Wildflowers 04 Cat

by V. C. Andrews

  "Didn't you ever go on a family trip or a vacation?" Jade asked.

  "No, not really. A day's travel was it. My mother doesn't like to sleep in a strange bed. She says hotel rooms are never cleaned well enough and you're always sleeping in someone else's dirt.

  "I recall a few times when my father went somewhere by himself, but my mother didn't seem to mind that. Then, there was a time when he took me," I said.

  They all looked like they were holding their breath, but I wasn't ready to talk about that yet. I closed my eyes. It looked like red webs were spun on the underside of my eyelids.

  "When I was little and left on my own to bathe and dress myself, my father would sometimes appear. That was the secret. He made it clear that I shouldn't tell my mother. We both knew she wouldn't like it and my father said we shouldn't make her unhappy. She works too hard for both of us, he explained.

  "She didn't see him go into your room?" Misty asked.

  "She was usually downstairs preparing breakfast or dinner or cleaning up at the time. Mother has always been so precise about what she does. She keeps to her schedule no matter what," I explained. "I almost know to the minute where she'll be and what she'll be doing. Being organized makes her

  comfortable.

  "Even though it is so long ago, I can clearly remember the first time my daddy came into my bathroom. I was already in the tub. I didn't hear him enter the bedroom. I think he must have been practically tiptoeing. He gazed in at me and smiled and asked me if I was all right.

  "I nodded and he felt the water, dipped his right forefinger in like a thermometer and wiggled it in the air, that birthmark bright.

  "'Good,' he said with a big smile, 'it's not too hot.'

  "He brushed his hand over my hair and then knelt beside the tub and asked me to show him how I washed myself.

  "I was always eager for him to pay more attention to me. I wanted him to hold me and hug me and kiss me. He was my daddy and I looked to him often, anticipating some warm words, some gentle touch, some loving smile. That was all so rare in my house, so when he did this, I was very happy. I mean, that's why I wasn't afraid or . . ."

  "You don't have to do that," Doctor Marlowe said softly. They all turned to her, but she didn't explain.

  She didn't have to explain it to me. I knew what she meant. She wanted me to stop blaming myself, stop making excuses. I nodded. When I turned back to the girls, they looked even more intrigued.

  "I know your mother has taught you how important it is to be clean all over,' he said. 'Go on. Let me see how you do it.'

  "You can't imagine how excited I was to perform for him I scrubbed my elbows and my little legs. I washed my neck vigorously, especially behind my ears, and then I stood up and washed between my legs and behind.

  "He laughed and clapped and then he left and I felt so happy about it, but when I saw him later, he looked at my mother and then back to me and winked. In front of her he tried not to act so interested in me. He practically ignored me. When I tried to cuddle up beside him on the sofa, he told me I should go to sleep and I remember feeling as if I had been slapped even though he merely lifted his eyes and shook his head. Then he went back to what he was reading.

  "The only time he really showed interest in me, smiled and laughed and touched me lovingly was when he visited me-in the bathroom while I took my bath and that was only occasionally at best.

  "Until . . ."

  "What?" Misty practically jumped to ask.

  "The bumps."

  "Bumps?"

  "She means until her breasts started to form;' Jade said with narrow, sharp eyes. She glanced at Star who nodded and then turned back to me. "Right?"

  "Yes," I said. My eyes burned with tears that welled behind my lids. I swallowed back the small scream that wanted so much to come rushing out of my mouth. "Yes," I whispered, not even sure if I had said it.

  "Oh," Misty said, her lips in a small circle, her eyes bright with understanding, but shock as well.

  "I don't know how it was for the rest of you, but when it began to happen to me, I was frightened. I told my mother about it and she told me to stop talking nonsense.

  "'It's not nonsense, Mother. It's really happening to me!' I protested one morning at breakfast.

  "My father put down his paper and looked at me with surprise, too, but he didn't say anything to help me. He just looked a little interested and then he went back to his paper.

  "'You're too young for such a thing,' my mother said throwing me a hard look. 'Girls today rush everything You're imagining it.'

  "'No, I'm not,' I cried, tears now building in my eyes. 'I'll show you.'

  "I started to unbutton my blouse and she screamed so loud and shrilly, I felt like she had sent a lightning bolt through my body. I remember I literally froze, terrified of even moving my fingers.

  "'Take it easy, Geraldine,' my father said. 'She doesn't understand.'

  "I guess she realized how dramatic and horrifying she was. She became calmer and lectured me softly.

  "'We don't disrobe in any other room of the house but our bedrooms and our bathrooms,' she explained.

  "'I'll go up to my bathroom to show you,' I offered.

  "'This isn't the time for that. It's breakfast time and you're off to school. Put this nonsense out of your mind,' she insisted.

  "I gazed at my father, hoping he would speak up again, but he just shook his head at me and went back to what he was reading.

  "I tried to bring it up again with my mother when I returned from school, but again, she refused to listen.

  She insisted it was all part of my confused imagination.

  "'They make sex such a big thing on television and in movies and books today that it infects children,' she orated. She could step up on a soapbox at a moment's notice and deliver a speech about the disgusting immorality alive in the world. She didn't accidentally use the word 'infects,' by the way. My mother thinks of it as a disease, almost something you can catch by breathing near promiscuous people. She had me thinking that way. I remember holding my breath or covering my mouth when classmates said or did things I knew my mother would disapprove of."

  All three girls had their mouths slightly open, their eyes wide as they listened and gazed at me with astonishment.

  "I know how stupid that sounds now, but that's the way I thought.

  "Anyway, a few nights later, I heard Daddy enter my bedroom and come to the door of my bathroom while I was taking my bath. As I told you before, I was about nine years old at the time which was why I was nervous and confused. My body seemed to be racing ahead. Maybe I was freakish.

  "'So what's this you've been trying to tell your mother?' he asked as he approached.

  "I sat up to show him and he nodded. He studied me like a doctor for a moment and then he pressed my chest softly with those spider leg fingers.

  "'Looks like you're right,' he said nodding and smiling. 'I'll speak to your mother about it. Don't be afraid,' he told me. 'It's earlier than most girls, but it's nothing bad, nothing to be afraid to see happening'

  "He spoke so gently, so kindly, I felt relieved. Why couldn't my mother be this kind, this concerned and loving? I wondered.

  "'I can tell you're going to be a very pretty girl, a special girl,' he continued. 'Daddy's special girl,' he added. He had never said that to me before. I was very happy about it. If this would make him love me even more, I thought, then it must be good.

  "A little less than a week afterward, my mother came to my bedroom door while I was doing homework. She entered and closed it behind her.

  "'All right,' she said stretching and tightening her lips until they were two pale red thin lines over her chin, let me see what you're talking about.'

  "I just imagined my father had done what he had promised and spoken to her about it. No longer afraid or ashamed, I got up and unbuttoned my blouse to show her. She looked at me, but unlike my father, she looked disgusted by it. She had such an

  unpleasant expression on her
face, I thought there really was something wrong with me.

  " 'Is it all right?' I asked her, my voice shaking with some panic.

  "'No,' she said. 'It's far too soon. I don't like how it shows under your blouse either. I'll get something proper for you to wear tomorrow,' she promised, turned and left me standing there feeling hideous.

  "The next day she bought me a sports bra, but my development continued at an accelerated pace. By the time the school year ended, I had a distinct bosom. I even had cleavage," I said.

  "That's so unfair," Misty moaned. "My mother wants to buy me a Wonder Bra and here you had cleavage in the fifth grade!"

  "Despite my development, my mother fought buying me a regular bra. I complained about the sports bra and she replaced it with a little bigger size, but it still pinched and squeezed. It was such a relief to get undressed every night.

  "My mother wouldn't listen to any complaints. She told me to work on putting my mind off it. If I told her about a tingle or a feeling I could describe only as a tickle, she would turn crimson and scream at me for not keeping such thoughts buried in my mind. Once, she even slapped me because I mentioned it in front of my father. Then she pulled me aside and said, 'There are things decent women don't mention in front of men, ever. Hear?'

  "Men? I thought. My father was a man, of course, but I didn't lump him in with other men. I remember feeling so strange about the way she had referred to him. Almost as if he were the enemy. We had to hide things from him, too, just because he was a man. What would happen if she knew my daddy's and my secret? I wondered. Daddy looked worried for a moment and then smiled when he realized I had kept it our little secret.

  "Of course, I nodded after everything my mother told me and I tried to behave as she wanted me to behave, but I couldn't help overhearing classmates talking about sexual things from time to time. I had so many questions to ask, so many worries. I tried reading about it, but if my mother found any books or any pamphlets in the house, she would throw them in the garbage, even if they were library books and I had to pay for them. She declared they shouldn't be in a school library anyway, especially a parochial school.

  "Once, I tried hiding a book from her. That was when I discovered my mother went through my room daily, searching everywhere for lascivious material, even under the mattress," I said.

  "It sounds like you live in a prison, not a home," Jade said.

  "I've felt that way, yes," I admitted.

  "My room is my world. Neither of my parents would dare to invade it," she said. "We're people, too, despite our ages. It's stupid to think that just because we're under eighteen, we're some kind of lesser creature."

  "Right," Misty said nodding.

  "It bothered me along with so many other things. I was more emotional than ever. Sometimes, I would just lay in bed and cry. I had no specific reason for it. Tears would suddenly build and flow and I would shudder and sob. If my mother heard as she passed by my room, she ignored it. Intimate talk not only embarrassed her; it disgusted her. I felt so lost and confused. It made everything harder."

  "What about your father?" Star asked. "After all, he told you that you were his special little girl, right?"

  "My father was very busy at the time. He had moved to another brokerage house and was

  establishing himself and the clients he had brought over with him.

  "Everything about our lives was routine then. One day seemed no different from the next, even the weekends blended into the week. All my premature development did was make me feel lonelier than ever. I truly did think of myself as being freakish and I tried to stop thinking about it. I tried to do what my mother wanted, but I was like a rubber band being stretched and stretched until I was about to snap."

  "Didn't you have any friends to talk with?" Misty asked.

  "I was terrified of personal talk and the other girls knew it. Most of the time, they teased me. Every time one of them brought up a topic related to sex or boys, I felt my ears shut and my body tighten. I usually would find an excuse to leave. I guess by my own behavior I added to the image of being freakish and weird. No one really wanted me as a friend.

  "Don't think I didn't feel terrible about it. Other girls went to each other's homes. There were parties, none of which I was invited to. I rarely went to the movies. I felt like I was standing on the other side of a wall, a glass wall, looking in at the rest of the world.

  "One night I sat in my tub and sobbed so hard I created waves. Mother was downstairs doing needlepoint. I heard my bedroom door open and close and moments later, there was Daddy looking in at me. He smiled.

  'What's all this? Why are you crying, Cathy?' he asked.

  "I shook my head. I couldn't explain it to myself. How could I explain it to him or anyone else for that matter?

  "He saw the redness around my bosom and under my arms and looked concerned.

  "'What's this?' he asked. 'What is it, a rash?' He approached the tub and knelt down to look closer.

  "'No,' I told him. 'It's from the sports bras Mother makes me wear.'

  "'This isn't good,' he said with concern. 'My poor special little girl.'

  "He rose and went to the bathroom cabinet and then he returned with some cold cream. First, he rubbed around my bosom, and under my arms with a towel, drying the skin. Then he told me to just sit back and relax as he dabbed the cold cream on and gently spread it over my chest.

  "'Good,' he whispered. 'That's good. It feels better, doesn't it?' he asked as he moved those long, spidery fingers around, under and over my bosom.

  "It did feel better. When I opened my eyes, he was looking down at me with such a bright hot look in his eyes, I was both frightened and confused for a moment. Then he spoke softly again and promised to talk to my mother about the terrible thing the sports bras were doing.

  "He leaned over and kissed me softly on the forehead. In my house, kisses were as rare as exotic birds. Every one I received, I cherished in my heart, I hoarded like a jewel in my treasure chest of affection. It had a long way to go to be filled.

  "Anyway, if my father did speak to my mother about the problem with the sports bras, she never acknowledged it. She didn't ask or come to look. I continued to complain and on each occasion she told me what she always told me. It wasn't the proper time for me to wear anything else. If I did, it would just emphasize my awkward development and draw looks and comments that would upset and embarrass me.

  "Finally, I rebelled and refused to wear the tight exercise bra. When she saw I was going to attend school with only a blouse covering my bosom, she relented and bought me a regular bra, but I seemed to outgrow them as fast as she bought them and that displeased her.

  "Once, she even considered bringing me to a doctor and you already know how desperate she would have to be before she would think about doing it.

  "'Maybe there is something terribly wrong with your hormones,' she considered. That frightened me again. She made it sound like I might grow so big, I'd be in a circus. I tried to find something in the library that would explain it or tell me how to slow it down.

  "In the seventh grade, we had a unit on sex education, but it was so vague and general, I didn't feel I had learned anything significant about myself. Sister Anne wouldn't permit specific questions or any question that she termed out of line. I learned more just listening to the girls talk in the locker room and bathroom, but never enough to put myself at ease.

  "The only time I felt like I wasn't a freak was when Daddy came in to see me. He told me he wanted to check to be sure the rash hadn't returned and he thought it was best to dab on the cream. He always seemed to see some redness, even if I didn't.

  "Once, after I finished my bath, he asked me to lay face down on the bed and he rubbed in body oil he said would make my skin softer. He put it

  everywhere. When I giggled because he tickled, he told me to hold my breath instead. He didn't want my mother hearing and learning our little secret."

  I stopped and took a breath. I had been talk
ing quickly because I felt if I took too long, I would stop and not be able to start again.

  Just at that moment, we heard a tray of glasses tinkling and moments later, Emma, Doctor Marlowe's sister, appeared in the office doorway, carrying her usual tray of glasses, pitcher of lemonade and some cookies. Today she wore a pretty pearl white blouse with a lace collar and an ankle-length dark blue skirt. She had some makeup on, too, and her hair was brushed and neatly pinned.

  "Good morning, everyone," she said. "Sorry I wasn't here to greet you, but I had a nasty time in the dentist's office. I'm going to have to have a root canal, I'm afraid," she said with a sad face. Then, she quickly smiled. "But it's not the end of the world."

  The girls all stared up at her and I knew what they were thinking Emma had a bosom nearly twice as big as mine I knew all the jokes like 'They're so big they arrive in a room ten minutes before her.' I had heard boys say these things about me. Was this what I would look like someday?

  She put the tray on the table and stepped back.

  "Do you need anything else, Doctor Marlowe?" she asked her sister.

  "No, thank you, Emma."

  "Well, everyone looks cheery this morning, despite the nasty weather. I'll see about the lunch," she added, suddenly made nervous by our silence. She glanced at Doctor Marlowe and then hurried away.

  "Dig in, girls," Doctor Marlowe said, rising. "I just want to make one phone call during our break."

  She smiled at me, rose and went to her desk. Star poured herself a glass of lemonade and Misty took a cookie. Then she offered me one. I shook my head.

  "I'll just have some lemonade," I said.

  "Why is your mother so uptight?" Star asked. I'm sure even she was afraid to ask me any more questions about my father.

  "Something must have happened in her childhood," Jade ventured. "Maybe. . . she was raped when she was a little girl," she suggested with big, teacup saucer eyes. "Was she raped?"

  "I don't know," I said. "If she was, she would never tell me. She never has told me anything about the baby she lost. I already explained how she feels about even making a reference to things like that."