Whispering Hearts

by V. C. Andrews

  I nodded, took the card, and left. My heart was pounding with anxiety. If I had said any more, I thought, I would just have packed my bag and left for England. I went up, and despite what Samantha had suggested, I organized some of my things to take along, my necessities. When I closed my suitcase, I considered again what I was doing. For a moment, this felt like a whirlpool into which I was dropping myself and spinning. Everything I was about to do would take on another complication, another form of deceit. Was the money really worth it? Did I want to continue my career with such money? Would it affect what I thought of myself forever and ever?

  Despite the rosy picture Samantha had painted, this was not going to be easy for me. I was agreeing to become pregnant. I turned and looked at myself in the mirror, imagining being six or seven months along. Like any girl, I’m sure, I had always been intrigued by and a little frightened of the idea. When I was little, the sight of a pregnant woman fascinated me. Would she simply explode one day? I’d look at my mummy and wonder how she could have been this way.

  Like hail, the realization of what I was agreeing to do pelted over me. Someone was going to live inside me. My own child would be one thing, but this was going to be a stranger. And once it had begun, there was not a good way to stop it. I couldn’t change my mind, no matter how much I regretted doing it. I was going to sign a contract. Being my father’s daughter, that meant something very serious. Put your name to an agreement, and you practically taped your soul to it as well.

  About a half hour later, there was a knock at my door. It was Leo.

  “Hey,” he said. “I just wanted to wish you luck. The doc’s done what he promised in the meantime. You’re paid up and paid for another month, even if you change your mind and return tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “I hope I’ve done the right thing, Emma,” he said.

  “We all hope that, but I know you’re trying to help me, Leo. You’ve done the right thing when it comes to that. Thank you.”

  We hugged.

  “Good luck,” he said. “I’ll be right here whenever you need me. In the meantime, I’ll cover for you if anyone comes askin’.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, now that I felt like this was really happening and my feet were on the ground again. “Mr. Manning. What am I going to tell him?”

  “I was goin’ to tell him you had decided to go home for a while.”

  “I don’t think that will work, Leo. He’s friends with Mr. Wollard, remember? He’ll know I didn’t return.”

  We both stood there looking at each other.

  “I don’t like lying to him, but I can’t see myself telling the truth about this. I’m not sure of it, and I’m not sure I won’t be ashamed if and when I go through with it. And they do want me to keep my participation secret. That’s very important to Samantha.”

  “Okay. Leave it to me,” he said. “I won’t reveal anythin’, but I’ll get him to be understandin’.”

  “Oh, and Marge, and oh, I forgot all about Jon Morales.”

  “Who?”

  I looked at the time. “I’ll take care of that,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Right.” He hugged me and left.

  How would I tell my parents, if ever? I wondered. In the meantime, what would I say if they called here and never heard back from me for almost a year? I had to come up with some explanation. I was never good at deception. It was always easier to simply not say anything. That, at least, didn’t feel like lying. But how could I do that now? At the moment, I saw no other way than to make up some story, perhaps tell them I had a job in a regional theater in Massachusetts.

  Was there such a thing as a good lie? Julia used to try to convince me there was, especially if it was to avoid riling up our father. “Words have consequences,” she said in her slightly arrogant teacher’s voice, even before she became one. “If you can avoid them and not really hurt someone, why not choose the words that prevent trouble? After all, we’re only trying to keep Daddy from becoming upset. He could have a heart attack,” she’d warn. In the end, although I didn’t utter the words, I went along with them, telling myself I was still mostly innocent.

  First things first, I thought. I found Jon’s number and called.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he asked. “Free tonight?”

  “No. I’m afraid I won’t be able to see you, Jon. I’m leaving.”

  “Leaving? Why? To where?”

  “I’m returning to England for a while,” I said. “I have to see my family.”

  I paused to see if my voice had betrayed my falsity. I really did not want to hurt him. If he thought I was making up something just to avoid him…

  “Oh. Sure. I told you I just saw mine. But you’ll call me when you return, right?” he asked. He sounded convinced, but I still felt guilty.

  “Yes,” I said.

  I’ll call you, I thought, but when I return, I might be so different from the girl you knew that you’ll be the one to find excuses to avoid any relationship.

  “Well, have a good, safe trip.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Send me a postcard if you think of it. I don’t think anyone’s written me from England.”

  I heard my buzzer sound.

  “Someone’s at the door. I think it’s my car service. ’Bye, Jon,” I said quickly, avoiding any promises. I hung up the phone and pushed the call-box button. “Yes?”

  “It’s Parker Thompson, Dr. Davenport’s driver.”

  “I’ll be right down,” I said. I picked up my suitcase, looked about the apartment a moment, and then took a deep breath and stepped out.

  Leo waited at the door. There would never be enough good-byes for him, apparently. I could see the concern in his face. It troubled him. For days afterward, he was going to ask himself the same question. Had he made the right decision when he suggested me? I squeezed his arm gently.

  “I’ll be all right,” I whispered. “If not, I’ll come back immediately.”

  Parker Thompson, an African American man of about thirty, tall, with shoulders that filled out his black jacket, took my suitcase.

  I walked out after him. He opened the rear door, and I paused. I paused long enough for Samantha to slide over and smile at me. Then I got in. She reached over to take my hand.

  “It will all be fine,” she said. I was probably wearing my nervousness like a Halloween mask.

  Dr. Davenport was up front. He didn’t turn back to look at me. I couldn’t say from the short time we talked if he was really for this or not. Did he deep down resent his wife for forcing it to happen? Or did he agree because he didn’t want his wife losing her figure? Or was he so much the scientist and so much less the husband? Questions seemed to be floating around me like fluffy dandelions, more with every passing moment as we drove out of the city.

  I smiled at Samantha and nodded. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how much I was helping her. She was escaping her fears and holding on to her beauty and her youth. She would be a mother, yes, but one with a nanny. The birth of her child would make almost no change in her life. She might even love him or her the way she once loved one of her precious dolls.

  Yes, I thought, despite what you wish, how different we really are.

  Between the two of us, there wasn’t a moment of silence for practically the entire trip. Dr. Davenport spoke to Parker but rarely turned around to look at us unless Samantha brought him into the conversation to confirm something she had said about Wyndemere. I thought she was exaggerating with her descriptions. It sounded more like an English castle, but when we were approaching it and the lake, I realized that if anything, she had understated what their home was.

  The house itself was a nineteenth-century Gothic Revival. Dr. Davenport confirmed that the house was over fifteen thousand square feet. It had a dark-gray stone face, with louvered vinyl black shutters, towering brick chimneys, and gargoyles like the ones I had seen in pictures of Notre Dame in Paris. There was elaborate outside lighting, but night had
fallen, and the hedges and fountains were silhouetted against an inky backdrop. As we turned into the driveway, I could see that the land rolled down toward the lake, a glimmering slice of silver.

  “I can’t wait until you see it all in daylight,” Samantha said. “Right after breakfast, we’ll take a walk to the lake.”

  “No,” Dr. Davenport said. “Right after breakfast, Emma will be going with me to see Franklin.”

  “Oh. Of course. How silly of me,” Samantha said. “But there’ll be time to take walks later, right, Harrison?”

  “She’ll take many walks, I’m sure. Franklin will want that.”

  Samantha grimaced, as if my reason for being here was primarily to be her friend and only as a side purpose was I here to carry her and Dr. Davenport’s baby.

  Dr. Davenport turned to her and smiled. “Don’t overwhelm her, darling. Elizabeth will take care of that,” he said.

  “Oh, and will she,” Samantha said, laughing.

  How strange, I thought. He refers to his mother by her given name.

  We pulled up to the front entrance. Dr. Davenport stepped out, but Samantha didn’t move until Parker came around to open her door and then mine. He fetched my suitcase, and we all approached the grand, large wooden front doors with their embossed figurines that depicted two sprawling trees. Dr. Davenport opened the door and stepped back. He glanced at me, to see my reaction to all this, I’m sure.

  I had been to castles that had belonged to wealthy noblemen and relatives of the king, but I was still impressed with Wyndemere’s elegant beige foyer with a Louis XVI console. The main entrance had an open staircase, molded cornices, and a red-marble fireplace.

  “You’ll be in the bedroom nearest to ours,” Samantha said.

  “Why don’t you take her there, freshen up, and we’ll see about some light dinner?” Dr. Davenport said. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Marlene.”

  “She’s our cook,” Samantha quickly added. “We can take it from here, Parker.” She reached for my suitcase.

  “Oh, I can carry that,” I said.

  “Nonsense. Anyway, it’s so small. I can manage.”

  Then why couldn’t I? I wondered. Did she already see me as pregnant? I let her have the small suitcase.

  “You should see the suitcases my mother-in-law has with her, even for a few days of travel. Besides, you’re a visitor, and we have to treat you in the manner the Davenports treat their guests. For a while, anyway,” she added, smiling.

  “I’ll speak to Mrs. Marlene and then be in my office,” Dr. Davenport said.

  “That, our bedroom, and the dining room are practically the only rooms in this mansion he uses, but mainly his office,” Samantha said with feigned disapproval. “It’s not difficult to find him.”

  He laughed and started away.

  Before we reached the second step on the stairway, a woman I would soon know was Elizabeth Davenport stepped out of the living room. She was in a floral lace high-low cocktail dress with a string of small diamonds around her neck and matching diamond earrings. Her dyed brown hair looked so sprayed that you would need a comb with steel teeth to separate a single strand. Her lips were almost comical to me because of how puffed up they were with some filler her plastic surgeon used. The skin around her chin and over her cheeks resembled a freshly ironed silk blouse.

  “Oh, hi, Elizabeth. You look so nice. I remember you wore that dress to the governor’s ball. Did we miss something big and important?”

  “Dinner with the Ramseys,” Elizabeth replied. “It was scheduled two weeks ago.”

  “I don’t know how we missed that. Harrison is always so careful about his calendar.”

  “Where is my son?”

  “He went to speak to Mrs. Marlene about some dinner for us, and then he’s off to his office for something or other,” Samantha said.

  Elizabeth Davenport turned to her right as if moving too quickly might cause a wrinkle and then looked back at us.

  “Are the Ramseys still here?” Samantha asked. “We’ll have a light dinner soon.”

  “Still here? Hardly. Dinner has long since come and gone,” Elizabeth said. She pulled herself up like a drill sergeant for the queen’s royal guard and looked at me with her piercing gray eyes. “Is this she?”

  “Oh, yes. This is Emma Corey. Emma, this is my mother-in-law, Elizabeth Davenport.”

  I had no time to say hello.

  “Ridiculous,” Elizabeth said, and walked back into the living room.

  “She hasn’t quite made it into the twentieth century,” Samantha said. “Pay no attention. Actually,” she whispered, “she’s jealous. She wishes in vitro had been perfected when she was my age.”

  She nodded at the stairway to indicate we should continue up.

  I looked back toward the living room and then followed her. When we reached the top, a nurse came out of a room down to our right and headed toward us.

  “Oh, Mrs. Cohen, how is my father-in-law tonight?”

  “Exhausted,” she said. “Your mother-in-law insisted we bring him down to dinner. He didn’t last five minutes and was brought back up before her guests had arrived.” She looked at me.

  “Mrs. Cohen has been with the Davenport family for nearly a decade in one capacity or another,” Samantha explained. “She will be assisting us later. She’s aware of it all. No secrets from Mrs. Cohen.”

  “Oh, there are a few still hidden in the corners of this house,” Mrs. Cohen said.

  Samantha laughed. “Anyway, Mrs. Cohen’s quite capable. Her grandmother was a midwife. Isn’t that true, Mrs. Cohen?”

  “She wasn’t exactly that, but there were many times when she oversaw a delivery, yes. Welcome,” she said, then flashed a smile at me and continued to the stairway.

  “Oh,” Samantha called after her, “I forgot to tell you. Her name is Emma.”

  Mrs. Cohen looked back at me.

  “She’s from England.”

  Mrs. Cohen’s smile was a little friendlier, actually the smile of someone amused. “Oh? Your baby might be born with an accent, then,” she said, and continued down.

  “She’s joking,” Samantha said. “Don’t you think?”

  She looked a little worried, and I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry at the moment.

  I had been brought to Wyndemere, in which there was a mother-in-law made of ice, who obviously didn’t approve of my being here and what her son and daughter-in-law were doing, and a very sick father-in-law, a house so cavernous that echoes from yesterday were still bouncing off the walls. For months and months, this world would be mine, too.

  TEN

  The bedroom that was to be mine was easily twice as large as the one in my apartment. I recognized the furniture: a dark-oak Churchill five-piece poster bedroom set. Mrs. Taylor had a similar set. This room had a light-blue and ivory area rug that looked like it had just been brought in. The curtains matched. There was a vanity table with an oval mirror on the right, also with a blue frame. On the wall to the left were two paintings of clouds and cherubs with lots of blue sky.

  “I ordered some new things for your room in anticipation of your arrival,” Samantha said.

  My room? I thought. Surely she meant the room of whoever took on this job. Should I call it a job?

  “My mother-in-law complained, but Harrison stood up for me. Of course, she thinks when you leave, she’ll take out anything at all I bought. She’ll restore it to the drab way it was. Do you like it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you would. Why don’t I leave you to freshen up? I will, too, and then we’ll go down to have some dinner. You should find everything you need, but if you don’t, I’m right next door. Just turn left when you walk out and knock.”

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded and then burst into a bigger smile. “Harrison tells me that we’ll be able to know the sex of our child between the eighteenth and twenty-sixth week. As soon as we do, we’ll design the nursery. I hope you will help me do that,” she said.
“It’ll be such fun.”

  “Oh, I’m not any sort of expert when it comes to designing and decorating.”

  She nearly lunged forward to take my hands into hers. “Of course you are. I want you to feel as much a part of this as you wish, Emma. Even years afterward, I would hope you would visit to see him or her, not telling him or her who you really are, of course, but I imagine you’ll be curious, don’t you think?”

  She was waiting for my response. I was struggling to find a suitable feeling, a reaction that wouldn’t end with my rushing out of the room and down the stairs. She held her smile, anticipating.

  “Of course,” I said, trying to smile. My whole body seemed to tighten, but she was waiting with obvious anticipation. “How could I not be?”

  “Exactly.” She let go of my hands. “After all, you’ll be the one who first feels my baby move. And you’ll hear his or her first cry. I haven’t decided yet whether I will be present during the delivery. Harrison and Franklin, Dr. Bliskin, think I should be. I should be standing there with open arms.”

  “I imagine you should be,” I said.

  “We’ll see. Now, take a shower, a bubble bath, whatever you like. You’ll find some of my clothes hanging in the closet. Choose what you wish to wear. There are shoes to match every dress, skirt, and blouse. The dresser drawers are filled with your underthings and socks. There is a selection of lipsticks in the vanity-table drawer, but I bet I know what you’ll choose.”

  “Oh?”

  “And this is my favorite perfume,” she said, showing me the bottle. She sprayed it on her wrist and brought it to my nose. “Isn’t it wonderful? Makes you think of the first day of spring.”

  “It is nice. Thank you.”

  “I’ll give you an hour, okay? I’ll need an hour. It’s been a long day for us both, but a wonderful day, don’t you think? It’s always wonderful when you meet someone you know you will like.”

  She hugged me. “Welcome to Wyndemere,” she said, and walked out.

  I still hadn’t taken a step. Her words and enthusiasm, and the speed with which I had been rushed here, were altogether so overwhelming. I felt nailed in place, felt like a pawn on a chessboard played in a game with an outcome known years ago.