Authors: V.C. Andrews
“Bart that’s not fair. When you love you have to trust.”
“To have blind faith in anyone but God is idiotic.”
Only too well I remembered what Chris was always telling me.
Seek and you shall find
. I knew that well enough. I’d always been suspicious of the best that life gave me, and soon enough the best had disappeared.
“Mother . . . ,” he began with surprising candor, “if Jory had kept his dancing legs, I know now that Melodie would never have let me touch her. She loved him, not me. She may have even pretended I was him, for sometimes I see a certain
resemblance between us. I also think Melodie saw what she wanted to see, and she turned to me because he couldn’t satisfy her physical needs any longer. I was a substitute lover for my brother, just as I’ve always come in second to Jory. Only with Toni have I come first.”
“You’re right this time, Bart. Jory is here and Toni isn’t seeing him. She sees you, only you.”
His lips took on an ironic twist. “Yeah . . . but you’re not mentioning that I’m up on my legs and he’s down. I’ve got the most money, and he’s got a pittance in comparison. And he’s already burdened with two children that won’t be hers. Three strikes against Jory . . . so I win.”
Now I was wanting him to win; he needed Toni ten times more than Jory did. My Jory was strong even when he was down, and Bart was so vulnerable and uncertain while he was perfectly healthy. “Bart, if you can’t love yourself for what you are, how do you expect anyone else to? You’ve got to start believing that even without money Toni would still love you.”
“We will soon find out,” he said tonelessly, a certain something in his eyes that reminded me of Joel. He turned to dismiss me. “I’ve got work to do, Mother. See you later . . .” and he was smiling at me with more love than he’d shown since he was nine.
Contrary, complex, perplexing, challenging, the man my little troubled Bart had grown into . . .
Cindy had written to tell us how fabulous her summer days in the New England drama class were going. “We act in real productions, Momma, in real barns that are temporarily converted into theaters. I love it, really love every aspect of show biz.”
Often I missed Cindy as the summer days passed. We all swam in the lake or pool, introducing the rapidly growing twins to all the wonders of nature. They had small teeth now and were both fast crawlers to wherever they wanted to go, and that was everywhere. Nothing was safe from their small,
grasping hands that considered every object a food item. Flaxen blond hair turned into ringlets on their heads, pink lips turned rosy from the sun, and their cheeks stayed flushed with color, while their wide, innocent, blue eyes devoured all faces, swallowed down all first impressions.
We swept the glorious hot summer days away like iridescent dust settling into photograph albums that would never let the days and happy moments truly disappear. Snap snap snap went three different kinds of cameras, as Chris, Jory, and I took picture after picture of our wonderful twins. They adored being outdoors, sniffing the flowers, feeling the tree bark, watching the birds, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, the ducks and geese that often invaded our swimming pool, only to be chased off quickly by the adults.
Before I knew it, summer was gone and autumn was upon us again. This year Jory could enjoy this glorious season of splendor in the mountains. The trees foresting the mountain-side flamed into spectacular colors.
“A year ago I was in Hell,” said Jory, staring at the trees and mountains and glancing down at his left hand, which no longer wore a wedding band of gold. “My final divorce papers came, and you know, I didn’t feel anything but numb. I lost my wife the day I lost the use of my legs, and still I’m surviving and finding that life does go on and it can be good, even when experienced from a chair.”
My arms went around him. “Because you have strength, Jory, and determination. You have your children, so your marriage was not without its rewards. You still have celebrity status, don’t forget that, and you can, if you want, start teaching ballet classes.”
“Nope, I can’t neglect my son and daughter, not when they don’t have a mother.” Then he tilted his head back to smile at me. “Not that you don’t make a super mother figure, but I want you and Dad to live your own lives, not be burdened down with small children who might hamper your lifestyle.”
Laughing, I tousled his dark curls. “What lifestyle, Jory? Chris and I are happy where we are, with our sons and grandchildren.”
* * *
The bright fall days slowly chilled, bringing the acrid scent of woodfires burning. I was drawn outside early each day, taking Jory and the twins with me. The twins were pulling themselves up to stand by holding on to hands or furniture. Deirdre had even taken a few faltering, wide-legged steps, her bottom fat with diapers and plastic panties, covered by other pretty panties that she seemed to adore. Darren seemed more than content with his fast crawl that took him speedily wherever he wanted to go—which was everywhere. I’d even caught him crawling backward down those high front stairs, with Deirdre close behind him.
On this fine early October day, Deirdre rode on Jory’s lap, happily jabbering to herself, as I carried a more subdued Darren, using the new dirt trails that Bart had considerately ordered leveled so Jory could drive his chair through the woods. Tree roots that might have tripped up his chair had been removed at considerable cost. Now that Bart had a love of his own, he treated his brother with much more consideration and respect.
“Mother, Bart and Toni are lovers, aren’t they?” Jory shot out unexpectedly.
“Yes,” I admitted with reluctance.
He said something then that startled me. “Isn’t it odd how we’re born into families and have to accept what we’re given? We don’t ask for each other, yet we’re glued all our lives to those whom we’d never speak to twice if they weren’t blood related.”
“Jory, you don’t really dislike Bart that much, do you?”
“I’m not speaking of Bart, Mom. He’s been rather decent lately. It’s that old man who says he’s your uncle that I dislike. The more I see of him the more I detest him. At first when
he showed up, I pitied him. Now I look at Joel and see something evil beneath those faded blue eyes. Somehow or other he reminds me of John Amos Jackson. I believe he’s using us, Mom. Not just for practical reasons of having a home and food to eat . . . he has something else in mind. Just today, I happened to hear Joel whispering to Bart in the back hall. I think from what I overheard, Bart is going to tell Toni the complete truth about his past—his psychological problems—and the fact that if he’s ever committed to an institution he’ll lose his entire inheritance. He’s being urged to do this by Joel. Mom, he shouldn’t tell her! If Toni truly loves him, she’ll accept the fact he’s had his problems. From all I can see, he’s normal now, and very brilliant at making money grow.”
My head bowed. “Yes, Jory. Bart told me himself, but he keeps putting off that revelation, as if he himself believes it’s his money she’s after.”
Jory nodded, holding fast to Deirdre, who was trying to climb down from his lap and explore by herself. Just seeing his sister do that made Darren anxious to be free as well.
“Has Joel ever said anything to indicate he might try to break his sister’s will and take the money that Bart expects to inherit the day he’s thirty-five?”
Jory’s laugh was short, dry. “Mom, that old man never says anything that isn’t a
double entendre.
He doesn’t like me and avoids me as much as possible. He disapproves of the fact that once I was a dancer and wore skimpy costumes. He disapproves of you. I see him watching you with narrowed eyes, and he mutters to himself, ‘Just like her mother . . . only worse, far worse.’ I’m sorry to tell you that, but he’s scary, Mom, really a sinister old man. He looks at Dad with hatred. And he prowls the house at night. Since I’ve been disabled, my ears have become very sharp. I hear the floorboards in the hall outside my door squeak, and sometimes my door is opened ever so slightly. It’s Joel, I know it’s him.”
“But why would he be peeking in on you?”
“I don’t know.”
I bit down on my lower lip, imitating Bart’s nervous habit. “Now you are frightening me, Jory. I have reasons to think he means harm for all of us, too. I believe it was Joel who smashed the ship you made for Bart, and I truly believe Joel never mailed off those Christmas invitations. He wanted Bart to be hurt, so he took them up to his room, removed the R.S.V.P. cards, signed them as if the invitations were accepted, and then mailed them back to Bart. It’s the only explanation of why no one showed up.”
“Mom . . . why didn’t you tell me this before?”
How could I tell him of all my suspicions about Joel without his reacting much like Chris had? Chris had completely rejected my story of how Joel might have planned to hurt Bart. And sometimes even I thought I was much too imaginative and gave Joel credit for being more evil than he actually was.
“And what’s more, Jory, I think it was Joel who overheard the servants in the kitchen talking about Cindy meeting that boy, Victor Wade, and he quickly passed that information along to Bart. How else would Bart have known? Servants are to Bart like designs on the wallpaper, not worthy of his notice—it’s Joel who does the eavesdropping so he can report what they say to Bart.”
“Mom . . . I think you could very well be right about the ship, the invitations, and Cindy, too. Joel has something in mind for all of us, and I’m afraid it’s not for our good.”
Deep in thought, Jory had to tell me twice that I should put his son on his lap, to ride on his other leg, and we’d make better progress through the woods. Even one twin was a load to carry for a long distance, and more than willingly I lowered Darren to his father’s lap. Deirdre squealed her delight and hugged her small brother. “Mom, I believe if Toni really loves Bart enough, she’ll stay, no matter what his background—or how much he inherits.”
“Jory . . . that’s exactly what he’s trying to prove.”
Around midnight, when I was almost asleep, a soft tapping sounded on my door. It was Toni.
She came in wearing a pretty rosy peignoir, her long dark hair loose and flowing, her long legs appearing as she neared my bed. “I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Sheffield . . . I waited for a night when your husband wasn’t with you.”
“Call me Cathy,” I said as I sat up and reached for my own robe. “I’m not sleeping. Just lying here thinking, and I appreciate another woman to talk to.”
She began to pace the floor of my large bedroom. “I’ve got to speak to a woman, someone who can understand more readily than a man, so that’s why I’m here.”
“Sit down. I’m ready to listen.” Tentatively she perched on a love seat, twisting a tress of her dark hair over and over, sometimes pulling it in between her lips.
“I’m terribly upset . . . Cathy. Bart’s told me some very disturbing facts today. He mentioned that you already know about us, that he loves me and I love him. I think you have caught us a few times in one room or another in rather intimate moments. And I thank you for pretending not to notice, so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed. I’ve got all kinds of notions that most people think are obsolete.”
She gave me a nervous smile, seeking my understanding. “The moment I looked at Bart I fell in love. There’s something so magnetic about his dark eyes, so mystical and compelling. And then tonight he took me into his office, sat down behind his desk and like a cold and distant stranger told me a long story about himself, as if he were talking about someone else, someone he didn’t like. I felt like a business client whose every reaction was being judged. I didn’t know just what he thought I’d reveal. It occurred to me he expected me to appear shocked or disgusted, and at the same time his eyes were so beseeching.
“He loves you, Cathy . . . loves you almost to the point of
obsession,” she said, making me sit up straighter, stunned with her crazy notion. “I don’t even think he realizes how much he adores you. He thinks he hates you because of your relationship with your brother.” She flushed and lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry I have to even mention this, but I’m trying to be open.”
“Go on,” I urged.
“Because Bart feels he should hate you for that, he tries to. Still, something in you, in him, keeps him from ever really deciding which emotion will reign, love or hatred. He wants a woman like you, only he doesn’t know that.” She paused, looked up to meet my wide and interested eyes. “Cathy, I told him what I honestly thought, that he was looking for a woman like his mother. He went pale, almost dead white. He appeared totally shocked at the idea.”
She paused to watch my reaction. “Toni, you have to be wrong. Bart doesn’t want a woman like me, but the exact opposite.”
“Cathy, I’ve studied psychology, and Bart does protest too much about you, so while I listened, I tried to keep an open mind. Bart impounded also the fact that he’s never been mentally stable, and that any day he could lose his mind and, with it, his inheritance. Why, it’s as if he wants me to hate him, to cut all ties and run away . . . so I am going to run,” she sobbed, her hands covering her face so that her tears trickled between her long, elegant fingers. “As much as I love him and I thought he loved me, I can’t continue to love and sleep with a man who has so little faith in my integrity—and worse than that, in his own.”
Quickly I was on my feet and striding to comfort her. “Don’t go, please, Toni, stay. Give Bart another chance. Give him time to think this through. Bart has always been inclined to act on impulse. He also has that old great-uncle who whispers in his ears, telling him you love him for his money alone. It’s not Bart who is crazy, but Joel, who tells Bart what he should look for in a future wife.”
Hopefully she stared at me, trying to check her flow of tears. I went on, determined to help Bart escape the childhood sense of being unworthy and the adult influence of Joel. “Toni, the twins adore you, and there’s only so much I can do. Stay to help with Jory and help me keep him entertained. He needs professional help to maintain physical progress, too. And keep in mind that Bart is unpredictable, sometimes unreasonable, but he loves you. He’s told me several times how much he loves and admires you. He’s testing your love for him by telling you what is the truth. He
was
unstable mentally when he was a child, but there were good reasons that caused his mental disturbance. Hold fast to your belief in him and you can save him from himself and his great-uncle.”