Heartsong

by V. C. Andrews

  "I never knew any details, but I knew she was saying outrageous things."

  "Now I understand why Grandpa Samuel wanted me to come to him with any questions," I said. "Grandma Olivia has little love for her sister and I think some of what Grandma Belinda told me may be true."

  "I don't know," Cary said, shaking his head uncertainly. "I could probably count on my fingers how often her name's been mentioned in our house or at Grandma's."

  "That's just it, Cary. There's got to be more of a reason why she is persona non grata in this family."

  "What? Persona?"

  "Not wanted," I explained impatiently. "You don't disown someone because she's mentally ill, do you?" He started to shrug. "Your mother told me Laura went to see her once."

  His smile froze.

  "She told you that?"

  "Yes."

  "My father was very upset with her."

  "She told me that, too. Don't you think that was wrong, to treat a sick old lady like the plague? Well, don't you?" I pursued when he didn't respond. May was signing question after question, but I didn't turn from Cary.

  "All I know is my father said Belinda was very immoral when she was younger and he didn't want Laura around that sort of woman," Cary said, a bit sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

  "Your father . . . infuriates me," I wailed. Cary laughed. "He does! What makes him so high and mighty? Isn't there something in the Bible about judging others?"

  "Judge not that ye be not judged," Cary said softly, nodding.

  "Well?"

  He shrugged.

  "Tell him that," he said.

  "I will," I declared, amazed at my newfound conviction to stand up for my poor, defenseless grandmother.

  Cary smiled, doubting that I had the courage. It added fuel to the fire of wrath building in my chest. He glanced at May and then he leaned toward me.

  "When you're angry, you're about twice as pretty as you are normally and that's a lot," he said.

  His words brought a different shade of crimson to my cheeks. My thoughts became jumbled and confused, and when I realized that those words could have such an effect over me, I looked away quickly, not knowing whether I should cry or laugh at the turmoil that raged in my heart and in my head.

  After we had gone to the supermarket and bought Aunt Sara her garlic, we headed home. There wasn't a cloud in the afternoon sky and the breeze had warmed up. The ocean looked soft and inviting with the sunlight glittering on the waves. The anger inside me was forgotten once I glimpsed the beauty of the sea, and our conversation returned to more pleasant subjects than family. Cary talked again about his desire to build real boats. He was full of ideas for customizing them and improving on their mobility. When Cary talked about his dreams he became a different person, more confident and intense, and I worried that Uncle Jacob's tyranny would slowly crush the hope and life from him.

  "If your father really cared, he would want to see you turn your dreams into reality," I said, but he continued to make excuses for Uncle Jacob on the basis of family and tradition.

  As we drew closer to the house, May said she wanted to go hunting sea shells, but Cary was determined to return to the model boat on which he was currently working. I sensed that this one was very important to him, so I offered to take May to the beach and keep her out of his hair.

  "Come on up when you get back," Cary whispered. "I have something special to show you," he added. I felt a flutter in my breast and nodded.

  May didn't seem unhappy that Cary wasn't accompanying us. She looked as if she wanted to be alone with me, and as soon as we reached the seashore, I saw why. She began to ask me questions about my life in West Virginia and boyfriends I had had. When I asked her why she wanted to know, she blushingly told me she had a boyfriend.

  "What?"

  I laughed, and we sat on a mound of sand as she explained how she had been partnered with this boy at school for different tasks and how they had grown to like each other. On Friday, when no one was looking, he had leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She was so excited by it, she confessed, that she hadn't washed her face since.

  I started to laugh, but saw how serious and intense she was about the experience and instead turned my thoughts to the first time a boy had kissed me. First times for some things were so special they stayed with you all your life, I thought, especially a girl's first kiss.

  "Did Cary ever kiss you?" she asked. Apparently May, although deaf, was not blind to the attraction between Cary and me, how we looked at each other, how we spoke and touched each other, in ways that she knew were significant. Now it was my turn to blush. And worry that others in the family had noticed as well.

  "We're just good friends," I said quickly, without really answering her questions. "What's your boyfriend's name?" I asked, desperate to change the subject.

  "Laaaary," she pronounced proudly. "Were you ever in love?" she signed quickly.

  "I've had crushes on boys," I told her, "but I don't think I was really in love."

  "How do you know when you're in love?" she asked.

  "It's not an easy question to answer," I told her. "When you have a crush on a boy, you can't think of anything else. You write his name on everything and you walk about in a daydream and act so silly, people say you're lovesick."

  "Sick?" She lost her smile. "Do you have to take medicine?" she asked.

  "No," I said laughing. Then I realized she had been brought up with doctors and nurses and medicine most of her life. The word sick had only one meaning to her. "You're not actually sick. You're just . . . doing silly things all the time."

  That made her thoughtful for a while. Then, she looked around to be sure no one was near before telling me that something was happening to her and that was why she was so worried when I mentioned sick.

  "What do you mean?" I asked, concerned. She was still for a minute and then unbuttoned her blouse to show me the rise around her nipple. "Oh, you're just developing breasts," I said and told her as much as I could about a woman's body. When I mentioned the monthly period, she was astounded.

  "Bleeding?" she made me repeat, grimacing as she signed.

  "Hasn't your mother ever told you any of this?" I asked. She shook her head. "What about Laura?"

  She reminded me that none of this was happening to her when Laura was alive and Laura probably thought she wasn't ready.

  I told her more. Of course she knew that babies come from mothers, but the details of the process were still a mystery. She was shocked to learn that women carry eggs and men carry the sperm. When she asked me how the sperm got to the egg, I hesitated, wondering if I should be the one to tell her. Why hadn't Aunt Sara had a mother-daughter talk yet? How long did she think May would remain a child? Did she and Uncle Jacob assume that May's deafness made her immune to a young girl's thoughts and desires?

  Had Mommy and Daddy thought I was immune to these desires? Mama Arlene took pity on me and all my questions and I told May about the birds and the bees the way I remembered Mama Arlene telling it to me. I described sex as Nature's trick to bring two people who loved each other together so they could create the greatest expression of their love: a baby. I didn't go into vivid detail, but I let her understand that a man and a woman had to join to make it all happen.

  She was still, almost stunned, and then she signed a question that nearly brought me to tears: Would her baby be born deaf because she was deaf?

  Of course, I didn't know for sure, but I told her I didn't think so. I told her her baby would be a separate person. She liked that and smiled again. I told her to come to me with any questions any time she wanted.

  She looked up at me seriously and made the signs to indicate I had become her older sister. That did bring tears to my eyes and I hugged her. Then we got up and resumed our search for precious sea shells.

  As May walked ahead of me along the beach, I now saw her as more than just a little girl. Sooner than Aunt Sara expected, May would become a young woman, a very pretty and sensitive young wo
man whose deafness made her even softer and more gentle than most. She would search for someone to trust, someone who loved her deeply. He would have to be someone special, I thought, because she was so special.

  When we returned to the house, May went to her room to put away her new sea shells and I climbed the ladder to Cary's attic. As soon as I stepped through the trapdoor, I saw him hovering over his new model boat. He was working with such intensity, he hadn't heard me come up. Feeling like a spy, I stood there very quietly watching him concentrate. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes fixed on the tiny paint brush. He seemed to be holding his breath. After a few more minutes, he sat back and sighed with pleasure at his accomplishment. Then he realized I was there and turned quickly, blushing.

  "How long have you been here?"

  "Just a few seconds. I'm sorry. I didn't want to interrupt," I said.

  "It's okay. Perfect timing. I just finished," he said, rising. "Come, take a look."

  I stepped closer and gazed at the beautiful, sleek sailboat he'd been working on. He had just painted Melody on the hull. Surprised, I looked up at him.

  "It's for you," he said.

  "Really? Oh, it's beautiful, Cary."

  "The engineering of its shape is my creation. If you look closely," he said, "you'll see two people inside the cabin. That's us."

  I leaned over and peered through the cabin window. There were a tiny man and a woman standing beside each other, gazing into each other's eyes.

  "It's so precious," I said softly, my breath catching in my throat.

  "After it dries I'll bring it to your room," he said. "You can keep it on the shelf by your bed."

  "Thank you, Cary. I'll always cherish it. Did you ever give anyone else a boat you made?" I asked.

  Curiosity had gotten the best of me. I should have smothered the question, for I saw it brought back unpleasant memories.

  "I gave one to Laura once, but she didn't think it was that special," he said turning away. "She was seeing Robert Royce then," he added, as if that explained everything.

  "I didn't see it in the room," I said.

  "That's because it's not there."

  "Where is it?"

  "Floating some place in the ocean," he said dryly. "Where's May?"

  "Organizing her new sea shells," I said.

  "Good."

  "She told me she has a boyfriend," I told him.

  "What?" He smiled. "A boyfriend? Our May?"

  "Yes, really. There's a boy at school who likes her. She was full of questions about boys and love."

  "Did you have the answers?"

  "Some. She wanted to know how you know you're in love," I told him.

  A small smile crossed his lips and a twinkle came into his eyes.

  "What did you say?"

  "I told her I didn't know for sure. It was different for everyone," I said, trying not to meet his eyes. "Then she wanted to know how babies are made. Apparently, your mother hasn't told her anything."

  "What did you tell her?" he asked with some trepidation.

  "The truth," I said. "Not in great detail, of course, but the basics at least. She's becoming a young woman, Cary. It's time she understood what was happening to her body and what could happen, don't you think?"

  "I can't think of anyone I'd rather have tell her about it," he said after a moment's thought.

  "Your mother, that's who," I countered, but he shook his head.

  He continued to stare at me, and as his glimmering eyes met mine, my pulse quickened. He stepped closer, and as he leaned toward me, I lifted my mouth in anticipation of his kiss. We kissed and then we kissed again only harder and longer. He took my hand and gently brought me to the small sofa. When he sat, he pulled me onto his lap and brought his lips to mine once again. This kiss was more intense.

  "Oh Melody," he said, moving his lips down my cheek to my neck. I lay back, enjoying the feelings rushing through my body. "I've gotten so I don't think of anything but you. Even on the boat, I'm dreaming of you, forgetting to do things. Yesterday, I wandered about for twenty minutes, forgetting why I had a wrench in my hand. Dad thought I was sick."

  "Lovesick," I laughed and he pulled back as if I had shot him.

  "Yes, lovesick," he said with a sneer. "I guess I'm not as sophisticated about it as, say, Adam Jackson." He stood up, pulling his hand out of mine as if he'd been burned.

  "Cary, I was just kidding. I just told May all about that and--"

  "What do you think, I'm acting like an elevenyearold?" he asked astounded.

  "No, I . ."

  He shook his head and turned away.

  "Cary, I'm sorry. Really. I didn't mean to insult you. I don't want to drive you away from me," I added. He sat in his chair and sulked. I got up quickly and went to him. "I'm sorry," I said and kissed him on the cheek. He took a deep breath.

  "I guess I'm just nervous," he admitted. "I don't have all that much experience with women." "Neither do I with men," I said. "So we've got to be kind to each other, gentle, loving, and most of all forgiving," I added.

  He liked that and his smile was warm again.

  "I forgive you. Now, where were we?" he asked and put his arms around my waist.

  "I think right here," I said and leaned over to kiss him.

  "Maybe I should have you tell me how babies are made, too," he kidded. "I'm not sure I've got it right." "I doubt that, Cary Logan."

  He laughed and then stood up, tightening his embrace around me. As we kissed, his hands slid under my sweatshirt. His fingers moved up my side and up my back until he found the clip on my bra.

  I didn't move. He fumbled a while with the clip and then suddenly, it unfastened. The thrill that shot through my body made my legs weak. I moaned under his kiss and he brought me back to the sofa. When his fingers moved over my nipple, I thought my heart would shatter from pounding.

  "Oh Melody, I am lovesick, but I don't care," he whispered. "I don't care if I die of it."

  He started to pull my sweatshirt up but I stopped him. No one but Mommy and Mama Arlene had ever seen me undressed before, I thought. It was exciting, but it was scary, too.

  "Don't you want to?" he asked.

  "Yes, but slowly," I said. He kissed me again, and again he started to pull up my sweatshirt. He brought his lips to my breast and I slipped farther down under him. His right hand moved to my hip and over to the button that fastened my jeans. The suddenness with which he did it surprised me. For a moment, I couldn't catch my breath.

  "No," I said. "Not yet."

  He pulled his hand back, kissed my breasts, and pressed himself to me. I felt the small explosion building inside me and then I felt his hardness, even through his pants, and I grew more frightened. It was happening, and if we let it go one second more, I thought, it would be like trying to hold back the tide.

  "We'd better stop," I whispered. He held me tightly, his breathing coming hard and fast.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, for now. Please, Cary."

  "Okay," he said. After another long moment, he stood up and turned away, embarrassed by his obvious sexual excitement. I sat up quickly and reached back to fasten my bra. "I should be going down to help Aunt Sara with dinner."

  "Right," he said. He returned to his desk and started shuffling model parts back and forth noisily. "Are you okay?"

  "Yes," he said, nodding but not looking at me. After a minute, he added, "I think it's easier for girls to stop once you start, especially when you've gone that far."

  "I don't really know," I said, wondering if what he said was true.

  "I do," he said harshly. "I don't need to practice too much to learn that lesson." He was trying not to be angry and frustrated, but I could see the battle within him had filled his eyes with fire and turned his skin cherry red.

  I fumbled with my hair and realized my hair clip had fallen out. It wasn't on the sofa, so I looked beside it and then behind it.

  "I lost my hair clip some place," I said. "It must have fallen behi
nd the sofa."

  "I'll find it for you," he said and started to get up. "It's okay. I can do it."

  I pulled the sofa back just a little and saw the clip. When I reached down for it, however, I saw something else, something that put a cold, shocking chill in my heart. It looked like the floor boards were parted. Light was coming up and through the floor. I leaned closer and realized I was looking down into my room, looking right over the bed.

  "What is this?" I asked. When I raised my head, Cary was staring at me, a look of terror on his face.

  "It's . . nothing."

  "Nothing? It's an opening in the floor. Right over my bed."

  "It was just there, just the way the boards settled or something. That's why I put the sofa over it," he said quickly.

  When you're close enough to someone to see the love in his eyes, I thought, you can also see the deceit. Cary was lying.

  "How long as it been there, Cary?"

  "Since the house was built, I guess." He gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. "I don't know."

  I gazed at the hole in the floor again. I didn't know a lot about the structure of houses, but I knew that hole hadn't just formed there. He had obviously used one of his tools for constructing models to punch out the opening.

  "Why did you do this, Cary?"

  He shifted his eyes guiltily away and just sat there with his hands in his lap.

  "I know you did this, Cary. Stop lying to me," I demanded, confusion again coming to take the place of my happiness.

  He nodded.

  "I did it when Laura started bringing him home and they spent time together in her room," he confessed angrily.

  "Robert Royce?"

  "Yes," he said, turning to me. He had his eyes squinted shut as he spoke. It was as if he were trying to block out some scene scorched on his brain. "I didn't trust him. I told her, but she wouldn't listen, so I thought I had to look in on her and be there if she needed me, if he . . . tried something."