Shooting Stars 04 Honey

by V. C. Andrews

  fix whatever I can."

  "Okay. I'll go finish making the soup and give

  him something for his fever." She looked after

  Grandad Forman. "If that lunatic comes back, came

  into the house to tell me."

  "You weren't telling the truth. Mommy, were

  you? You made that up about Grandad being Uncle

  Simon's real father just so he wouldn't hurt him.

  right?"

  "No, Honey, it is the truth. Your grandmother Jennie told your father about it years ago. Her sister Tessie and her first husband worked for Grandad. and Grandad committed a sinful act with her. She became pregnant, and soon after, her husband was killed. He died never knowing, which was a good thing, I suppose. Grandad then married Tess. but Simon was a living reminder of his sin, so he treated him badly and eventually, after Jennie's death, tried to keep him out

  of his mind by moving him out of the house. "After Jennie died, the sin was a heavier weight

  on his conscience. I suppose. He believed God was

  punishing him again by taking her. He became even

  more crazed with his biblical visions.

  "Her sister Jennie didn't want to marry him, but

  he forced her to by describing Tess as a seductress

  and making Jennie feel a responsibility to Simon. She

  was a good woman and she cared lovingly for Simon.

  Peter, and your father, but that didn't stop Grandad

  from seeing his demons in all of us."

  "And so Grandad thought I would be a sinner

  because he had been? That's why he's always been all

  over me with his threats of hell and damnation?" "Yes, but you must not let any of that affect

  you. Honey. It's his private madness and his own guilt

  that makes him think most of the crazy things he

  declares and does.

  "For a long time, your daddy felt sorry for him.

  He tried always to be a dutiful son, to help him live

  with himself, to recover. He was too good a son, if

  you ask me."

  "Did Uncle Peter know all this. too?"

  "Not according to your father. no. Your

  grandmother never told him. He was different-- a

  lighter spirit-- and she didn't want to put any burden

  on him that would chance him. He was her favorite.

  but Daddy didn't mind that. In a way, they were both

  protecting Peter."

  "Poor Uncle Simon. though. Why was he

  tortured for his father's sins, left in the dark alone?" Mommy smiled.

  "I've always felt he was better off living

  without the knowledge and being estranged from your

  grandfather. In his way, I think Simon has found some

  contentment," she added, looking at the broken

  flowers.

  "And now Grandad has even destroyed that." I

  said mournfully.

  "It will be repaired, and if I know Simon, it will

  be better and bigger. Daddy is definitely going ahead

  with that greenhouse idea. too."

  "Good."

  "I better get inside and help with Simon. I'm

  sorry all this came out this way. Honey. but I never

  doubted that some day it would. It festered on your

  grandfather's soul and leaked poison into his heart for

  a long time. Maybe he can find some peace now as

  well."

  I nodded.

  "Don't ever think something is wrong with you

  or you have a strain of evil in you because of him. His

  sins live and die with him," Mommy assured me. She kissed me, squeezed me to her, and then

  walked toward the house.

  I turned to what looked like a battlefield and

  began to repair what little could be restored. Maybe it was the effect of being in Uncle

  Peter's room. Uncle Simon had loved him so much.

  Or maybe it was Mommy's wonderful homemade

  soup. Maybe it was a good dose of aspirin, or maybe

  it was a combination of everything, but Uncle Simon

  relaxed, his face looked far less flushed, and he fell

  into a comfortable sleep very soon afterward. "We'll move him back into the house

  permanently," Daddy vowed.

  "I think if he still has a high fever, we should take him to see Dr. Spalding tomorrow," Mommy

  said.

  "I'll try." Daddy told her. "He might not want to

  be blood-related to Dad, but he shares some of his

  stubbornness. That's for sure."

  Mommy laughed.

  Could we find away to mend all this? I

  wondered. How I loved the both of them for their

  eternal optimism, for the way they bore down and

  gritted their teeth no matter what difficulties arose. I

  hoped and prayed I had their perseverance. I knew if I

  intended to go forward with a career in music and

  entertainment, I would surely need it. Rejection and

  defeats would be all over the road to any sort of

  success.

  The day went on. I kept hoping to hear from

  Chandler, but he didn't call. and I wasn't up to calling

  him just yet. I had worked in the garden for nearly an

  hour, fixing what I could, and then I came in,

  showered, and joined Mommy and Daddy in the

  kitchen, where they were just getting ready to have a

  late lunch.

  "It's been hours. Isaac," she told him. "I guess

  you'll have to see what's become of him."

  Daddy nodded.

  "Should I come with you. Daddy?" I asked him. "No, it's not necessary," he said.

  "Maybe she should. Isaac," Mommy said. The

  worry in his eyes made him reconsider.

  "Okay, sure," he said. "He's probably still up in

  the west field."

  "Hopefully, coming to his senses," Mommy

  said.

  Daddy nodded, and he and I left.

  "Was it true that Uncle Peter never knew any of

  this. Daddy?" I asked as we walked over the field. "Sometimes I felt he did, that he knew

  instinctively. He never asked any questions or made

  any statements. and I never brought it up with him.

  Peter was Grandad's only window on happiness and

  light. I couldn't find it in my heart to close that

  window. You remember how Grandad would chastise

  him but do it relatively gently. I never saw him take a

  strap to him or ever strike him.

  "I suppose Peter was some sort of salvation,

  some sort of redemption to him."

  "But Daddy. Grandad accused me of doing

  sordid things with Uncle Peter."

  "Only after Peter's death. Whatever hope or

  strain of kindness lingered in my father died with Peter that day, and of course. Grandad assumed it was God's way of imposing additional punishment. He blamed himself. He blamed you. He blamed us all. It's as though he believes we're all infected with the

  disease of his own sins.

  "I know you hate him for what he did to Uncle

  Simon's garden and the things he's been saving to you,

  but you don't hate him half as much as he hates

  himself, Honey. Just remember that if you can, and

  maybe you can find some part of yourself that will

  forgive him and sympathize. It will make you feel

  better, believe me," Daddy said.

  I nodded, my eyes filling as I realized, perhaps

  for the first time. How wise and kind he really was. "I will. Daddy." I promised. "I will."

  "I know you will. Honey. The one thing

  Grandad's failed to realize is y
ou are his salvation.

  You are his redemption. You're the promise every

  rainbow leaves behind for us."

  He embraced me and we walked like that until

  we saw the patch of forest ahead of us.

  "I don't see him there," Daddy said, shading his

  eyes with his right hand.

  I didn't either.

  "Maybe he went home a different way, or

  maybe he went somewhere else."

  "Maybe," he said, but his eyes continued to be

  narrow and suspicious as we continued toward the

  woods.

  We were only about a hundred yards from it

  when Daddy stopped and seized my hand.

  "What?" I asked and gazed ahead. Slowly. I

  could discern Grandad sprawled on his back. "I see him. He's asleep. Let's not frighten him."

  Daddy said. We walked slowly, quietly.

  "Dad." my daddy called softly. He raised his

  voice and called again,

  Grandad Forman did not respond. I could see

  he had his Bible on his chest and both his hands over

  it.

  "Dad!"

  Daddy hurried into the patch of woods. I

  lingered a dozen feet back and watched as Daddy

  knelt down beside Grandad and shook him. Then he

  put his fingers on Grandad's neck and searched for a

  pulse. After a moment he lowered his head. "Daddy?"

  He lifted his head and looked at me. "What's

  wrong with him?"

  Daddy shook his head.

  "Go back to the house. Honey, and tell Mommy

  your grandad's gone. He's found his peace."

  11 Heart Song

  Grandad Forman's funeral wasn't a big one. Most of the friends and acquaintances he had were either dead or too sick and weak to attend. Chandler's father attended, and Chandler accompanied him. His mother didn't. There were a few other business people there and some friends of Daddy's and Mommy's. I didn't think Uncle Simon would want to go, but he surprised me.

  He also surprised Mommy and Daddy by agreeing to go see a doctor. Dr. Spalding put him on an antibiotic that had an almost immediate effect. His fever diminished and, although his cough lingered, it was far less severe, so he would have no problem attending the services. He had only one set of nice clothes. Mommy pressed his jacket and pants and Daddy found him a black tie to wear and tied it for him. Mommy even shined and polished Uncle Simon's one and only pair of dress shoes.

  It was a simple church service, but it was Daddy's idea that I add to it by playing my violin. As I played. I tried to remember only the good things about Grandad: the pride he took in his work and the success of the farm, his physical strength at his age, and the rare but precious moments when he looked softer, gazing almost lovingly at me.

  I saw how proud and happy it made Mommy as I played, and when I looked at Chandler. I saw a glow in his face that warmed my cold, dark heart. I smiled inside and eagerly greeted him at the end of the service

  "I'm sorry I haven't called you," he told me. "I thought first that I might have had something to do with all this,"

  "You didn't and neither did I, Chandler." "When are you coming back to school?" "Tomorrow," I said, and then hurried to join

  Mommy, Daddy. and Uncle Simon for our trip to the cemetery. Grandad's first wife Tess was buried beside her first husband. Grandad was to be laid beside my grandmother Jennie.

  "I'm not so sure she's happy about that," Mommy whispered.

  We smiled secretly through our eves, and we held hands while the final words were spoken over the coffin and Grandad was lowered into the earth from which he had made his living and did love. No one was more willing to become dust unto dust, I thought.

  I joined Uncle Simon, who had gone to visit his mother's grave. He was just standing there, staring at the tombstone as if he could see her face in the granite. I knew that from time to time Daddy drove him here to plant flowers.

  "She died before I could hear her speak. I don't remember her at all," he said mournfully.

  "She's inside you, Uncle Simon. You carry her in your heart."

  He nodded and took my hand. We stood there for a moment longer and then joined the others.

  The four of us drove back to the farm in relative silence, all of us reliving our own memories and dealing in our own way with the reality that death to someone close to us brings.

  I was so happy to return to school the following day. I couldn't get enough homework or be bored in any class. I bathed in the noise and the chatter in the hallways and cafeteria. I even welcomed the envy and green eyes of some of my classmates when they saw how closely Chandler and I kept to each other. Anyone could see there was something special going on by the way our eyes lingered on each other's faces.

  My lessons with Mr. Wengrow became more intense. He was very pleased with the music Chandler had bought for me and agreed with the choices for my audition. I practiced obsessively. I looked forward to our joint lessons and I saw how Chandler made Mr. Wengrow concentrate far more on me than on him.

  Almost nightly now I would play for Uncle Simon. Mommy. and Daddy in the living room. The music that had once been kept closed in to avoid Grandad's criticism and dire predictions of evil was set free, flowing through the house and over the grounds. As the weather improved and evenings became warmer. I would play outside at night. I would even bring my violin along and play while Daddy and Uncle Simon worked in the fields sometimes. My instrument and I were inseparable. Extra help was hired and they all looked at me and listened with amazement, hearing this kind of music while they worked.

  "I wouldn't be surprised if she's sleeping with that violin beside her." Daddy kidded.

  "It's not too far from me at any time," I said.

  Chandler and I went out both Friday and Saturday nights now, and there were weekends when he visited with us and watched television and then took walks with me. We sat at the pond often. He claimed the water was warming and he could stand dipping his feet in as long as I could.

  One night in late May, a particularly warm one, we decided to go swimming. It was an impulsive and exciting decision, because we were going to skinnydip. I brought out two large towels for us, and under a moonless sky with many stars throwing down a silvery rain of light, we undressed with our backs to each other and then waded in and dove down, crying out in both pleasure and shock. We embraced and kissed, feeling our naked bodies touch in the water. He kissed my breasts and held me as we listened to the symphony around us: the peepers, the frogs, an owl inserting its inquisitive "Who? Who? Who?"

  Afterward, wrapped in the towels, we held each other and kissed again. We came the closest to doing the most intimate act of love. Despite burying my childhood fears and driving the demons from our lives after Grandad's passing, I couldn't stop imagining his face glowing in the darkness, his eyes like the tips of candlelight, watching us.

  I buried my face in Chandler's chest and made him stop. He held me tightly.

  "Not vet," I said. "Not here."

  "Okay. I love you. though, Honey. I don't want to do this with anyone else."

  "Me neither," I admitted.

  I knew that it would be wonderful. but I couldn't help being afraid that, once we did it, once the mystery and the longing was gone, we might lose interest in each other. Chandler continually promised that would never be. but I was afraid of promises. The sun always promised the flowers it would be there for them, but gray days came and so did long, hard rains, washing away the soil. A promise is just a hope. I thought, and a hope is a plan, a dream for the future. It needs much more to make it work, to make it grow. It needs the same tender loving care Uncle Simon gave his seedlings and his plants.

  Were -we ready to make such a commitment to each other? I wondered. What would happen to us once -we were separated by great distance?

  It made me hesitate, and hope that my hesitation wouldn't discourage Chandler
too much and give him doubts about my love for him and his own love for me. Meanwhile, the music continued to bind us, to weave itself around and through us, sewing us together in ways other people couldn't even imagine. Sometimes, I had the feeling we were making love through our music, touching each other very intimately. Mr. Wengrow seemed to feel it, too, and often looked embarrassed by just being there between us, near us.

  "I've given you both all that I have," he finally decided. "It's time for you to go out and grow with people far more equipped than I am."

  He learned that there was just one more opening at the Senetsky School, and I would be competing with three other prime candidates for it. I was scheduled to audition early in the afternoon on the first Saturday in June. Daddy and Mommy were going to fly to New York with me the day before. I thought it would be a very expensive gamble, and then I wondered how we would pay for my tuition if I should be fortunate enough to be selected. Daddy surprised me with a revelation.

  "Your grandad was truly one of the most successful farmers in Ohio. Honey. He wasn't exactly a miser, but he was pretty frugal, as you know. He didn't live or run this farm as if it was successful. He ran everything as if we were on the verge of bankruptcy.

  "The truth is. I never knew exactly how much money he had, we had. He liked keeping me in the dark about it. I guess. After the funeral, we met with Mr. Ruderman, Grandad's accountant, and learned about the trust funds.

  "The truth is," Daddy said, flashing a smile at Mommy, who was smiling already, "we're probably richer than your boyfriend's family. So don't worry about the money. Worry about the music!"

  I did as he suggested, honing my skill with the violin. Getting into this school, winning approval from someone outside of my circle of family and friends had become paramount. It would truly give me the wings I needed to fly off and become whatever I was capable of becoming. The adventure, the risk, all the excitement filled my days and nights with tons of impatience.

  Finally, the day came. We were packed and ready to drive to the airport. Just before we left. I went over to say good-bye to Uncle Simon. He was organizing his new flower beds, planning his nursery,

  "We're ready to go," I announced. "I'm so nervous, I can barely walk."

  He looked at me, and then he bent down and picked up what looked at first like just an ordinary washcloth,

  "This is for you," he said, and I carefully opened the fold to see a tiny white carnation.