Heartsong

by V. C. Andrews

  smiled.

  "Yes," he said. "Exactly."

  "When May told me about her first kiss, I

  thought about mine and how I had run all the way

  home and gone into my room to be alone with my

  excitement. I wrote the boy's name about two million

  times and dreamed about more kisses, longer kisses." "Did you tell your mother about it?"

  "After a while."

  "And?" he asked, very interested in what she

  had said.

  "She laughed and told me not to believe in

  kisses or any promises made while kissing. She said

  to make them pay, that they're never too young to pay.

  I didn't understand at the time," I said, waiting to see

  what he would offer as an explanation for Mommy's

  bitter attitude about men.

  "She ruined the moment with that kind of talk.

  You have to believe in the magic first. Haille didn't

  stop for magic. That was her problem," he said. "I

  don't think she enjoyed growing up, or gave herself

  enough time for innocence, understand?"

  "Sort of. You mean she grew up too fast?"

  "Worse. She gave herself away too young," he said.

  My breath caught.

  "How do you know that?"

  "She told me," he said, and I understood it

  hadn't been with him. "But let's get back to you. When

  you're coming up out of the wave, you're just feeling

  these new sensations and you're full of the same sort

  of questions May had about herself, questions you

  had, too. Understand? Think of that, concentrate on

  it." He paused and glanced at me. "Your body is

  developing. There are tingles, feelings, sensations in

  places there never were before. You're standing in

  front of the mirror, naked, and you're seeing things

  that, as you said, surprise, frighten, and thrill you at

  the same time. Okay?"

  I nodded. The air was so warm around me. I did

  feel as if I had slipped back in time. His words

  worked magic. My body remembered itself, the first

  tingles returned, the images--

  The teakettle whistled, breaking my reverie. He

  poured us each a cup and offered me a cracker. "How do you know so much about women?" I

  asked, and he laughed.

  "Me? I'm far from the expert on women. You're

  confusing me with dear old Dad."

  "Is that really why you and he don't get along

  so well?"

  "That's part of it," he said, taking a sip of tea.

  "Parents shouldn't try to force their children to follow

  in their footsteps, especially if their feet are made of

  clay," he said.

  He talked a little about how his father had pressured him to go to law school and then how he had

  rebelled. I told him about Cary and his dream to leave

  fishing and become a ship builder of custom boats. "I told him to tell his father."

  "Did he do it?" he asked, his eyebrows raised in

  anticipation.

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  "His father threw a fit, telling him it was family

  tradition to be a fisherman and a cranberry farmer and

  he had to continue."

  "Horse's ass," Kenneth said.

  "Cary will do it. Some day," I said firmly.

  Kenneth stared at me, a softness in his eyes. "You like him a lot, don't you?"

  "Yes," I admitted.

  "Romantically?"

  I nodded, sensing Kenneth wouldn't judge me

  for my relationship with Cary.

  "Not your first boyfriend, is he?" he asked. He

  was sounding more like my father now, a father who

  hadn't seen his daughter growing up.

  "No, but he's the most . . ."

  "Serious?"

  I nodded again and sipped my tea.

  "Don't give your heart away too quickly,

  Melody. It's the most precious gift you can give any

  man," he advised.

  "I won't be like my mother, if that's what you

  mean," I said sharply.

  He smiled.

  "Good," he said. "That's good."

  We returned to work. Kenneth put more detail

  into his drawing. He explained that he intended to do

  at least a half dozen of these pictures, each taking the

  metamorphosis to another stage so that it would be

  like doing an animation. When he flipped the pictures

  quickly, he -Would get the illusion of movement and

  that illusion would be embedded in his mind as he

  hoped it would be in the marble block.

  After lunch he showed me how to use some of

  the carving tools to do the preliminary work on the

  block. Even though it was hard work, I enjoyed it,

  enjoyed knowing I really was contributing to this artistic masterpiece. The day flew by and I didn't have much time to tend to my usual chores, but when Kenneth announced it was time to stop, I was actually

  disappointed.

  "It's all right," he told me when I complained

  about not being able to clean and organize his house,

  especially after a weekend. Mondays were always the

  hardest because he seemed to get even sloppier on

  Saturdays and Sundays. "This is what an artist's life is

  like. Now you can understand and appreciate why I'm

  not the neatest, most organized individual you've met. "Anyway," he added, "you can do what you can

  here for twenty minutes or so. We're finished for the

  day. I'm just going down to the beach for a while to

  think. Then I'll come back and take you home," he

  said.

  He left with Ulysses at his heels and I went to

  work cleaning and organizing the studio. I swept up

  the dust and chips from the marble block, cleaned and

  arranged the tools, and fixed the sofa again. As I was

  moving about, I paused at the drawing desk. I hadn't

  looked at the pictures yet. Kenneth hadn't offered and

  I was afraid to ask. Now, they were covered with a

  white sheet, and I wondered if Kenneth was the type

  who hated anyone looking at a work in progress. I

  hesitated.

  I couldn't help feeling we had grown closer

  because of this project and I hated to do anything that

  might threaten our relationship. Little betrayals,

  indiscretions, and lies eventually tore down a

  foundation of love and friendship, I thought. I had

  enough evidence of that, and now, because of how

  things were going between us, I regretted permitting

  Cary to take off the lock on Kenneth's storage room so

  that we could invade his private and secret cache of

  paintings, even if they were paintings of my mother

  and stirred more mystery.

  I continued to clean and organize the studio, but

  my attention kept returning to the drawing table. What

  harm would one peek do? I thought. Surely, if

  Kenneth really wanted me not to look, he would have

  said something. I listened for him, heard nothing, and

  returned to the drawing table. Slowly, I lifted the sheet

  and gazed at the first drawing.

  There was far more detail in my face than I had

  anticipated. This was more than a sketch, but the face

  I saw on the paper looked more like my mother's face

  than it did mine. At least, I thought it did, and that

&nb
sp; caused me to drop the sheet quickly when I heard

  Kenneth's footsteps. He entered just as I moved away. His eyes shifted from the table to me and then back to

  the table.

  "Well," he said, crossing the studio, "you've got

  this place looking proper again. Makes me feel guilty

  every time I mess it up," he said with a smile. He

  paused at the table and lifted the sheet. "What do you

  think?" he asked gazing at the picture.

  "What?"

  "I'm sure you snuck a peek, Melody. I would

  have."

  "Oh. I I. . . yes. I did. I was surprised at how

  much detail you got into it already," I said, trying to

  keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  "Uh-huh. That sounds diplomatic."

  "I'm not an art critic. Not yet, at least," I said.

  "But it looks like the beginning of something special."

  If only it was my face that would grace his

  masterpiece, I thought.

  "Yes. It's only a figment of my imagination

  right now, but soon, it will grow. You know, this is

  going to take us all summer," he said.

  "I'm not going anywhere," I replied. "I was

  going to run away yesterday, but then I thought,

  where would I run to?"

  He stared at me and I held my breath, hoping he would offer his home as a sanctuary should I need it. But he remained silent. If the words were on his

  tongue, he swallowed them.

  "I guess the bottom line is none of us can really

  run away. We can escape but we can't run away," he

  said. "How can we escape if we don't run away?" I

  asked. "You find another place to go inside yourself,"

  he said, staring at the block of marble.

  "As you found with your art?"

  He nodded.

  "What were you escaping from?" I asked and

  waited as he hesitated, his eyes still on the block of

  marble.

  "Myself," he said.

  "Yourself?"

  "Who I found out I was," he said. He shook his

  head. "Give me time, Melody. Give me time to find a

  way to tell you what you want to know."

  My heart skipped a beat.

  The rebirth Kenneth was creating out of this

  block of marble might truly be my own.

  7

  Sing for Your Supper

  .

  Cary was in the driveway washing Uncle

  Jacob's truck when Kenneth brought me home. He was in cutoff shorts, shirtless and barefoot. May was helping, soaping up the, fenders, getting almost as much suds dripping down her arms and legs as she was putting on the truck. Unhindered by clouds, the late afternoon sun was still strong enough to make things gleam, especially Cary's bare shoulders and back, emphasizing his muscularity. He turned toward us as we slowed to a stop.

  "Good-looking boy," Kenneth muttered. "He has the best of the Logan features, softened by his mother's side fortunately. I see why you're drawing hearts in the sand," he added with a wink. I blushed so crimson, I was sure I looked sunburnt.

  Cary's face lit up with a smile as soon as he saw us, and May came rushing over to play with Ulysses.

  "Hi, Mr. Childs," Cary said, approaching. "I'd shake your hand, but . . . ' He held up his soapy fingers.

  "It's all right. I'm not allergic to soap and water, even though Melody might have told you otherwise," he said.

  My jaw dropped.

  "I wouldn't--"

  "How's the catch these days?" Kenneth asked Cary after laughing at me.

  "We had a very good day. Dad's quite pleased," he said, glancing at me. "It's put him in a good mood. For once."

  "That's good. And the cranberries?"

  "Looks as if it's going to be a heavy harvest," Cary replied. "Heavier than last year."

  "Melody tells me you're into boat building." Cary shot me a look of surprise.

  "Well, yes, I am but--"

  "I have a boat plan I'd like to show you one day. Maybe I'll have Melody bring it home and you can take a quick look at it and make some

  suggestions," Kenneth said. Cary's face changed from surprise to genuine awe.

  "Really?"

  "I've always had it on the back burner, but perhaps it's time to get the construction under way," Kenneth said. "See you bright and early, Melody."

  "I'll be early, but I don't know how bright I'll be," I said.

  He laughed, checked to be sure May was not standing too close to the jeep, then shifted the gears and pulled away. Cary, May, and I watched him and Ulysses disappear around the turn, Ulysses facing us all the way, looking like a small child who wished he could stay with his friends.

  "Was he kidding about the boat?" Cary asked.

  "It's the first time I've heard him mention it, Cary. But he's full of surprises and secrets, no different from anyone else around here."

  Cary nodded, the soap suds dripping off his forearm.

  "Need some help?" I asked.

  "No, we're just about finished. May and I will just dry her off" He signed instructions and May returned to the pail and sponge.

  "I have to shower," I said. "I'm full of marble dust." I started toward the house.

  "How about a quick dip instead?" Cary suggested. "Just throw on your suit and we'll go down to the beach."

  "Then I'll have to wash the salt out of my hair before I sit down at the dinner table," I complained.

  "Women," he said, groaning.

  "Why don't we go after dinner--a night swim," I suggested. His eyes brightened.

  "Really? Great." He looked at May. "Ma doesn't like her swimming at night so--"

  "We'll bring her tomorrow." I said, hoping that May wouldn't mind.

  "Okay. I'll find something for her to do while we're gone, so she won't feel left out," he said and returned to the truck.

  Cary was right about Uncle Jacob. He was in a rare happy mood, actually buoyant. He didn't apologize for the way he had yelled at me the night before, but his tone of voice was softer when he asked me to pass him things at the dinner table and when he thanked me. Also, whenever he spoke, he actually spoke to me, rather than around me. Apparently, today's catch was as good as they used to be. It was like striking gold.

  The happiness in Aunt Sara's face made her eyes younger as well as brighter. It was nice to hear her laugh, and even to hear Uncle Jacob laugh. As I gazed at them, all full of smiles, everyone treating everyone politely, considerately, the food as wonderful as ever, the cranberry wine sparkling in the glasses, I was able to envision this family before Laura's tragedy and I was able to see what Cary had described. Even if it were destined to be short lived, the joviality warmed my heart and made me feel I was part of a real family again. There was no better music to drive away the shadows than the sound of laughter.

  Suddenly, as the meal was coming to an end, Uncle Jacob leaned on his elbows toward me, his eyes dark and fixed, his smile gone.

  "What say you earn your supper tonight, Missy?" he said. I glanced at Cary, who shrugged, and then at Aunt Sara, whose mouth hung open.

  "How?" I asked.

  "You know, like people did in olden times. Found a way to pay for their dinner."

  "What do you want me to do?" I asked, my throat tightening, my voice hardening.

  He slapped his hands together.

  "We'll all adjourn to the living room and have a private concert. What do you say, Sara? Can you let these dishes wait?"

  "You mean, you want me to play my fiddle?" I asked, astounded.

  "It's somethin' you do real good," he replied. Cary was beaming like the cat that had gotten to the fish on the counter in the kitchen.

  "I--" I gazed at Aunt Sara. She'd never looked happier. For a moment I felt as if I had sat at the dinner table in the wrong house.

  "Well?" Uncle Jacob pursued.

>   "Okay," I said, still amazed at his request.

  "Then it's settled," he said slapping his hands together and standing. "Mrs. Logan?" He held out his arm and Aunt Sara giggled and joined him. "We'll adjourn to the sitting room for a private concert," he said and held his other arm out for May. Cary had signed a quick summary of what was happening. She leaped to her feet and took her father's arm.

  "What's going on?" I asked Cary as we watched them leave the room.

  "I don't know. But as Dad often says, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Shall we?" Cary held out his arm and I took it, still quite shocked and confused. When we got to the stairway, I went upstairs to get my fiddle.

  They were all sitting in the living room waiting for me with great expectation on their faces when I appeared in the doorway. Uncle Jacob was settling back in his chair, puffing his pipe. Aunt Sara sat on the couch with Cary on one side and May on the other.

  "May has a way of hearing this," I explained and gestured for her to come to me. She understood. When I put the fiddle up, she placed her hand on the case so she could feel the vibrations while I played. I did seven tunes, singing along with three of them. Aunt Sara looked very pleased and Uncle Jacob nodded and tapped his fingers along with the rhythms. Cary never took his eyes from me.

  "Well, that's real nice," Uncle Jacob said. "You earned yourself a few dinners."

  "I'll see to the dishes," Aunt Sara said, rising. "That was wonderful, Melody. Thank you."

  "I'll put away my fiddle and come help you clean up, Aunt Sara."

  "Oh no, you don't," she said. "You heard Jacob. You earned your keep. Just go enjoy yourself," she insisted.

  I went back upstairs to put away my fiddle. While I was busy returning it to its case, Cary poked his head in the door.

  "How about that dip in the ocean?" he asked. "What about May?"

  "I gave her something to do on one of my models. She's painting."

  "You mean you bribed her?" I said, laughing.

  "Whatever works," he said.

  "Okay. I'll put on my bathing suit."

  "Put it under your clothes," he said. "I'd rather it be our secret."

  I nodded and did as he said. We met down by the front door and left quickly, letting Uncle Jacob and Aunt Sara think we were just taking a walk.

  "I don't like doing things behind their backs like this, Cary," I complained.

  "Why make Ma nervous, which is what would happen," he said. "It's not really a lie when you're doing it to help someone else, Melody. It's only a lie when you hurt someone or you can't live with it," he added.