Angrily Jory jerked his eyes up. "Mel, can't you even say hello to me?" he asked hoarsely. "I'm here, I'm alive. I'm doing my best to survive. Can't you say or do something to tell me you remember that I'm your husband?"
Reluctantly turning her head his way, Melodie gave him a vague smile of recognition. Something in her eyes said she didn't see him anymore as the husband she'd so passionately loved and admired. She saw only a crippled man in a wheelchair and as he was now, he made her uneasy and embarrassed.
"Hello, Jory," she said dutifully.
Why didn't she get up and kiss him? Why didn't she see the pleading in his eyes? Why couldn't she make an effort, even if she didn't love him anymore? Slowly Jory's wan face reddened before he bowed his head and stared down at all the gifts he'd so beautifully wrapped.
I was about to say something cruel to Melodie when Cindy and Lance came strolling back, both with starry eyes and flushed faces. Bart wasn't long in following them in. He raked the room with his eyes, saw that Melodie was still there and turned to leave again. Instantly Melodie rose and quickly
disappeared. Bart must have seen her leave, for shortly he returned and sat down and crossed his legs, looking relieved now that Melodie was gone.
The boyfriend spoke up, looking at Bart and smiling widely. "I hear all this belongs to you, Mr. Foxworth." "Call him Bart," ordered Cindy.
Bart frowned.
"Bart . . ." began Lance hesitatingly, "truly this is a remarkable house. Thank you for inviting me." I glanced at Cindy, who stood her ground as Bart threw her an angry look, even as Lance went on innocently, "Cindy didn't show me your suite of rooms, or your office, but I hope you will do that. Someday I hope to own something like this . . . and I have a passion for electronic gadgets, as Cindy tells me you have."
Instantly Bart was on his feet, seemingly proud to show off his electronic equipment. "Sure, if you want to see my rooms, and my office, I'll be delighted to show you. But I'd rather Cindy didn't accompany us."
After a sumptuous dinner, which Trevor served, we conversed in the music room with Jory and Bart. Melodie was upstairs, already in bed. Soon Bart said he had to rise early and
he
was going to bed. Instantly the conversation dwindled to nothing as we all stood and headed for the stairs. I showed Lance into a lovely room with its own connecting bath. It was in the eastern wing, not so far from Bart's own rooms, while Cindy's was near my own. Cindy smiled sweetly and kissed the cheek of Lance Spalding. "Good night, sweet prince," she whispered. "Parting is such sweetsweet sorrow."
His arms folded over his chest, as Joel folded his, Bart stood back and watched this tender scene with scorn. "Let it be a true parting," he said meaningfully, looking directly at Lance, then at Cindy, before he stalked off toward his rooms.
First I saw Cindy to her room and we exchanged a few words and our regular good night kisses. Then I paused outside Melodie's door, wondering if I should rap and go in and try to reason with her. I sighed, knowing it wouldn't do any good, not when I'd tried so many times before. Next I was crossing over to Jory's room.
He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His dark blue eyes rolled my way, shiny with unshed tears. "It's been so long since Melodie came in to kiss me good night. You and Cindy always find the time to do that, but my wife ignores me as if I don't exist for her. There's no real reason now why I couldn't sleep in a larger bed, and she could sleep beside me, but she wouldn't even if I asked. Now I've finished the clipper ship, and I don't know what to begin next to occupy my time. I really don't want to start another ship for our child. I feel so unfulfilled, so at odds with life, with myself, and most of all, with my wife. I want to turn to my wife, but she turns from me. Mom . . . without you, Dad and Cindy, I wouldn't know how to live through the days."
I held him in my arms, ran my fingers through his hair as I had when he was a little boy. I said all the things that should have come from Melodie. I pitied her, disliked her for being weak, hated her for not loving enough, for not knowing how to give even when it hurt.
"Good .night, my sweet prince," I said from Jory's doorway. "Hold tight to your dreams, don't abandon them now, for life offers many chances at happiness, Jory. It's not all over for you."
He smiled, said good night, and I headed for the southern-wing suite I shared with Chris.
All of a sudden Joel was in front of me, blocking my passage. He wore a shabby old bathrobe of some faded color that seemed more gray than anything else. His thin, pale hair stood up in small peaks like horns, while the long end of his corded sash trailed behind him like a limp tail.
"Catherine," he said sharply, "do you realize what that girl is doing this very minute?"
"That
girl? What girl?" I answered just as sharply.
"You know who I mean, that daughter of yours. Right now, at this moment, she is entertaining that young man she brought home with her."
"Entertaining? What do you mean?"
His smile came crooked and mean. "Why, if anyone should know, it should be you. She's got that boy in her bed."
"I don't believe you!"
"Then go and see for yourself!" he answered quickly, with some delight. "You never believe anything I say. I was in the back hall and just happened to see this boy stealing down the halls, and I followed. Before he reached Cindy's door, she had it open and was welcoming him inside."
"I don't believe you," I said again, more weakly this time.
"Are you afraid to check and find out I might be telling the truth? Would that convince you then that I am not the enemy you presume me to be?"
I didn't know what to say or, think. Cindy had promised to behave herself. She was innocent, I knew she was. She'd been so perfect, helping with Jory, resisting her natural tendency to argue with Bart. Joel had to be lying. Spinning about, I headed toward Cindy's room with Joel close at my heels.
"You are lying about her, Joel, and I intend to prove that to you," I said as I almost ran.
Just outside her door I paused and listened, hearing nothing at all. I lifted my hand to knock. "No!" hissed Joel. "Don't give them any warning if you want to know the full truth. Just throw open the door and step inside the room and see for yourself."
I paused, not wanting to even think he could possibly be right. And I didn't want Joel to tell me what to do. I glared at him before I knocked sharply just once, waited a few seconds, then threw open Cindy's bedroom door and stepped inside her room, which was lit by moonlight flooding in through her windows.
Two totally naked bodies were entwined on Cindy's virgin bed!
I stared, shocked, feeling a scream in my throat that just stayed there. Before my amazed eyes Lance Spalding sprawled over my sixteen-year-old daughter, jerking spasmodically. Cindy's hands clutched at his buttocks, her long red fingernails digging in, her head rolling from side to side as she moaned with pleasure, telling me this was not their first time.
What should I do now? Close the door and say nothing? Fly into a towering rage and drive Lance out of our home? Helplessly caught in a web of indecision I stood there as only seconds must have passed, until I heard a faint noise behind me.
Another gasped. I whirled around to see Bart, who was staring at Cindy, who'd rolled on top of Lance and was lustily riding him, crying out fourletter word vulgarities in between her moans of ecstasy, entirely unaware of anything but what she was doing and what was being done to her.
Bart had no indecision.
He strode directly to the bed and caught hold of Cindy around the waist. With a mighty heave he tore her off the boy; who seemed helpless in his nakedness and the bliss of what had been going on. Bart ruthlessly hurled Cindy to the floor. She screamed as she fell face downward on the carpet.
Bart didn't hear.
He was too busy handling the youth. Again and again his fists slammed into Lance's handsome face. I heard the crack of his nose as blood spurted everywhere. "NOT UNDER MY ROOF!" he roared, repeatedly battering Lance's face. "NO SINNING UNDER MY ROOF!"
A moment ago I felt like doing the same thing. Now I ran to save the boy. "Bart, STOP! YOU'LL KILL HIM!"
Cindy kept screaming hysterically even as she tried to cover her nudity with the clothes she'd dropped on the floor. They were all mixed up with Lance's discarded garments. Joel was now in the room, raking his eyes scornfully over Cindy; then he was turning to smile at me with gloating satisfaction that said over and over again:
See, I told you so. Like mother, like daughter.
"See what you've raised with your pampering?" Joel intoned, as if behind a pulpit. "It was evident from the first time I saw her that that girl was nothing but a harlot under the roof of my father's house."
"You fool!" I stormed. "Who are you to condemn anyone?"
"You are the fool, Catherine. Just like your mother, in more than one way. She, too, wanted every man she saw, even her own half uncle. She was like this naked girl crawling lewdly around on the floor-- ready to bed down with anything in pants."
Unexpectedly Bart dropped Lance on the bed and hurled himself at Joel. "Stop it! Don't you dare tell my mother she's like her mother! She isn't, she isn't!"
"You'll see it my way eventually, Bart," said Joel in his softest, most sanctimonious tone. "Corrine got what she deserved. Just as your mother will get hers one day. And if justice and right still rule in this world, and God is in his Heaven, that indecent, naked girl on the floor trying to cover herself will meet her end in fiery flames, as she deserves."
"Don't you say anything like that again!" bellowed Bart, so furious with Joel he forgot all about Cindy and Lance; who were both hastily pulling on the night-clothes they'd abandoned. He hesitated, as if shocked to find himself defending the girl he incessantly denied was his sister. "This is my life, Uncle," he said sternly, "and my family more than it is yours. I will deal out what justice is demanded, and not you."
Seemingly very distressed and shaken, shuffling lamely like an older man, Joel ambled off down the hall, bent over almost double.
The moment Joel was out of sight, Bart turned his furious temper on me. "YOU SEE!" he roared. "Cindy has just proven what I suspected she was all along! She's no good, Mother! NO GOOD! All the time she played the game of being sweet, she was planning how she'd enjoy herself when Lance came. I want her out of this house and out of my life forever!"
"Bart, you can't send Cindy away--she's my daughter! If you have to punish someone more than you have, send Lance away. You're right, of course, Cindy shouldn't have done what she did, nor should Lance have taken advantage of our hospitality."
Somewhat mollified, he managed to simmer down a little. "All right, Cindy can stay since you insist on loving her no matter what. But that boy is going tonight!" He-yelled at Lance, "Hurry and pack your things--for in five minutes I'm driving you to the airport. If you ever dare touch Cindy again, I'll break the rest of your bones! And don't think I won't know. I have friends in South Carolina, too!"
Lance Spalding was very pale as he hurried to throw his clothes back into suitcases he'd just emptied. He couldn't even look at me as he hurried by and whispered huskily, "I'm sorry and so ashamed, Mrs. Sheffield . . . and then he was gone, with Bart right behind him, shoving him on faster from time to time.
Now I turned to Cindy, who had donned a very modest granny gown and was huddled under the covers of her bed, staring at me wide-eyed and scared looking. "I hope you are satisfied, Cindy," I said coldly. "You have truly disappointed me. I expected more from you . . . you promised me. Don't your promises mean anything at all?"
"Momma, please," she sobbed. "I love him, and I wanted him, and I think I waited long enough. It was my Christmas gift to him--and to myself."
"Don't lie to me, Cynthia! Tonight wasn't your first time with him. I'm not as stupid as you presume I am. You and Lance have been lovers before. "
She wailed loudly, "Momma, aren't you going to love me anymore? You can't just turn it off, 'cause if you do, then I'll want to die! I don't have any parents but you and Daddy . . . and I swear it won't happen again. Please forgive me, please!"
"I'll think about it," I said coldly as I closed her door.
The next morning as I dressed, Cindy came running into my room, crying out hysterically, "Momma, please don't let Bart force me to leave, too. I've never had a happy Christmas when Bart was around. I hate him! Really hate him! He's ruined Lance's face, ruined it."
More than likely she was right. I had to teach Bart how to hold back his rage. How terrible for such a good-looking boy to have his beautiful nose broken, to say nothing of his black eyes and many cuts and bruises.
However, after Lance was gone, something peculiar laid a ghostly hand on Bart and turned him very quiet. Lines I hadn't seen before etched from his nose to his beautifully shaped lips, and he was too young for face lines. He refused to look or talk to Cindy. He treated me as if I weren't there, either. He sat sullen and quiet, staring at me, then rested his dark eyes fleetingly on Cindy, who was weeping, and I couldn't remember another time when Cindy had allowed any of us to see her cry.
Through my mind flitted all kinds of dreary thoughts. The place where owls and foxes resided, remembering the Bible we used to have to study every day. Where could understanding be found? There was a time for planting, a time for reaping, a time to gather in . . . where was our time for joy?
Hadn't we waited long enough?
Later that morning I had a talk with Cindy. "Cindy, I am shocked at your behavior. Bart had every right to be enraged, even though I disapprove of the way he was so rough on that boy. I can understand
his
actions, but not yours. Any young man would have entered your room when you willingly opened your door and invited him in. Cindy, you have to promise not to do anything like that again. Once you are eighteen, you become your own boss--but until that day, and while you are under this roof, you will not play sex games with anyone here or anywhere else. Do you understand?"
Her blue eyes widened, took on the shine of forthcoming tears. "Momma, I don't live in the eighteenth century! All the girls are
doing it!
I held out much longer than most do, and from all I've heard about you . . . you went after men, too."
"Cindy!" I snapped sharply. "Don't you ever throw my past or present in my face! You don't know what I had to endure--while you have had nothing but happy days full of everything that was denied me."