m not ready. I don’t know if I ever will be.