Heartsong

by V. C. Andrews

  "I have the time to waste," I said. "Did my mother ever visit her?"

  "Not once," Grandma Olivia replied and smirked. "And let me tell you, it wasn't because I forbade her either."

  "Then that's all the more reason for me to go," I said firmly. She raised her eyebrows again and widened her eyes as she nodded.

  "Maybe I'm wrong," she said. "Maybe I should have taken an interest in who your father was. Whoever he was, he must have had some backbone."

  If ever I was to receive a backhanded

  compliment, I thought, this was it.

  "Okay," she said after another moment. "You're so determined to meet your real grandmother," she added, pronouncing real as if it were a dirty word, "I'll even have Raymond drive you up there.

  "Thank you," I said quickly. "When?"

  "Tomorrow. Sunday is visitors' day. He'll pick you up at ten A.M. They like the patients to have visitors in the morning," she said.

  "Haven't you ever visited her?" I asked.

  "Of course not."

  "But she's your sister," I said. She looked as if she had a rod of steel down her back.

  "I did more for her than she would have ever done for me," she retorted, "especially under the circumstances.'

  "What circumstances?"

  "Please. I don't want to have to till that soil again. Just make your dutiful visit and get it over with," she added with another wave of her hand. Ideas or words she disapproved of or disliked were like flies for her to swat away from sight. No one could ever be more infuriating, I thought.

  "It's not a dutiful visit. I really would like to meet her."

  "You're going to be quite disappointed," she warned, almost gleefully.

  "I've been disappointed many times before," I said. She sent fire from her eyes again and then calmed down when we heard the judge and Grandpa Samuel as they emerged from the house and started toward us. Grandma Olivia sat forward.

  "Don't mention this conversation to anyone else," she ordered. "And especially say nothing to Kenneth. I don't expect your loyalty, but I do expect your obedience," she said. "And I'm sure you know," she added, leaning closer toward me, her eyes filled with warning, "what is at stake should you disappoint me."

  The threat hovered over me like a stoat cloud and then the judge and Grandpa Samuel stepped into the gazebo.

  "Well now, did you two have a good womanly chat?" Grandpa Samuel kidded.

  "I assure you, Samuel, our conversation was miles above the one you two jabbered through cigar smoke," she replied.

  "Now, now, Olivia, no sexism," the judge chided. He and Grandma Olivia exchanged a quick look and I saw the question in his face. She shook her head slightly and I thought he looked relieved. Then he smiled at me.

  "Well now," he said, sitting on the bench adjacent to me, "let's hear some more about my son's new art project."

  "I think it would be easier if you came out and spoke to him about it yourself, Judge Childs," I said. "I don't mean to seem secretive about it," I quickly added. "It's just that I don't want to describe it incorrectly."

  He held his smile a moment and then nodded.

  "Of course," he said. "That's just what I intend to do. One of these days," he said. "One of these days."

  Grandma Olivia had the maid serve us our tea and small cakes in the gazebo. The conversation drifted to political subjects again and I was practically ignored until the judge announced he had to leave. When he rose, he turned to me.

  "It's been delightful spending the afternoon with you, Melody. Perhaps one day you'll visit me at my beach house. Do you play chess?"

  "No, sir."

  "Fine. I'll teach you. In no time you'll be able to beat your grandfather Samuel."

  "I'm sure she has better things to do than waste her time with senile old men," Grandma Olivia said scowling.

  "Maybe," the judge said and winked. "Say hello to my son for me. Olivia." He bowed.

  I'll walk you out," she said and rose.

  I suddenly realized it was the first time Grandpa Samuel and I had ever been alone. He quietly watched Grandma Olivia and the judge and then he turned to me.

  "You mustn't be too quick to pass judgment on Olivia," he said, obviously noticing the disapproving look on my face. "She appears to be a very hard woman, but she has had more than her share of burdens to bear."

  His sympathy for her took me completely by surprise.

  "What burdens?"

  "You know a little about the difficulties we had with her sister."

  "My grandmother," I said.

  "Yes, your grandmother." He shook his head sadly.

  "Their father was a difficult man, according to what Olivia tells me. He made many demands on Olivia and tried to set a strict atmosphere. Belinda rebelled and became promiscuous; Olivia stood up to him and I suppose that was how she developed such a strong backbone."

  "She's always snapping at you," I said. He shrugged.

  "It's her manner. We get along better than many couples married as long as we've been married. Don't worry," he added with a smile. "I'm not as browbeaten as most people think. But that will be our little secret, okay? Now, I want you to come to me if ever you have any problems, especially with my son Jacob. I know he can be sterner than a constipated minister at times. You're a good girl, a talented and smart young woman. You'll be fine. I'm sure.

  "We all have to find ways to rise above our bad luck from time to time," he added with a deep sigh.

  "I'm going to visit my grandmother Belinda tomorrow," I said.

  "Oh?" He looked toward the house. "Does Olivia know?"

  "She's arranging for Raymond to take me."

  "Really? Well, that's very nice. You know of course that Belinda is not quite all there these days."

  "I don't know anything about her. That's why I'm going."

  He nodded and then leaned toward me to whisper.

  "She has a tendency to fantasize about people she knew. Don't believe most of it. Just come and ask me if you want to know if anything she says is true. Okay?" I nodded. "Don't tell Olivia. Just come to me," he added and sat back quickly when Grandma Olivia emerged from the house again. He smiled and winked.

  All these people living side by side and keeping secrets from each other, I thought. It had to mean something terrible. How much of it, I wondered, had to do with me?

  Cary was home by the time the limousine brought me back. From the way he emerged from the house the minute I stepped out of the Rolls, it was obvious he had been waiting and watching at the window.

  "How was lunch?" he asked as I drew closer.

  "At least the food was good," I said and he rolled his eyes..

  "Uh-oh. I don't like the sound of that."

  "I'm going to change out of this hand-me-down, as Grandma Olivia characterized it," I said.

  "Then let's go for a walk to the cranberry bog."

  "Okay. Where's May?"

  "She and mother aren't back from wherever they went," he said.

  I hurried upstairs and changed into a pair of jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt. Uncle Jacob was apparently taking a nap. The bedroom door was closed. I walked softly down the stairs and out into the front yard, where I found Cary tossing rocks across the road. The late afternoon sun had fallen behind a long stream of clouds, turning the ocean a metallic blue, making the breakers glitter like mirrors.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  "Ready."

  We started across the beach. As we walked, I told Cary about the afternoon and how I had been cross-examined about Kenneth.

  "It made me feel like Grandma Olivia's little spy. Do you know why Kenneth and his father don't get along?"

  "Probably because he failed to follow in his father's footsteps and become a lawyer. Look at all the money they wasted sending him to law school," Cary surmised.

  "It's something more than that," I said. Then I told him I was going to visit Grandma Belinda. "Grandma Olivia's sending the car?"

  I nodded. I told him what Grandpa Sam
uel had said to me about coming to him with any stories Grandma Belinda might babble. Cary thought about this for a few minutes.

  "I don't know. I don't think any of it means anything," he concluded. "Grandpa Samuel is probably just trying to let you know he's not hard and bitter like his wife."

  We sat at the top of the hill and gazed at the bog.

  "It's gonna be a good crop. We need it," he said. "The lobster-fishing business stinks these days." He played a blade of crabgrass over his lips and stole a quick glance at me. "About last night, before May came," he said.

  "Yes?" My heart began to thud in my chest, as if we'd just finished jogging the entire way to the bog. "I hope you're not mad."

  "Why should I be mad?"

  He smiled.

  "I thought you might think I had invited you up just so something like that would happen."

  "Didn't you?" I asked, and he blushed.

  "No."

  "Really?" I teased.

  His face went from red to cherry-blossom white, especially around his lips. "No! I'm not like Adam Jackson. I don't trick girls into believing one thing and then trap them or something," he said, his voice cracking with indignation.

  "Okay. Then, it just happened."

  "Yes," he said firmly.

  "Think it will happen again?" I asked hesitantly, not sure myself how I felt about our new relationship. He turned, surprised.

  "I don't know."

  "Do you want it to?" I pursued.

  "Do you?" he countered.

  "Maybe," I said, thinking that at least with Cary I could be myself, that he wouldn't take my confusion as a sign of weakness.

  He stared at me and then he began to lean toward me, his lips slightly parted and wet. I inched toward him and we kissed, softly, quickly. I immediately turned onto my stomach and lowered my chin to my arms as I gazed at the bog. He turned on his back beside me and neither of us spoke for quite a while.

  "I came right out and asked Kenneth if he knew who my father was," I said finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  "You did? What did he say?"

  "First, he said he didn't know. Then he said he couldn't tell me." I turned on my back. Cary braced himself on his arm and gazed down into my face.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I don't know. I think it means he knows but he doesn't want me to be hurt, or maybe it means he can't face the truth himself. Oh Cary," I said, nearly in tears. "I just know there's something terrible left to discover, even more terrible than the things I've already learned."

  "Then maybe you should stop asking

  questions," he suggested. "It's like when you didn't want me to open the door to that closet in the studio. You were probably right. Some doors are better left locked."

  "I didn't want it unlocked, but once it was, I wanted to go in and look, and I didn't want you to pull out those pictures, but once you had, I looked too."

  He nodded and then swallowed hard and looked away.

  "What?"

  "You're like Lot's wife in the Bible."

  "I forget who she was."

  "Lot told her not to turn around and look because if she did, she would turn into a pillar of salt."

  "And?"

  "She looked," he said, and it was as if thunder had clapped across the sky. The heat that moment before had been flooding my body disappeared instantly, leaving a cold, hard ball of fear in the pit of my stomach.

  Maybe he was right.

  Maybe I should stop asking questions.

  4

  To Grandmother's

  House I Go

  .

  Raymond arrived at the house promptly at ten

  A.M. I was very nervous and babbled a bit, asking him a million questions, but, just as he was when he picked me up to go to the luncheon, Raymond was not talkative. He actually seemed frightened of questions. I assumed he was afraid of Grandma Olivia and of losing his job, but most of the New Englanders I had met had their lips glued most of the time, especially around people they considered outsiders. Sometimes, the way some of them talked about people who didn't come from here made me think I was walking around with a third eye in my forehead.

  Cary tried to explain it by telling me that people who lived off the sea tended to distrust landlubbers, thinking of them as softer, spoiled, unappreciative, taking the fish on the plate for granted.

  "How far is the rest home, Raymond?" I asked when we started off.

  "Not far."

  "Have you been there before?" I asked, and he turned and looked at me as if to see if I were asking a serious question.

  "Aye," he replied.

  "To take my grandmother to see Belinda?" I asked. Maybe Grandma Olivia had lied to me.

  "No."

  "Do you have a relative there?" I persisted.

  "No," he said, but he didn't continue.

  No wonder they all loved clams so much here on the Cape, I thought. This family and all the people associated with them couldn't be within a tighter shell.

  It had rained earlier and I thought it was going to be a dark, dreary day, one of those days when the sea breeze was so chilly you wanted to wear a sweater, even in the summer. But just before Raymond arrived, the blanket of charcoal gray clouds developed a seam of blue that widened and widened until the clouds began to melt away like snow in spring sunshine. The warm rays made me squint when I gazed at the scenery, but at least I felt a little better.

  I had woken this particular morning with a stomach so tight I could barely swallow water. I floundered about the bedroom, sifting through the clothes in my closet, trying to decide what would be appropriate to wear, not only to a rest home, but to meet my real grandmother for the first time ever. I didn't want to get too dressed up and look formal, but I didn't want to look underdressed, as if I didn't place great importance on this visit.

  Because of the gloomy looking day I found when I first looked out the window in the morning, I chose a light blue cotton cardigan with a matching tank top and a silky rayon posy print skirt. The hem rested a little less than an inch above my knees. It was another one of Laura's outfits I had tried on but not worn. I brushed out my hair and put on some lipstick, even though Uncle Jacob had told me on more than one occasion that a young woman shouldn't be wearing lipstick during the day. I didn't know from what well of information he drew these rules, but I began to feel more pity for my dead cousin Laura, imagining what she had gone through, although Uncle Jacob never missed an opportunity to tell me how obedient and respectful she was. Intimidated and terrified was more like it, I thought.

  He gave me a disapproving look when I went down to breakfast.

  "How do you eat with lipstick painted on your mouth?" he asked.

  "It's not a problem," I said softly. Aunt Sara looked away and busied herself with something to avoid the discussion.

  "Disgusting habits some young women have these days," Uncle Jacob muttered. I felt the blood rush into my face.

  "Men are more disgusting when they puff on pipes, cigars, and cigarettes, filling their mouths with nicotine and tar and turning their teeth yellow and giving themselves breath like a dragon," I countered. Cary laughed. Uncle Jacob turned purple with anger, but swallowed his words and went back to his food instead.

  Naturally, May was full of questions about why I was dressed up and where I was going. I did my best to explain, but she couldn't understand why I kept referring to Belinda as Grandma Belinda. Cary promised her he would spend the morning with her and help her understand.

  I expected to be back before lunch and Cary had proposed that he, May, and I go to town. I agreed, even though it was hard to think past my meeting with my grandmother. I hoped it would go well and I would return feeling I had someone I could really call family, but the trepidation that had seeped into my body all night was now making my legs tremble and my heart kept thumping harder and faster than normal all the way to the rest home.

  We rode for nearly a half an hour before Raymond turned up a si
de road into more wooded country. It was heavy with pine, wild apple, and scrub oak. At a clearing on our right, I saw a flock of song sparrows circle and then soar to the right over the tops of the trees before they parted. It was another ten minutes before the rest home came into view. Whoever had planned its location obviously wanted it away from the more populated areas. I wondered if the owners were thinking how much people like to keep their sick and elderly out of sight and out of mind.

  As we drove on in silence, I couldn't keep from wondering who came to visit Grandma Belinda if Grandma Olivia didn't? There was no one else in her family that I knew. What was it like to be housed, institutionalized, in a world without friends and relatives, dependent entirely on the kindness of strangers? Did she feel helpless, forgotten and discarded? Did this keep her from ever trying to get well?

  Knowing this family, I thought, she might be better off where she is.

  The rest home wasn't in an unpleasant setting. The ocean was behind it with the sun now glimmering on its silvery-gray surface. The front of the building faced a long, rolling lawn with benches, a rock garden, and some fountains. It looked peaceful, clean, and well maintained. It was obviously a rest home for the wealthier sick and elderly.

  The building itself had three stories, with a steeply pitched gabled roof. It had a front porch the width of the building with a short set of cement steps. The wooden wall cladding was done in a Wedgwood blue and the shutters on the windows were bone white. As we pulled up the drive, I saw there were two elderly gentlemen sitting on the porch, rocking and gazing at us with some interest. The driveway pitched to the right and the parking area was just adjacent to the building. I could see that behind the large house there was a more elaborate garden, more benches and seating areas, and a gazebo twice the size of Grandma Olivia's. There were some full red maple trees, more scrub oak and pine, and the pathways were lined with trimmed bushes.

  After he shut off the engine, Raymond stepped out and came around to open my door. I got out slowly.

  "The front entrance is right there," he said nodding. "I'll wait in the car."

  "The whole time?"

  "I don't mind," he said and returned to his seat, pulled his cap down over his eyes, and settled in for a nap. I walked over the flagstone walkway and started up the stairs. One of the elderly men smiled at me; the other continued to look in the direction from which we had come, as if he expected to see more cars. The man who smiled, nodded.