Unsigned Books

A Modern-Day Fairy Tale

We all have our dark secrets. Saying you don’t, means that you know how to keep one. Saying you do, is the first step to spilling the tea. Sharing a secret is never a good idea. You cannot even keep your own secret; how can you expect to trust someone else with yours? The best thing is to take them with you into the grave. The second-best thing to do is to confess on your deathbed. What is the worst thing anyone could do to you then? Jorge knew how to keep a secret, too. You might want to sit back and learn.  

Once a week she rolled by with her cart. Carmen would put the groceries in front of the door, pick up the envelope with the money and next week’s order, and then she would continue her journey. There was always a little extra for her. Maybe he knew she needed it, maybe he was just being kind. She didn’t know who lived inside that lonesome cabin. Nobody in her village wanted to talk about it. Those who did say anything mostly softly whispered ‘El Cucuy’ in a knowingly kind of way and left it at that. She was not in the know. 

Carmen liked him. Or maybe she liked the mystery surrounding him. Her mother told her to stay as far away from him as possible. As would all the others around her. But they needed the money, and her job required her to deliver there. It wasn’t that bad. Mother never did complain about the extra bit of cash in hand. Neither did she change her thoughts on the man rewarding them so generously for going the extra mile. Why could she not see the kindness of this stranger? 

The drive there took an hour, that is, if Dolores was well-rested and fed properly. It was not part of her job to take care of the horse, she did so, nonetheless. Carmen would brush her, comb her and feed her. She treated that animal as if it were her own. The horse often looked healthier than she did. Today things were going to be different. In ways she could not foresee.  

Everything was put in the cart. Dolores was well-fed and ready for the ride to the cabin. It stood on a little hill in between the mountains. He must have built it himself. There were some trees and a small garden in which he seemed to grow some vegetables and herbs. It all looked so quiet and peaceful. A remote place all to himself and no one around to bother him. Does he never get lonely? She was going to find out.  

Instead of leaving the groceries outside, she knocked on the door to deliver them in person. She had picked up the envelope and had decided she wanted to thank him in person. Maybe even have a small conversation to brighten up his day. A big but anxious smile on her face while waiting for the door to be opened.  

In front of her stood a rather timid looking man in his late forties. Old enough to be her dad. Mother would have liked his robust, square bearded face. It showed the signs of a man who has lived a rough life but had finally found his peace. With himself and the world. Big bushy eyebrows above his hazel brown eyes. Had she been thirty years older, she might have fallen in love with him.  

“I’m sorry, miss, is anything wrong? Is there not enough money in the envelope?” 

His voice was rough and hoarse. It sounded like he had not spoken for years. She was just staring at him and forgot all about what she had wanted to say to him.  

“No, no, of course there is enough money. It’s just …” 

She lowered her head and looked at the box of groceries in her hands, pushing it forward in his direction.  

“I just wanted to thank you. In person. You know. For the money and all.” 

“Don’t mention it, little miss. I am sorry. I did not catch your name.” 

“Sorry. I’m Carmen. I am sorry, sir.” 

“Whatever could you be sorry for? It is awfully nice of you to thank me. Although you did not have to. You know what they say about me, right?” 

Carmen turned red like a rose in bloom. She felt ashamed, though she had never said anything wrong about him. He took the box from her hands and waited for her to let go. She felt his ruddy hands touching hers as she let go of it.  

“I am sorry for what people say about you. You always been so generous, and you don’t even know who I am.” 

“Now I do. I am Jorge. Now you know who I am. Is there anything I can do for you?” 

From under her eyebrows, she looked up at him and straight into those beautiful eyes. Her heart started beating wildly. She was only fifteen and had never felt like this before.  

“I have brought you some fresh tealeaves. It is not much. We do not have a lot of money, you see. But I wanted to do something in return.” 

“That is awfully kind of you, little miss. Does your mom know you are out here?” 

“Oh, she does. Although she does not agree.” 

Her hands covered her mouth, because it felt like she was insulting him.  

“I’m sorry. I did not mean it like that.” 

“That’s okay. I understand. People talk. Always have and always will.” 

She glanced around him and into the cabin. It looked sober but homely. He moved away a bit to give her some room to stare.  

“Your journey is long. Can I offer you something to drink?” 

And so, he invited her in. She hesitated on the step. Her mother would go crazy if she knew. She would never talk about this. This would be their little secret. He turned round and walked to the sink. It was just one room that had everything. A kitchen, a bed in the corner, a wooden table and some chairs, a small fireplace, and a couch. His gardening tools were in another corner and looked worn and used. Some cabinets and a cupboard in his kitchen held everything he needed. She followed him and watched him fill the kettle. He looked over his shoulder as he let the water drip in. 

“I don’t get many visitors.”  

“Well, you don’t really go out of your way to make it easy for people to come and visit.” 

“Touché. There is a reason, you know, for me living out here.” 

Even though she was curious, she was also in doubt whether she wanted to know. This place had always held an air of mystery. Knowing this Jorge and finding out his story, might change all that. It would forever change the way she looked upon this cabin. Life needs its mysteries, doesn’t it? While her mind was still wondering whether she was prepared to sacrifice that mystery, her mouth had already spoken the words ‘Why?’ 

He put a cup of steaming hot tea in front of her on the table. Had she been thinking that long? She must have been miles away. Sitting so close, she could smell his musky cologne beating away the scent of sweat. It was manly and for some reason it made her feel at ease. 

“This is my way of staying out of harm’s way.” 

“Who would try to hurt a nice man like yourself?” 

His laugh came from deep down his belly. It was a round and woody kind of sound. He reminded her of a woodman in a certain way. All that was missing was a checked flannel shirt. The axe was standing in the corner. There was, most likely, a wood block at the back.  

“Are you good at keeping secrets?” 

Without hesitation she blurted out she was. Of course she wasn’t. Her mind was made up, however, and she wanted to hear his story badly. It was just a white lie.  

“I am not good at keeping secrets at all. That is why I locked myself up. Have you never wondered where I got the money to pay for all the things you leave on my doorstep every week?” 

“It is not my business. But yes, I have.” 

“As have so many people in your village. They want to know, yet they don’t. You should never tell them.” 

She picked up the mug of tea and held it in both her hands. This story was going to be good. 

“A couple of years ago I was in an infamous band of highwaymen. We would hold up coaches and rob people of their valuables. Nothing to make us rich men, but enough to keep our bellies from rumbling. That was, until that day we got lucky. None of us knew we would strike gold. Actual gold. The coach was transporting it to a bank. It was not guarded as they thought the decoy would distract robbers. We did not know about the decoy. We just happened to be in the right time in the right place. Or, in the case of the driver, in the wrong time and place. We took as much as our horses could carry. It was worth a fortune. That was the end of our lives as highwaymen.” 

Someone looking in on this tableau would have surely said that the girl had just fallen in love with this handsome hermit. He did not notice. Lost in the thoughts about his past, he took a sip from his mug.  

“I have no idea where my mates went. We had to get away as far as possible. I settled somewhere nice. But my big mouth gave me away. So, I had to leave. Another town, same story. I just could not keep my own secret.” 

He stood up from where he was sitting. She looked at him as he put his empty mug in the sink. It was then she realised he would probably have to leave now and it was all her fault. She should not have come here. Her heart was throbbing as she realised her mistake.  

“I am so sorry. I .. I … . Your secret is safe with me.” 

“This is a really nice place, you know. I have really grown fond of it. Built it myself. Took me some time, but it was well worth it. Such a shame.” 

A tear rolled down her cheek. She buried her face in her hands. A warm hand touched the back of her head. It soothed her a little.  

“No need to cry, little missy. A girl your age cannot be expected to keep secrets like this. I should not have told you.” 

“I have ruined everything for you.” 

The muffled voice from behind her hands could barely be heard. She was hiding herself from his looks. Ashamed of what she had done, she sobbed and sniffed. Her crying was abruptly silenced by the stroke of a heavy axe cutting off her head. It fell onto the floor and rolled a couple of feet down to one of the cabinets where it stopped. That sad look still upon her face staring at him but not seeing. 

“I have found my ways of keeping people from talking. There’s a reason I’m a hermit, you know. You had to find out the hard way. Such a shame.” 

The End 

This story was based on a prompt from the promptuarium. You should really visit that site.