DeBeers 02 Wicked Forest

by V. C. Andrews

  Linden watched suspiciously. Miguel turned again, waved, and unlocked the door. Then he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

  "Good," Linden said. "See? Now they will all leave us alone."

  He turned and continued up the stairway. I said nothing. He carried me into the suite and laid me on the bed,

  "I brought you a good dinner." he said. "but you made me spill it all over the floor. You'll have to wait for me to get you new food."

  "Okay," I said. He studied me.

  You know I'm doing all this for us, and you know it's right and the best, don't you?"

  "Yes, Linden."

  He picked up the dishes and put them on the tray,

  "I'll be back in a little while," he said. "Maybe I'll sit here and eat with you."

  "I'd like that, Linden."

  "Good," he said, and walked out. He closed the door and I heard the padlock scrape through the hasp again.

  Only a few minutes later. I heard Miguel working at the hasp. I heard him snap it off, and then he opened the door.

  "Willow," he cried, rushing to me.

  I threw my arms around him and burst into tears.

  "I've called for help. The police and an ambulance will be here very soon."

  1 don't want him to be taken to jail, Miguel."

  "I know. I'll make sure he's taken to

  psychiatric."

  "What's he doing now?"

  "He's in the kitchen. He's talking as if..."

  "What?"

  "As if your mother were sitting there watching him."

  "How sad."

  "But how dangerous and horrible it must have been for you." Miguel said. "When I called and he gave me that story about you leaving. I knew something was very wrong. I actually called the police, but they said they had no justification for coming out here. They phoned, and he answered and sounded very reasonable to them.

  "I came as quickly as I could, and then I had to scale the wall to get in. The moment I saw that all the windows in the house had been painted black. I went into a fit of terror and broke through the French door in the den."

  I started to cry again.

  "It's all right. Willow. It's all right now. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you," he added.

  He kissed the tears away from my cheeks and held me tightly.

  I could hear Linden downstairs, moving in and out of his illusions, peopled by the same ghosts that had twisted and tormented him for so long.

  It was time to drive them away forever.

  I couldn't do it alone, but I had no doubt now that I would never be alone as I had often been before, even after I had come here,

  Like Linden. I would drive my ghosts away as well.

  Epilogue

  .

  Little Hannah proved to be as resilient as I had

  hoped. My fall on the stairway and my torment and turmoil did not do injury to my pregnancy. Almost to the day her birthing was predicted, she insisted on entering this world. Miguel rushed me to the hospital and she was born at 7 A.M., weighing close to eight pounds.

  My divorce settlement with Thatcher provided for his visitation rights, although I had little

  expectation of his implementing them very much. In fact, when he was called and told of Hannah's birth, he did not appear at the hospital until the following day, and only on his way to a court hearing. Neither Bunny nor Asher ever made an attempt to see their grandchild, probably still clinging to the nasty rumors Whitney had spread.

  Hannah was born with hair a shade or so lighter than mine, closer to my mother's hair, actually, which made me very happy, but which I was sure helped fan the flames of those horrible and disgusting stories the Eatans had spread to justify Thatcher's adulterous behavior.

  I was too busy now to care. Despite my plans to return to my studies. however, I put off hiring a nanny. I decided I wanted to be with Hannah until she was at least a year and a half. I did hire a new maid, who was an excellent cook as well. Her name was Mrs. Davis, Mrs. Betty Davis, which was, of course. funny, especially when she introduced herself as the real Betty Davis."

  She looked nothing like Bette Davis the actress. My Betty Davis was nearly six feet tall and stout, with rolling-pin forearms and graying strawberry-blond hair. She had freckles peppered over the crests of her puffy cheeks. She told me she was fifty-one, but when Miguel met her, he whispered that he thought she was more like sixty-one. She told me her husband had died more than fifteen years ago and left her with little or nothing. He was a hardworking but mediocre salesman who went from one commission job to another, never, by her own description, very ambitious. They had no children. She had been a librarian in a county library in Virginia before moving to Florida to live with her sister and brother-in-law, but, again according to her, soon felt like a third wheel and went out looking for work as a live-in maid. Her last employer had passed away, but she had excellent recommendations. Most important for me, she was very good with Hannah, so good, in fact, that I had my suspicions about her claim that she never had any children.

  Miguel insisted I keep my hand in my studies and enrolled me in a study program that enabled me to pick up some credits after writing a paper. Soon after Hannah's birth, he and I began to see each other on a more romantic and regular basis and then. on Hannah's first birthday, he proposed and I accepted.

  My second wedding was far simpler than the first, although Miguel had so many relatives attending that I teased him about it and threatened to hold it at Joya del Mar rather than at church. As it was, we did finally decide to have a reception there. No one but us knew that we had already gone off and gotten married by a justice of the peace during a romantic weekend. There I was, holding Hannah in my arms and pronouncing wedding vows. Needless to say, the judge's wife and the clerk who witnessed were bugeyed. The way they looked at each other gave Miguel and me many laughs afterward.

  During the year. I visited Linden periodically in the clinic we had found for him. I didn't think it was as good nor as well run as Daddy's. but I am sure part of that evaluation had to do with my prejudice. How could anyone do anything as well as my father had done it, especially as regarded mental illness?

  They had Linden on medication, but toward the end of the first year he was eased off it, and he settled into an existence that seemed peaceful. He was still quite actively involved in his art, which they encouraged. I had suspicions that some of his work was being stolen. It was always well done and interesting, albeit eerie and strange to most people.

  He stopped asking about Mother, but never stopped asking about Hannah. Finally, with Miguel's blessing and even at his suggestion, I brought her with me. I doubt that I shall ever forget the way he looked at her. Thatcher, with all his claims of fatherly interest and love, would never approach such a gaze of admiration and joy. Miguel and I discussed it afterward and agreed that, even though Linden's feelings toward Hannah were caught up in his delusions, they were still sincere and authentic.

  "Sort of like a psychosomatic pain. The patient really does feel it, even though there is no reason for it, no cause. It's an authentic complaint, sincere," he said.

  Visiting Linden, thinking about all these things, whetted my appetite to return to school and pursue my degree, so when I was ready. I ran a search for a proper nanny, even though Mrs. Davis insisted she was capable of handling Hannah.

  "A child of this age can be so demanding. Mrs. Davis," I told her, recalling myself and Amou. "You won't have time for any of your other duties here. In fact, my husband and I are now thinking about opening more of the house and we might be bringing in some additional household help."

  She accepted my explanation. but I knew in my heart that she would forever be competing with any nanny for Hannah's attention and love. I was girding myself for the expected criticisms and complaints about anyone I hired, and sure enough, Mrs. Davis would be there to greet me with a list whenever I returned from college or any trip Miguel and I made.

  I had found someone
who was capable of standing up to her, however, and in time, despite the jealousies, the two of them became good friends. Her name was Donna Castilla, She was from Cuba. someone Miguel's mother had found for us. actually. In many ways she reminded me of Amou, who, with her sister, made another visit to Florida to see Hannah. We had a wonderful visit, and when she left, she told me Senora Castilla would be a wonderful nanny. "Especially with your Mrs. Davis looking over her shoulder. eh. Amou Una?"

  It was so wonderful to see her again, and Hannah took right to her the moment she greeted her. All the good memories of my youth came flooding back whenever I saw Amou or heard her voice. She went with me to visit Mother's grave, and then we stayed up late into the night talking. Actually. I let her do most of the talking. She had so many things to tell me about my father. things I never saw or knew, a part of him that I wished I had been able to enjoy back then.

  Saying goodbye to her was truly like saying goodbye to Daddy once again.

  But I could never say goodbye to Daddy. Even now, with all that had happened. I carried his thoughts and his voice in my heart and my mind.

  One night after Hannah had been put to bed and Miguel had gone off to a meeting at the college. I walked down to the dock and stood where my mother had stood so many nights, looking out to sea, hoping for a light on a boat to grow stronger and larger until the boat was there and my father was waving to her. I felt sure she had seen this boat many times.

  When do you stop being lonely, Daddy? I asked him.

  Are you still lonely?

  I have a child and a man who truly loves me, but it doesn't end it. Not forever and ever. There are still nights like this, nights when you can't help but be alone and long for things that are gone forever and ever. You must have been awfully lonely for so many years.

  Maybe loneliness in that sense isn't so terrible, Willow. Maybe it's good to remember and long for things that you loved so much and that touched you so deeply. Maybe they will help you provide those things for the people you love now.

  Will they?

  Will they? he echoed back to me.

  I smiled.

  Answering a question with a question. Always the psychiatrist. Always the psychiatrist's daughter, he replied.

  .

  Dear Willow.

  A friend of mine in Provincetown, which is at the tip of Cape Cod and where I now live with my husband. Cary, gave me a copy of your story to read. She's actually my best friend here, and over the years. I have told her a great many things about my own life and how I came to live here.

  What she said when she gave me the book intrigued me.

  "Like you. Melody, this girl Willow De Beers went on an odyssey to find her mother. Like your mother, her mother gave her up, but the reasons were far different and their reunion is eventually

  wonderful.'

  I was born and lived in the coal country of West Virginia and I lost my father to a coal mining accident. My father was estranged from his family, who lived on Cape Cod. For years and years, I would try to get him to tell me why, but he always told me it was one of those subjects better left buried, untouched, kept in the closet.

  There were people. neighbors, I loved as much as family and who provided the warmth and security family is supposed to provide, but it was always a nagging question. one I knew I had to find the answers for eventually.

  Like your mother, my mother was beautiful. Is beautiful. I should say. Unlike your mother, my mother was and remains very outgoing. In fact, she's an actress, a model.

  My mother found me a burden after my father was killed, and she tricked me by taking me to my father's family supposedly on a short visit and then left me there forever. In retrospect, I think it was a blessing.

  My father's family owned and operated a cranberry bog on Cape Cod. When most people think of Cape Cod, they think of fishermen and tourism, lobsters and rich families like the Kennedys* I think you would find my story interesting simply because of that. I had to adjust to a whole new way of life, too. but I think the distance between my previous existence and my new one was greater than yours was.

  My story took me from West Virginia to Cape Cod and then to Hollywood. Yes, Hollywood, California, where I almost got caught up in the very web my mother had found herself entrapped in. Her capture was a willing one. however. She always longed for that sort of life.

  I'm sending you a copy of my story. I think you might be interested in the people I knew in West Virginia, my mountain folklore, the music, and my adjustment to a hard but in so many ways beautiful life on Cape Cod. You will surely be fascinated with the way I discovered where my real mother was and how my reunion with her went. Along the way, I met some very special people in New York and I, like you, traveled over some of the same territory my mother had traveled.

  My story is filled with family intrigue, deception, beautiful

  people, artistic people, surprises, and many, many warm moments. It is all captured in three books: Melody, Heart Song, and Unfinished Symphony. Two additional books were written as a result of my story: Music in the Night and Olivia.

  One of the things I believe you will appreciate is the influence of the sea on our lives. Living in Palm Beach, you were very aware of the power of the ocean. People you loved interacted with it in much the same way as people I loved did, only I am sure you will agree the ocean was even a greater influence on my family and the outcome of my journey than it was on yours.

  Cape Cod. like Palm Beach, attracts many tourists, but it is the year-round residents I found to be the most interesting. It is nowhere near as ritzy and opulent as Palm Beach, but there are some amazing similarities, especially when it comes to people's egos, self-importance, and competition for social thrones.

  Someone once told me that people aren't born into royalty in America so they have to buy it. They build bigger castles and fill them with possessions as expensive, if not more expensive, than those of European royalty, Because of their peat wealth and influence, they have as much power over other people. Their struggles to keep their position are just as intriguing as the stories of European princes and princesses. You've seen it in Palm Beach, but you will see it in my world, too.

  That might be one of the biggest surprises of all.

  Like you. I miss the man who was the father I loved. I hear his voice occasionally, and I look for his best qualities in other men I meet and am often, too often. disappointed. But not always, and that's the rainbow we can both see after so many storms.

  I see it now. and I hope that when you have a chance to read my story, you will see it, too.

  Best,

  Melody