Secrets of the Morning

by V. C. Andrews

  "I'm adopted," he confessed as though it were a crime. He spoke through his clenched teeth, telling me something I had suspected from the first day I had set eyes on his parents and saw how different they looked from him. "But they don't want anyone to know it. It's a secret we've kept all my life."

  He lifted his head to gaze at me and choked off his sobs and swallowed them.

  "You're the only person I have ever told," he said.

  "But if you're adopted," I said as softly and calmly as I could, "they shouldn't expect you to have inherited their musical talents, right?"

  "That's just it," he replied quickly. "If I don't demonstrate musical talent, they think people will conclude I was adopted and the secret will be out."

  "Why did it have to be a secret?" I asked.

  His body trembled and his dark eyes were bleak, warning me I was about to be shocked. Forewarned as I was, I still wasn't prepared for what I heard.

  "They don't live together like a husband and wife are supposed to," he said. My look of confusion forced him to go on. "They don't sleep in the same bed. My mother has never done what has to be done to make a baby. Don't ask me how I know," he begged and I had the suspicion that spying on people and peeping unobserved at them was something Arthur had been doing all his life.

  "Let's not talk about my problems," he said quickly, raising his head to face me again. "I shouldn't be so selfish and talk about myself with you incarcerated in this house for six months. It's a very unfair punishment and cruel, too. I'm very surprised at Agnes," he added, his thin lips whitening in the corners with anger.

  "It's not her; my grandmother made her do it," I said. "It's all right. I'll survive." I sighed.

  "I won't go out either," he said with determination. "I'll stay home every weekend night and be available to you if you want company. I'll do anything you want to do—play checkers, play cards, or just talk. All you have to do is ask."

  Earnestness like that put tears in my eyes.

  "Oh Arthur, I can't ask you to punish yourself like that. Don't you dare."

  "1 don't go anywhere important anyway," he said. "And I don't have any real friends. Besides, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be with." He looked away quickly, embarrassed by his confession.

  It embarrassed me as well and for a moment I was speechless. I thought it was best and easiest simply to pretend I hadn't heard or understood.

  "The board's a mess," I said. "Let's start all over again."

  "Oh. Certainly," he said, rearranging the checkers, and we played on until I told him I was tired. I thanked him for keeping me company.

  After he left I thought about the things he told me. Why would a man and a woman live together as husband and wife if one of them didn't want to touch the other or be touched? Wasn't sex a way of bringing yourself as close to another person, a person you loved, as could be? And why would a woman be so frightened of it? Was it just her fear of becoming pregnant? How confusing and complicated the world was once you leave that realm in which you dwelt as a child, I thought. You lived in a bubble until one day the bubble burst and you were forced to look around and see that pain and suffering were not part of some make believe that would disappear with the blink of an eye. Certainly Arthur Garwood's wouldn't.

  In a strange way my punishment had trapped me and made things difficult between me and Arthur Garwood. I didn't want him to think I could become his girlfriend, yet I didn't want to hurt him by turning him down all the time when he came by to keep me company. Fortunately, Trisha stayed with me many nights and some of the nights when she didn't the twins were around. Whenever there was anyone else present, especially Donald Rossi, Arthur didn't come by. He spoke to me only when I was alone and wouldn't do any more than look at me and nod whenever he passed me in the school corridors or in the streets if I were walking with someone else.

  Then, Arthur made things even more complex when he came by one Saturday night to present me with his poem. He had it in an envelope.

  "I'll let you read it by yourself," he said, backing away, "and you can come by any time you like to tell me what you honestly think about it. Remember," he said in the doorway, "be honest." Then he left.

  I looked down at the envelope in my hands. He had even sealed it shut. I went to my bed and lay my head back on the pillow and opened it slowly. He had taken great pains to write it in an old English-style script. He might not be a talented musician, I thought, but he certainly had artistic talent. He had entitled the poem "Dawn."

  Darkness grips the world in an iron fist.

  Even the brightest stars can't loosen the hold

  The black fingers of night have on the world and on me.

  I am alone, imprisoned within the shadows I cast.

  No one can hear my cries or my tears and no one cares.

  I am like a bird without wings.

  Despondent, I sit and wait without hope.

  And then, you come.

  You rise over the horizon, your smile so bright and so warm, the darkness has no chance.

  It melts like ice in your warmth.

  Your rays touch my face and I throw off my shadows and grow back my wings.

  Then, like a bird reborn, I fly away and soar in the clouds.

  I looked up quickly from the poem, but Arthur was not in the doorway. He had kept to his promise and retreated to his room, where I knew he waited anxiously. For a moment I was unable to move. These words were beautiful, but so revealing. I was frightened by the depth of feeling he obviously had for me. What had I done to cause him to feel so strongly about me? Was it merely because I had paid some attention to him and not ridiculed him? I didn't ask him to love me or to tell me his deepest secrets.

  Even though I had done nothing I could see that would encourage him, his deep expression of love made me feel as if I had betrayed Jimmy. I knew he wouldn't like to hear how much another boy liked me. What do I do now? I wondered.

  I could just hear Trisha say, "Tell him it was nice and walk away." But Arthur was too sensitive and perceptive for that. I had to be what he knew I was, what he hoped I would be. I had to be honest.

  I rose from the bed and walked slowly to his room. The door was shut as always. I knocked softly.

  "Come in," he said. He was sitting by his desk, the lamp on, the glow on his face making his face appear more like a mask.

  "Arthur," I said, "this is a wonderful poem, a lovely poem. I don't deserve it."

  "Oh yes you do," he said quickly.

  "Arthur, I must tell you something I should have told you earlier. I am already in love with someone. I've loved him all my life and he loves me. We've made promises to each other that we would wait for each other. I haven't told many people this," I added quickly, "but I trust you with it just as you trust me with your secret."

  He simply stared at me, that face of his still looking more like a mask, unmoving, not even his lips trembling.

  "I'd still like you to keep the poem," he finally said.

  "Oh, I want to, Arthur. And I will always treasure it. Especially some day when you're a famous poet," I added.

  He shook his head sadly. "The only thing I will be," he said knowingly, "is a famous failure."

  "Oh, please don't say that, Arthur."

  He turned and looked down at his papers. "Thank you," he said, "for being so honest."

  I could see he didn't want to talk anymore so I thanked him again for the poem and left. I think it hurt me almost as much as it hurt him. I was never so glad to see Trisha and bask in her energy and laughter as I was when she returned from the movies that night and brought me the latest school gossip. I didn't tell her about Arthur's poem. I had already hidden it away in my dresser drawer with some of my other precious mementos, things I never wanted to lose, but things I found full of pain as well as love, like Momma Longchamp's picture, for they reminded me of what was lost and what would never be.

  As more time passed Agnes's anger at me diminished. We never discussed the incident of my comin
g home at three in the morning anymore. I knew I had a good ally in Mrs. Liddy who sang my praises, especially when it was my turn to help with the kitchen work. I often spent time with her in the kitchen watching her work. She told me her life story, how she was made into an orphan at age eight when both her parents died from Spanish flu. Her family was separated because no one wanted to take on more than one child at a time, and there were two sisters and a brother she hadn't seen for more than twenty years.

  I told her my story and how much I was afraid that a similar thing would happen to Jimmy, Fern and me. As it was we had no clues as to where Fern lived.

  "Despite all that's happened," I said, "I would gladly trade my real family for the family I grew up with."

  Mrs. Liddy didn't seem shocked, especially after I told her some of the things that had happened to me at the hotel and how Grandmother Cutler had treated me and was still treating me.

  After my revelations, Mrs. Liddy and I became even closer. She spent time showing me some of her recipes and even let me help her prepare dinner for everyone one night. Her friendship helped me pass the time.

  Finally, Agnes came to me one night shortly before the Christmas holiday to tell me she was very happy with how I had behaved these past months and had decided she could put me back on probation and end my punishment. I was surprised and thought it was all Mrs. Liddy's doing until I received a phone call a few days later from my mother.

  "Randolph and I and Clara Sue are coming to New York on the weekend. We are on the way to spend the holidays on a luxury liner," she said. "We would like to come by and take you out to dinner."

  "What about Philip?" I asked quickly.

  "Philip's not going because he is visiting with some school friends. We knew you would be busy with your lessons over the holidays," she quickly said, "so we didn't ask you to join us, but we do so much want to see you."

  "Are you really well enough to take such a trip?" I asked, barely hiding my sarcasm.

  "Not really," she said, "but the doctors think it would do me a world of good and it isn't often I can get Randolph leave the hotel. We'll see you soon," she added quickly. "Wear one of your nicest dresses because we'll go to a very fancy, expensive restaurant."

  After I hung up, I wished I'd said I wouldn't go. I certainly wasn't looking forward to seeing Clara Sue. But despite my anger, I couldn't stop myself from being curious about everyone and how they looked. Laura Sue was still my real mother and regret it as much as I did, I couldn't deny the fact that Clara Sue was at least my half-sister.

  They came by early that day. Agnes sent Clara Sue up to fetch me while she entertained my mother and Randolph in the sitting room with her theatrical stories and mementos. Without knocking, which didn't surprise me in the least, Clara Sue threw open Trisha's and my bedroom door and stood there gloating, her hands on her hips, her full bosom, which looked even fuller in her light blue dress with its tightfitting bodice, rising and falling as she breathed quickly from running up the stairs. The crinoline under her skirt made it full and gave the impression Clara Sue was even bigger than she was. She'd had her hair cut and styled with a wave falling over her left eye seductively, which made her look much older. Other than that, she hadn't changed much; she was still a good twenty pounds overweight as was evident in her plump cheeks and arms.

  Trisha looked up from the book she was reading while she relaxed in bed and watched me prepare for my dinner outing with my real family.

  "This has to be Clara Sue," Trisha said in what I had come to appreciate as her deadpan style.

  "Your room is so small for two people," Clara Sue commented as she twisted her mouth into a look of disgust. "How do you keep out of each other's way?"

  "Traffic signals," Trisha said.

  "Huh?"

  "I don't really care what you think of our room, Clara Sue," I said, turning on her. "Besides, any normal person would have said hello first and waited to be introduced."

  "They sent me up to tell you to hurry down," she whined. Then she pivoted and disappeared.

  "Sweet thing," Trisha said. "I do sympathize, but try to have a good time."

  "That's probably impossible," I said, gazed at myself once more in the mirror and left. As I passed Arthur's door, I saw it was open just a crack and he was peeping out. I didn't stop. Downstairs in the sitting room, my mother was laughing at something Agnes had said. They all turned when I appeared in the doorway.

  Randolph was sitting beside my mother. He had his long legs crossed with his graceful hands folded over them and sat back comfortably, his soft mouth in a gentle smile and his blue eyes never looking more warm and bright. His light brown hair looked like it had grayed more at the temples and gray strains were even woven through the flaxen ones. But, he had his perennial dark tan and looked as elegant in his dark blue suit and tie as ever.

  I was surprised at how well my mother looked. Her blonde hair lay on her bare, smooth, soft shoulders. She wore her gold necklace with the egg-shaped diamonds and the matching egg-shaped diamond earrings. The glitter in the precious stones matched the glitter in her deep blue eyes. Somehow, she looked even younger to me. It was as if time had no effect on her; she was immune to aging. She had a childlike quality, and her skin was as baby soft and creamy as ever with a healthy tint in her cheeks.

  "Oh, how pretty you look, Dawn," she said, her voice dripping with Southern charm and gentility. "Doesn't she look absolutely beautiful, Randolph?"

  "Absolutely," he said, nodding and smiling widely, his teeth gleaming white in that brown face.

  Clara Sue stood behind them, her arms folded under her heavy breasts, her eyes green with envy.

  "We're having such a delightful chat with Agnes, I hate to leave," my mother said.

  "Oh, that's so kind of you," Agnes said, "but you mustn't let me delay your reunion."

  "We do have reservations," Randolph said, ever the one to worry about schedules.

  "Of course," my mother said. She held her hand out and Randolph shot into a standing position and helped her get up. She was wearing a beautiful black silk dress with a sweetheart neckline. Her bosom was lifted so that the rosy tint of her cleavage was visible. It was hard to believe that this woman, my mother, spent so much of her time locked away in her room in bed, an invalid.

  She approached me and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. Then everyone said goodbye to Agnes, even Clara Sue, and we left to go to dinner. They had a limousine parked outside.

  "You must tell us all about the school," my mother said after we were all settled in the limousine. "It must be so exciting for you to be around so many talented people."

  I found it easy to talk about school and realized as I was describing it and my classes and teachers that I was excited about being here. Most of the time I was talking Clara Sue moaned and acted disinterested. She complained about everything at the restaurant and had her meal sent back to be cooked over. No matter what she did, neither my mother nor Randolph chastised her. No one could be more spoiled, I thought.

  Randolph described their impending vacation, the ports of call they would visit and how much he and my mother had looked forward to this vacation.

  "Randolph hasn't had a real vacation for over a year," my mother said.

  I asked no questions about Grandmother Cutler and whenever any references were made to her, I simply ignored them. Until I asked how Sissy was. I would never forget the beautiful songs she sang when she worked. She was a very sweet girl, who felt bad about the way the others had treated me when I first arrived and one of the chambermaids had been fired to make a place for me, someone who really didn't need the work.

  "Grandmother fired Sissy," Clara Sue practically bellowed.

  "Fired her? But why?" I asked, turning to Randolph. He shook his head.

  "She was doing poor work," Clara Sue said with relish.

  "That couldn't be true," I insisted, looking at my mother now. From the way she shifted her eyes from mine, I knew the reason lay elsewhere.


  "She fired her because she told me where Mrs. Dalton lived, didn't she?" I demanded.

  "Mrs. Dalton lived?" Randolph said. He looked at my mother.

  "That's not true, Dawn," my mother said softly. "Please don't talk about it anymore. It's not pleasant to hear about unpleasant things now and I can't be made nervous just before a trip like this."

  "But I'm right, aren't I?" I looked at Clara Sue who sat back smugly, which confirmed my suspicions. "How horrible," I said. "Sissy needed the work. It's not fair. Grandmother Cutler is so cruel, so horribly cruel."

  "Now, Dawn," Randolph said, "you don't want to get yourself upset and everyone else upset, do you? We're having such a nice time."

  A nice time? thought. Who's having a nice time? On one side of me I had Clara Sue groaning and moaning and doing all that she could to make our dinner a disaster and across from me I had my mother who wanted to pretend all was wonderful and rosy, even though she knew I had been sent away after I had discovered the ugly truth.

  I turned on him.

  "Why did you let her fire Sissy?" I cried. "You know Sissy's a good worker and a loyal worker. Don't you feel sorry for anyone? Can't you do anything at the hotel?"

  "Dawn!" My mother's eyes flared. "Oh dear," she said. "My heart is pounding something fierce, Randolph. I think I might just faint away at the table."

  "Easy, my darling," he said, leaning over with concern. He took her hand into his and patted it quickly.

  Why can't he see how phony she is? I wondered. Or didn't he care?

  "I think we had better go," my mother said between gasps. "I need to get back to the hotel and lie down, otherwise I won't be able to go tomorrow."

  "Of course," Randolph said. He signaled the waiter and demanded the check immediately.