Heartsong

by V. C. Andrews

  "Hello," I said.

  "You bring the paper?" he asked.

  "Pardon?"

  "Today's paper. You bring the paper?"

  "No. I'm sorry. I'm here visiting Belinda Gordon."

  "Where's the paper?" the other elderly man asked him, holding his hand behind his right ear.

  "She ain't got it," he said.

  "What?"

  "She ain't got it," he shouted.

  "What's today, a holiday?" the second man asked. I smiled at them nervously and entered the home.

  The lobby was bright and homey with light blue curtains and a blond oak floor. The walls had large paintings depicting rustic country scenes and ocean scenes in rainbow colors, some with fishermen, some simply with sailboats painted against the twilight sky. The cushioned chairs and settees were all done in a light blue floral pattern. There were small wooden tables, book and magazine racks, with rocking chairs in front of the large, brick fireplace. Light, classical music was being piped in through two small wallmounted speakers.

  A little more than a dozen residents were seated in the lobby, a few reading magazines, some talking, two playing checkers, and some just sitting and staring at nothing. Two women in nurses' uniforms circulated around the lobby, seeing to the needs of the residents. Everyone was well dressed and appeared well looked after. Those who seemed aware of what was happening around them gazed up at me with anticipation as I entered. Almost all looked as if they hoped I was there to visit them. I could practically feel the loneliness.

  A tall, thin woman with dark hair and a narrow face that held her dark eyes close to each other came strutting out of the corridor to the right. She wore a dark gray cotton suit that looked tailored to her lean figure. Her high heels clicked sharply on the wooden floor. It reminded me of the tap, tap, tap of a woodpecker. She wore her chestnut brown hair cut short, barely below her ears, where she wore tiny opal earrings. Her nose was long and a bit pointed and her mouth turned down at the corners. She didn't smile when she approached.

  "Can I help you?" she asked.

  "I'm Melody Logan, here to see Belinda Gordon."

  "Oh yes. Mrs. Logan called to say you would be coming. I'm Mrs. Greene. Miss Gordon is in recreation. You haven't brought her any candy, have you? We try to limit the sugar intake. Many of our residents are diabetic, but they don't watch themselves and they offer each other candy."

  "No ma'am," I said. "I've brought nothing but myself."

  "Fine," she said nodding. "Right this way, please." I looked back at the people lounging in the lobby.

  Everyone looked frozen. One of the men playing checkers was holding his hand in midair, a checker piece between his fingers, and one thin lady in a rocker had stopped it in its forward motion and sat with her mouth wide open, leaning and staring at me. She looked as if she might break into tears any moment.

  "This way," Mrs. Greene said, pausing in the doorway to the corridor. I hurried to catch up. "How is Miss Gordon?" I asked.

  "Actually, she's doing very well. Being on a healthy diet with proper exercise has given her a new lease on life and has added years. She happens to be one of the residents of whom I am very proud. Are you a friend of the family?" she inquired as we turned down another corridor toward a double door.

  "I happen to be her granddaughter," I said as matter-of-factly as I could. She stopped walking.

  "Granddaughter?" Her smile was like a stretching of her thin lips to the point where they looked like rubber bands about to snap. "But my understanding is Belinda Gordon had no children.'

  I shrugged. "That's who I am," I said. She squeezed her eyebrows toward each other and then shook her head, clicking her tongue as she continued toward the double doors.

  "I would have thought Mrs. Logan would have mentioned that," she muttered.

  "She must have just forgotten," I said. She looked at me sideways as she opened the double doors to a room filled with game tables, a television set, and imitation leather settees and easy chairs. There were at least another dozen residents here. They looked younger, more alert and healthier than the elderly people in the lobby.

  I paused as the realization hit me: I didn't know what my own grandmother looked like! The only pictures I had seen of her in Grandma Olivia's basement were pictures of her when she was much, much younger.

  Mrs. Greene turned to me and waited.

  "I'm afraid I've never met her," I said.

  "You've never met her? Well," she said. "Well." She shook her head and turned and nodded toward a tiny woman sitting by the window reading what looked like a child's picture book. She wore a white knit shawl over a pale green dress. Even from across the room, I could see the resemblances between her and Grandma Olivia. They were both small featured, however, as I drew closer, I thought Grandma Belinda's features were more dainty, more doll like. Her eyes were bluer and brighter and when something she read brought a smile to her face, her smile was warmer, happier.

  With Mrs. Greene not far behind, I started across the room, my entrance drawing as much interest from these residents as it had with the residents in the lobby. Only Belinda didn't break her concentration. She turned the pages of the picture book and widened her smile.

  "Hello," I said. She looked up slowly and I could see she had very young looking crystal blue eyes that highlighted her gentle, soft smile. Her skin didn't look as translucent as Grandma Olivia's. In fact, Grandma Belinda appeared healthier and more robust, with a richer complexion, despite being locked away in a rest home.

  "Where have you been?" she asked quickly.

  "Where have I been?" I looked at Mrs. Greene.

  "This is a visitor, Belinda. She doesn't work here and she's not a volunteer."

  She squinted at me.

  "Oh," she said with great disappointment. "I thought you came here to read to me. '

  "I could do that," I replied and sat in the chair just across from her. Mrs. Greene turned to speak to another resident, but she didn't move too far away from us. "My name is Melody," I told Grandma Belinda and waited to see if there would be any note of recognition. She simply widened her smile a bit.

  "That's a very nice name." She paused and tilted her head a bit. "I think I once knew someone named Melody."

  Had she heard of me?

  "My mother's name was Haille," I said. I glanced again at Mrs. Greene, who was obviously leaning closer to hear our conversation.

  "Oh." Grandma Belinda's lips remained in the shape of an 0, as if she had just realized something significant.

  "You know who I am then?" I pursued. She shook her head, more like someone who wanted to deny what she knew than someone saying she didn't know.

  "Haille lived with your sister Olivia," I said, "and her husband Samuel."

  "I haven't seen my sister today," she said. She turned and looked toward the door. "She's probably in her room, sulking as usual, just because, just because Nelson asked me to go for a walk with him and didn't ask her."

  She gave a slight laugh that sounded like the tinkle of wind chimes. Her eyes brightened

  mischievously.

  "I showed her the bracelet he bought me and she just sucked in her cheeks and turned her face into a big old sour puss. She said I asked him to buy it for me. Can you imagine? I wouldn't ask a man to buy me anything, especially Nelson Childs. I've never had to ask." She leaned forward to whisper. "But she does," she said and laughed again. "She asked Paul Enfield to take her to the Fleet dance Saturday night because no one had asked her. But he said he wasn't going. I knew he was going," she assured me with a knowing nod. "So . . She leaned back. "She had to go with Samuel Logan. Rather, he had to go with her. He didn't want to go. He wanted to ask me, but someone else had already.

  "I don't ask men for things," she emphasized with another small nod. "I don't have to." She paused to drink me in and then nodded. "I bet you don't have to ask them, either."

  I laughed. Mrs. Greene left the side of the other resident and moved directly behind us.

  "Wh
at are you going to read me? Are you going to read me Sleeping Beauty? I like Sleeping Beauty," Grandma Belinda said emphatically.

  "If you'd like," I said. "Where is it?"

  "Don't you have it? Didn't you bring it?" she asked a little frantically.

  "No. I'm sorry."

  She pouted. I gazed at the pile of children's books on the small table between us and chose one. "Would you like me to read this?"

  She glanced at the cover and then nodded slightly. I looked about the room. The other residents were back to doing their own things for the most part. Only one or two continued to gaze our way. I started to read, putting as much drama into it as I would if I were reading to a five- or six-year-old child. She relaxed and turned back to me to listen. I noticed Mrs. Greene move around the room, in front of us, to the side, and then behind us again, circling, spending some time with others, but always keeping within earshot. It didn't take long to read the children's story, and when I finished Grandma Belinda clapped.

  "Isn't that a nice story?" she said. "I love stories with happy endings. Olivia says there are no happy endings, only endings."

  "Has she been to see you?"

  "She's too busy to see me. She's in high society now. She has rich people to entertain. Her nose is up here," she said tilting her head back like someone who had a nosebleed and pointing to her forehead. "I'm an embarrassment to her. That's what she says. She sounds like the big bad wolf when she says it," Grandma Belinda said, lowering her voice to make it gruff. "You're an embarrassment. Stay in your room."

  She stared at me a long moment and then she smiled impishly again.

  "But even if I'm in my room, they come to see me. They knock on the window. And . . . sometimes, I open the window and let him in."

  "Who?"

  "Wouldn't you like to know," she sang and laughed. I had to laugh, too. She was obviously confusing time, mixing in events that had occurred years and years ago with events that had occurred more recently.

  "Don't you know anything about me?" I asked hopefully. "I'm Haille's daughter, Melody. You know who Haille is, don't you?"

  She stopped smiling.

  "Can't talk about her or she'll have them heave me out on the Street," she muttered.

  "Is that what Olivia said?" I asked.

  "Can't talk about her," she said and pretended she was zipping her lips shut.

  "You can talk to me," I said. "I'm Haille's daughter. I'm your granddaughter."

  She stared, her eyes blinking rapidly. Then she turned away and gazed out the window.

  "Look how blue the sky is," she said. "I wish I could reach up and touch it. I bet it's soft."

  Mrs. Greene was practically on top of us.

  "Would you like to go for a walk? It's beautiful today," I said. Mrs. Greene's eyes widened. I looked up at her. "Can I take her for a walk?"

  "Well, does she want to go out?"

  "Would you like to go out, Grandma?"

  "Yes," she said firmly, not even noticing I had called her Grandma. I got up to help her, but she didn't really need any assistance. She rose quickly, turned her head as if everyone were watching her every move, and started out.

  "Just stay in the garden and walk on the pathway," Mrs. Greene said. "There are attendants if you need any help."

  "She seems fine," I said. "You were right. She's being well taken care of," I added, but Mrs. Greene didn't smile at the compliment. She watched us with the eyes of a hawk as we left the room.

  I took Grandma Belinda's arm into mine and started down the corridor to the door that led out to the gardens. She was spry, energetic. She wore a flowery scent that smelled refreshing.

  "I like your perfume," I said.

  "Do you? Nelson gave it to me."

  "Nelson? He was here recently?"

  "Just the day before yesterday or the day before that. He brings me a bottle of perfume whenever he comes and we sit and talk about old times. Nelson is still quite a handsome man, don't you think?"

  "You mean Judge Childs?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said, laughing. "Imagine, Nelson's a judge."

  When we stepped out, she paused to squint at the sunlight.

  "Oh, it's warmer than I thought," she said. "It should be my birthday," she added and laughed. "I always say that on nice days. Olivia thinks it's very silly. What a silly thing to say, I wish it was my birthday. Like you could pick your birthday, she says. Your head is full of cranberries, she says.'

  I had to laugh at Grandma Belinda's imitation of her sister.

  "Shall we go into the garden?" I asked.

  "Oh yes. I love to smell the flowers."

  We walked silently for a while and then she paused and looked back to see if anyone were near us. One of the attendants had come out and was watching us.

  "You know why she says all those things and calls me all those names, don't you?" Grandma Belinda, asked in a deep whisper, snapping her head around to face me again. I shook my head. "Because she knows Daddy loves me more. Daddy buys me nice clothes. Daddy takes me places. Daddy is proud to introduce me to his friends. Daddy wants her to stay in her room." She smiled coyly. "Daddy told her to get married or else."

  She leaned toward me again.

  "I put my ear to the door and I heard him yelling at her. She was crying and he was yelling. But I felt more sorry for Samuel Logan than I did for her. He has to wake up every morning and see that grouchy face. I told him to sleep with his back to her so when he opened his eyes, he could see the sunshine and not Olivia with her puffed up eyes and her puffed up lips and her sour breath."

  She started to walk again.

  "You know he was here," she said softly.

  "He was here? You mean, Samuel?"

  She nodded. And then she stopped suddenly. "But don't you tell. Promise?"

  "I promise. When was here?"

  "Last night. He came to my window and knocked and I opened it and I said, Samuel Logan, what are you doing here at my window the night before your wedding?"

  "Wedding?" I shook my head. "I don't--"

  "'If you don't let me in,' he said, 'I'll kill myself.'"

  "Last night?"

  "Shh," she said looking around. She continued to walk, moving a little faster. The attendant followed. "People here tell Olivia things. She has her spies everywhere. Let's sit on this bench," she said.

  It was under a spreading maple tree with a row of multicolored impatiens behind it. I sat next to her. She leaned back and waited as the attendant walked slowly by us, pausing only a half-dozen feet away.

  Whispering again, Grandma Belinda continued. "I said, 'you won't kill yourself' and he said, 'I will. I will. I swear.' So I let him in."

  "Let him in?"

  "He crawled through the window and fell to the floor. It was quite a sight. `Shh,' I told him. 'Someone will hear and how will that look? You here the night before you marry my sister?' He lay there on the floor so I sat on the floor and he told me how sad he was and how terrible it was to be sad on the night before your wedding. He wanted me to make him feel better. So I did. If Olivia knew, she would have them put poison in my food."

  "She wouldn't do that, Grandma."

  "Oh yes, she would. She poisoned my song bird. I know she did, even though she says she didn't. Daddy bought it for me on my sixteenth birthday and she was jealous. Nelson bought me something nice too," she added, "and that made her more jealous. He bought me a gold locket with a red ruby at the center. It had his picture inside." She smiled and then she grimaced. "Do you know where the locket is?"

  "No. Where is it?"

  "Ask Olivia. She took it and buried it somewhere. I'm sure. One day, it wasn't in my jewelry cabinet and that was that. You can kill my birds, you can steal my jewelry, but you can't keep them from liking me more, I told her. She said she didn't care, they were all ugly philanderers. But that's like the story about the fox and the grapes, right?"

  "The fox and the grapes?"

  "The fox couldn't reach the grapes so he said they we
re sour. Yep, sour grapes. That's Olivia all right." She laughed and then took a deep breath.

  "Look at the bluebird," she said pointing. "It's beautiful."

  "Yes. I wouldn't mind being turned into a bird. When people get old, they should be turned into birds," she concluded. "I read a story like that once." She turned back to me. "Are you going to read another story?" she asked.

  "If you want me to, I will when we go back inside."

  "Of course I want you to. I want to hear happy endings, only happy endings, more happy endings," she chanted.

  She wanted to walk some more and then she decided it was time to go back. When we stepped back into the building, she said she was tired, already forgetting that she had asked me to read another story.

  "I'm not as young as I was. I get so tired so fast now. Thank you," she told me. I knew she thought I was just someone else who worked there.

  "Grandma," I said pressing my hand into hers, "I'm your daughter Haille's daughter, Melody. I'm your granddaughter and I'm going to come back and visit you often. Would you like that?"

  "Haille?" she said. She shook her head slightly. "I know someone named Haille. Nelson told me about her. She's very pretty, isn't she?"

  "Yes," I said. There was no point in telling her all that had happened. She had taken in too much already, I thought. She was physically strong for her age, but mentally, she was very fragile, as fragile as a little girl, and I knew, from personal experience, how easy it was to shatter a little girl's heart.

  "She should go for her nap before lunch," Mrs. Greene said, suddenly appearing in the corridor. "Yes, I was taking her to her room."

  "I'll see to it she gets there," she said and nodded to the attendant who had been outside, hovering around us. He moved quickly to Grandma Belinda's side.

  "I'll see you soon, Grandma. Have a good nap and then a good lunch," I said. I kissed her cheek and she touched it as if I had planted something very precious on her face. Then she turned and looked at me, blinking rapidly for a moment.