A Novel

by V. C. Andrews

  “Go around to the front,” my mother said. “I’ll walk you to the entrance.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m staying overnight,” he told me, “so maybe I’ll catch you tomorrow before you head for school.”

  “Then where are you going?”

  “I’m going home,” he said. He looked at my mother. She averted his glance and took his empty water glass to the sink. “It’s really been a pleasure to meet you, Fern. I hope I can see you once more before I go.”

  “I’m here all night,” I said deliberately.

  “Yes, well, I have to catch up with the Davenports. Morning is more possible, perhaps. You’ll be asleep for sure when dinner and after-dinner drinks are over.”

  I shrugged. “Nothing’s for sure,” I said. “Nice meeting you, too,” I added, doing a terrible job of hiding my disappointment.

  I returned to my bedroom and heard them leave. I flopped onto my bed.

  If he was my father, why couldn’t he just come out and say it, say he was sorry or something? Was he waiting for me to come right out and ask. Excuse me, but I was wondering, are you my father?

  Don’t show me how interested you are in what I’ve become and what I want to do with my life and then just get in your car tomorrow and return to your family. Was this a guilt trip? Did he feel better about himself now? He’d shown some interest in me so everything was all right?

  Forget about growing up in a shadow, Fern. Forget about how you’ve been viewed and treated and how hard it’s been for you to find acceptance. Forget that you live with your mother in the “dungeon” portion of this mansion, socked away to be forgotten or, as your mother would say, “out from under anyone’s feet.”

  Thank you for your visit and your burning desire to say good-bye in the morning, Dr. Bliskin. I’ll stay up all night in anticipation.

  I lay there sulking around with these thoughts until I heard my mother return, and then I leaped up. Time to kill a secret, I thought. I was in the mood for it.

  “Why did you give me that answer when I asked if he was my father? Why don’t you tell me the truth now? I’m old enough. I think I’ve heard worse things lately and survived. Well?” I said.

  She stood there looking at me as if I had gone mad. Instead of answering, she began to fiddle with things in the kitchen, taking out a pan. “I have a very nice piece of salmon to prepare for you tonight.”

  “Are you kidding? I know you were out all night, Mummy. I saw that you were still in your dress this morning. Where were you? You’re not just friends. You were his lover, weren’t you? I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see there’s something between you.”

  She paused. “Yes, we were lovers,” she confessed. She thought a moment and then sat at the table. “It happened after Ryder was born. He was coming here to check on him more than usual, certainly more than necessary, and we simply began to spend more time with each other.”

  “He was married, though.”

  “Yes, he was married and had his children, but there was something missing in his life.”

  “What?”

  “Passion,” she said, looking up at me. “Very often, people have it for a short period with each other and mistake it for something that will last. They get married too quickly, perhaps. Children come, work takes up more and more of your life, and pretty soon you forget what you’re missing. Then something rekindles it, and you realize this is what you need, what you’ve missed, and you take the leap.

  “It wasn’t only him, however. I missed it, too. Truthfully, I never was lucky enough to experience it the way it should be, and so when he came along and we began to read each other’s feelings accurately, it happened.

  “But the responsibilities and burdens were planted in his life, and I wasn’t going to ask him to hurt so many just to please myself. In some ways, it was more difficult a parting than the parting I had with my family,” she said.

  “Is he my father?”

  “It doesn’t do you any good to hear that he is, Fern. He’s as much of a stranger to you as anyone who comes into your life for a few minutes and goes away forever. A father is someone who accepts responsibilities. Any healthy man can impregnate a woman, but I’ve never thought of such a man in terms of being a father. I guess I’ve felt that way ever since I was a surrogate mother. Biology is not parenthood. Sperm doesn’t make someone a father. Not in my book,” she said firmly.

  I stared at her a moment and then turned and went to my room. Maybe she was right. Darkness was too strong in Wyndemere. It would not be defeated easily. People are too easily forgotten here. The shadows overtake them, even the memory of them. Look at what happened to the little girl Holly, Dr. Davenport’s sister. How cruel her parents were to erase her existence entirely, simply to ease their own sorrow. Dr. Davenport’s first wife was reduced to a framed picture in his office and some clothing in the attic. Ryder knew little more about her than I did about my real father. When I gave it deeper thought, I realized that everyone was lonely in Wyndemere. My mother had me, but she was still lonely. She had lost someone, someone perhaps she never really had, but still, it was the idea of him that was gone. His short visit only intensified the pain for her. That was really why I walked away from her just now and didn’t keep demanding an answer. I couldn’t look at what she was feeling. I could see it in her eyes, and it was like a sword through the heart.

  Dr. Bliskin was seated at the kitchen table when I came out for breakfast in the morning. I had fallen asleep early and slept through the night. If he had visited my mother after the Davenport dinner, I hadn’t heard anything, certainly not enough to wake me. When I saw him sitting there in his light-blue shirt and jeans, the shirt collar open, he looked relaxed but like someone who had been there a while. Had he sneaked into her bedroom the way Ryder had sneaked into mine?

  My mother sat beside him. She didn’t look upset about his leaving. If anything, she looked younger, energetic, as though whatever there was deep inside her to brighten her day, her view of the world and herself had been lit again, if only for a little while. I felt both happy and sad for her. When you had something as precious as this, wasn’t it more difficult to visit with the feelings and then put them back to sleep? But she did love quoting Alfred Lord Tennyson’s “ ’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

  “Morning,” Dr. Bliskin said. “I see you’re one of those young ladies who look good regardless of the time of day.”

  My mother smiled at what I imagined was a comical look on my face. The last thing I thought about myself in the morning was that I looked good. It took a while for sleep to evaporate from my eyes, and I had yet to brush my hair. Who expected someone besides Mr. Stark to be sitting here this early?

  “I thought doctors were supposed to tell the truth,” I said, and took out some juice.

  He laughed. “Yes, she’s your daughter, Emma.”

  “I’m a regular clone,” I said dryly.

  “Would you like some porridge today, Fern? It’s still hot. I made some for Dr. Bliskin and myself.”

  “I’m not that hungry. I’ll just have some toast and cheese,” I said, and went to make it.

  Both were quiet, watching me. Had they talked it over? Was this the moment?

  “Well, I’d better get myself moving,” Dr. Bliskin said. He rose. “Long trip ahead.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” my mother said.

  “It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Fern, and seeing what a beautiful and intelligent young lady you’ve become. I wish you well, and I’m confident you’re going to do great things. Your mother is very proud of you and for good reason.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and turned my back on him. I held my breath, anticipating something, anything. Instead, I heard the door opening and then closing. The silence was thunderous. I didn’t even realize that I had started to cry.

  By the time my mother returned, I had eaten what I could and gotten ready for school.

  “Is he ever co
ming here again?” I asked her while she cleared the table.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  I felt like saying a lot of things, but I said nothing and left.

  The rest of our week was uneventful. Some of the girls began to talk to me as much as they had previously, but no one invited me to do anything socially with her. I planted my face in my books and did my homework. I even began to create some study guides for my finals. My mother worked as hard as ever, too. Ryder kept his distance, especially in Wyndemere. We spoke on the phone at night. He was holding his ground, even though his getting a car of his own was slipping away. He said his dinners with his father, Bea, and Sam were worse than ever, the only bright spot being when Bea complained more vigorously and he could see his father losing patience, even snapping back at her occasionally.

  “Wyndemere has become a minefield,” he said. “I come out of my room only to eat dinner. Bea refuses to talk to me, which is great. She even avoids looking at me. I feel sorry for Sam, though. Her mother has threatened her with severe punishment if she merely turns toward the hall to your rooms. Fortunately, she’s going to an overnight birthday party Saturday. Last night after dinner, my father asked me if I had anything to say. I knew he meant for me to apologize to Bea. She sat there looking so satisfied with herself. I felt like puking up what I ate.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I thought the meat loaf was better than usual. You could have cut through steel with my father’s glare. He rose and left the table without speaking, and Bea said she had never met a more ungrateful person than me. I introduced her to herself, and she rushed out, probably to tell my father. Sam looked terrified. I had to help her with her homework to make her feel better.”

  “Are you sure you’re handling it the right way, Ryder?”

  “The only way,” he replied. “Saturday, meet me at the dock at two. It’s better if we go there separately, just in case.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  At the moment, it was the only thing I had to look forward to, but I couldn’t smother the feeling that somehow it would make things worse for both of us.

  14

  FOR A WHILE Saturday morning, I thought it was going to rain and rain hard, but winds swirled the clouds, and by midday, there were some patches of blue. My mother told me the Davenports were having a dinner party and she would have a lot to do all day. We hadn’t done much with each other during the remainder of the week except eat dinner. I wasn’t very talkative at the table. I did my chores and immediately went into my room and closed the door. I knew I was being a sullen brat, but I couldn’t help it. I supposed that in some ways, I was doing just what Ryder was doing, alienating the one person who cared the most about me, but, like him, I couldn’t help myself. I felt like I had a half dozen Bunsen burners inside me, each boiling another mixture of anger and frustration.

  Time moved so slowly through Saturday morning. I tried to distract myself by doing as much of my homework as I could, but by lunchtime, my mother could see I was quite fidgety. I was looking at the clock more than I was looking at her.

  “What are you going to do with the rest of your day?” she asked.

  Of course, I didn’t want to mention Ryder. “Just relax, take a walk.”

  “Oh, if I can break away, maybe—”

  “That’s all right. I want to be alone,” I said quickly, maybe too quickly.

  She fixed her gaze on me. I could throw up walls of stone, and my mother could still see through to my heart. Her eyes darkened with suspicion. I looked away.

  “Be careful, Fern,” she said. “Don’t get yourself in between Ryder and his parents.”

  “He’ll never call Bea his parent, Mummy.”

  She shook her head. “His father will never approve of his disrespecting her. He’d better find a middle ground.”

  After she returned to the main house, I felt bad about lying, but right now there was nothing more important to me than being with Ryder. I put on a pair of blue denim shorts and a white tank top and looked at myself. In a burst of daring, I pulled off the top, took off my bra, and put the top on again. My breasts were perky, my nipples erect and clearly outlined against the light cotton material. My mother would be, as she would say, “gobsmacked” if she saw me go out like this. I reached into my closet and took out my floral kimono. It would work to hide my daring look if she happened to see me leave.

  When I stepped out, I realized it was a little cooler than I had anticipated. The patches of blue I had seen this morning were shrinking, some no more than the size of a basketball. Nevertheless, I didn’t go back inside to get something warmer to wear. There was a ray of sunshine on the lake. To me, it was an invitation, an assurance all would be well. I was wearing a pair of running shoes without socks. I wanted to jog down to the dock, but I was afraid someone was watching, perhaps my mother gazing out a window, and would wonder why I was hurrying there. Instead, I tried to look pensive, my head down, walking slowly and looking more like I was drifting with my thoughts and not planning anything specific.

  When I reached the dock, I turned back to the house. No one was following. Relieved, I sat on the side where one of the two rowboats was tied and dangled my legs over the water. The lake was a bit more active than usual, tiny waves slapping the dock posts and making the rowboats bob. I checked my watch. It was a little after two, yet when I looked back, I did not see Ryder coming.

  Something had stopped him, I thought. We were not going to have the afternoon together that we had hoped to have after all. Maybe his father didn’t go to work and was home giving him another lecture. Maybe he was afraid of the not-so-promising weather, even though he had said, “Rain or shine.” I knew that if he didn’t come, I’d be miserable for the rest of the day and especially the night. No one had invited me to anything; no one was even calling.

  I fell into such deep despondent thought that I didn’t know how much time had passed. Suddenly, I heard Ryder say, “Be careful you don’t fall in.”

  I spun around. It was as if the sun had washed away every dark cloud above us. He was standing there in a pair of black shorts, a Hillsborough T-shirt, and sneakers. He wore one of his baseball caps. I leaped to my feet, and he laughed at my enthusiasm.

  “I thought you might not be coming,” I said.

  “My father came home for something in his office. I wanted to wait until he left again, just in case he called for me to be sure I hadn’t gone anywhere. Bea’s been hovering around me more than usual, too. She’s like a happy jailer now, and Sam was looking to see what I was doing. I had to sneak away from her as well.”

  He went to the first rowboat and stepped in.

  “This one has a blanket in it,” he said, and pulled it out from under the middle bench seat. He reached up for me. I took his hand and gingerly stepped down, losing my balance almost immediately and falling completely into his arms. We both wobbled.

  “Sorry.”

  He held me closely and smiled. “You’ve lost your sea legs. When we were little, we had no problem in the rowboats or my father’s speedboat.” He kissed the tip of my nose and then helped me sit.

  I watched him untie the boat and then attach the oars and push off from the dock. I looked back at the mansion. No one had come out and seen us.

  “We’re fine,” he said, seeing my concern. “They’re preparing the house for some sort of big dinner party with members of the hospital committee and some heavy donors. Bea wants every smudge on every wall and every floor wiped away. She had your mother rushing about and checking every corner and making sure the silverware is polished. It’s as if the president was coming or something. Actually, she just likes ordering everyone to do things. Wait until she gets to hell and tries to tell the devil what to do.”

  He fell into a smooth, regular rhythm of rowing, the muscles straining in his shoulders and neck.

  “I’ll help row if you want.”

  “What? And ruin my chance of getting blisters? No way.”
>
  “Where are we going?”

  He looked behind him. “I thought it would be fun to go to Dead Man’s Hole. Remember that cavelike indentation on the Massachusetts far shore where the land rises sharply?”

  “Yes. Dead Man’s Hole. How did it get that name?”

  “I had read a pirate story and got the name from it. It’s just wide and high enough for a rowboat to go half in, but it always looked bigger and more scary. Once when you were in the boat, too, and I asked to go there, you started to cry.”

  “You remember that?”

  “Vaguely. No, vividly. You’re not going to be scared today, are you?”

  “Not if you’re with me.”

  “I’m not exactly going anywhere else,” he said.

  The sun broke out between two large, gray clouds and immediately warmed us. It felt very special; it felt like we had been spotted and blessed. I sat back, opening my kimono.

  Ryder’s eyes seem to feast on what he saw. “Maybe we’re both a little underdressed now that we’re out here.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “If you get cold, use that blanket,” he said. “I’ll get warm rowing.”

  He looked back and adjusted our direction a bit and then rowed harder. I closed my eyes to bask in what sunshine we had. For the first time in days, I felt relaxed and very, very happy. I knew he was staring at me.

  “So what did you think of Dr. Bliskin?” he asked.

  I sat up. “I found out for sure that he was my mother’s lover.”

  “Really? He did mention her name often during our dinner. He cheated on his wife?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Why didn’t he divorce her and marry your mother?”

  “Not in his DNA.”