Out of the Rain

by V. C. Andrews

  I settled on the fishnet fit-and-flare dress. It was wine-colored and knee-length, sleeveless with a round neckline. I recalled Ava calling it casual chic and thought that was what I should want tonight. I was putting it on for the first time since I tried it on at the store. My new double-breasted vegan wool coat to wear over it seemed perfect. The black boots Ava bought both Karen and me completed my look.

  Ava had made it crystal clear that we, perhaps especially I, should not wear makeup. For me, that was no big sacrifice. I turned and looked in the full-length mirror. With my hand on my hip, I turned slowly to scrutinize myself from this angle and that. Dare I think I was really attractive? Was it really a sin to admire yourself so? I recalled Mazy telling me that little girls were mostly selfish by nature, and “some never lose that characteristic and become selfish women. Their prized possession is a mirror.”

  “Why not boys, too?” I’d asked.

  “They’re usually not aware of their looks until they’re teenagers,” she said. “I used to wish I could wash the boys in my classes before they took their seats.”

  “You’re overdressed,” I heard Karen say now, and turned to my opened door. How long had she been watching me?

  “It’s my first time meeting your grandfather, Karen. It’s very important to everyone, so I think I’d rather be overdressed than underdressed.”

  She was wearing a pair of jeans and a light-blue sweater with scuffed running shoes. Was Ava going to let her go like that?

  “I told you. Grandpa Amos can tell a bullshitter immediately.”

  “Good. I hate when I’m mischaracterized.”

  She twisted her lips into her cheek and then rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she said. “I’m going to finish brushing my hair, get my new jean jacket, and go downstairs. And I’m wearing a little lipstick,” she added defiantly.

  “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  She paused, her eyes beady, suspicious. “You’ve been doing your homework?”

  I just looked at her. The answer was quite clear in my expression.

  “I’m not going to defend you tomorrow,” she threatened.

  “I’m sort of used to having to defend myself,” I said.

  She turned abruptly and went to her room. I gazed at myself one more time and started downstairs. Despite how brave and defiant I had played it in front of Karen, my heart was thumping so hard that I was sure someone could hear it without a stethoscope.

  Daddy was the only one downstairs. He was standing by the kitchenette window gazing out, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a dark-gray pinstripe suit, and I saw that he had had his hair trimmed today. For a few moments, I stood there gazing at him, my childhood memories rushing in to flood my thoughts.

  So often back then, he was in a similar posture standing by a window. I recalled that when my father was in this sort of deep thought, it seemed like the whole world had been put on pause. I remembered that I was afraid to move, to make a sound, because when I did and he turned to look at me, he looked like he didn’t know who I was. It took a few moments for his face to produce a smile. Those few moments were frightening for me. Now, when I thought about it, I realized he was behaving as if I had been able to hear his thoughts, thoughts I was sure he didn’t want heard, especially by me.

  “What’s up?” he would say. I’d have nothing to ask other than Why have you been standing there so long? What are you looking at? But I wouldn’t ask. Behind us in the living room, Mama would be sitting and staring at nothing. It was like they were doing everything they could not to look at each other. They were even looking through me.

  I would shrug and run off.

  I stood there now, waiting.

  He turned slowly to face me, just the way he did back then, but he didn’t smile. He glanced toward the stairway and then took a few steps forward, beckoning me to draw closer to him.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked in a voice just above a whisper.

  Something wasn’t right. I raked through my recent memories. Did I reveal something, make some factual error?

  “The nurse who was Mazy’s friend reported you missing,” he said. “The police consider you a runaway because of your age.”

  “Oh. Someone saw me on the train? Are they going to come looking for me here?”

  “Eventually, they might. There are so many runaways these days that I’m sure they’re overburdened, but it’s a concern nevertheless.”

  “What should we do?”

  “There is one simple solution to end all the tension and worry. I tested it out on Ava, even though she doesn’t know the real reason why. She’s not opposed. Ava and her father, as I’ve told you, are often at wit’s end with each other. It’s complicated, but despite their disagreement, even about something as inconsequential as the color of a bath towel, she wouldn’t do anything involving legal issues or business issues without his blessing. So I’ll be looking for that tonight.”

  “Legal issues? What legal issues?”

  “I suggested we formally adopt you,” he said.

  “What?” I started to smile. My own father is going to adopt me?

  “We’re pretty connected to the judiciary system here. I think we could put it on fast track, as long as Amos Saddlebrook doesn’t throw up any roadblocks.”

  “But you’ll have to tell the truth in a court, won’t you?”

  He smiled. “It will be handled by a family court judge who is actually Amos’s best friend’s son. If there’s an inquiry and we’ve done that, it will be the end of it. So,” he said, glancing toward the stairway when we heard a door close upstairs, “just win the old man over tonight. Put on that Anders charm. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “Win the old man over? The first time we meet?”

  Daddy smiled. “You can do it. Look at all you’ve done in so short a time already.”

  Karen appeared and looked from Daddy to me and then back at him. The expressions on our faces surely lit up her suspicions.

  “Did she say something about me?” she demanded. I breathed relief. She was totally off the mark.

  “What? No. What could she say? We were just talking about Saddlebrook.”

  “Oh,” she said, but still looked at me distrustfully. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what her reaction would be to my officially being her sister now, albeit an adopted one. “Garson is crying again. Celisse is having trouble, and Mother’s upset.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what’s up,” Daddy said.

  He hurried back to the stairs.

  “What did he tell you about Saddlebrook?” Karen asked the instant he was gone.

  “He said it’s very big, so big that your voice could echo in some rooms.”

  “I already told you that. It’s the biggest house in the county, with the most land. In it there’s a room just for parties, a ballroom, Grandpa’s office, which is bigger than the president’s, and six bedrooms. One is reserved for me anytime I want to sleep over. It used to be mine when I was very little. Grandpa Amos doesn’t let anyone else sleep in it or in Mother’s old room, either. The ballroom is in the rear of the house and has its own small kitchen just for parties. I’m going to have my graduation party there, maybe even my Sweet Sixteen. It will be the most important invitation of all that year.”

  She opened the refrigerator and looked at me.

  I was tempted to ask her about when she lived at Saddlebrook and when Daddy wasn’t here most of the time. What did she remember? Did he always call himself her father? How did he explain his long absences? People remember things differently, especially young children. She might not have the vivid memories of her parents that I did, especially since she didn’t see Daddy daily. She had yet to mention anything significant about that time. I was filled with curiosity, but I was afraid of opening up a jar full of angry bees.

  “You want some white wine? If I pour it quickly…”

  She took out a bottle less than half full.

  “No, thank you,” I said.

 
; “No, thank you,” she mimicked, and poured herself some. I watched her gulp it down.

  “That’s not the way to drink wine,” I said.

  I remembered when Mazy and I had discussed it, and she showed me how to enjoy good wine and how to tell if it was good or not. We’d been going to have something special on my next birthday.

  “I drink with my mouth. What do you use?” Karen said.

  “No one’s ever shown you how to smell wine, check its color, taste it correctly? Besides, you sip it, not gulp it like water.”

  “Yes, yes, but that’s all boring,” she said. She took a breath. “Grandpa Amos showed me how to tell good wine. Listening to him go on and on about the vineyards, the weather, all of it, you can fall asleep before you take a taste. He’ll have it at dinner, I’m sure, and we’ll hear a small speech about the wine, where it comes from, how old it is, or what big, important person gave it to him.”

  “So he lives alone in this big house?”

  “No. After Victoria Austen died, he hired a new live-in housekeeper who’s almost as old as he is, Rebecca Johnson, who we call Miss Becky, his chef, Tommy Edwards, who was a chef in the navy, an army of grounds people there every day, and his limousine driver who lives above the garage, the guy who took us shopping for your tons and tons of things.”

  “Tons? You got quite a bit, too.”

  “Not half as much as you.”

  “But you didn’t need as much as I did.”

  “Whatever,” she said. She gulped some more wine, just to annoy me, I thought. She couldn’t be enjoying it.

  We heard a door close upstairs. She put her glass in the sink after rinsing it out quickly.

  “What did you get out of gulping that?” I asked, just before Ava and Daddy appeared.

  She grimaced. “A lot more than I would from water,” she said. “You’ll wish you had done it when you get to Saddlebrook.”

  “Wish you had done what?” Daddy asked as soon as he appeared.

  “Smoked pot.”

  “What?” He looked at me, and I looked away. “Celisse got him to sleep,” Daddy said. “Poor thing’s suffering with that teething.”

  “Poor thing?” Ava said, coming up behind him.

  Daddy reddened. “Just an expression. Speaking of things, let’s get these two moving,” he added, smiling at us.

  Karen spun dramatically toward the garage door, acting as if she was making a great sacrifice of her precious time.

  Ava looked me over closely. “Very nice,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  Karen had already gotten into the car in the garage. We followed her. Daddy opened the door for Ava, but she stood there looking in at Karen.

  “That’s what you chose to wear to Sunday dinner at Saddlebrook?”

  “Grandpa doesn’t care as long as I don’t wear my ripped jeans.”

  “Well, I do,” Ava said. “If we weren’t going to be late, I’d have you change.”

  She got in.

  Once we drove out, Ava turned and looked at us. She’s going to say something now about their adopting me, I thought, and braced myself for Karen’s reaction.

  “I don’t want Grandfather Amos knowing anything about this disastrous event at the Tobys’ house last night, so don’t bring it up in an effort to get him to reduce your punishment, Karen.”

  Ava looked at me and nodded to emphasize it applied to me as well, even though I hadn’t yet met her father. How could I ask him for anything?

  “It’s unfair,” Karen muttered. She folded her arms, looked at me, and turned to stare out the window.

  Once we left the village of Sandburg Creek, we drove a few miles down a nice two-lane highway with houses on both sides, most with one or two acres of property, many quite modern-looking ranch-style homes. We passed a dairy farm on the right, and then Daddy turned left on a much narrower road with thick woods. The unusually warm fall had kept the leaves from drenching the ground beneath them. It was as if we were parting a sea of yellow and brown around us. After a mile or so, the woods just suddenly ended and opened to flowing fields of fading fall green, rolling small hills, and then Saddlebrook seemingly rising on the right as we drew closer. A driveway of what seemed to be another mile led to the large house with a four-door separate garage on the right.

  The house itself looked long enough to be three houses joined. It had two stories in a rectangular shape with a gabled roof. The arched black front door was right at the middle of the house, and all the windows on both floors were in pairs, evenly spaced. It had redbrick facing, with two white columns at the entrance. There was a decorative pediment of curves and swirls above the large front entrance.

  If there was ever a house with adjoining property that looked like it belonged to the lord of a manor, this was it, I thought, as I gazed at the well-manicured hedges with fountains of all shapes and sizes spaced along the front. The small army of grounds people Karen had mentioned were scattered over the property, raking, trimming, and doing some digging to clear ditches. There were two tall oak trees on each side of the house, their golden leaves barely lifting in the soft breeze. Stone benches, more to be decorative than used, were placed between the trees on both sides.

  In the distance, the mountains loomed against a darkening afternoon sky. I imagined the forest had been pruned years and years ago to fit the needs of the home some earlier owner had envisioned. Later I would learn that Amos Saddlebrook’s great-grandfather had purchased the property. He’d had a small home that Amos’s grandfather tore down to build the heart of what Amos would expand into his mansion.

  I saw a barn in the rear of the house when we made the turn into the wide circular parking area. And off to the left was a swimming pool with a cabana and what looked like a bar. Chaise lounges were stacked neatly on one side. Behind the barn was a corral.

  “Does Mr. Saddlebrook have horses?” I asked when I saw it.

  “My grandfather did. My father has no interest in having any,” Ava said.

  “He was going to buy me a pony,” Karen said. “But you told him not to.”

  “It would need constant care, and you wouldn’t do it, Karen,” Ava said.

  Boy, I sure would, I thought.

  “About a half mile down on the right, there is a natural lake fed by waters from Sandburg Creek,” Ava said. “My father used to stock it with fish. There’s still some. When I was Karen’s age, I used to fish with my father and sometimes my mother.”

  “Boring,” Karen sang.

  After we parked, Daddy winked to boost my courage as we walked toward the entrance. Seconds before we got there, the large door was opened, and a short woman, with gray hair speckled with the remnants of her darker brown and swept up in a neat bun, smiled at us. She wore a light-blue ankle-length dress with heavy-heeled black shoes that added another inch or so to her height. Her grayish-blue eyes were warm, brightening her smile that nestled so gracefully in her circular face with puffy cheeks. Her smooth complexion looked resistant to age.

  “Saw you pulling up in that security camera he’s so proud of,” she said, stepping back. “Used to be we enjoyed a surprise visitor now and then.”

  “Times have changed, Miss Becky,” Ava said. “Dramatically. Surprises are more often dangerous or annoying than not.”

  “Ain’t that the sorrowful truth, though,” she said, and gave me a wider, friendlier smile. “And you’re the poor lost little lamb.”

  “Baa,” Karen said.

  “Oh, dear.” She gave Karen a stern look and then smiled at me. “I’m Miss Becky,” she said, offering me her hand.

  “Saffron,” I said, taking it.

  “What a beautiful name. For your hair, of course.”

  “Someone told me it’s something you eat,” Karen offered.

  “Yes,” Miss Becky said. “Saffron oil. Mr. Saddlebrook is in the study,” she said, and we entered the house, immediately confronting the grand stairway with its thick mahogany banisters and red carpeted steps, which were wide
enough for three people to walk up side by side. What appeared to be a newly laid dark-oak floor ran off the entry carpet. It was so polished it looked like you could skate over it. The stairway seemed to have been placed to separate the two sides of the first floor, as the hallway ran left and right in what were equal lengths. Ava turned right immediately, and we all followed her to the study.

  My eyes were instantly drawn to a large painting. The gilt-framed portrait of a beautiful, elegant-looking woman whom Ava resembled was hung above the fireplace, one of the largest fieldstone fireplaces I had ever seen, even in pictures, even in pictures of castles. The woman in the portrait was looking off slightly to her left so that the artist could capture her beautiful profile while still highlighting her violet eyes. She was holding a bouquet of white and red roses and looked to be in her late twenties at most. She wasn’t wearing a wedding dress. It was an off-the-shoulder, lead-silver dress with an embroidered bodice. It had a tiered skirt. Her light-brown hair was brushed to her right side and lay softly over her shoulder and breast.

  At first, I didn’t realize anyone was there. My eyes drifted down to the man seated in a coral shell–colored oversize chair with rolled arms and nailhead trim. He looked like he sat comfortably, but he kept his back firmly against the chair so that he sat very straight, his arms placed on the rolled arms with his hands palms down. On his left hand was a large gold pinkie ring with an oval diamond that glittered in the light dropping from the two large teardrop chandeliers. His thick, clear-plastic-framed glasses rested on the bridge of his chiseled nose. They magnified his steel-grayish blue eyes. His full, masculine lips were poised to fold into a smile, but probably a tight one because of his narrow cheeks and almost embossed jawbone outlined in his light complexion. His silvery hair was sharply trimmed and, I imagined for a man in his eighties, still quite thick.

  I would never have guessed he was that old anyway. His eyes looked lit with interest and the curiosity of a man much younger, and even seated, he looked slim, tall, and athletic. His black, highly polished shoes sat flat on the white, fluffy area rug that covered that part of the same dark-oak wood as in the hallway.