"Don't you think she would have been able to stop him?"
He opened his eyes and shook his head.
"No. I don't know. What if she couldn't? I did it for her," he insisted. "I couldn't help it," he admitted. "But, I haven't looked down that hole at you, if that's what you think. I swear. I'm not a peeping Tom. Really," he pleaded, his face contrite with his effort to convince me of his need to have me forgive him.
"I believe you," I said, and he relaxed. "You should repair it though."
"I will. I just forgot about it," he said. "The sofa was over it, so I just forgot about it."
I nodded and put my hair clip back in. Then I started for the trapdoor. He reached out to take my hand.
"Melody, you don't think less of me because of that, do you?"
"No," I said. I smiled at him, but in my heart I was confused. I didn't know exactly what to think or feel at the moment. I needed time. "I better go down before everyone starts wondering where I am," I said.
"Maybe we'll take a walk after dinner or something."
"Maybe," I said. I nodded at the work table. "Thank you for the sailboat."
He smiled and watched me descend. When I entered my room, however, I gazed up at the ceiling. Now that I knew it was there, I could see the small hole. A second later, it was darkened. Cary had covered it.
But had he closed his heart on all that had made him drill the hole? Only time would tell, I thought.
What had he seen down here and what had it done to him? I wondered. How confusing and wonderful, exciting and yet frightening sex was, I thought. I didn't tell May, of course, but I could see it was the greatest mystery about ourselves. It inspired us, made us do creative things and yet strange things, weird things.
May had turned to me for answers on the beach, answers I had no idea myself where I would find. In a real sense both she and I were orphans. She had a mother who refused to acknowledge her needs and I had no mother to help me with mine. Whatever discoveries I made through my awkward stumbling, I would bring to May so she would benefit. Perhaps this was another reason why I was brought here, I thought.
But all these good plans and good intentions were soon to be shattered.
Uncle Jacob apparently had walked in on May and Aunt Sara just as May was signing a question that made Aunt Sara turn blue in the face. And what followed was about as furious as a hurricane. I had just gone down to see what I could do to help with dinner, but when I reached the bottom of the stairway, I heard Uncle Jacob call my name. He spit it out the way he spat out hateful Biblical names like Jezebel and Satan, Delilah and Cain.
I stepped into the living room. He was standing near the fireplace and when he turned, it looked as if embers from the fire had jumped into his eyes. There was no doubt that if he could have set me afire and turned me to ash, he would have done it in a heartbeat. I held my breath. No one had ever looked at me with such disdain. It chilled me to the bone.
"How dare you?" he said. "How dare you come into my home and pollute my child? I warned you about this. I told you it was in your blood."
I shook my head, tears of confusion clouding my vision.
"What have I done?"
"You have filled her mind with unclean thoughts, with pornography."
"I have not. All I did was tell her how babies are made. What's wrong with that? She's old enough to know these things now and you and Aunt Sara should be telling her more."
His eyes widened.
"Your mother was a whore," he said through clenched teeth. "It's no surprise she bore a daughter like you." He nodded, satisfied with his thoughts. "The old sayings are full of truth. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I forbid you to talk to May on this subject, do you understand?"
I shook my head defiantly at him and recalled the Biblical quotation Cary had given me at lunch.
"Judge not that ye be not judged," I fired back at him.
He recoiled as if I had been big enough and strong enough to slap his face. His mouth moved, but nothing came out. He backed up a bit and then waved his finger at me, but not as firmly or with as much confidence as before.
"Just . . . mark my words," he said and turned his back on me.-
I spun around just as Cary came down the stairs. I was crying now, the tears streaming down my cheeks. "What's wrong?"
"The high and the mighty Logans have spoken again!" I spit through my teeth and charged up the stairs.
"Where are you going? It's dinner time."
"I'm not hungry. I'd rather starve than sit at the same table with him anyway," I cried and went into my room, slamming the door behind me. My body shuddered with my sobs. When I stopped to take a breath, I saw that Cary had put the beautiful sailboat on the shelf.
I went to it and wiped my cheeks as I stared at the tiny parts and the two people inside the cabin, looking happy and in love.
"No wonder Laura got into a sailboat with Robert," I muttered. "She just wanted to get away from here, get away from all this."
They did, but they died to do it, I thought. I looked at Laura's picture on the dresser.
Did you know what would happen to you that day, Laura? Did you deliberately sail into a storm? Maybe you were running away from a lot more than they all knew, or maybe you had seen something beyond the darkness, something more attractive and full of more hope. I wish I had known you; then maybe together we could have confronted the Logan misery.
I went to the window and gazed out at the ocean. The horizon seemed to mark the edge of the world. No wonder people believed you could fall off if you sailed too far. Tonight I wished I could do that. I'd rather take my chances in another world and escape the misery, the sadness, the deceit, and the loneliness I found in this one.
Almost two years before, Laura had stood at this window and looked out at that dark horizon. Did she see an answer? Did she see hope?
I wear your clothes and I sleep in your bed, and maybe, just maybe, I dream your dreams, Laura. Do I?
Answers, like the wispy clouds that drifted past the stars, lay beyond my reach. I gazed up, tantalized, tormented, feeling more and more lonely and afraid of what tomorrow would bring.
6
Revelations
.
The knock on my door was so gentle that at
first I thought I had imagined it. I was lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, drifting with my own childhood memories, memories that floated by like an old-time silent movie, the characters and events passing in silence: silent laughter, silent tears, Mommy and my step-daddy being playful, Papa George gazing up from his paper, Mama Arlene standing nearby, a soft, loving look on her face, everyone waving, applauding, arms held out, my stepdaddy lifting me into the air, Papa George standing over me as I practiced on my fiddle. The memories became more liquid, rushed by faster, scenes merged, faces were swept away, the silent music stopped and there was my step-daddy's gravestone before me, growing larger, taller until there was nothing else in my vision.
The knocking grew louder.
"Yes?"
The door opened and Cary entered sheepishly,
carrying a tray with my dinner.
"Hi," he ventured.
"Hi."
"Ma wanted me to bring this up to you." "I'm not eating anything in this house again," I
said. "I'm just resting a while and then I'm leaving." "Don't be silly, Melody," Cary replied and put
the tray on the desk. "Where will you go?"
"I don't care. Anywhere but here. I'll find work
as a waitress or a scrub woman some place." Cary laughed.
"I mean it. You know I left before and I can
leave again, Cary."
"Okay, but in the meantime, if you don't eat,
you'll only get sick and spite yourself. Go on. I'll keep
you company. It's good meat loaf. Ma does a great job
on that."
"I know she does. She told me. It's your father's
favorite," I said, spitting the wor
ds at him. Cary
shrugged.
"Doesn't make it taste any better or any worse. I
like it a lot too, and so does May. And so will you," he
added. "Come on, eat so I can brag how successful I
was."
I gazed at the food. I was hungry and it was
stupid to permit Uncle Jacob to make me suffer. I rose
from the bed and went to the desk. The aroma of the meat loaf was enticing and I had to admit, it tasted wonderful and succulent, all the flavors just perfectly
mixed. Cary sat watching me.
"I think your mother became a wonderful cook
just so she would have some place in the house where
she could be away from your father much of the
time," I said.
"They were different before Laura died," Cary
revealed. "We were all different. We did more things
as a family. Dad wasn't as uptight about everything.
We went for rides, went to restaurants, took walks on
Sunday. During the cranberry harvest, we were all out
there working, and then there would be a big feast and
celebration. Dad even danced with Ma."
"I don't believe it. Dancing is surely sinful," I
said between mouthfuls.
"Everything became sinful after Laura's
drowning. I told you. He blamed himself."
"Why was that, Cary? You've told me that, yes,
but I don't understand. If your father lived such a
moral life, read the Bible every night, made sure you
were all so prim and proper, why would he feel
responsible for an accident?"
Cary shook his head.
"That's between him and his own conscience, I
suppose. I never asked him," he admitted.
"Maybe you should. If he's going to make
everyone else suffer, he should at least explain why,"
I insisted. "If we suffer, we suffer because of our own
sins,"
Cary claimed. Then he looked away. I knew
why. "Maybe what you think is a sin isn't," I said
softly.
"It's not a sin to love someone too much." "Yes, itis. he said quickly. "Remember
Adam?
Remember Original Sin?"
"Should I? Did I commit that, too?"
I started to smile. "All right, tell me." "After Eve ate of the fruit and was doomed to
be cast from Paradise, Adam ate so he would not be
without her. That's loving too much," he explained. "Just like a man to find another way to blame a
woman for his own mistakes," I said. Cary's eyes
widened.
"What?"
"That's just a Bible story, Cary. Do you really
believe it?"
He turned away again.
"The Bible is full of lessons that prove true in
our own lives," he recited mechanically.
I tried to see through his rehearsed words to the
true heartfelt feelings that lay behind them. There was
something more he wasn't telling me. I could feel it in
the silence and see it in the tight way he held his jaw. "Everyone seems to want to bury his head in
the sand in this family, Cary. It seems to be in the
blood," I said dryly.
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean? Right from the start,
Grandma Olivia and Grandpa Samuel created a lie
about who my mother was. My mother continued the
lies and so did my step-daddy Chester. They put
Grandma Belinda away so no one would learn the
truth, whatever that is, and everyone went along with
it, including your parents. Your mother told me lies
are like termites eating at the moral foundation. If that
were true, you'd all be living in rubble," I said. Cary didn't argue. He nodded, looked horribly
sad and tired. He stared at the floor for a while and
when he finally lifted his head, his eyes were glassy,
tearful.
"I lied too," he said. "I didn't make that hole in
the floor just to watch over Laura when she was
seeing Robert Royce. I made it before. I didn't know many girls and Laura was the softest, prettiest person in my life. Until she started seeing Robert, we did everything together. We never hid anything from each
other.
"One day," he continued, "she started to lock
her door. Everything in her life became so private and
secret. She grew up faster, I suppose, even though we
were twins. I felt left out, alone. I never had many
friends at school. Laura was starting to make more
friends, be invited to things without me. We were
drifting apart. I don't know why I did it," he said. "She
locked me out and I wanted to spy on her, I suppose,
and see what it was that she would do by herself, 'why
she wanted to be alone."
He raised his eyes to me again, this time tears
emerging and trickling down his cheeks.
"I never told anyone this before."
"And you think that was your sin?" I asked
softly.
"It was," he said. He took a deep breath. "I
watched her without her knowing and at her most
private times," he confessed.
My heart was pounding. The silence between
the words was loud and revealing, as was the look in
his eyes. I thought about the times I would have hated anyone spying on me. He was right: it was a serious
violation.
"I'm sorry for it," he concluded. "The morning
she left with Robert to go sailing, I was angry at her
and she was angry at me and we never had a chance to
make up. She had found out I had been watching her
with Robert," he said. The pain in his voice made my
heart ache.
"How?"
"I said something that only someone who had
been spying on het- would know. Maybe I wanted her
to know; maybe I couldn't keep it inside anymore, the
guilt. She never came back, so I could never tell her
how sorry I was.
"That's why I went looking for her as long as I
did. There were times during that search I stood up in
my boat and shouted over the water, 'Laura, I'm sorry,'
shouted until my throat ached. But she was gone. It
was too late. She died hating me."
"I'm sure she didn't really hate you for it, Cary.
She was angry, but you two were too close for hate to
have a chance to set in any roots," I said trying to
soothe his fears.
He shrugged, a small smile of gratitude on his
lips. "I was telling you the truth about the hole
upstairs.
I put the sofa over it and wiped it from my
memory." "I believe you, Cary."
"I didn't want you to think I was invading your
privacy, too."
I smiled at him and he wiped the tears from his
cheek.
"I believe you, Cary. I really do."
"Well, you ate. I guess I can brag," he said. He
stood up, his eyes fixed on me, strong, loving, and
very caring. "Don't run away, Melody. Ma's angry at
Dad for what he said to you and he's feeling low. If
you just pretend he never said anything--"
"More burying of the truth?"
"Sometimes, that's easier, I suppose." "Easier, Cary, but there's always a price to pay
when we hold a funeral for honesty, isn't there?" "Maybe. All I know is I don't
want you to
leave."
"I won't leave," I said finally. "I still have some
unfinished business, like finding out who my real
father is," I added dryly.
Cary took the tray.
"I'll take it down myself," I said. "I don't need
your father complaining about me being waited on,
too." "I don't mind waiting on you," Cary said. Our eyes met again and the memory of our
kisses and caresses upstairs in his attic workshop
rushed back over me. I felt a flush come into my face,
a tingling up and down my body. It was almost an
ache, a craving, and it was so strong, it actually
frightened me. Yet for all the warmth that flooded
through me, I still felt an eerie chill as I thought of
Cary's odd behavior and feelings for his sister.
Thoughts and feelings that were definitely wrong,
even sinful, Uncle Jacob would call them. I couldn't
help wondering if the feelings Cary claimed to have
for me were really leftover desires he'd had for Laura.
Would I ever be loved or wanted for who I really
was? But even as these thoughts flew through my
mind I felt my body respond to Cary, felt the
undeniable pull in my most secret places. What was
wrong with me that I could feel both repulsed and
attracted at the same time?
Perhaps Uncle Jacob was right, perhaps I was
truly a sinful wanton. Maybe there was something
flowing through our veins, something lustful, sinful,
evil. After all, I thought, I am Haille Logan's
daughter. Maybe I would hurt Cary just the way Mommy had hurt young men, men like Kenneth Childs. Cary took a step toward me and I moved
quickly to seize the tray and step around him. "I'll take it down now," I said, avoiding his
eyes. I knew if I looked, I would find two dark pools
of disappointment.
When I reached the bottom of the stairway and
turned, I saw Uncle Jacob in his chair listening to the
news on the radio. May was sprawled on the rug by
his feet, reading. Of course, she didn't hear me. Uncle
Jacob's eyes fixed on me a moment and then shifted
away, guiltily, I thought. I continued to the kitchen. Aunt Sara wasn't there and the dishes were still
piled in the sink. I rinsed mine off and put them in,
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