DeBeers 02 Wicked Forest

by V. C. Andrews

  "One night he came in while I was still in my bath, in fact. I had a sufficient blanket of bubbles and suds to feel okay about it, but he lingered, deciding to wash my back for me. I kept my hands over my breasts, but he talked about so many things while he did it. I relaxed, thinking he didn't see me as a naked young woman. But after he finished and I submerged myself, his hand managed to graze my breast. He smiled down at me and left.

  "Two nights later he returned. Jackie Lee was out with some of her friends. I had just crawled into bed and was reading when he came in, telling me he was lonely, that my mother had left him again.

  "He talked about how hard it was for a man, harder than for a woman, he claimed, to be lonely. He told me men have greater needs.

  Women find it easier to be nuns than men do being monks.' " he said. He had such a confident, assured way about him and was so worldly. I believed every-thing he told me.

  "He asked me about my relationships with boys and if I had ever gotten excited in a female way. I knew what he meant, of course, but all I could do was blush. He took it from there, telling me how natural it was and how I shouldn't be afraid,

  "Men, he said, get excited faster, easier, and for a longer period. He told me it was better that I understood it than be caught unaware; what sort of stepfather would he be if he didn't prepare me for all this? My mother, he claimed, was just too distracted and missed seeing how grown-up I had become.

  "Then he flattered me so, talking about my looks, my body, and finally confessing that I aroused him. He made me see it was true.

  "I was terrified, of course. I remember I could barely breathe, and then he crawled into the bed beside me and began to caress me and coax me until... it happened.

  "The moment after it had, my room changed for me. It was the setting for all that, you see. Like me, it had lost its innocence, its magic. I couldn't sleep. My heart would thump the moment I entered.

  "It still does," she confessed. "And now Linden is in it, and I feel such trauma every time I go to him. Maybe that's why I'm so tired.-

  She looked at me and saw some of the shock in my face. Her story made me tremble to the bone.

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you all that. I have never told anyone except your father when I was in the clinic."

  "No. I'm glad you did. Mother. But I'm worried about you I'm taking you to the doctor first thing tomorrow. You need a goad physical."

  "Na. no. There's nothing wrong with me, other than having these recurring memories and my getting older." she insisted. "I'll be fine. Time will heal. I'll get over it, you'll see. Besides, you're just starting a new and wonderful life here. Let's not put any new problems on the table. Are you still going to attend some summer-school classes?"

  "Yes. I'm looking forward to that."

  "Good. Then no more talk of doctors. I've had my fill of doctors, and so has Linden," she declared firmly.

  "If you continue to be tired--"

  "Then I'll go."

  I wasn't happy with the compromise. but I let it be rather than see her disturbed any more. I left her. I was still trembling inside, thinking about Kirby Scott and how he had painstakingly worked on her until he had seduced her. But she was right. We had to put it all away, bury the past. It made me realize how wounded she was, however, and how wounded Linden had been. too.

  No psychology student had as much work at home as I did, I thought, tying to put a little lightness into the dark.

  I went to talk to Linden, who had returned to his studio. He was sitting before a canvas outlining some new idea.

  "I'm sorry to disturb you." I said after knocking on his open door.

  "No, no, please come in. I'm just doodling at the moment, tying to find the center of something. You look tanned and rested. I guess you had a wonderful trip after all."

  "Why shouldn't it have been wonderful. Linden?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Just a manner of speaking. I guess." He stared at his canvas.

  "I hope you will do some traveling, too. Linden. There is so much more to see and learn out there, and that's especially important for someone who wants to be an artist."

  "Right, right "

  "I am curious as to why you moved into another bedroom." I said. "Especially that bedroom." He turned, stared a moment, then shrugged.

  "It's a bigger, brighter room. How foolish it is to waste it just because it was once the scene of some unpleasantness. It's not the room's fault, is it? There's no evil power living in it. right?"

  "Of course not."

  "And you were the one who convinced me that we could move back into this house and do away with all the old, troubling memories, the old ghosts, so to speak. I would think you would be very happy about it."

  "I am. I was just curious."

  "Worried, you mean." he said, with eyes so narrow and dark they looked like slits for a moment. Then he smiled, "Worry no more about me. I'm fine. I feel like I am getting stronger and stronger every day."

  "Good. That's wonderful, Linden. How was Mother while I was gone?" I asked, checking to see how aware of her reactions he was, "She seems tired to me."

  "Well, if there is anyone who is putting on an act about being back here, it's Grace. I find her sitting and staring at nothing a good deal of the time. and I know what that means-- she's reliving the past. I'm doing my best to get her to put it behind her. Now that you are back." he said. smiling. "we'll work on it together."

  "Yes," I said.

  "We'll take care of her. It will be our little project, okay?" he asked. "Just you and me."

  I smiled, but the way he said it made it sound as if he and I would have some secret mission, secret even from Thatcher.

  I had to admit that in the days and weeks that followed. however. Linden was the dutiful son, actually more like the doting son, rushing ahead to do anything and everything he could for Mother. If she headed toward a door, he was there before her to open it for her. If she started to clear a table, he leaped up to take the dishes or cups out of her hands. The roles they had been playing were reversed. Now he was the one chiding her for not eating enough or not eating the right things. He was the one making sure she took her vitamins, the one who would rush off to fetch some ibuprofen for her arthritic aches.

  Usually, I was included in any activity designed to assist Mother. If he suggested she go for a walk with him to get fresh air, it was always a walk with us.

  "Willow wants to go, too," he would say, and throw me a glance to be sure I nodded or seconded his suggestion quickly.

  On the nights Thatcher was tied up with a business dinner, Linden recommended we all go out to eat.

  Thatcher's not coming home. Let's not have dinner made just for ourselves," he would say. "Willow will drive us to some restaurant we haven't been to. Mother. Won't you, Willow?"

  At first Mother was amused by all this, just as I was, but the intensity and the insistence with which Linden made his suggestions began to ring small alarm bells inside us both. He had changed from someone who was so introverted he would rarely laugh aloud, especially in front of strangers, to someone who was starving for activity, for attention, for society-- only, however, as long as I would include myself. That wasn't always easy to do, and every time I had to decline one of his invitations, even as insignificant a suggestion as having coffee on the rear loggia with Mother and him. I felt deep pangs of guilt. I certainly didn't want to be the one to send him reeling back into his maelstrom of depression and suicidal rage.

  I had returned to college and on a few occasions, during lunch. I had an opportunity to speak with Professor Fuentes. By now he had enough of an outline of my family problems to appreciate some of my concerns. He was always willing and eager to give me his time and expertise.

  "What is he like when Thatcher is there?" he asked after I had related our latest episode.

  I had already described how Linden seemed to hear Thatcher's every word whenever he explained or revealed that he would be late for dinner or tied up with clients. Mo
st recently. without my knowledge, after hearing Thatcher say he was going to be down in Miami and home late. Linden went out and bought three tickets for Mother, himself. and me to attend a performance of the Palm Beach Philharmonic.

  Never before enjoying getting dressed up and being with crowds of people, he was obviously very excited about it, so excited he got Mother laughing, agreeing to dress up and attend.

  "See," he told me afterward. "we're having a good influence on her. We're getting her to forget the past and enjoy her life now. We're a team."

  I couldn't say it wasn't true, yet it bothered me. Why? I hoped Professor Fuentes could help me answer that.

  "What happens when you go somewhere with Thatcher and Linden is not included?" Professor Fuentes asked me.

  "He doesn't sulk like he used to. but he looks..." "Angry?"

  "Upset. I don't know if it's out-and-out anger."

  "You're still his whole life. Willow. It is so important he develop other relationships. Coming out of his depression. His difficulties. he resembles a young teenage boy doting on the first warm and pretty face he encounters. I suppose it's similar to a schoolboy's crush on his teacher. I don't think it's anything terribly serious. but I would do what I can to get him meeting other people."

  "He's working hard again. He's done some new pictures. and Thatcher brought them to a friend of his who thinks he might sell them in Europe."

  "Really? Well, there you go. Get him involved more in the art world. Maybe he'll meet people that way," Professor Fuentes suggested. "And encourage him to do what he said he would--take a course or two on art here."

  I repeated Professor Fuentes's ideas to Thatcher, who then asked Linden to go with him the next time he was invited to a gallery exhibition,

  "You should see the work of other artists. Linden. You'll get more inspiration."

  "Thatcher's right. Linden," I said.

  "Are you going. too?"

  "I have to do some studying," I said. eyeing Thatcher, "but Thatcher is going."

  "I've got work to do myself." Linden said.

  "Oh, come on, old man, you can spare an hour or so. You'll see. It will give you encouragement because you'll see how much better an artist you are.

  "I'm not an old man," Linden snapped.

  "Just an expression. Linden. Nothing nasty intended. What do you say?"

  "You should go. Linden." I urged.

  All right," he relented. But I don't want to waste the whole day."

  Later, when they returned. Thatcher told me Linden had stood in a corner most of the time, "looking like he just dared anyone to say hello.

  "I introduced him to some attractive young women, but he wouldn't give them the time of day. Maybe he needs hormone shots, the youngest man on 'in-tn. something like that," he joked.

  "It's not funny. Thatcher. I'm worried about it now. and I don't want Mother to worry."

  "Okay, okay. I'll dig up some female companionship for him." "I'm not asking you to do that."

  "I know, but what kind of brother-in-law would I be if I didn't make sure he got his rocks off once in a while?"

  "Thatcher!"

  He laughed and went off. However. I had to wonder if he wasn't right. Maybe a female

  relationship, no matter how short and sweet, was what Linden really needed. On the other hand_. I thought, why was it men thought of sex the same way they thought of an aspirin?

  The time I was spending with Linden, attending social events, shopping, eating dinner, or simply taking long walks on the beach, even with Mother along, was, to my surprise, becoming the subject of some nasty gossip. The second surprise was how it was all being spread. I wouldn't have known if I wasn't invited to another luncheon of the Club d'Amour. I should have realized they had good reason to beg for my attendance.

  We didn't meet at Club Florette again. This time we all gathered at a popular Palm Beach restaurant and sat in the rear, as far away from everyone else as we could. That was Manons arrangement, I was still very interested in them from a purely scientific point of view. I had told Professor Fuentes about them and he agreed that they were intriguing.

  The luncheon began with chat about fashions, the latest Palm Beach charity event, people they had all just seen, and some of the latest party jokes that were being circulated. Finally, Manon turned to me and said. "There is something we've all heard and we thought you should know."

  "Oh?"

  My heart began to tick like a Geiger counter over radioactive material. Everyone's eyes were on me, waiting to see my reaction to whatever Manon was about to reveal.

  "We all have good reason to say that your sister-in-law is making innuendos about you and your half brother. She's been complaining about all the time you spend with Linden, and she's left the impression that it isn't all brotherly and sisterly."

  "What? Whitney is telling people things like that?"

  "Absolutely and without a doubt," Liana said. "Our sources are the most reliable in Palm Beach."

  Sharon and Marjorie nodded in agreement. "What exactly is she saying?"

  She told someone we know well that your brother moved his bedroom closer to yours. Is that true?"

  "Yes, but--" "She said he had painted a picture to give you and Thatcher for a wedding present, but it's a picture of you only and it's done in a very sexy way. She said he put it over your bed himself, and one of the maids told her he goes there often to look at it. She said he looks at it as if he were looking at the Virgin Mary. She could see no reason for all this, other than something unnatural. perverted."

  "Is there something weird going on between you and Linden?" Marjorie dared to ask. Everyone else held her breath.

  "That's a disgusting question, an insulting question," I snapped back at her.

  "I had to ask." she said defensively. "If we're going to stand by you, we should know the truth. Just like a good defense attorney."

  "I'm not asking you to do anything." I said even more sharply. "There is nothing like that going on. I have no reason to need any defense."

  "You know what they say about people who protest too much." Sharon quipped.

  "Well, it's degrading to hear such things, disgusting, filthy and--"

  "We agree," Manon said quickly. She looked around to be sure no one was in earshot before adding, "And we want to help you."

  I settled back and stared down at the table.

  "Why would she do such a dirty thing?" I muttered.

  "Maybe she's the one who has something unnatural for her brother," Marjorie suggested. "The way she looks at Thatcher when they are together. I mean."

  "Sounds like a plan." Manon said. nodding,

  "What? What are you all saving? There's nothing to that filthy smear, either."

  "Doesn't matter," Manon said. "You've got to fight fire with fire. Don't worry, we'll handle it."

  "No. I don't want to get into some backstabbing gossip feud with my sister-in-law. I'll confront her directly and make sure that if it's true, it stops."

  'Don't underestimate Whitney." Marjorie warned. "You're just an amateur when it comes to the Palm Beach Game and she's an expert. She'll have you for breakfast."

  "I'll be fine," I said.

  "We're just trying to help you," 1,4anon repeated. "Thank you," I said, but I could see they weren't motivated by a sense of right and wrong so much as they, too, enjoyed playing what they called the Palm Beach Game.

  "Tell us about your honeymoon," Sharon said. For a moment I felt like a patient in a therapist's office. I'd shut one pathway to my inner self, so they moved on to travel another.

  "Yes, every detail you can remember," Liana added, "Or want to reveal," Sharon said.

  "Was it everything you expected?" Manon asked.

  I laughed loudly in their faces, and they all seemed to have their spinal cords snapped sharply, making them sit up.

  "What's so funny?"

  "You all sound like you feed off of other women's love lives," I said. "Vicarious sex."

  Never
had I seen smiles evaporate faster.

  "Obviously, our psychology student is unable to leave Mr. Freud at home when she goes out with real people," Marjorie said through clenched teeth.

  "If things aren't what you hoped they would be, they won't get any better if you take it out on us," Manon added. "You. A student of psychotherapy, should know that better than us."

  "I'm not taking anything out on anyone, and who said things aren't what I expected?"

  "Protesting too much!" Sharon sang.

  "You're all being quite ridiculous," I said. "I've got to go."

  I started to dig into my purse for money to pay for my lunch.

  "Don't worry about money. Willow. We'll take care of the bill. I wish you wouldn't go off in a huff." Manon said.

  "I'm tired and I have some studying to do. Thanks for all the dirty revelations."

  Marjorie reached up to grasp my arm. It took me by surprise.

  "Someday, maybe someday soon." she said, "you will be sincere when you thank us like that."

  I pulled my arm free. Tears were burning under my lids, but I fought hard to keep them there.

  "I hope I have more important things with which to concern myself." I said. "Thanks for lunch. That's sincere." I added and stormed away.

  For a while I just drove, not paying much attention to where I was going. I made some wrong turns and went in circles. The tears streamed down my face freely now. Why would Whitney do such a thing? Why would family members try to tear their own family apart like this? What did she hope to accomplish?

  How could I go home and face Mother and Linden, knowing what people were saying about us, about me, and all because of Whitney?

  Anger quickly replaced emotional pain. In a snap. I made a decision. I turned the vehicle sharply and headed for Whitney's mansion.

  It took so long for me to gain entry through those fortress gates. I thought I would be turned away. Finally they were opened and I drove up to the mansion. A maid greeted me at the door. She had a dust mop in her hand and looked annoyed that anyone would dare an unannounced visit and interrupt her important work.