The Unwelcomed Child

by V. C. Andrews

  Had she discovered I had met Mason and Claudine and gone in the rowboat? Worse, did she know what we had done?

  When I saw her, I walked faster.

  “You are cutting it close,” she said. She held up her wrist to show me her watch. “Five minutes to four?”

  “I was very involved in my drawing, Grandmother. I found a nice view of the lake and decided to do that.”

  She gave me that half-grunt that sounded as if she was clearing her throat.

  “You’d think you would be more interested in my meeting with the school principal.”

  “Oh, I am. Very much, Grandmother Myra,” I said, stepping up onto the porch.

  She studied me a moment. “What’s this, missy? Your hair,” she said, and touched it. “It’s wet.”

  “Oh, yes. It got so hot out there that I dipped my hands in the water and patted my hair and face.”

  “I’m not sure that water is so clean.”

  “It looks very clean, very clear. I could actually see small fish swimming.”

  “Well, I’d like you to take a hot shower anyway before helping with dinner,” she said, opening the door.

  I walked in quickly.

  “Go into the living room,” she ordered.

  I went through the kitchen. Grandfather Prescott was in the living room and brightened when he saw me. There in the center of the floor was an easel, and beside it were brushes, a packet of pencils, a large drawing pad, and a tin of paints.

  “The man at the store told me this would be a good start for you,” he said.

  “Oh, thank you, Grandfather.”

  I approached it and looked at the paints and the easel, where he had placed the pad.

  “That folds up easily and can be carried anywhere you want to work,” he said, and he pulled a book out from between himself and the chair and held it up. “This is a basic art instruction book. It tells all about mixing colors, the differences between very hard and very soft pencils, how to make basic shapes, help with shading, and especially how to establish perspective. It’s just a start. A school art class will take you further along, but at least you won’t walk in totally uninformed.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome. I expect to get my investment back a hundred times when you start to sell paintings.”

  “Don’t fill her head with nonsense,” Grandmother Myra snapped. “You did that to Deborah, and look where that got us.”

  He shook his head but put the book down. Then he reached into his pocket and brought out a watch. “We got this for you,” he said, handing it to me.

  It had a light blue leather band and was oval-shaped.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Thank you, Grandfather.”

  “You’re welcome, Elle. The time’s set right. Give me mine back and put yours on.”

  I did.

  “Looks very nice on her wrist, doesn’t it, Myra?”

  “Yes. Sit,” she said, and I sat across from them.

  “I’m not terribly confident in this school. The principal actually was wearing a shirt opened at the collar and no tie, with a pair of jeans,” she began, and my heart started to sink with anticipated disappointment.

  “It is summer, Myra,” Grandfather Prescott said softly. “They can relax their dress.”

  “Summer or not, a man in his position has to remember that he sets an example. I asked him about a student dress code, and the sheet of information he gave me is very vague. No shorts for either boys or girls, no halters for girls, but there’s no measurement for skirts. T-shirts can’t have any profanity or anything suggestive, but they permit them to wear T-shirts. Don’t worry. You’ll dress properly. We’ll go shopping for your clothes tomorrow after breakfast.”

  “The fall fashions are out now,” Grandfather Prescott interjected.

  “I’m not worried about fashion for her. I’m worried about decent appearance. Also surprising to me is that there are no restrictions on makeup. From what I read, a girl could attend looking like a clown. I want it clearly understood that you are not to borrow anyone’s lipstick or put it on while there and then wash it off before coming home. That was something your mother always did. Deceit began at an early age.”

  I nodded.

  “I wasn’t going to permit you to do anything after school,” she continued, “but he asked if you had a good singing voice, and I told him you did because you sing hymns with us. He suggested that you be permitted to join the chorus. He assured me that the songs you would sing were standard, some classical, in fact. They have chorus practice every Tuesday and Thursday for an hour after school; otherwise, you’re to come right home.”

  “You know, you can walk there and back,” Grandfather Prescott said.

  “Of course she can. It’s just a little over a mile and a half. It should never take you more than twenty minutes.”

  “If it’s raining, I’ll pick you up,” Grandfather Prescott said.

  “Raining, not sprinkling,” she corrected. “Now, they want you to take some tests before September to confirm your math and reading skills. I’ve scheduled that in three weeks’ time. Until then, I want you to review what I’ve given you every day. I won’t be embarrassed by poor results.”

  “She’ll do fine, I’m sure,” Grandfather Prescott said, smiling to reassure me.

  She looked at him and shook her head, as if he was to be pitied. “Your grandfather has always been one to look at the world through rose-colored glasses. I’ve never been one.”

  “And thankful for that, I am,” he said. “She’s kept me on an even keel.”

  “I know that’s the truth. Well, do you have any questions?”

  “No, Grandmother. Thank you.”

  “Don’t ever let me regret it,” she warned.

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. Now go take that shower.”

  I rose and then paused in the doorway. My fear was that I would rile up the rattlesnakes of suspicion in her head, but I thought I had an opportunity to use the gifts Grandfather Prescott had bought me.

  “Do you think it will be all right for me to take my new art materials into the woods tomorrow afternoon? I’ll read the instruction book all night tonight,” I added, more for him.

  “I don’t want you neglecting your preparation for the tests,” Grandmother Myra said. My heart started to sink. “But if you review what you’ve been taught vigorously, I guess you might as well make use of all this. Otherwise, it would be a dreadful waste of money.”

  “Thank you. I promise I won’t neglect my studies.”

  “Please, don’t make promises. You sound too much like your mother when you do that,” she said. “Just do what you’re supposed to do.”

  “I will, Grandmother.”

  I couldn’t even begin to describe the new waves of excitement that were flowing through me. Was there ever a day when I was as happy as I was at this moment? I was going to attend a real school, meet girls and boys my age, even participate in a chorus, and I was going to be able to walk to school and back, see things I’d never seen, and hear things I’d never heard.

  If I hadn’t met Mason and Claudine, I’d be more terrified than happy right now, but they had promised to help prepare me. I would learn things I needed to know from them. I wouldn’t feel like a fool. I couldn’t wait to let them know.

  Now I was going to get new clothes, too. And to top it off, Grandfather Prescott had bought me all the art equipment. I knew that for most girls my age, this would all be so simple they’d barely bat an eyelash of excitement, but I couldn’t think of that. I thought only of what this meant to me. It was as if the doors were beginning to open. Maybe I didn’t have a knight on a white horse coming to take me away, but I was coming out from behind that window and taking steps out into the world. It was as if I had just been born, and everything before was a dream I could forget.

  At least, I hoped I could.

  After I showered and just before I went into the kitchen to help wit
h dinner preparations, I slipped out the back door and tied my ribbon on the banister.

  8

  As always, I knew that when I was too excited about something, Grandmother Myra focused her suspicious eyes on me, but the following morning, it was very difficult to contain myself and not show excitement. She had announced when the stores would be opened, and I was constantly glancing at the clock.

  “I want to go over the math you had to do this week before we go anywhere,” she said. “Don’t worry. The stores won’t close before we leave the house.”

  I had done well with the math, but I was so nervous now because I knew she was scrutinizing me with microscopic lenses, pouncing on the smallest errors, as if she was hoping for some reason to abort my attending a public school. After all, she was going to have to surrender much of her control of me, and although the last thing I wanted to do was feel sorry for her, it was nearly impossible for me not to see how frightened she was. I didn’t have to be a trained psychologist to understand that she blamed herself for how my mother turned out. Maybe she blamed my grandfather more, but she couldn’t escape blaming herself, too. There was never any question that she was determined not to make the same mistakes with me.

  Despite how well I was doing in their eyes now, I never sensed that they believed that whatever evil I had inherited from my biological father was completely destroyed. If I let down my guard and took on even a little of what they categorized as my mother’s disrespectful and immoral behavior, that inherited evil would be nurtured and blossom like a black rose with thorns inside me. I would prove to be fertile soil for that.

  My grandfather was less concerned, but he was also sensitive to my grandmother’s blaming him for having that blind eye and, as she had said, burying his head in the sand, especially when it came to my mother’s behavior. I didn’t have to eavesdrop on their conversations to know that she was constantly warning him that I could very well be different once I was influenced by other girls and boys my age.

  “And once that happens,” I did hear her tell him, “she could be an even bigger influence on them. I don’t want to be getting phone calls from parents and teachers warning me that she is spoiling other children.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. You’ve done too well with her, Myra.”

  His reassurance did little to comfort her. “You don’t have to worry. I worry.”

  Today, because we were taking a serious step toward what I saw as my entrance into the world, where I would be free to make my own decisions and succumb to temptations, she looked more concerned than ever. I imagined she was constantly asking herself if she was doing the right thing in permitting me to enter school. Had she prepared me enough? Even though I was sure nobody my age was as aware of her every move, her every facial expression, and every word uttered as I was, I was afraid that I would mess up when we went shopping. If I looked at some boy the wrong way or even looked with some admiration at a girl she thought a floozy while we were shopping, it could all be over in the snap of a finger.

  She was happy with my math review and told me to get ready to go shopping “for appropriate school clothing.” Little did I know how difficult it was going to be. Once we entered a department store and began to look at what was on sale for girls my age, she nearly turned us around and marched us out. Skirts were too short, and material for blouses was too thin. The new bras were invitations in neon lights for promiscuity, and “who would approve of her daughter wearing thong panties?”

  When I tried something on and stepped out, her eyes rolled and her lips curled into her mouth. It took hours to settle on two dresses, two skirts, and two blouses. To get her to agree to some of it, I had to accept sizes a little too large. What didn’t help was the other girls shopping on their own, buying and giggling over “sexually explicit” garments.

  “And adults wonder why children have gone so wrong these days,” she told my grandfather.

  He kept quiet most of the time, recognizing that if he offered an opinion, she might pounce on him and hurl memories at him, especially mistakes he had approved when it came to my mother. Ironically, the more she referred to her, the more fascinated I became with her. Someday, when I was older and more independent, I would seek her out, I thought. I was growing more determined about that.

  We went to the shoe department, where she had an easier time approving two pairs and some running shoes for me to have for PE class. The principal had told her about the PE uniform. She told me that she had insisted on seeing one, and when he showed it to her, she wasn’t totally happy with it and told him that it was too abbreviated. He reassured her that the board of education had approved it with input from the parent-teacher organization. She contained her criticism, but she didn’t change her mind.

  “We’ll shop for your school supplies toward the end of the summer,” she told me after we bought my new shoes. She sounded as if it was still undecided whether I would attend public school.

  I didn’t contradict a thing she said or argue for anything that didn’t meet with her immediate approval. It was almost as if it didn’t matter whether or not I was present to shop for what I needed. I saw pained looks on my grandfather’s face but never attempted to get him to argue with her or disagree with her decisions.

  Except for my blouses and dresses being a little too large, I didn’t think my clothing would draw too much ridicule. For me, despite her attitude, it was like Christmas. So much of what I possessed before was either hand-me-downs or bought at some thrift store where someone could find older fashions. As we were leaving the mall, Grandfather Prescott saw a French beret he thought would look cute on me. I loved the idea and held my breath as she considered.

  “It’s the proper hat for a budding new artist, Myra,” he said softly.

  She didn’t offer any resistance, which was as close to an approval as we could get, and he was able to buy me the beret.

  “I’d like to learn French,” I said afterward. Claudine seemed to know so many French words and terms. I couldn’t help wanting to be more like her.

  I anticipated hearing that my mother had wanted to learn a language, too, maybe even French, and how that came to naught, but Grandmother Myra said nothing. It was my grandfather who approved and made the point that I was ambitious.

  “When it comes to learning, that’s very good,” he said, and looked at my grandmother to add, “and it’s all your doing, Myra. She’s been very lucky having you as her homeschool teacher.”

  I wondered if my grandmother could sense whenever my grandfather contrived a compliment. Lately, it always sounded as if he was placating her the way an adult might placate a child. Whether or not she knew it, she usually looked pleased. It seemed to work this time, too, and I was grateful.

  However, Grandfather Prescott almost ruined my morning by suggesting that they take me to lunch. She pounced on that, sneering at the garbage they called food served at high prices. When we arrived home and he helped carry in my boxes of clothes and shoes, he nearly spoiled things again. He looked at my small bedroom and said, “Maybe it’s time we moved her upstairs, Myra.”

  It was as if he had lit a fire under her. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open for a moment. “What?”

  “She doesn’t have proper closets, and the lighting is so poor. It’s a waste not utilizing that room.”

  “Next thing you’ll be suggesting is we get her a telephone just for her.”

  “Maybe. She’ll make friends, I hope, and it’s only natural for them to want to talk to each other. You won’t want our phone tied up, not that we get many calls.” It sounded clearly like a complaint. She ignored it.

  “Out of the question,” she said, and practically fled.

  Grandfather Prescott winked. “Give her a little time,” he said.

  Give her a little time? I’m fifteen, I thought. I doubted that any amount of time would ever matter, but I didn’t say anything. I put my new things away as best I could and then went out to help make the chicken sa
lad she had designated for our late lunch. Grandmother Myra’s critique of the way teenagers dressed and behaved in the mall dominated the conversation at the table. I didn’t think she had seen all that I had.

  “Did you see how many girls have those rings in their noses and that girl who had her lips pierced?” she asked me.

  Of course I had. I had been gaping at them a little too long, and they started glaring at me and talking about me, which sent a sharp electric fear through me. They looked so tough and mean, with their black lipstick and nail polish and short haircuts. I was afraid they might come over to complain and my grandmother would be enraged that I had given them any attention. Fortunately, they lost interest in me.

  I shook my head. “No, Grandmother. I didn’t see them.”

  “Good. That’s a good way to determine whom you should speak to and whom you shouldn’t when you’re in school,” she said. “Any girl who wears that disgusting makeup, has a tattoo, or wears rings in her face is poison, understand?”

  I nodded. “The Bible forbids tattoos,” I said.

  She liked that. “Of course. God doesn’t want us mutilating our bodies like savages and heathens.”

  I was still very excited about attending public school, but every moment, it seemed she was laying down another rule, something else that was forbidden, and then describing dangers I had to understand. It was more like traversing a minefield than attending a public school. Nevertheless, I filed it all as far back in my mind as I could and kept my excitement alive, my future hopeful. A real part of why I could do that was my new friends, Mason and Claudine. Not that I had any way of judging, but I thought they must be the most sophisticated and knowledgeable people my age I could ever hope to meet.