Twilight's Child

by V. C. Andrews

  After Philip and Betty Ann moved into the family section of the hotel, things settled down. Our work kept us occupied. The hotel was having one of its best seasons in recent history. Grandmother Cutler had never really advertised the hotel in any magazines or newspapers. Her philosophy was that the hotel had its own special reputation and would exist solely on that and on word of mouth. For a long time that was sufficient, but as a new generation of vacationers came into existence I thought it was necessary to appeal to them, so I talked Mr. Dorfman into advertising Cutler's Cove in some travel magazines and big-city papers. We had immediate results—new bookings, inquiries from new travel agents and a boost in our income. For the first time in a long time Mr. Dorfman mused aloud about the possibility of expanding the hotel—adding on rooms and new facilities. I told him about the frequent inquiries I was getting from organizations looking for convention sites.

  "That was something Mrs. Cutler would never do," Mr. Dorfman reminded me. "She thought it took away from the nature of Cutler's Cove."

  "I know," I said. "But times are changing, and we might have to change a little to survive."

  Mr. Dorfman nodded and looked at me so intently, I had to ask him if something was wrong.

  "No, not wrong," he replied. "I was just recalling what you were like the first time we met and how much you have matured since," he said, and then he immediately turned crimson. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

  "No, that's all right," I said. "I don't mind. I appreciate it, in fact. Thank you, Mr. Dorfman."

  All of these thoughts and some of the changes excited Philip. He was ready to charge ahead and do anything, but I decided we had to be more cautious. I did tell him to do some studies, which, I was glad to see, kept him very busy.

  One of the things that surprised me was how quickly Betty Ann adjusted to hotel life and how happy she was about it. She did prove to be a very good hostess, although a bit too formal for some of the older people at times. She never missed a dinner and was even at the dining room door to greet guests for breakfast. She began to dress more appealingly and went to the beautician in the hotel salon to get advice about her hair. They also helped her with her makeup. With a more flattering hairstyle and clothing that accentuated the good qualities of her figure, she did begin to appear more attractive.

  Gradually we all fell into our routines. Mother continued to host her now-famous dinner parties and was very pleased when the four of us—Jimmy and myself, Philip and Betty Ann—could attend. Summer moved to fall and fall to winter without any major problems or incidents. And then, late one afternoon, Mrs. Boston called me at the office.

  "I just want to check," she began.

  "Check? Check what, Mrs. Boston?"

  "That you did give Clara Sue permission to take Christie for a ride in the truck," she said.

  "What? What truck?" I asked, sitting forward.

  "Oh, dear," she said. "I wanted to call you immediately, but Miss Clara Sue insisted she had stopped at the hotel first and you had said it was all right."

  "What are you talking about, Mrs. Boston? I haven't seen Clara Sue for some time. What truck?" Panic began building within me, but I fought it back. I wouldn't jump to conclusions. I wouldn't lose control. Not yet.

  "She was with a man, a truck driver. They came to the house in one of those big trucks, and Miss Clara Sue marched around looking at your home. Then, on the way out, she asked Christie if she wanted to go for a ride in her friend's truck. I think she called him Skipper. He had tattoos all over his arms.

  "Christie was timid about it until Miss Clara Sue said you told her she could take her for a ride. Then she scooped her up, and they left."

  "My God," I gasped. "I'll be right there." I hung up and sent one of the bellhops to get Jimmy. He met me at the house, where I heard Mrs. Boston go through the whole story once more.

  "What's going on?" Jimmy asked when he arrived, and I told him quickly.

  "I can't believe she had the audacity to do something like this. She's gone too far this time. Who does she think she is?"

  He asked Mrs. Boston for a description of the truck.

  "A tractor trailer?" Jimmy asked, amazed. "That shouldn't be too hard to find. When I get my hands on the both of them . . ." he said threateningly, and he rushed out.

  "Jimmy, wait!" I cried, but he wasn't going to hesitate.

  "I'm so sorry, Dawn. I thought—"

  "It's not your fault, Mrs. Boston. She lied to you. It's good that you had your doubts and called right away," I said, comforting her. As long as I comforted her I kept myself from getting hysterical.

  Why would Clara Sue take Christie? What possible reason could she have? Where had they gone? Was this her way of getting back at me for throwing the truth about her real father into her face?

  I phoned Mother and Bronson to see if Clara Sue had gone to Buella Woods.

  "I didn't even know she was in the area," Bronson said. "She and Laura Sue had an argument last week about this new boyfriend. Laura's taking a nap. As soon as she wakes I'll tell her what's happened. Call us as soon as you learn anything, and if we hear from her, call you."

  "Thank you, Bronson," I said.

  "I'm sorry. She's getting to be a serious problem," he added before hanging up.

  Afterward I sat with Mrs. Boston and waited to hear from Jimmy. More than an hour passed, and we heard nothing. Mrs. Boston made us both tea, and we sat staring out the window.

  "Maybe you should phone the police," Mrs. Boston mused aloud. "And tell them . . . what happened."

  I could see she didn't want to use the word "kidnapping." I didn't even want to think it, but at this point, with no word from Jimmy, I couldn't help but consider it a real possibility. Christie was not very fond of Clara Sue. She didn't even like calling her Aunt Clara Sue. I knew how uncomfortable she had always been in Clara Sue's presence, and it didn't take much to imagine her being afraid and unhappy right now. Just the thought of her trapped in that truck cab with Clara Sue and one of her sleazy boyfriends made my skin crawl. It felt as if some tiny hand with sharp fingernails was scratching away at the inside of my stomach. I did all that I could to keep from simply bursting out and screaming.

  Finally, twenty minutes later, we saw Jimmy's car pull up, and both of us ran out to greet him.

  "I didn't see hide nor hair of them," he declared. "It's as if they simply disappeared into thin air. Mrs. Boston, you're sure about that truck description?"

  "Oh, yes," she said and immediately she burst into tears. I had to embrace her and comfort her

  "Jimmy," I said, "we'd better call the police."

  He nodded and went into the house to do so.

  "Please, Mrs. Boston, don't cry. No one blames you. Come on, let's go in and sit down," I coaxed.

  Less than ten minutes later the police arrived, and we told them what had happened. They hurried out to radio a description of the truck to other patrolmen. Again time passed slowly. When it grew darker I couldn't help but go off by myself and shed tears. Finally, a little after seven-thirty, we heard the roar of a truck engine, and we all ran out to see a police patrol car, its bubble light going, escorting a tractor trailer truck up the driveway to our house. The moment it stopped the door opened, and Clara Sue lowered Christie to the ground.

  "Momma!" she cried, running into my arms. I embraced her and held her tight, covering her face and head with kisses.

  Jimmy was like a flash of lightning coming up behind me. "How dare you take her without our permission?" he screamed.

  "What's everyone getting so excited about?" Clara Sue asked nonchalantly, that wry smile on her face. She didn't get out of the truck. "Me and Skipper just took her along on a delivery and then took her to have hamburgers. Right, Skipper honey?" she said.

  "That's right," the tall, lean man beside her replied.

  "You had no right to do that!" I cried, holding Christie to me possessively.

  Clara Sue smiled coldly and reached into her pocketbook to take out
a hairbrush. She smiled at the police.

  "I was just trying to be a good aunt," she said, shaking her head. "Everyone complains that I don't care enough about my family, and then when I go and try to do something nice I get yelled at. See, Skipper, see how it doesn't pay to be nice?" she said, smiling coyly at us. She began to run her hairbrush through her hair as if she were about to go on stage.

  "You little witch," Jimmy flared.

  "Hey," her boyfriend said, leaning over. "Watch yourself." He waved his fist.

  "Come on out here and say that," Jimmy taunted. Clara Sue's boyfriend started to open the door, but the two policemen interceded.

  "Just hold on here," the taller one said. He turned to me. "Mrs. Longchamp, do you want to press any charges against these people?"

  "Charges against these people?" Clara Sue cried. "I'm her aunt. She can't press charges against us. I took my niece for a ride and dinner. She had a good time, didn't you, Christie honey?" she crooned.

  Christie buried her face deep into my shoulder.

  "You're so irresponsible and hateful," I spat. "To terrorize a child for your own satisfaction. You're despicable.

  "I won't press any charges," I said, not wanting this ugliness to go on, "but don't you ever, ever set foot on this property again."

  "That's the gratitude I get being a good auntie," Clara Sue chimed. "Come on, Skipper. These people are just ungrateful." She laughed. "Enjoy your life. It's built with the money that should have been mine," she added, slamming the truck door.

  Jimmy fumed, but the policeman held him back. We watched the truck start off slowly and go down the driveway again. All the while Christie kept her little face buried in my shoulder.

  "Are you all right, honey?"

  She nodded. Then she lifted her head.

  "Aunt Clara Sue made me sit and watch her and Skipper dance in the restaurant. He smells and has no tooth here," she said, pointing to the top of her mouth.

  "Poor child," Mrs. Boston said. "Are you hungry, Christie?"

  "We'll take her up and give her a nice warm bath, Mrs. Boston," I said.

  "Of course. Come to Mrs. Boston," she said, holding out her arms. Christie went to her gladly.

  "We'll make sure they're heading out of town, Mrs. Longchamp," the policeman said.

  "Thank you."

  "Where did you find them?" Jimmy inquired. "Hoagie's Diner," the policeman said.

  "I never thought to look there," Jimmy muttered. "Lucky for them I didn't," he added.

  I took his arm, and we followed Mrs. Boston and Christie back into the house. Another crisis of Clara Sue's making had ended. She was like a dark cloud full of rain, always ready to spoil a nice day.

  Late in the spring Betty Ann announced that she was pregnant. I was happy for her, of course, and so was Jimmy, but it had the effect of accentuating my own failure to become pregnant. At Jimmy's insistence we went for another physical examination and had another session with Dr. Lester. After all the tests had been completed we met with him in his office.

  "I'm not surprised at the results," he began, sitting back in his chair and tempting his fingers under his chin. "Nothing much has changed. You're both in perfect health and both fertile."

  "Then what is it?" Jimmy demanded. "It certainly isn't for lack of trying," he said, not realizing how forcefully he said it until he looked at my face. "I mean . . ."

  "No, no, I understand," Dr. Lester said. He leaned forward on his desk and gazed at me intently. "Dawn, how are you feeling emotionally these days? I don't mean to pry, but are you happy?"

  "Happy?" I looked at Jimmy, who was awaiting my answer almost as eagerly as the doctor. "Why, yes. Things are going very well for us. We have a new home. Christie, thank God, is a healthy, happy child. The hotel is doing very well, and we're all getting along . . I'm happy," I insisted, but I sounded angry about it. The doctor's eyebrows rose.

  "Uh-huh," he said. "Emotionally you're all right . . . none of those mood swings we talked about once before . . periods of sadness coming over you for no apparent reason?"

  "Well . . . hardly," I said. He nodded, contemplating. Then he sat back and shrugged.

  "Nature has its ways," he said. "Medicine can do so much, but after a while it's up to forces beyond our control."

  "I've heard about fertility drugs," Jimmy said. I was surprised. He had never mentioned them before.

  "Oh, there are some I can give you, but that's not a concern, considering your own fertility, and there are some side effects and unexpected results, too. Why endanger yourselves and your offspring?"

  "No, no, of course not," Jimmy said quickly. "I just thought—"

  "I think," Dr. Lester said, nodding, "that it's going to happen in due time. When the right combination of events occurs—physical, mental, emotional—then it will happen.

  "Let's not forget that Dawn has gone through a very traumatic experience with a pregnancy. The body works in mysterious ways sometimes, and it might still be—what should I say?—gun shy?" He smiled. "I think you know what I mean. Give it a little more time," he said, standing up.

  "I'm sorry, Jimmy," I said after we left and we were in our car. "I know it's my fault. Dr. Lester has just about come out and said that."

  "Oh, no. You can't blame yourself. You didn't ask for any traumatic experiences. Hey," he said, "we'll do just what he says . . we'll keep on trying." He smiled and kissed me on the cheek.

  The following January, a day after New Year's Day, Betty Ann gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl, both with strands of Philip's and my golden hair, but both with Betty Ann's brown eyes, only theirs seemed brighter, with specks of bronze. They had identical diminutive features: tiny button noses and wee mouths with soft but full upper lips. Side by side in their bassinets in the maternity ward, they still seemed to share the same womb, for when one began to cry the other joined in instantly. They swung their arms and clenched their doll-like hands in synchronization, their wails in harmony.

  Jimmy held Christie up to look in at her new cousins. Her eyes widened with awe as her gaze moved from one to the other.

  "We've named the boy Richard, Richard Stanley Cutler, and the girl Melanie Rose," Philip announced proudly. Then he looked at Christie and asked, "Can you say Richard and Melanie?"

  Christie nodded, still too overwhelmed to speak.

  "Go on, then," Philip coaxed. "Say it. First Richard."

  "Richard," she pronounced perfectly.

  "And Melanie Rose."

  "Mell . . ." Christie paused and looked at me. I nodded encouragement, but in her excitement she had forgotten the rest. "Mellon," she said, and we all laughed.

  "That's a nickname that will stick for sure," Philip said. "I even like it myself."

  I could have predicted Mother's reaction to Betty Ann's giving birth to twins. Bronson was excited and happy for Philip and Betty Ann, but Mother looked dazed. The sight of two more grandchildren—two more reasons for her to be called a grandmother—depressed her. She smiled and kissed Philip. She even acted motherly toward Betty Ann, but she didn't want to linger over the babies. As if she needed to flee reality, she booked herself and Bronson on a cruise the day after and was gone for the next two weeks.

  Philip hired a nurse to help Betty Ann after she and the children were brought home. The arrival of the golden-haired twins was a major event at the hotel. After they were old enough to wheel about they became a regular phenomenon, stopping the guests in the middle of whatever they were doing in the lobby or card room and drawing small crowds. The two seemed to understand their power. They smiled, cooed and grabbed fingers dangled before them. Everyone commented on their good nature.

  Christie was never more in her glory than when Betty Ann or Philip would permit her to push the double stroller through the corridors of the main building or over the garden walkways. As soon as she woke up in the morning she would ask to go visit Richard and Mellon. Nearly five now, she was old enough to rush off by herself and go to the hotel. Betty Ann described and
I saw myself how seriously and maturely she handled her infant cousins. Mrs. Caldwell, the nurse, a pleasant middle-aged woman, told me she felt very confident about permitting Christie to hold the babies and even feed them.

  "And they appear to love her as much as she loves them," Mrs. Caldwell said. "I've seen them stop crying the instant Christie has one of them in her arms. It amazes me how when one stops crying, the other follows suit. I've seen twins before, but never a pair so in tune with each other's feelings and wants."

  That fall, when it came time to send Christie to grade school, she was in a terrible turmoil. She wanted to go to school very much, but she hated the idea that she would be away from the twins all day. Both Sissy and Mrs. Boston had started her reading, and she had a natural curiosity about everything. Her eagerness to learn was only harnessed by the energy of those around her who were forced to answer question after question. She could exhaust anyone with her inquiries. I couldn't help but recall poor Randolph talking to her for hours when she was barely old enough to form intelligible sounds. But she had a remarkable attention, span and great patience and persistence. When she wanted to do something she remained with it stubbornly until she satisfied herself.

  This was especially true when it came to music. Milt Jacobs, our piano player, asked me if he could work with her on the piano; he was that impressed with her abilities. He wanted to do it during his free time, just for the pleasure of seeing her grow and achieve, but I insisted he be paid for the lessons. The result was that Christie had quite a full day for a five-year-old. She was in school until two-thirty. Julius would pick her up in the hotel limousine. At three-thirty she would go to the ballroom and take her piano lesson. Then she would rush out in time to help Mrs. Caldwell with the twins' dinner.

  By now Christie was everyone's darling. I could come into the lobby and find her behind the receptionist's desk, standing on a stool, greeting people. They even taught her how to answer the phone and field reservation inquiries. The guests who called got a big kick out of hearing her tiny voice tell them the price of a room with a double bed or single bed. Of course, any other questions had to be referred to the receptionists.