Valiantly I tried to smile at the girls who glanced my way, trying to catch their eyes. The minute they saw my efforts, each and every one of them turned away!
And then I guessed what was happening. My thoughts about hunger in America had betrayed me. My own passion for the subject of poverty had given them more information than my tongue ever could. I was too well informed. Too many nights I'd lain awake in a mountain cabin, trying to find answers that would save all the poor from falling into the same desperate plight of their ancestors.
For my theme paper on Poverty in America I was given an A-minus. A very good beginning. But I had betrayed myself. Now everyone knew just what background had been mine, or else I couldn't have known so much. I wished a thousand times I hadn't been so factual and had turned in some solution like that of another girl, who had suggested, "Every rich person should adopt at least one poor child."
Alone in my pretty room, on my back on my narrow bed, I listened to the laughter and giggles that came from other rooms. I smelled the bread toasting and the cheese melting; I heard the clink and clank of glasses, of silverware, the canned laughter played on TV situation comedies. Not once did any girl knock on my closed door and invite me to a forbidden party.
Not once were those parties stopped by irate teachers who didn't want their rules broken.
From the wild tales I overheard, every one of those girls had traveled extensively throughout the world, and already they were bored with cities I had yet to see. Three of the girls had been expelled from private Swiss schools for love affairs, two had been expelled from other American schools for drinking, two more for using drugs. All the girls could cuss worse than any drunken hillbilly at a barn dance, and right through the walls I received a different kind of sex education, ten times more shocking than anything Fanny had ever done.
Then one day when I was in the bathroom, in the only shower stall that had a door to close, I heard them talking about me. They didn't want me in "their"
school. I wasn't "their" kind. "She's not who she pretends to be," whispered a voice I'd grown to recognize as belonging to Faith Morgantile.
I wasn't pretending to be anything other than a girl seeking an education. And for that I was resented.
I only hoped that when my hazing came, I could survive with my dignity and pride intact.
So here in Winterhaven, despite my VanVoreen ancestors, my Tatterton connections, my fine clothes, my flattering hairstyle, my pretty shoes, and the good grades I worked hard to achieve, I was, as I'd always been, an outsider, scorned for what I was. And the worst thing of all was, right at the beginning, I had betrayed myself, and Tony.
Six
Changing Seasons
.
IT WAS TONY WHO CAME TO PICK ME
UP THAT FIRST Friday when I stood on the front stoop of Winter-haven, with fifteen girls crowded close about me, pretending to be friendly for his benefit. They watched him park, ooh'd and aw'd, gasped and whispered and wondered again where Troy was. "When are you going" Vo invite us to your home, Heaven?" asked Prudence Carraway, whom everyone called Pru. "We've heard it's fabulous, absolutely fab, fab, fab!"
Before Tony was out of the car and opening the door I was down the steps escaping those girls. "See you Monday, Heaven!" a chorus of voices sang out, and it was the first time anyone had said my name but a teacher.
"Well," said Tony, smiling at me and driving off. "From what I saw and heard, it seems you've already made lots of friends. That's good. But I hate the sloppy rags those girls are wearing to school. Why do they try so to look ugly during the best years of their lives?"
Several miles passed and I didn't speak. "Come on, Heaven, tell me about it," he urged. "Did your cashmeres create a sensation? Or did they scorn you for wearing the kind of clothes their mothers buy for them, but they leave at home, or trade in for secondhand clothes."
"They do that?" I asked, completely stunned.
"I've heard they do. It's sort of a cause at Winter-haven to challenge teachers and fight parents or anyone in authority. It's like a Boston Tea Party for adolescents, struggling to assert their independence."
So he'd known when he selected all my skirts, sweaters, blouses, and shirts just what he was doing to me, making me stand out, making me different. Still I said nothing.
I could tell from his demeanor he didn't want me to complain about anything that had gone on. I had been thrown into the pot, and now it was up to me to keep from being boiled. He didn't urge me to keep on wearing just what I had. He left it up to me to give in or to fight the peer pressure. And realizing this, I made up my mind never to mention any of my difficulties to Tony. I would handle them alone, no matter what came along.
Tony drove fast toward Farthinggale Manor, and we were almost there before he dropped his bombshell. "Some very pressing business has come up, and I'll be flying to California this Sunday morning. Jillian will be going with me. If you weren't already enrolled in school, we could take you along.
As it is, Miles will drive you to school on Monday, and pick you up next Friday afternoon, Jillian and I plan to return a week from Sunday."
His news threw me into a tailspin! I didn't want to be left alone in a house of servants that I hardly knew. I tried not to let Tony see the sudden tears that sprang to my eyes. What was wrong with me that people found me so easy to leave?
"Jill and I will make up for this week's neglect by really extending ourselves this coming Thanksgiving and Christmas," he said with his rare kind of lighthearted charm, "and I give you my word of honor that we will go to that Pops concert when I return."
"You don't have to worry about me," I said with determination, not wanting him to think I was a burden like Jillian did. "I know how to entertain myself." But I didn't, not really. Farthinggale Manor still intimidated me. The only servant who didn't make me nervous was Rye Whiskey. But if I visited him too often in his kitchen, maybe he'd grow cold and indifferent, too. Once I came home on Friday afternoon, and my homework was finished, what would I do with myself?
Then came that Saturday morning in
Farthinggale Manor with servants rushing around in a dither, trying to help Jillian pack for a week's trip. In the upstairs hall she ran to me, laughing, hugging and kissing me, making me feel that maybe I'd been wrong, and she did love me and need me. Then she was clapping her hands together like a happy little girl as we descended the stairs into the living room. "It's a pity you can't come with us, but you were the one who pleaded for a few months of schooling, and dashed all the exciting plans I had for you."
A few months of schooling? Was she planning to push me out of here? Didn't she care for me even a tiny bit? And to fly to California would have been another of my dreams realized, but by this time I was wary of the dreams I'd constructed when I was young, naive, and dumb.
"I'll be fine, Jillian, don't worry about me. This is such a wonderful house, and so big, I haven't had half a chance to look it over."
They were ignoring me, both Tony and Jillian, and deep down I was so hurt I wanted to do some hurting on my own, and so I did something ill conceived and stupid. I decided to go and visit Logan.
"Besides," I said, "I have plans to go into Boston this afternoon."
"What do you mean you've made plans of your own for this afternoon?" asked Jillian. "Really, Heaven, isn't Saturday our day, when we can do things together?" (This had never been made clear to me before, as I stood around with people much older than I, all talking about subjects I knew nothing about.
I had felt as needed as a lamp at noontime.) "I thought tonight we could make it a going-away party in that charming little theater we just had restored, right off the swimming area. We can watch an old movie. I do hate new movies. They embarrass me the way they show naked people making love. We could even invite over a few friends to make it more enjoyable."
But Jillian shouldn't have mentioned inviting friends. Friends would take away the specialness of our last evening together for a week. "I'm sorry, Jill
ian, but I really thought you'd want to go to bed early this evening, so you'd be rested when you reached California. I'll be fine, and if I get home early, your guests will still be here."
"Where are you going?" Tony asked sharply.
He had been browsing through this morning's newspaper; now his eyes above the newspaper were very suspicious. "You don't know anyone in Boston but us, and the few older friends we have introduced you to—or have the girls at Winterhaven suddenly embraced you as a friend? That seems unlikely." He raised an eyebrow. "Or perhaps you plan to meet some boy?"
As always when I was hurt, my pride came rushing to the forefront. Of course I'd made many friends in Winterhaven—or they would be sooner or later. I swallowed first. "One of the girls at school has invited me to her birthday party. It's being held in The Red Feather."
"What girl invited you?"
"Faith Morgantile."
"I know her father. He's a scoundrel, though her mother seems decent enough . . still, The Red Feather is not the kind of place I'd pick for my daughter's birthday party."
He continued to eye me up and down, until I felt sweat break out in my armpits. "Don't disappoint me, Heaven," he said, turning back to his paper. "I have heard of The-Red Feather and the parties held there. You are much too young at fifteen to begin drinking beer, or wine, or to sample any of the other adult pursuits that begin in innocent-appearing games.
I'm sorry, but I don't think it is a good idea for you to go."
My heart plunged.
The Red Feather was very near Boston
University, where Logan Stonewall went to school.
"And," continued Tony, who was still talking,
"I have given Miles instructions not to drive you off the grounds until Monday morning. The servants will take care of your needs. If you grow tired of being indoors, you can always explore the grounds."
At this point Jillian looked up, as if she'd heard nothing about anything but the outdoors.
"Don't go to the stables!" cried Jillian. "I want to be the one to introduce you to my horses—my wonderful, beautiful Arabians. We'll do that when we come back,"
For days and days and days she'd been
promising that. I no longer believed her.
I had made my play to escape and find Logan, and I had failed. And if they held the party and showed the movie, they'd never miss me, never.
Ten guests would arrive around four for what Jillian called her "Off to California Party." I knew she was still testing me, and a great deal depended on how I went over with this particular group, which included people who had more influence than the ones I'd already met. Then came Tony's information. Everyone had to have a dining partner, and I was the odd one out. "There's a young man I want you to meet," said Tony.
"You're going to like him, darling," said Wan in her whispery-soft way, while an exceedingly handsome young man arranged her hair in a new style. I perched on a delicate chair, watching the marvel of what he could do with a comb, brush, and hair spray.
"His name is Ames Colton, and he's eighteen years old. His father won his seat in the House just last year; Tony expects John Colton to end up in the White House."
That made me think of Tom, and his desire to reach the White House someday. Why hadn't Tom answered even one of my three letters? Was Pa somehow keeping them from him? Didn't Tom care anymore now that he knew I was rich and well taken care of? My family had always given me sustenance, a reason to keep on trying. Now I felt all those dear and familiar ties stretching thin and fading away.
"Be nice to Ames, Heaven," said Jillian with a note of authority in her voice. "And please try not to do or say anything to embarrass us in front of our friends.
It was the first real party of my life, and wearing a brand-new floor-length gown of deep blue with sparkling blue beads embroidered on the bodice, I stood between Jillian and Tony near the door. Tony wore a tux and Jillian had on a glittering white outfit that took my breath away.
"Just smile a lot," whispered Tony as the first guests were shown in by Curtis.
Ames Colton was nice enough, not anything at all like Logan. Not exciting like Troy. In fact I considered him too nice, embarrassingly impressed by someone like me, who was scared half to death, and a fake. If I did anything right that night I couldn't remember it later. I dropped my napkin, dropped my fork, twice! I stammered when I was asked about my past, and how long I planned to stay. How could I answer when Jillian was staring at me with fear in her eyes?
It took so many dishes to have a party like this, so much silverware; and then, when the meal was over, a dainty little bowl with a silver tray underneath was served by Curtis. He stood quietly waiting as I eyed what appeared to be water with a slim slice of lemon on the top. It puzzled me, that small bowl that sat and waited for me to do something with it. I raised desperate eyes to Tony, then flushed when I saw his sarcastic amusement. And very deliberately he dipped his fingertips in that lemon-flavored water, then dried them daintily on his napkin.
Somehow I made it through the evening
without any gross mistake to give away my background; I only betrayed my social inexperience. I didn't know what to say when asked for my political opinions. I had no opinions on the state of the nation's economy. I hadn't read any of the recent Hollywood best-sellers that told all, nor had I been to a current movie. I found smiles for answers, and pretenses for getting away, and in my opinion I made a complete jackass out of myself.
"You were fine," said Tony, coming into my bedroom while I was brushing my hair. "Everyone commented on how much you look like Jillian. That is not odd, for her two older sisters are older editions of Jillian, though they are not as 'well preserved,' so to speak." His expression turned serious. "Now, tell me what you thought of our friends."
How could I tell him exactly what I thought? In some ways it seemed all people were alike, despite their fine clothes, and fancy vocabularies. There were some who talked too much, and sooner or later revealed they were fools. There were some there only to make a good impression, and they'd had as little to say as I had. Then there were others who came to eat and drink, and gossip about those they thought were out of earshot.
"If they had played fiddles, banjos, and stomped their feet, and all worn shoddy clothes, they could have been from the Willies," I said honestly.
"It's just what they talk about that makes them different. Nobody back home cares about politics, or the nation's economy. Few people read anything other than the Bible or romance magazines."
For the first time since I'd known him, he laughed with genuine amusement, and when he smiled at me with a great deal of approval my spirits soared.
"So you weren't impressed by fine clothes and expensive cigars—that's good. You have opinions of your own, that's also good. And you are quite right.
Behind every successful man is one who has more than a few flaws."
Then as I sat on my dressing room stool and wished again that Pa had been this kind of man, he spoke seriously. "I heard a weather report a few minutes ago, predicting our first serious snow. We expect to fly out very early Sunday, before the snowstorm arrives. You take good care of yourself, Heaven, while we're gone."
His caution made me feel good. Pa had never said anything like that to me—as if he didn't care what happened. "I wish you and Jillian a safe trip," I said, my throat hoarse and hurting.
"Thank you." He smiled again, then stepped close enough to kiss my forehead, and for a moment his hand lingered on my shoulder. "You look so lovely and fresh, sitting there in your pale blue nightgown. Don't let anything or anyone spoil you."
I didn't sleep much that night. The dinner party had revealed to me the great gap between all the friends Jillian and Tony had and the people I'd grown up with. We were all American-born, and yet it seemed we had grown up in different worlds. And all that food that was wasted, enough to feed ten hillbilly families.
Ames Colton would have called on Sunday, if I'd encouraged him at all, but I didn'
t want him around. I still had plans to find Logan.
Early in the morning, I heard the motor of the limo driving off with Tony and Jillian. I tried to fall back to sleep. At six I was still awake and waiting for the servants to get up. But they were too far away for me to hear them turning on shower or tub water or flushing commodes. I could sniff and never smell the bacon frying in the kitchen, and the aroma of coffee never drifted this far. Well, I thought, at least I had Rye Whiskey if I got too lonely.
The house at seven seemed bleakly empty and lonely. As I dressed I sniffed the air for the drift of Jillian's perfume that always lingered in the upstairs halls. My breakfast at that long table was a lonely affair, made worse by the presence of Curtis, who stood near the buffet, ready to jump and wait on me, when I wished he'd go away and leave me alone.
"Will you be needing anything more, miss?" he asked, as if reading my thoughts.
"No, thank you, Curtis."
"Is there anything special you would like to order for your lunch and dinner?"
"Anything will do."
"Then I will tell the chef to prepare one of the usual Sunday menus . . ."
I didn't care what was served. Food, when it came on time and in sufficient amounts and always tasted delicious, wasn't the monumental affair that once it had been. Freshly squeezed orange juice was no longer a thrilling treat. Bananas or fresh strawberries on my cereal were to be expected. But it still thrilled me to see the truffles that Tony so adored sprinkled liberally on my omelettes.
In the library I stood for a long time at the windows, gazing out at the maze. The wind began to gust and make faint whistling sounds, scraping the tree branches against the house. Behind me was a roaring log fire, making cozy the library where I intended to spend the day . . if I couldn't find a way to visit Logan. He hadn't answered my letter, but I knew what dorm he lived in. Already I'd tested the garage door and found it locked. When his wife wasn't around, Cal Dennison had taught me how to drive.
Dark Angel (Casteel Series #2) Page 9
