Shooting Stars 04 Honey

by V. C. Andrews

  "Mommy?" I said, and she sat up.

  "How are you. Honey? Huney?"

  "No. What's going on? Where's Daddy and

  G randad?"

  "Daddy and Grandad had a very bad argument

  after what happened," she began. "I thought they

  would come to blows. Actually, I thought Grandad

  would swing that machete at him. Your uncle Simon

  stepped between them and just stood there like a wall,

  and they stopped.

  "It calmed down. They ate some dinner and

  then went out to work on the grain combine. That's

  where the two of them are. Simon went up to his

  room. He's got a bad cold. probably from having only

  cold water to bathe in and sleeping in that dank. dark

  place."

  "Did he get his dinner?"

  "I brought it to him," she said. "Why don't you

  have something to eat now, Honey?"

  "I was so embarrassed. Mommy," I moaned.

  "Chandler will probably have nothing to do with me

  now."

  "Oh, I'm sure he will," she said.

  "You weren't there. It was terrible. I was never

  so frightened myself."

  "I know. Let me make you something to eat,"

  she insisted. rising. "At least some hot soup." She put her arm around me and we went inside. After I ate a little. I picked up my violin and

  began to play. More and more lately, I was finding it

  helped me express my innermost feelings. The music

  always revealed what was truly going on within the

  caverns of my heart. I didn't play that long, but when I

  gazed out my window, I saw Uncle Simon had been

  sitting by his. listening. He had a light on, and he

  looked different because his head was slumped. I

  supposed he had fallen asleep. I waited to see if he

  would wake and wave good night, but he didn't, so I

  put away my violin.

  I was feeling very, very tired myself. The

  emotional drain was deeper than I had imagined.

  Maybe I was just very depressed, but almost before I

  let my head fall back on the pillow, my eyes closed,

  and the next thing I knew, the light of morning was

  brightening my room.

  The house was quiet. When I glanced at my

  clock, I saw it was well after nine. We usually left for

  church between eight and eight-thirty. I rose, washed,

  and dressed as quickly as I could. When I descended the stairs, I found Mommy had left a note for me on

  the refrigerator door.

  Daddy and I decided to let you sleep this

  morning. There's pancake batter in a bowl in the

  refrigerator. Eat a good breakfast. We'll see you after

  church.

  I wondered where Grandad was. I was certainly

  not in the mood for any of his hell and damnation

  speeches and had made up my mind that if he started

  on me and Chandler, I would either walk away or tell

  him to mind his own business. My indignation fueled

  my courage and fired up my anger. I marched around

  the kitchen, slamming pans and silverware harder than

  necessary. I needed noise. The silence made it feel as

  if the world was closing in on me.

  I ate deliberately, chewing hard, swallowing

  and digging my fork into my pancakes as if I had to

  kill each one before I could eat it. All the while I had

  my eyes fixed on that doorway, anticipating my

  Grandad's entrance, but he did not come. Winding

  down, I finished eating and washed and put away my

  dishes, the pancake skillet, and silverware. By the

  time everything was cleared away and cleaned. I

  heard Daddy's truck pull up in front of the house. I

  stepped out to greet them.

  "Morning, Honey," Daddy called.

  "Did you make yourself some breakfast, dear?"

  Mommy asked immediately.

  "Yes," I said. "Sorry I slept so late."

  "That's all right. We were glad you got

  whatever rest you needed, dear,"' Mommy said. She looked very pretty and fresh this morning,

  and I thought Daddy was very handsome in his sports

  jacket, tie, and slacks. Mommy paused to kiss me on

  the forehead. Then her eyes got small and dark. "He bother you any this morning?"

  "I haven't seen or heard him."

  "Grandad's up in the west field, probably,"

  Daddy said. "There's a wooded place there he's used

  on Sunday as his private church for years

  I knew the place. Because Grandad Forman put

  such a holy stamp on it and because it was his private

  place. I stayed away from it.

  "He's been troubling," Mommy told Daddy.

  "And I don't mean just the incident yesterday with

  Honey and Chandler, Isaac. There's a new madness in

  him. When he came at you yesterday. I thought he

  would swing that machete for sure," Mommy said.

  "He's mumbling to himself and talking to the shadows

  more than ever. It's not good."

  Daddy nodded and gazed toward the west field. "I know." he said. "He and I worked together as

  usual afterward, but he would barely speak to me and

  kept reciting phrases from the Bible. It gave me the

  creeps the way he turned his head when he spoke, as

  if some invisible person was there beside him." "It's troublesome. Very troublesome. Isaac,"

  Mommy emphasized.

  "I'll try to talk to him some more and get him

  calmed down." Daddy promised. He should be back

  soon."

  "I haven't seen Uncle Simon this morning

  either," I said.

  "Oh. Simon's still quite under the weather

  today. Honey. He's been developing a bad chest cold

  and I told him to make sure he rests himself well,"

  Daddy said.

  "Did he have his breakfast?"

  "I brought him some hot oatmeal before we left

  for church," Mommy said. "Well, I guess I'll go

  change into something more ordinary."

  "Me, too," Daddy said.

  I looked at the barn. It was so rare for Uncle

  Simon to be under the weather and incapacitated. I

  thought he was invincible. If he was sick enough to

  stay in his claustrophobic room, it had to be serious. "Maybe Uncle Simon should see a doctor and

  have some medicine," I said.

  "You know how he is about that," Mommy

  replied. "I'll make him some chicken soup for lunch." She and Daddy went inside. I stood there

  thinking awhile and then I went in and fetched my

  violin and the box of music Chandler had bought for

  me.

  "I'm going over to see Uncle Simon." I shouted

  to Mommy and Daddy, who were still changing

  clothes.

  I went to the barn and then up the stairway to

  Uncle Simon's room. He didn't reply when I knocked

  on his door. so I opened it and peered in. He was in

  bed. I thought he was asleep, but as soon as I started

  to back out and close the door, his eyes opened. "Honey," he said, followed with a flow of

  coughs. "Something the matter?"

  "No, Uncle Simon. I was just coming over to

  practice my violin and see if you needed anything.'" "Oh," he said. He wiped strands of hair off his

  forehead and propped himself up. He wasn't wearing

  any shirt, and there was a patch of redness a
t the

  center of his chest.

  "Do you have a fever?" I asked him.

  "No," he said, shaking his head vigorously. He

  coughed again. "That doesn't sound good. Uncle

  Simon."

  "It's nothing." he insisted.

  "Mommy's making you some chicken soup, but

  if you don't feel better soon, you should go to a

  doctor," I said firmly.

  He nodded, but with no real conviction. "You're going to play the violin for me?" he

  asked, finally showing some light and excitement in

  his eyes.

  "I wanted to start on some of the music my

  friend Chandler Maxwell gave me yesterday. I'm

  going to audition for a special school in New York

  City," I explained.

  His eyes widened with amazement. "New York

  City?"

  "Uh-huh."

  I took my violin out of its case and pulled one

  of his two chairs up closer to the bed. Then I sat,

  opened the box of music, and sifted through the

  sheets, deciding to start with Bartok's First Sonata. "I'm just learning this," I explained.

  He nodded, looking fascinated. It warmed my heart to see how I was cheering him up and helping him feel better already. He propped himself up a little more and waited. I tuned up and warmed up and then I started on the music. Every time I stopped to start

  again, he nodded enthusiastically.

  "I really shouldn't do this without Mr.

  Wengrow, It's hard judging yourself,"

  I started again and I played for quite a while

  before stopping. When I glanced at him. I saw that he

  had closed his eyes. The music appeared to have

  soothed him, but his face was very flushed. I set the

  violin down, and he looked at in with some surprise. "You look like you've got a high fever. Uncle

  Simon," I said.

  I went to him and put my lips to his forehead. It

  was the way Mommy always tested for a fever. I had barely done so when Grandad's cry made

  me jump and turn quickly toward the doorway where

  he stood, clutching his Bible. I hadn't heard him come

  up the stairs.

  "Jezebel!" he screamed. "Get away from him." "He's sick. Grandad."

  Grandad nodded and smiled so coldly it sent a

  chill across the room and into my heart.

  "Yes, he's sick," he said. "Sick with the strain of evil that's in you both. You'll bring down the Lord's

  vengeance on me! Whore!" he cried.

  Tears flowed so quickly and freely from my

  eyes, I couldn't flick them away fast enough. Suddenly Uncle Simon rose from his bed, and

  to my shock, he was naked. He waved his mallet of a

  fist at Grandad.

  "Get out of here with your garbage talk," he

  roared. It felt like a crash of thunder.

  Grandad stared wide-eyed, as if he was looking

  at the Angel of Death. He pointed at him.

  "Sinner!" he shouted, turned, and fled. Uncle Simon quickly realized he was

  uncovered and seized the blanket to wrap around

  himself.

  "You better go," he said.

  My heart was pounding a hole through my

  chest and back. I shivered and trembled, gathering my

  music, putting my violin back into its case.

  "I'll tell Mommy what happened," I promised.

  "You didn't do anything wrong."

  Uncle Simon was back under the blanket, his

  eves shut, his thumb and fingers pressing on his

  temples.

  "You need a doctor." I insisted and hurried out, never so frightened. I checked the yard for signs of

  Grandad and then rushed to the house.

  Mommy was in the kitchen working on her

  chicken soup when I burst in. For a moment, I

  couldn't speak. She looked at me, saw how upset I

  was, and dropped the knife she was using to cut up a

  carrot. It clattered on the floor.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Grandad... Uncle Simon," I blurted. "It was a

  terrible scene!" Daddy heard the commotion and

  hurried down the stairs. "What happened?"

  As quickly as I could get out the words. I

  described what had occurred, how just as I had

  innocently checked on Uncle Simon's temperature.

  Grandad appeared in the doorway and called me

  names. Without saying Uncle Simon was naked. I told

  how he had jumped up and threatened to bash

  Grandad with his fist. I spoke so quickly, it turned my

  throat into a tunnel with sandpaper walls. Mommy

  had to give me a glass of water to finish

  "Isaac," Mommy said. "It's come to pass. I feel

  it. I know it."

  "I'll get out there," he said. He went for his

  boots.

  "Be careful," she cried after him. "What's come to pass?" I asked.

  Mommy shook her head and sat hard on a chair,

  lowering her forehead to her propped hand.

  "Mommy?"

  She shook her head and sighed. Just as she

  lifted it to speak, we heard the most ghastly, animal

  scream. The look in Mommy's face matched my own

  terror.

  "Isaac," she cried and the two of us ran out of

  the house.

  The shouting was coming from the area behind

  the barn where Uncle Simon had his wonderful

  garden. Mommy reached for my hand as the two of us

  ran across the yard. When we turned the corner of the

  barn, we saw Uncle Simon. He was barefoot, wearing

  only jeans and holding a scythe in the air, poised to

  bring it down on Grandad, who was sprawled on the

  ground.

  Flowers everywhere had been slashed with that

  scythe. The garden was decimated. Daddy was on the

  sidelines, his hand extended toward Uncle Simon,

  who stood like a pillar of rage over my grandfather. "Don't do it, Simon," Daddy pleaded. "You

  can't do it."

  Uncle Simon's arms shook with the effort to hold back and the effort to sweep down. There was no doubt in my mind that he had the power to slice

  Grandad in half.

  "Simon!" Mommy shouted. She let go of my

  hand. "Isaac. tell him. Tell him!" she commanded

  Daddy. He looked at her, then at me and then he

  stepped closer.

  "Simon, he's your father," he said. "He's your

  real father."

  Uncle Simon looked at Daddy and then down at

  Grandad, who had his arm extended up to try to ward

  off the deadly blow when it came. He clutched his

  Bible in his hand as if it would act as a shield. Uncle Simon shook his head.

  "Yes." Daddy said. "It's true, Simon. It's true.

  Tell him!" he shouted at Grandad.

  To me it seemed as if the air had stopped

  moving around us and we were frozen in time.

  Nothing moved, not a bird, not a rabbit. The whole

  world was holding its breath.

  Grandad shook his head.

  "I don't confess to him," he cried. "I don't

  confess to him."

  "Simon," Mommy said in a softer tone. "Isaac

  is telling you the truth. You can't do this. Well make it

  all right. Please. Simon."

  I was crying and shaking so much. I couldn't

  have spoken if I had wanted to. Uncle Simon gazed

  down at Grandad a moment and then he tossed away

  the scythe and marched toward his flowers, kneeling

  down to repair whatever he
could.

  Grandad Forman rose slowly. He looked from

  Daddy to Mommy to me and shook his head, backing

  away. He pointed at me.

  "It's in the blood." he said. "My sins are carried

  in the blood."

  "Na!" Mommy shouted back at him. "'Your sins

  were born and will die with you, not with us. Go

  make your own peace and leave us be." she ordered. He turned and stumbled away, clutching his

  chest with one hand. his Bible with the other. After a

  few steps, he paused to look back at us. He was

  mumbling to himself and looked insane, his hair

  flying up every which way.

  "Go into the house. Dad." Daddy shouted at

  him.

  Grandad shook his head and then walked faster,

  almost running toward the west field as if he had to

  flee. We saw him stumble and fall and then get up and

  hung along, gazing back at us until he was nearly

  gone from sight.

  "I'd better go after him," Daddy said. "Leave him. Isaac. We've got to get Simon to

  bed," Mommy said, stepping toward him. She put her

  hand on Uncle Simon's shoulder. "Go back to bed.

  Simon. You need rest before you get very, very sick.

  Isaac and Honey will repair what can be repaired for

  you."

  "She's right. Simon," Daddy said. "Go on back

  to bed."

  Simon stared at his mutilated garden, two large

  tears flowing from his eyes.

  "I'll fix whatever can be fixed. Uncle Simon," I

  promised, tears falling from my chin as well. "You'll plant again, Simon." Mommy said. "Go

  on."

  Daddy put his hand under Uncle Simon's arm,

  more to urge him up than to lift him. He rose, slowly,

  looking after Grandad, not so much with hate and

  anger in his face now as much as confusion. "I won't let him be my father," he said. Mommy

  smiled.

  "I don't blame you," she said.

  Uncle Simon shook his head. He looked at the

  destroyed garden and then toward the direction

  Grandad had fled.

  "Can't be," he said. "Can't be." He let Daddy

  guide him away.

  "Wait," Mommy called after them. Daddy

  turned to her. "Don't take him back to that barn. Take

  him to Peter's room in the house," she ordered. Daddy smiled and nodded.

  "C'mon, Simon. It's time you came home,"

  Daddy told him.

  Mommy put her arm around me. I had finally

  stopped shaking and had swallowed down the lump

  that had closed my throat. My tears felt frozen over

  my eyes.

  "You all right. Haney?"

  "Yes." I looked after the devastated garden. "I'll