Hidden Secrets

Cassie sat in her rental car in the dirt drive and looked at the old barn, with its peeling gray paint. It was picturesque against the cerulean blue sky dotted with clouds. She’d only found out a couple of days ago—via social media—that it was going to be torn down. A cousin had posted about it, said it was the end of an era. Their grandparents barn and home was being torn down. They’d moved into assisted living, and another cousin who ended up with the property wanted to build a new, modern-looking home. Most of the land had been sold off over the years to corporate farms, so only the idea of a farm and farmhouse was left. The cousin who was lamenting the loss of the barn was stuck deep in nostalgia. Cassie knew her cousin was living in her ideas of the past, not the past as it really was. But that was common here. People had to forget if they wanted to be able to continue to live in the facade of small town safety and happiness.

For Cassie, the era had ended when she’d moved away after college and had never returned, save for the occasional holiday visit. Most of her family hadn’t understood. You don’t leave the town you grew up in. You attend one of the two local colleges. And then, you stay close, raise your family there.

Cassie hadn’t wanted a family. That had put her at odds with them too.

She’d heard the comments over the years, when she hadn’t been interested in prom in high school. Or when she wasn’t interested in dating in college. And especially when she wasn’t engaged by the spring of her junior year. Most of her classmates wanted that—or at least thought they did, because it was expected of them. They’d mostly majored in education, so they could teach for a little while while their husbands pursued graduate school or careers, and then be able to plan their families so the babies would be born in the summer and they’d have maternity leave at the end or beginning of the school year. Some of them planned on being homemakers and having six children. Then, by the time the youngest was more self-sufficient, the oldest would be getting married and providing grandbabies to take care of. The perfect plan for the perfect families.

Cassie had gotten the first flight she could find—and had spent more than she afford on it—but she needed to see the barn one last time. She needed to find what she’d left there. She took a deep breath and got out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition.

The door creaked as she opened it, and she paused for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Her eyes roamed around, taking it all in, remembering. The stalls for the couple of cows and horses, the tools hanging on the walls. The hayloft where she’d bring a blanket and book and read and dream. That’s where she was headed. She made her way over to the wall ladder and climbed up.

She’d left it in the far back corner. She was pretty sure nobody would have found it. She’d hidden it carefully under the eaves. She brushed away some hay and pulled it out, a small, metal box. It was grimy after being in the barn for so many years. That didn’t matter. What was inside was what was important.

She reached into her shirt and pulled out a small key on a delicate chain and pulled the chain over her head. She’d worn this necklace for years, almost never taking it off. She hadn’t wanted to lose it.

Her diary from her junior and senior years of high school was inside, nestled among some dried roses, a promise ring, her Teen Study Bible that she’d faithfully taken to youth group each week. A receipt. Some empty pill containers.

There was a bookmark with 1 Corinthians 13 on it: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” He’d given her all these gifts, all these promises.

He’d taught her about these verses. He’d told her she had to be patient with him if she loved him. That wanting their relationship public was impatient and self-seeking. That she shouldn’t be angry when he acted like there was nothing between them. That when she told him all the things she was confused or upset by she shouldn’t be keeping a record of what she thought to be his wrongs. That he was protecting her, she should trust him, and if she persevered, they would be together someday.

She’d believed him. Why wouldn’t she? He was her youth pastor after all. He was a student at one of the local colleges, majoring in youth ministry. After their first youth group meeting in the fall of her junior year, when he was a junior in college, he’d asked her to consider becoming his assistant. She’d felt honored. Most of the time girls weren’t picked for leadership roles. She felt special.

When it came time for her to choose her college, she picked the one he’d gone to. He was graduating and going on to seminary, but he promised her when they were both done, they could be together. His program would take four years. Just the right amount of time, he’d said. Then she’d be done with college and he’d have his master’s degree. His degree would be hard, though, so he wouldn’t be able to keep in touch as much as he’d like to. And it would be hard to see each other since he’d be in a different state.

Those years had been hard. She’d written letters to him, faithfully. They’d decided on letters because it was old-fashioned and romantic. He’d discouraged her from using social media, said there were too many creeps out there, and he wanted her to be safe. Sometimes, she thought he’d forgotten about her, but then he’d write and tell her how sorry he was, how he’d been so busy, how much he loved her. Those letters were in that box too.

Their graduations had fallen on the same weekend, so they couldn’t attend each other’s. He was sorry, he’d said. She thought maybe the week after graduation they could see each other, but no. He was going to Michigan to visit his family and they’d planned a lot of family activities—graduation parties for him and some other relatives, a family reunion. He would just be too busy to pay attention to her the way he wanted.

So better late than never—or so she thought—she signed up for her first social media account and looked for him. The first thing she saw was that he was tagged in some pictures. Engagement pictures. Taken in Michigan, the week after graduation. Tagged by someone named Kaley. There he was. Holding Kaley. Kissing Kaley. Kaley showing off her ring. She’d seen that ring. It was his grandmother’s. He had shown it to her once, told her it would someday be on her finger.

She’d been a fool. And now, she was a broken-hearted fool with nobody to share that with. After all, their relationship had been a secret. Nobody knew about it; nobody could grieve with her.

She moved to California, getting a job as a high school vocal music teacher. At least she’d get to use her education degree. Not that she loved it, not by any means. It was what she was supposed to do.

Then in the same day she’d seen her cousin’s post about the barn she’d seen an article about a Michigan pastor being arrested for sexual assault of a minor, that he’d forced her to get an abortion. He proclaimed his innocence, said the girl was troubled, had been confused. He was pro-life; he’d never stand for an abortion. His wife, Kaley, also proclaimed his innocence. He was a great husband, she said, and a wonderful father to their newborn baby. There was no way he could have done this.

Cassie knew differently. She found a plane ticket and got to Iowa as soon as she could. She’d get her box with her diary detailing their relationship. The gifts. The receipt and medication bottles from her own abortion. She believed that girl and she’d help her. She knew the girl probably thought he’d loved her. He’d probably told her all the same things he’d told Cassie. And then some. She couldn’t imagine what, how he’d explained his marriage. Cassie knew he didn’t love the girl, just as he’d never loved her. He’d only wanted to use and control her. That wasn’t love.

After all, love rejoices with the truth.