DeBeers 03 Twisted Roots

by V. C. Andrews

  I stepped up to the rock.

  "Did Grandma make you a nice breakfast?"

  "Yes," I said.

  She loves making you a nice breakfast. She loves doing everything for you. Rosemary. You are her favorite, even more so than I am, you know, but I'm not jealous. It's natural for a great-grandmother to love her great-grandchild more, especially when she is still a little girl. When I was a little girl, she loved me more than she loved my mother. 'You're spoiling her.' my mother would complain. 'I spoiled you, too.' she would say. 'It's her turn.--

  She laughed and looked around, "Isn't it a beautiful day, Rosemary?"

  "Yes." I said.

  It was, The sky was cobalt blue with just a patch of cloud here and there, all of them looking dabbed on one of Uncle Linden's canvases.

  "We have had so many wonderful days like this together, haven't we. Rosemary? I was telling Mr. Montgomery about our beautiful lake. He wants to see it. Maybe he should be painting it After lunch we are all going for a nice walk to the lake, aren't we. Linden?"

  "If you're up to it. Bessie. I would love to see it."

  "Of course I'll be up to it. Why shouldn't I be? Isn't he the sweetest, most considerate man you have ever met. Rosemary? A perfect southern gentleman. too."

  "Well, I'm from Palm Beach. Is that considered Southern?" he jokingly asked. "I have my doubts because most of the people I know there don't consider themselves Southerners. They are

  Sophisticates. They come from Sophistica, a separate county, even a separate world."

  "Oh, that's so silly. Isn't he silly? Palm Beach isn't another county."

  "Tell that to the citizens of Palm Beach," Uncle Linden muttered and peered over his easel at me. "They even speak a different language and say things like 'How ticky-tacky.' and 'shampoo' instead of 'champagne.'"

  Bess laughed, her laugh light and airy and caught in the breeze that lifted her beautiful hair and made it dance over her forehead. How long has it been since she laughed like this? I wondered. How long since she had a small respite from her continuous grieving?

  "Oh, what a delight you are. What a silly delight," she told Uncle Linden, who beamed with pleasure.

  "I've been called a lot worse." he said. He shook his brush at Bess. "You can call me whatever you like, but don't call me late for dinner."

  She laughed again and then, without much warning, threw her arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to her, kissing my forehead.

  "Isn't she a beautiful child. Linden?"

  "I wouldn't be painting her otherwise," he replied. "nor would I be painting you if you weren't a beautiful woman. Bessie. It's against my religion to paint anything ugly or unpleasant," he said. Her embarrassed laughter followed the blush that came quickly into her cheeks.

  I couldn't help but be impressed with how charming Uncle Linden was being. Was he doing a good thing, or was it something that just prolonged the tragedy, and now, as I thought about what had happened last night and was still happening, made us a part of it?

  "Just turn your head slightly to the right far me. Bessie." he told her, and she released me and did what he asked. "Yes," he said. "Perfect. You must have done this before."

  "Me? I haven't."

  "You've never worked as an artist's model? That's difficult to believe," he said and worked an.

  Nothing I had seen him paint had given him as much pleasure, I thought, and then I remembered how nervous and troubled Mommy had been when he first had asked me to pose. This was different. though. I told myself. He wasn't painting me. He was painting Bess and Bess's Rosemary. I was just a stand-in for her. It was surely not the same thing.

  Or was it? Was all of this the same thing: a fanning of the world of madness and illusion, strengthening the illness that had so gripped his mind most of his life, and was I now the one solely responsible for that?

  We had taken too much on ourselves. Heyden. I thought, looking his way, far too much.

  Nevertheless. Uncle Linden was more talkative and amusing than I had ever seen him. He rattled on and on, telling one funny Palm Beach story after another. Bess's laughter became our background music, and the more she laughed, the more he talked. He told her stories I had never heard, and he was very entertaining. How frustrated he must have been in the residency not having people to talk to who would stimulate his mind or encourage his creativity. I thought, comforting myself. Even if this wasn't forever, it was a wonderful interlude for him, too, wasn't it? It couldn't be all bad, Eventually Mommy would have to admit to that.

  We paused to drink some fresh lemonade Mrs. Stanton brought out to us, and while we rested. Uncle Linden talked about his youth, living on a beach property, dreaming of sailing off to wonderful foreign lands.

  'The truth is I never went more than a dozen or so miles from home, but sometimes, sometimes dreams are enough," he concluded.

  "Yes." Bess said. nodding. "Sometimes they are."

  I didn't say a word. I was more like an observer now It was as if they had forgotten I was there. and I didn't want to spoil the magic for them.

  We returned to modeling and creating the picture. Finally, literally hours after I had first joined them, we heard the tinkling of a bell.

  "Oh. Grandma's calling us to lunch," Bess said.

  "Wonderful. I'm absolutely famished. It's been a while since I've had so much fresh air. It stirs one's appetite," Uncle Linden said and then, looking at Bess. added, "All of one's appetites."

  I almost fell off the rock with surprise at his flirtatious ways. Bess blushed and rose quickly. Uncle Linden covered his easel before either of us could have a look at what he had done, and then the three of us started for the house. Heyden and Chubs were still bent over the engine block, but when Chubs saw us walking back, he paused and said something to Heyden. He wiped his hands and then started toward us. I lingered in the rear, falling back. Bess, talking now with Uncle Linden, who was still telling one story after another, didn't seem to notice.

  "I have a feeling your uncle isn't going to want to leave this place." Heyden said, smiling at him and Bess. "Mrs. Stanton still believes he's your father. right?"

  "Yes. but I keep thinking that none of this is right. Heyden. We're all frauds."

  He stopped. his hands on his hips. "No. we're not. We're helping the old lady get by, and what harm's any of it doing anyway, huh? Look at how happy that woman is." he said. nodding at Bess, "You want to go run up to her and tell her you're a fraud? Think that's the right thing to do? Think that will make you feel better?"

  "No, but--"

  "No, buts, then," he said. "Let's get something to eat. I'll go back to work. We're making headway. Maybe another few hours and then we can get on the road, and you won't have to feel like you're doing something terrible when you're not."

  "I don't know if I want to get back on the road," I said, avoiding his eyes. I gazed back at the rock and the easel out in the field instead.

  "What? What are you saying, Hannah?"

  "I haven't called my mother since we left." "So? I haven't called mine, either, and what do you expect they will say when we do call them? Hope you're having a good time? Don't forget to send postcards?"

  Uncle Linden and Bess entered the house, their laughter echoing behind them.

  "I'll tell you what they'll say," he continued, "They'll say we had better come home and come home right now or they'll send the police after us, and your mother will scream and yell at you for taking your uncle along."

  "Maybe she won't" I said "Maybe--' "Maybe what?" he cried, his arms out.

  "Maybe she's suffering like Bess," I blurted, my eyes so full of tears, I thought I had opened them under water.

  He stared at me a moment.

  "What are you saying. Hannah? You were the one who was suffering. remember? You were the one who was being treated like you were unwanted, remember? You were the one who said you felt guilty living in that house. right?"

  "Yes," I said. "But--"

  "But what? This isn't
like going on a Sunday picnic or something. We took your uncle out of his home. We used his money. We took him to the bank and had him take it all out! We made a decision, choices, and we carried them out."

  "Nothing was done that can't be corrected," I said.

  "Corrected? Corrected? That suggests we did something wrong. We did nothing wrong."

  I took a deep breath and looked at the house.

  "Mrs. Stanton believes our coming here was something of a blessing. Well, maybe it was a blessing for all of us, especially for me. You think I imagined everything that happened last night in Rosemary's room. I know. Perhaps I did, but one way or another it happened, and it caused me to think about everything. Heyden.

  "Bess lost her daughter tragically. Nothing can change that. My mother lost little Claude and nothing can change that. either. I saw what losing Rosemary has done to Bess. Losing little Claude was as traumatic for my mother, and now..."

  "And now she's losing you. Is that it?" he asked.

  "Yes. Except I can change that."

  "Great. You lead me on. You get me to believe we can do this. You make a big deal over the music, and you give me hope and then you just stop and whine. I don't know. Maybe it's a mistake. We should go back."

  "I feel terrible. Heyden. All of this sadness, tragedy, it makes me understand. and I feel terrible."

  "Yeah, well, too bad for me. huh."

  "Don't be so upset. You can still go on, can't you?"

  He looked away, fuming. "Damn right, I can still go on. I'm not going back to an estate and fancy cars like you are."

  He turned on me. "Maybe you do belong in the Palm Beach world. Hannah. Maybe deep down inside yourself you really are like all that."

  "I'm not thinking of going back to that. I'm thinking of my mother," I moaned.

  "Right. Fine. Thanks," he said and walked off

  "Heyden!"

  He kept walking. I watched him a moment, sucked back my tears, and headed for the house.

  By the time I walked in, they were all laughing around the table. Mrs. Stanton was serving a cold chicken salad with her mint iced tea and some of her bread, Uncle Linden was eating- like he really was famished. Most of the time I saw him eat at the residency Or anywhere, he pecked at his food, seemingly not enjoying a bite.

  I saw how happy Mrs. Stanton was. She beamed over the two of them, growing happier and happier, every time Bess laughed or ate something.

  "Hurry before these two devour it all." she called to me.

  "I ate breakfast later than they did." I said "I'm not as hungry."

  "Well, sit and have something."

  "It's harder work than you think being a model. Rosemary." Uncle Linden said. and I felt my blood freeze. He had avoided calling me that up until now, giving me the feeling he was only doing what I was doing: charitably humoring poor Bess, but the look on his face reminded me of times when he drifted off or said strange things to me at the residency, calling me Willow and speaking to me as though I were my mother.

  He turned to Mrs, Stanton. "People don't realize that when they are nervous or intense, they are burning up calories, too. You don't have to plow a field or run a mile to build an appetite." he told her.

  She listened attentively and nodded. "How very true." "Of course, your food is so delicious. Mrs. Stanton, I would be hungry no matter what." he added, and she took on a smile that seemed to drop years from her face.

  "Why, thank you. sir. That's very kind of you."

  Mrs. Stanton looked at me, still standing and gaping at them all. "Where's Heyden?" she asked.

  "Cleaning up and coming," I said, hoping that was exactly what he was doing.

  "Well, don't you worry. Despite the way these two are consuming my salad, there is plenty more in the kitchen."

  "Shouldn't have told us that." Uncle Linden warned. "We'll be asking for seconds, won't we. Bessie?"

  "Yes." she said. laughing.

  "Besides. We need our strength for the walk."

  "What walk?" Mrs. Stanton asked.

  I sat at the table and put some chicken salad on my plate. "To your beautiful lake. right. Bess?" he said.

  Mrs. Stanton's smile faded quickly. "You don't go to the lake anymore. Bess." she told her. "Remember?"

  "Of course I go to the lake. Grandma. Rosemary and I were at the lake just yesterday, weren't we. Rosemary?" she asked me.

  I stopped chewing and looked at Mrs. Stanton.

  "Yes," I said.

  "See?"

  "I thought you promised me you wouldn't go there, Bess. You wouldn't take Rosemary there. Remember?"

  "It's all right. Mr. Montgomery will be with us, and he's thinking of painting it," she said, her lips quivering.

  "But... there's a fence around the lake now. Bess. Remember? Charles built that fence for us." She looked at Uncle Linden, "With a fence around it, it wouldn't be pretty enough to paint," she said.

  '1 see. No, it might not" "Yes, it will," Bess insisted.

  "There are so many other beautiful places on the farm. Bess. Why don't you show Mr. Montgomery the remaining orchard, for example?"

  "It's not the same," she said sharply. "I want to show him the lake."

  Mrs. Stanton avoided Bess's eyes and smiled at me. "Some apple butter, darling." she asked.

  "Thank you," I said, taking the dish.

  "Let me refresh the chicken salad," she said, rising and taking the bowl. She glanced back at me when she started far the kitchen.

  "Let me help you. Grandma," I said and rase to follow.

  When we stepped into the kitchen, she turned around quickly.

  She doesn't go there anymore." she said. "It's not actually a lake. It's a big pond. and I did have Charles build a fence around it."

  "Sometimes Bess imagines different things happening to Rosemary. She wakes up after another nightmare and then acts on it. One morning she rose early and went to the pond because she had a dream that Rosemary was drowning. Luckily Charles saw her trampling down the high grass in her rush to get there, and he followed. He saw her gaze at the pond and then scream and run into the water. She was swimming frantically and crying for Rosemary. He realized she was soon actually struggling to stay afloat herself. and he got to her before she drowned,

  "After that he and I decided to build a fence around it. It's a chain-link fence. She can't get to the water. If she goes there and looks at it, perhaps she doesn't see the fence. Her mind might play tricks on her, but at least she can't drown,

  "Once she was gone for hours and we found her walking miles from here. She had dreamed that Rosemary had gotten lost, and she had gone out to find her.

  "Now, whenever she goes out, no matter what he's doing. Charles follows and watches her. Sometimes she walks and talks aloud as if Rosemary is alongside her, he says. Sometimes she just walks in circles, mumbling to herself. When he thinks he has to, he calls to her and gets her to come home."

  She dabbed her eyes with a napkin.

  "I've made up my mind that if something should happen to Charles or he left us for whatever reason. I would have to put her in some sort of place for her own protection, but until then. I do the best I can and pray nothing happens to her, that she doesn't do anything terrible to herself. Someday, maybe, she'll wake up and realize the truth and face it.

  "We all have to wake up and face some unpleasant truth someday. All we can do is hope to be strong enough to carry it along with the other burdens life lays on us." She took a deep breath and then looked at me.

  "But you're too young to worry about these things, darlin'," she said, smiling and touching my face. "Soon your vehicle will be repaired, and you can leave all this behind you. Thank you for doing what you've done, and please thank your daddy. too."

  It was on the tip of my tongue to blurt that he was not my daddy. He was my uncle and we were all running away. I wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted to be honest with her so much. but I was so afraid that she would see it as another form of betrayal and deceit in a normally
dark world that for a few days at least had opened to some sunshine. How do you give someone such a gift and then take it away so quickly?

  Uncle Linden's and Bess's laughter echoed from the dining room.

  "Isn't that a wonderful sound?" she asked. "We haven't heard much of it for a long time."

  "Yes." I said, practically in a whisper.

  "I'd better get this replenished," Mrs. Stanton said, holding up the bowl. "Your cousin should be in there by now."

  "What about Charles?"

  "Oh, he won't eat much lunch. He likes to have a piece of fruit is all. All these years he's been with us, he still feels out of place eating in that formal dining room. I know and I don't force him to do it. He'll came in for birthdays and special occasions, but he's always been more comfortable where he's at. He knows I want him here whenever he wants to come. I guess we're all stuck in our ways. That's what being old does to you. darlin'. It hardens the grooves, tightens the doors, shuts the windows, and keeps you where life has taken von. Change is never easy, but when you reach our ages, it's nearly impossible. The only change left is the grave itself. And as von can see, I have more work to do before I retire.

  "So," she said. "let me give you this little piece of wisdom: take your time making your big decisions, your turns and twists in life. Ponder those forks in the road because if you go too far, you never can go back, not really. No decision is too small. Live like everything you do will change the world, if not for you, far someone you love.

  "That's it." she declared abruptly. "That's all the Grandma talk I'll be giving today. Enjoy. Tell your cousin I'm coming right out," she added.

  "Thank you." I said and kissed her cheek. She beamed. "Bless you, child." she said.

  I hurried out to tell Heyden I had made a firm decision to go home, but when I stepped into the dining room, I saw he was still not there.

  "Where's Heyden?" I asked Uncle Linden. He was in the middle of telling Bess a joke he recalled and held up his hand to ask me to wait.