"It's the world we should have, Angel," I whispered. "The world we belong in,"
I closed my eyes and tried dreaming of it, dreaming of a world with candy-coated streets, with happy children, bright and handsome as little Troy, laughing and playing safely; a world of warm, cheerful homes filled with loving families, with Daddies who rushed back after work to be with their children and their wives. It was a world without the harsh winds Troy feared so, a world without gray skies where all the girls my age had portrait doll faces and devoted boyfriends.
If I could only drift away, rise slowly toward the moon and be part of that world . . .
I fell asleep, but awoke hours later to the sound and the sight of the lights in the sitting room being turned on. I sat up quickly in my mother's bed. Tony was standing in the doorway, his face and body in shadows. Suddenly, he laughed. I couldn't speak; my heart began to pound.
"Locking me out again," he said and laughed again. Could it be that he thought I was my mother, that he misread the telegram and thought she had returned tonight? He held a key up in the light.
"I never told you I had a copy made for the time when I finally grew tired of your . . . your ridiculous antics: shutting me, your husband, out of your bedroom, keeping me away from you, denying me my conjugal rights. Well, I'm tired of it now, tired of being made the fool. When we first met, I was handsome and desirable enough. Now that we're married and you made me sign that ridiculous marriage contract, you think you can drive me away. Well, I won't have it. Not anymore. I've come for what is rightfully mine and what you should rightfully want as well."
He stepped farther in.
"Tony," I said in a loud whisper. "I'm not Momma. I'm Leigh."
He paused and there was a long moment of silence. Because he had moved from the light into the darkness, I couldn't see his eyes or the expression on his face, but I felt his confusion.
"I'm sleeping in my mother's bedroom tonight. She's not home yet. Now go. You've done enough to make me hate you forever!"
Suddenly he laughed again, this time with a cold, sharp tone,
"So, you want to be your mother," he said. "You want to be just like her. You crawl into her bed, wearing her nightgown and her perfume. You dream of being Jillian, being my wife after all. This is your fantasy."
"NO! That's not why I came in here. I came in here to keep you away from me! Get out!"
"Just like your mother, you refuse to admit to what you really want, what you really need. I understand. It's a family trait," he added and laughed.
"Get out," I pleaded desperately.
"You locked me out just the way she does," he snapped. "It's not right. I won't have it." He came closer. When he was only a few feet away, I smelled the whiskey on his breath. That frightened me even more. I cringed, pulling the blanket up against my body.
"Please, go away, Tony. I'm afraid of you and I can't stand what you did to me. Just thinking about it makes me sick. Please, just leave."
"Oh, you must not feel that way. You must fight these fears. Is that why you lock your door and find excuse after excuse to stay away from me?" he asked, confusing me with my mother again.
"No, Tony. I'm not Jillian. I'm Leigh. Can't you understand? Don't you listen?"
"Still full of anger, but anger is a passion. Don't you see? You're full of desire, full of yearning and lust. You must not ignore that voice within yourself," he said and sat down quickly on the bed. I backed away, thinking I would hop off the bed on the other side and run from him; but he was too quick, anticipating my avenue of escape. He reached out and seized my wrist, turning it until I could keep my hands clasped to the blanket no longer. I cried out in pain and he released me, but he leaned over my legs and waist.
"It's a beautiful night, a romantic night, a night lovers dream of having."
"We're not lovers, Tony," I moaned through my tears. "Sure we are. Forever and forever, I am linked to you through my work."
"GET AWAY FROM ME!" I cried when he put his hand on my thigh. "My mother will know of this, of all of it. She will know what you did to me last night and she will hate you forever and ever and leave you," I said, spitting my words. Anger was better than fear.
But he laughed again.
"You're going to tell your mother? Tell her what? What she already knows, or I should say, hopes. Who do you think drove me to you, pushed me forward, encouraged me? Who suggested I use you as my model, my nude model? I'm not stupid. I know why she's done this; but I've accepted it, desired it myself. You are beautiful, and will be more beautiful than she is. Don't you think she knows that too and don't you think it eats away at her?"
"No," I screamed. "These are all lies."
"Are they?" He laughed. "She thought you and I made love in the cottage and tolerated it.
"Liar!" I swung out at him, but he caught my tiny fist in the air and held- it.
"We don't keep secrets from each other. I tried to get her jealous, to get her to want me more, so I told her, told her how you got excited and demanded I make love to you once I had you pose and once I touched you. Do you know what she said? She said at least you learned from a master, from a consummate lover. Oh, I knew she was just flattering me, but she really wasn't upset."
"She wouldn't say that," I said shaking my head. "She wouldn't." I pulled my wrist free. "You don't even know her. You say you don't keep secrets from each other, but she has kept a big one from you," I said as spitefully as I could. "You don't even know her true age. You think she's years and years younger than she really is. She would never confide in you completely."
"Oh, I know her true age, my sweet," he said calmly, so calmly it made my heart sink. "I looked into her past fully. Unfortunately my love for her blinded me and I waited until after the wedding to do so. She'll never know how betrayed I felt--that she would have kept such a thing from me--ME who worshipped the very ground she walked on. Now I let her live in her dream world. What harm does it do?"
"No, you're lying again. Get away, get out!" I pushed at him, but he took hold of both my wrists this time and pulled me to him, kissing me roughly on the lips. I struggled to break free, but he was too strong. My mouth was left with the taste of his whiskey and it made me sick.
He stood up on his knees to lean over me and press my hands back to the pillow.
"You're more beautiful now because you're fresh and far more innocent. You're right: there's no deceit in you. You are truly the portrait doll," he added and brought his lips to my neck again.
Once again, I twisted and turned beneath his body, and once again he fit himself between my legs, taking me the same way. It was like a recurring nightmare. I cried, I pleaded, I begged, but his ears were closed to everything but the voices he heard within himself, voices of desire and lust that would not be denied.
All through his forced lovemaking, he confused me with my mother, alternatingly calling me "Jillien" and then moaning, "Leigh." I closed my eyes and turned my head away from him to deny what was happening, what he was doing to me. My body lifted and fell beneath his. There was no way I could stop it.
Opening my eyes before he was finished, I saw Angel on the pillow beside me. I struggled to get my right hand free of his and worked it loose enough to take hold of my precious portrait doll and turn her face away, for in her eyes, I saw my own terror and sorrow.
After that, I just squeezed my eyelids shut and waited for it to end.
After he had spent himself, he lay over me for some time before rising like a sleepwalker and leaving me. I didn't move. My wrists ached and my face felt as if he had brought sandpaper to it. I wept until I thought my heart would break.
Finally when I had cried ten waterfalls of tears, I closed my eyes and pulled the blanket back over me and Angel. Then I turned, buried most of my face in the soft pillow, and waited for sleep.
In the morning I rose with the first rays of sunlight and scurried out of my mother's suite and back to my own, where I crawled into bed. Troy came looking for me, but told him I wasn't feeling well
. He went running out to tell Tony and the servants. Moments later, Mrs. Carter, one of our older maids, appeared to see what was wrong, All I told her was I wasn't feeling well. She said she would bring up some breakfast.
"Do you want me to have Mr. Tatterton see you?"
"No," I cried quickly. "I don't want to see anyone until my mother arrives."
"No doctor?"
"No one, please," I pleaded.
"Very well.I'll bring you something hot to drink and something hot to eat. Perhaps that will make you feel better," she said.
Make me feel better? No food, no doctor, not a roomful of friends could make me feel better, I wanted to tell her; but instead I turned away and pulled my blanket up to my chin. Troy looked in on me again, disappointed that I wouldn't be coming out of my suite to play with him or take a walk. I ate a little of the hot oatmeal Mrs. Carter brought up and sipped some sweet tea.
Tony didn't come to my suite. I was prepared to throw him out, to shout and be hysterical and draw the attention of all the servants if necessary. Perhaps he anticipated that and stayed away.
Mrs. Carter returned with some lunch. Again, I ate like a mouse, nibbling at a sandwich, drinking a little juice. Late in the afternoon, she returned and asked again if I would like her to send for a doctor.
"No, a doctor can't help me," I replied. "Just send my mother to me the moment she arrives."
"Very well," Mrs. Carter said, shaking her head. She took away the tray of dishes and food. I dozed off a few times until the late afternoon. Finally, I heard a commotion in the corridor outside my suite and knew Momma had arrived from Europe. I waited with great anticipation, positive the servants had already told her about my not leaving my suite all day and not eating very much.
The outer door burst open and Momma came in quickly, sweeping through my bedroom and up to my bed like a gust of fresh air. I pulled the blanket down and gazed up at her. Her hair was swept up in a stylish chignon and she wore a dark blue silk suit, the jacket buttoned snugly about her waist. She looked svelte, her complexion clear and smooth, her eyes bright and happy. Crystal earrings in the shape of tiny icicles dangled from her lobes. They captured light around them and glittered.
"Leigh VanVoreen," she declared, her hands on her hips, "how dare you be sick the day I return. Now what's wrong with you? It's summer. People don't get colds in summer."
"Oh Momma," I cried. "Momma." I pulled the blanket down and sat up. "A terrible thing has happened. And twice!"
"What is this nonsense, Leigh? I thought you were sick. As soon as I came through that front door, that Mrs. Carter came running to greet me, wringing her hands and crying about how sick you are and how you wouldn't let her send for a doctor and how you refused to see anyone. Do you have any idea what it's like traveling to and from Europe? How tired I am?
"It's been an ordeal, you know," she said twisting and turning herself so she could catch her image in my vanity mirror, "losing the weight and getting the imperfections out of my body. But it's over, and I've been successful. Everyone thinks so. What do you think?" She turned to me with an expectant look on her face, ready to be lavished with compliments. But there would be no compliments today . . . only bitter truths. I wasn't going to allow Momma to escape the truth any longer!
"Momma, I've gone through a far more terrible ordeal right here at Farthy. Tony came into my room twice and . . . forced himself on me," I cried. "He . . . he . . ."
Why was she letting me go on? Did I have to tell her every last, ugly detail? I looked at her with tears in my eyes, expecting her to rush to my side, wrapping her arms around me and consoling me with warm hugs and kisses . . promising to make everything better . . . safe . as it had once been.
She came to my side with an amazing burst of speed. At last I had gotten her attention! At last she would listen to me! But then I noticed her eyes-- always her eyes! Already they were narrowing to dangerous slits, glittering with coldness. Oh, how I was frightened! My tears immediately stopped and my stomach grew cold, my butterflies fluttering with full force. She didn't believe me! Momma's eyes always revealed her true emotions.
"What?" she incredulously demanded. "What kind of ridiculous story is this? Forced himself on you? Really, Leigh. I've heard that teenagers fantasize, but isn't this a bit much?"
I shook my head furiously. "No, Momma. This isn't a fantasy. It happened. It really did." Now that I had her full attention I couldn't lose it. I had to make her listen! "Let me tell you all of-it; please. Please, listen."
"I'm listening," she said, her face contorting with annoyance.
"The night before last, I followed him through the maze to the cottage."
"Followed him? Why?"
"I was curious as to why he was still working there, why he had kept it as an art studio."
"You shouldn't be following him about like that, Leigh," she said, convicting me of an
indiscretion without hearing the rest of it. I ignored her and continued.
"When I got to the cottage, I peered in a window and I saw that he had painted another picture of me . . . of the two of us, only he had painted himself in it. . . naked!"
"Really?" she said.
"A moment later, he appeared, naked." "Was he alone?" she asked quickly.
"Yes, but. . . anyway, I got frightened and ran home.
After I went to bed, he came in here . . . naked, and he attacked me, forcing me to make love to him."
She stared at me, a skeptical look still on her face.
"He did! And then, last night . . . I went to your bedroom to lock myself safely within and he came to me again. He had a key. At first he thought I was you, but it didn't matter. He forced himself on me again. Oh Momma, it was horrible. I couldn't fight him." Her expression didn't change. "Momma, don't you hear what I'm saying?"
She lowered her shoulders and shook her head.
"I was going to speak to you about all this after I had settled in," she said. "I had hoped it could wait until I regained some of my strength."
"Speak to me about all this? But how did you know?"
"Tony picked me up at the airport, Leigh. He told me how you have been behaving. He didn't tell me about your following him to the cottage, but he told me you asked him to come into your suite and when he arrived, he found you stark naked on your bed."
"What? He's lying!"
"He said you took hold of his wrist and pulled him onto you, begging him to make love to you, but he broke free, bawled you out and left."
"Momma, listen to me . . ."
"He also told me about your going to my suite to pretend you were me so he would not refuse you a second time. He said you had even put on one of my nightgowns and sprayed yourself with my perfume." She looked at me with triumph, sniffing the air. "That is my nightgown, isn't it? And you are wearing my perfume."
"Oh, Momma, I did all this just to be close to you. I was so afraid."
When she looked at me again I could see her disbelief. She didn't even attempt to hide it! In that moment a surge of hatred flowed through my blood. Never before had I felt this way toward Momma. Never! But why shouldn't I? She didn't believe me! She was choosing to disregard her own daughter's words over those of a man she hadn't even been married to for a year! All she cared about was Tony . . disgustingly wealthy Tony . . . her young and horrible husband.
I looked at Momma with cynical eyes. Oh yes, I could see it all. Momma wasn't about to jeopardize her position as mistress of Farthinggale Manor. So what if she had gotten Tony to sign a settlement agreement, entitling her to half his fortune? Without his name she was nothing . . NOTHING! If she chose to believe me and divorced Tony, she would lose the respectability and privilege she had as Mrs. Tony Tatterton. Invitations would no longer arrive. Boston society would close its doors in her face and she'd be reduced to being a poor girl from Texas, allowed only to look in from the outside. As much as I wanted Momma to be happy, because deep down part of me still loved her . . because I knew she needed to have a man i
n her life to give her a purpose . . . I couldn't allow Tony to get away with what he had done to me. I couldn't. I tried one last time.
"Momma, I'm telling you the truth."
"Really, Leigh. Your story is so outrageous. What do you expect me to believe?"
"I expect you to believe me, not him! He's a madman."
"He said you tried everything to get him to make love to you and when nothing worked, you . . . you betrayed me. You told him about my age," she concluded. She looked more hurt than angry.
"Momma, I . . no, I said that because . . ."
"How could you? There was no one I trusted more than my own daughter."
"Momma, he already knew. He didn't care!"
She shook her head.
"Really, Leigh, you must get hold of yourself. I was a teenage girl; I know what you're going through. Your body is developing quickly. Overnight, you have become a woman with a woman's needs and here is handsome Tony Tatterton, the man you modeled in the nude for. It's understandable, and I'm partly to blame for not seeing how mature you've become, but you have to learn to control your fantasies and drives.
"You see how well I can do it. Remember what I told you about a man wearing you out and remember what I told you about being a good girl.
"I'm sure that after a day or so, everyone will get along with everyone just as before. Tony doesn't harbor any ill feelings toward you. He is very understanding when it comes to these things. That's why our marriage is going along so well."
She smiled.
"Oh, I can't wait to soak in a hot bubble bath," she said.
"Momma, you must believe me . . . please . . ."
"Now, Leigh," she snapped. "I insist you stop talking about this. One thing leads to another. Next thing you know, the servants will be talking about it, spreading horrible rumors."
"They're not rumors. I'm not fantasizing or lying!"
"Leigh," she said, her eyes small, "do you expect me to believe that my husband would turn to my daughter, a girl just becoming a woman, when he has me? Really," she declared. "Now get hold of yourself. I want you to bathe and dress and come down to dinner."
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