Olivia

by V. C. Andrews

  hummingbird, she didn't notice the ring. It was as if

  she had grown partially blind.

  "Samuel Logan was just here, Mother." "Really? What time is it? Is your father

  dressed?"

  "It's early: Samuel didn't come to take me to the

  engagement party. He came to declare his own

  engagement."

  "Oh, he did!" She started to shake her head. "I

  didn't know he . . ."

  "To me," I said.

  "What? To you?"

  I lifted my hand to exhibit the ring. She gazed

  at it and then I got the smile I wanted, the smile I had

  hoped for, the smile my mother wore so often in her life, that bright, happy, hopeful beaming that turned her eyes back to the jewels they had once been. Color

  even returned to her sweet face.

  "Oh Olivia, how wonderful! What a beautiful

  ring. You're engaged. What a wonderful piece of news

  to give me!"

  "So you really have to get better, Mother. We

  have our own engagement party and wedding to plan,

  and I have a house to build. You'll have to help me

  with the architect. There's so much to do. We don't

  have time for this illness nonsense, Mother." She lowered herself back to her pillow and

  smiled strangely at me.

  "Why are you looking at me like that, Mother?"

  I asked, feeling a dark shadow cross over my heart. She sighed and closed her eyes. For a moment I

  thought she had actually passed away. She was that

  still and her eyes were closed that long.

  "Mother!"

  She opened her eyes.

  "You just sounded more like me than ever,

  Olivia. You were never one to ignore the hand before

  your eyes. All these years, whenever I refused to see

  hardships or pain, disappointments and defeats, you

  would chastise me. Stop pretending, Mother, you would say. It doesn't make it disappear if you ignore

  it. It's still there. Remember?"

  "Yes, but . ."

  "Well, I have come to a point in my life when I

  have to follow your good advice, Olivia."

  She turned to gaze at her rose-tinted glasses,

  sitting atop her bedside table.

  "There's no point in putting them on now. It

  won't change things. Living in my own imaginary

  world was comfortable, but it wasn't the right thing to

  do. I always knew that, Olivia. The truth is I was

  selfish. In that respect Belinda is more like me than

  she is like her father. Funny," she said with a small,

  weak laugh, "you turned out to be more like him. It's

  pleased him. I know. It's made him feel better about

  what he did years and years ago," she said, her eyes

  out of focus now as she gazed at pictures inside her

  head.

  "What do you mean, Mother? What did he do

  years and years ago?"

  Her eyelids fluttered and she turned to gaze

  back at me, her face now full of resignation. "I am dying, Olivia. Doctor Covington was here

  earlier and you know how brutally honest he can be.

  It's his philosophy to be direct and honest with his

  patients."

  "Mother . ."

  "No, no, the results are in again and they're not

  good, Olivia. It's spreading, raging through me. I can

  almost feel it oozing through my bones," she said with

  another small laugh, more maddening.

  "Daddy never said . ."

  "Don't pretend you didn't know I wasn't getting

  better, Olivia. You're not good at telling little white

  lies because you can't tolerate any falseness or

  dishonesty, no matter what the purpose. The ends

  never justify the means for you, my daughter. I am not

  silly enough to go to my Maker thinking He can

  tolerate any dishonesty either. This is- a day I've

  dreamed about, a day I've dreaded, and not because

  it's a day when I have to face my own demise. It's a

  day when all my make-believe gets swept out the

  door, when the winds of truth come rushing through

  and wash out the pretend, the facades, the masks.

  There's nothing left now but honesty."

  "Please don't do this to yourself, Mother. We'll

  get another doctor. We'll . ."

  She held up her hand, weakly.

  "I'm not as upset about it as I thought I might

  be. When you live a life that's essentially built on lies, you think you are going to panic when that false foundation crumbles, but do you know what, Olivia? I feel a sense of relief. I feel . . . strangely enough, stronger because of it. You were right about facing

  reality and how that makes you a stronger person." "I'm not making head nor tail of what you're

  saying, Mother. I'm going to have my own discussion

  with Doctor Covington and your other doctors and . .

  ."

  "This doesn't concern him or them," she said.

  "It concerns you and me, Olivia. You and me first,

  and then your father," she added.

  She closed her eyes again and was silent so

  long, I thought once more that she had passed on.

  Finally, she reached out for my hand and gazed at me. "I want you to understand and believe that your

  father and I have grown to love each other as much as

  any two married people can and do. He blusters about,

  complains about my spending, or the way I handle the

  servants, you and Belinda, whatever, but after he's

  made his speeches and swung his arms about like a

  human windmill, he collapses in my arms in this bed

  and we hold each other before we sleep and we

  comfort each other and we do what we must to

  strengthen ourselves for the days to come. You and Belinda have never seen that part of him, but it's there. Believe me, Olivia, it's there and it's important. I do

  love him very much."

  "I know that, Mother."

  "Do you?" She smiled. "You always believed

  your father had his hands full with me, didn't you?

  You always believed he fumed and raged about this

  house like a man trapped. Be honest with me, Olivia.

  Don't pity me today because of what's coming

  tomorrow."

  "Yes," I admitted. "There were many times I

  felt that, but he always seemed to deal with his

  dissatisfaction and go on."

  She nodded, smiling.

  "That's the strength that comes from our love,

  Olivia. I hope you will have it with Samuel. Of

  course, you won't have it immediately. It comes with

  time, with respect, with the realization that together

  you are one in the end."

  "I know, Mother. I don't expect more," I said

  lowering my head.

  "You deserve more," she said. "You've been an

  ideal daughter, both to me and your father. He's very,

  very proud of you, Olivia," she said, paused, and then

  added, "as proud as he would be were you his own

  daughter."

  I looked up sharply.

  "What?" Surely she's has lost her wits now, I

  thought. "I am his own daughter."

  She shook her head.

  "The day you were born, Winston and I made a

  vow. It was more his vow than mine."

  "What vow?"

  "Never to reveal the truth. He swore he could

  live with it. I hadn't fallen in love with him yet, but I

&nb
sp; don't think I ever loved him more than I did at that

  moment."

  I shook my head.

  "What are you telling me, Mother?"

  "You know that your father and I were brought

  together by his parents and mine. Our lives were more

  or less planned by other people. I didn't think I could

  live with him, much less love him. There was

  someone else, someone not half as desirable in the

  eyes of my parents, a young man, a fisherman who

  worked for your grandfather and your father. Now,"

  she said looking off, "he seems like a dream to me,

  nothing more."

  I thought my heart had fallen into my stomach.

  My chest felt that empty and cold. I shook my head. The room began to spin so I closed my eyes and

  breathed deeply.

  "Don't hate me. Don't hate anyone," Mother

  said, almost in a whisper now. She was getting very

  tired.

  "I don't understand what you're saying,

  Mother."

  "You don't want to understand, Olivia. You're

  acting like me again. While I was engaged to your

  father, I still saw this young man. We were intimate

  and I became pregnant right before my wedding. Your

  father knew. My fisherman left and Winston and I

  were married. My fisherman wasn't the sort who stood

  by his actions anyway. He was a drifter, a free soul,

  handsome and as harmonious as a songbird. His laugh

  was like a melody to me. Sometimes now, I think he

  wasn't real. I think maybe I did imagine him. Maybe it

  was all a fantasy. That's how you know me best,

  pretending," she said. "Well that was the old me; the

  new me must strip away the lies and stand naked with

  the truth.

  "I thought about dying without telling you. I

  asked myself what good will it do? You might have a

  terrible reaction, hate me, love your father less, hate

  your sister, but then I kept returning to the realization that I was going to stand before the great Judge and without a clear conscience, without relieving myself of the guilt, I would not be able to raise my eyes and look into His. So, maybe I'm doing this for selfish reasons, Olivia. Forgive me and please, please don't hate me. I'm a frightened woman who is trying to get

  strong enough for what is to come."

  I simply stared at her. So this was why my

  father forgave my sister so easily, why he cared more

  about her future than he did about mine, why he had

  tried to get her married and secure first. This

  explained the aloofness, the gap, the slight formality I

  always sensed between myself and him.

  I went from shock to anger and rage and then to

  simple resignation. What could I do about any of it

  now? How could I be angry at my mother when she

  was at death's doorway? I did feel a surge of

  resentment for Belinda, a jealousy I never imagined,

  but I had no time for it now, no time to feel sorry for

  myself, no time to rant and rave, no time to confront

  Mother and Father and berate them for living a lie and

  for betraying me and forcing me to live the same lie. "Winston never loved you less, Olivia. He

  decided he would think of you as his own and he

  never faltered. I swear to you. He never once brought this up or threw it back at me. Your father, the man you respect for being coldly realistic and strong never gave up the illusion. He accepted what was and made it his reality and mine and I love him more for it. Please, please love him more, too," she pleaded. "Say

  something, Olivia."

  I shook my head.

  "It's so much to take in at once, Mother." "I know, but I'm going to ask you to make a

  promise to me on my death bed, Olivia. Promise me

  you will never tell anyone, never tell Belinda, and

  never tell your father what I have told you. It's the last

  thing I will ever ask of you," she said. "Will you,

  promise? Please."

  I closed my eyes. It was like swallowing down

  the truth and burying it inside me.

  "I promise," I said.

  "And you never lie," she reminded me. She

  smiled and with all her remaining strength, sat up to

  reach for me.

  I hugged her and she put her arms around me as

  firmly as her weak arms would permit. I held her

  longer than I had expected, held her as if I were

  holding onto her for dear life. She kissed me on the

  cheek and closed her eyes.

  I lowered her back to her pillow. She smiled

  again and reached up to take my hand.

  "I've made myself a bit tired. just rest, but wake

  me when your father comes home. I want to celebrate

  your engagement to Samuel with him," she said. Her

  hand softened and fell back to the bed like a small

  sparrow losing the power of flight.

  I fixed her blanket so she was comfortable and

  then stood there looking down at her. She seemed to

  diminish right before my eyes, shrink into a little girl.

  I left her sleeping, her mind surely filled with

  lollipops and candy canes.

  I didn't remember walking across the hallway to

  my room. It was as if I had drifted on a black cloud.

  Suddenly, I stood before my vanity mirror and looked

  at my face, laughing at myself now for the

  resemblances I had once imagined I had to my father.

  Lies and deceptions were truly brothers born from the

  same desperate need to survive in a world filled with

  entrapments, most of which we created for ourselves

  out of our own lusts and fantasies. What a fool you've

  been, Olivia Gordon. The lesson was clear. Survival

  was more important than honesty.

  Honesty was perhaps the greatest luxury of all,

  and those who could afford it, who could house it and wear it and walk with it were the really blessed people in this place we called our home. They were never

  afraid to speak, to be heard.

  The rest of us? The rest of us had nothing but

  muted voices.

  9

  A Turn

  for the Worse

  .

  Daddy put on an Academy Award performance

  when he returned and I showed him the engagement ring. Of course, I was tempted to shatter the illusion of surprise about my engagement and tell him I knew that he had already known Samuel's intention, that I knew he had been part of the planning, but with Mother dying in the room upstairs, we so needed some good news. I decided I would join him in the world of make-believe. We were a family out to sea, grasping desperately for a life raft of hope. As for the revelations Mother had told me, I was determined that for now and perhaps forever, I would keep them well hidden inside me. Daddy would never look at my face and see what I knew.

  "I'm very happy for you, dear," he said. "I'm happy for all of us. It's a perfect union. You'll be happy together and we'll build something profitable. The bottom line is marriage can be a sensible partnership, too."

  "I know, Daddy. I've already told Mother and she is very excited. She looks so tired and so much weaker, though. It's the cure that's killing her now." "Yes," he said sadly, despair returning to wash the happiness out of his eyes. He shook his head. "I don't know if I should go to this party. I'm not much in the mood for people and music and laughter."

  "Go for a little while," I told him. "Show your face and then leave," I said. He nodded.

  "You're righ
t. You always have the sensible suggestion, Olivia."

  He kissed me on the forehead quickly and I couldn't help but think that the way he kissed me was somehow reserved, cold. Something inside him, despite his promises to Mother and despite his own desire, kept him from being fully my father.

  He congratulated me again on my engagement before looking in on Mother.

  I had, on my very own this time, gone and bought myself a new outfit for the Childs' engagement party. It was a two-piece navy blue wool knit suit with a silk blouse. I put on a thin pearl rope necklace and matching earrings and then indulged myself with more makeup than ever, choosing one of Belinda's brighter reds for my lipstick. I stood before the mirror and tested the length of my jacket sleeve as I moved my arm about, just to be sure my ring was always highlighted. Satisfied, I went to show Mother how I looked, but she was still asleep. Her nurse looked up from the book she was reading, looked at Mother and then turned back to me to shake her head softly, her eyes dark with concern. I nodded and backed out of the room, quietly closing the door. I'll stop in when I return, I thought and went downstairs to wait for Samuel.

  Samuel was so excited and happy he nearly bounced in his seat as he talked, filling me in on his father's happy reaction to the announcement of our engagement.

  "Did it make your mother happy?" he asked as we drove to the Childs' house.

  "Yes, but she's not doing well, Samuel. I'm very concerned about her condition," I said. "Each day she grows weaker and smaller. It's as if she's fading away in that bed."

  "I'm so sorry," he said and was silent. Dark thoughts like the tide crawled up to soak our brains in dreary images.

  However, our heavy moment didn't last long. The sight of the Childs' estate, with the line of expensive cars building in the driveway, people in elegant dress milling about and music from the small orchestra wafting through the air, brought us out of our morose mood. Everyone who was anyone in Cape Cod society was present, as well as social editors with their photographers trailing right behind them snapping pictures of important couples, politicians and wealthy businessmen.

  Since it was...A partly cloudy, warm day with a gentle breeze coming in from the southwest, it couldn't have been more perfect for an afternoon affair. The guests were everywhere: on the porch, around the tables set up in front of the orchestra, or just wandering about the lawns and gardens. Through the line of red maples behind the house, patches of deep blue ocean were visible.

  Overflowing with a thousand anxieties, I got out of Samuel's car when the valet opened my door. Samuel and I stood for a moment contemplating everything. Naturally, every new arrival drew the interest of the guests already gathered, so all eyes were on us for a moment. I saw people lean toward each other to whisper, heard laughter to my right, and then caught sight of Nelson and his fiancee talking to a half dozen couples near the outdoor bar. I thought he was looking my way as he listened and nodded to whomever was speaking.