Cutler 4 - Midnight Whispers

by V. C. Andrews

  "I'm sure he did try, but you saw how big the fire was."

  "I want to go find them," he decided. "Now. Come on, Christie." He got off the bed and tugged on my hand. "Come on."

  "The firemen found them, Jefferson."

  "They did? Then where are they?" he asked, lifting his small shoulders.

  I knew Jefferson understood what death was. We had had a cat: Fluffy, who had been hit by a car the previous year. Jefferson had been devastated. Daddy buried her behind the house and we had a little ceremony. There was still a marker out there. Jefferson knew what had happened to Mommy and Daddy. He just didn't want to face it.

  "They're gone, Jefferson. They've gone to Heaven together."

  "Why? Why did they leave us?"

  "They had to," I said. "They didn't want to, but they had to."

  "Why?" he demanded.

  "Oh Jefferson." I started to cry. I knew I shouldn't; I knew the moment I did, he would cry, too. The sight of me bawling frightened him. I sucked in my breath quickly and bit down on my lower lip. "You've got to be a big boy now. We have to help each other. You're going to have to do many of the things Daddy used to do," I told him. That idea stopped his tears, but he embraced me again and buried his face against my bosom. I lay there, rocking him until Mrs. Boston appeared.

  "Oh, he's here. I went to see how he was. How's he doing?"

  "He'll be all right," I said quietly. My voice was bland, lifeless, my eyes staring ahead, vacant. I felt like a mannequin, a skeleton of myself. Mrs. Boston nodded. Her eyes were bloodshot from hours of crying, too.

  "Gavin said to tell you he and his parents are on their way," Mrs. Boston said.

  "Gavin called? When? Why didn't anyone tell me?" I asked quickly. Mrs. Boston scrunched up her face and shook her head.

  "Miss Betty answers the phone every time it rings. She told him he couldn't talk to you just now, but she gave me the message," Mrs. Boston replied.

  "I would have spoken to Gavin," I moaned. "She had no right . . ."

  "Well, he will be here tomorrow, honey. No sense in making more trouble, everyone's plenty upset as it is," she added wisely. She came forward and put her arm around Jefferson. He turned and buried his face in the nook between her shoulder and neck. She winked at me and then picked him up.

  "Jefferson needs something to drink and something to eat," she said. "Maybe some chocolate milk, okay?" Jefferson nodded, but kept his face buried.

  I tried to smile at Mrs. Boston but failed. Thank God she was with us, I thought.

  People began arriving to offer their condolences all the next day and into the evening. Aunt Bet made herself prim and proper and took over the house, greeting people and making arrangements. She made sure Richard and Melanie were dressed in their formal clothes: Richard wearing a dark blue suit and tie and Melanie wearing a dark blue dress with matching shoes. Both had their hair brushed and styled, not a lock out of place. They sat as still as statues on the sofa.

  Aunt Bet came into my room to see what I would be wearing and then went to see Jefferson. I followed her because I knew he wouldn't like her telling him what to wear. As I expected, when she went to his closet and began picking things out for him, he glared defiantly.

  "My mommy says I can wear that only on special occasions," he snapped at her.

  "This is a special occasion, Jefferson. You can't greet people looking like a ruffian, can you? You want to look nice."

  "I don't care," Jefferson retorted. His face flamed red.

  "Of course you care, dear. Now you will wear this and then, let's see . . ."

  "I'll pick out the proper things for him to wear, Aunt Bet," I said, coming in behind her quickly.

  "Oh." She stared a moment and then smiled. "Of course. I'm sure you'll choose the right things. Call me if you need anything, dear," she said and pivoted to leave.

  "I'm not wearing what she wants me to wear," Jefferson repeated, his cheeks still crimson with anger.

  "You don't have to," I said. "You can wear this outfit instead," I suggested. "If you want," I added. He glared a moment and then softened.

  "Okay," he said. "But I'm not taking a bath."

  "Suit yourself," I said, shrugging.

  "Are you taking a bath?"

  "I have to shower before I put on clothes," I said. "Mommy always liked you to be clean," I added pointedly. He thought a moment and then nodded.

  "I'll take a shower too."

  "Do you need any help?"

  "I can do it by myself," he said sharply. I watched him begin to organize his clothes. He resembled a little old man. Tragedy and great sorrow, I thought, make us grow older very quickly.

  Gavin, Edwina and Granddaddy Longchamp arrived late in the evening. Uncle Philip had them put up in one of the guest houses we used when the hotel became overbooked. One look at Granddaddy Longchamp's face was enough to tell me how much the tragedy had crushed and overwhelmed him. In one fell swoop, he had lost his son and the young woman he had always considered his daughter. He looked years older, the lines in his face sharply deeper, his eyes darker and his skin paler. He moved slowly and spoke very little. Edwina and I hugged and cried, and then Gavin and I had a chance to be alone.

  "Where's Fern?" Gavin asked.

  "No one seems to know," I said.

  "She should have been the first one here to help you with Jefferson," Gavin said angrily.

  "Maybe it's better she's not. She's never been much help to anyone but herself," I said. "Maybe she's feeling bad that she and Daddy had such a terrible argument the last time she saw him."

  "Not Fern," Gavin concluded. We stared at each other. We had just naturally wandered away from everyone and found ourselves in the den. Mommy and Daddy often used it as a second office. There was a large cherrywood desk and chair, walls of bookcases, a big grandfather's clock and a ruby leather settee. Gavin gazed at the family pictures on the desk and shelves and at the framed letters of commendation Mommy had received for her performances at Sarah Bernhardt.

  "She was so proud of those," I said. He nodded. "I can't believe it," he said without turning to me. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up soon."

  "Me too."

  "She was more than a sister-in-law to me. She was a sister," he said. "And I always wanted to be like Jimmy."

  "You will be, Gavin. He was very proud of you and never stopped bragging about you and how well you do in school."

  "Why did this happen? Why?" he demanded. Tears flooded my eyes and my lips began to tremble. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, quickly coming to me. "I should be thinking of what you're going through and not be so concerned about myself." He embraced me and I pressed my face against his chest.

  "What are you two doing in here?" Aunt Bet demanded. She was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with surprise. I lifted my head slowly from Gavin and wiped my eyes.

  "Nothing," I said.

  "You shouldn't be alone here with everyone gathered in the living room," she said, gazing from Gavin to me and then to Gavin. "It's not . . . proper," she added. "And besides, Jefferson's not behaving. You had better speak to him, Christie," she said.

  "What's he doing?"

  "He won't sit still."

  "He's only nine years old, Aunt Bet, and he's just lost his mother and father. We can't very well expect him to be as perfect as Richard," I retorted. Her face flamed red.

  "Well, I’m just trying to—"

  "I'll see to him," I said quickly and took Gavin's hand. "I'm sorry," I said after we had rushed past her. "I shouldn't have been so short with her, but she's been taking over everything and bossing everyone around. I just don't have the patience."

  "I understand," Gavin said. "I'll help with Jefferson. Let's find him," he offered. Gavin was wonderful with him, taking him up to his room and occupying him with his games and toys.

  Aunt Fern didn't arrive until the morning of the funeral. She appeared with one of her boyfriends from college, a tall, dark-haired young man. She introduced him only as Buzz. I coul
dn't believe she had decided to bring a boyfriend to the funeral. She behaved as if it were just another family affair. The whole time she was at the house before we left for church, she and Buzz remained aloof from the other mourners. A number of times I caught them giggling in a corner. They both chain-smoked. I reminded her that Mommy hated people smoking in the house.

  "Look. Buzz and I are not going to be here that long, princess, so don't lay all the heavy rules on me, okay? The fruit doesn't fall far from the tree," she told Buzz, who smiled and nodded at me.

  "Well, where are you going?" I asked.

  "Back to school for a while. I don't know. I'm beginning to grow bored with the schedules and the homework," she said. Buzz laughed.

  "Daddy wanted you to graduate from college," I said.

  "My brother wanted to live my life for me," she said dryly. "Don't remind me. Well, he's gone now and I can't keep worrying about what other people want me to do. I've got to do what I want to do."

  "But what will you do?" I asked.

  "Don't worry about it," she whined. "I won't be coming around here that often, especially since Philip and his brood have taken over the place," she said.

  "They haven't taken over the place," I insisted.

  "Oh, no? What do you call it: a temporary situation?" She laughed.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Face reality, princess. You're too young to be on your own. Philip and Betty will become your guardians. Well, I don't intend for them to be mine. Cheer up," she added. "In a few years, you can leave, too."

  "I won't leave my brother, ever."

  "Famous last words, right, Buzz?" He nodded and smiled as if she had her fingers on his strings and he was only her puppet.

  "I won't," I insisted. Aunt Fern could be so infuriating. Now that Daddy was gone, there wouldn't be anyone to watch over her and rescue her from the pools of trouble she usually fell into, I thought. She doesn't know it now, but she's going to miss him more than she ever dreamed. I left them as soon as I was told Aunt Trisha had arrived.

  Aunt Trisha had begun her Broadway show and despite her great sorrow, had to perform. I didn't blame her; I knew the show must go on. Mommy always talked about the sacrifices people made when they became professional entertainers. But Aunt Trisha and I had time to cry together and console each other. Jefferson was happy to see her too, and rushed into her arms. She remained at our side from that moment until the end, when she had to leave to get back to New York.

  The limousine led the line of traffic to the church. The thick gray sky was appropriate. I could just hear Daddy saying, "Oh no, the weather's going to make her even sadder still." The hearse had been parked on the side by the time we arrived. The church was overflowing with mourners. Bronson had Grandmother Laura sitting up front. She wore an elegant black dress and a black hat and veil. I saw she had put on pounds of makeup and had especially overdone the thickness of her lipstick. She seemed in a daze, confused, but still smiled at everyone and nodded as we filed in to take our places. Jefferson clung tightly to my hand and sat so close to me that he was practically on my lap.

  As soon as the minister came out, the organ master stopped playing. The minister led the mourners in prayer and read from the Bible. Then he spoke lovingly and admiringly of Mommy and Daddy, calling them the two brightest lights in our community, always burning warmly and giving the rest of us reason to be hopeful and happy. He was sure they were doing the same for all the souls in Heaven.

  Jefferson listened wide-eyed, but neither of us could shift our eyes off the two coffins for long. It still seemed unreal and impossible to believe that Mommy and Daddy were lying in them. When I turned to leave after the church service, I saw that most people had been crying, some quite hard.

  The funeral procession went directly to the cemetery. At the site of their graves, Gavin held my hand and Aunt Trisha held Jefferson. We stood like statues, the cold breeze lifting my hair and making my tears feel like drops of ice on my cheeks. Just before the coffins were to be lowered, I stepped forward to kiss each one.

  "Good-bye, Daddy," I whispered. "Thank you for loving me more than my real father could ever dream of loving me. In my heart you will always be my real father." I paused and had to swallow hard before I could continue.

  "Good-bye, Mommy. You're gone, but you will never be far away from me."

  I gazed up at Uncle Philip who had come up beside me. He was staring down at Mommy's coffin and the tears were streaming freely down his face and dripping off his chin. He touched the coffin softly and closed his eyes and then stepped back with me. The coffins were lowered.

  I heard the sobbing. I wanted to comfort Jefferson, but I couldn't stop my own tears. Gavin embraced me. Granddaddy Longchamp had his head bowed and Edwina stood beside him, her arm around his waist. Fern wasn't laughing anymore, but she wasn't crying either. She looked tired and uncomfortable and her boyfriend looked confused, probably wondering what he was doing here. Bronson had managed to get Grandmother Laura back into her wheelchair and down to the grave-site. I could see he was explaining things to her and she was shaking her head, the realization of what had happened maybe just settling in.

  "Come, everyone," Aunt Bet said, ushering Richard and Melanie ahead of her. "Let's go home."

  Home? I thought. How can it ever be home without Mommy and Daddy there? It's just a shell of itself, a memory, a house full of shadows and old echoes, a place where we hang our clothes and lay down our heads, a place where we will eat a thousand meals more quietly than we had ever eaten them, for gone would be Daddy's laughter after he had just teased Mommy, gone was her singing and her warm smile, gone was her kiss and soft embrace to help keep the goblins and ghosts of our bad dreams from lingering behind.

  The sky grew darker, the world was angry, and rightly so, I thought. We stumbled away from the gravesites, past the other deceased family, past the large monument for Grandmother Cutler. I was certain Mommy wouldn't have to face her again, for she could never be in Heaven.

  "Remember, children," Aunt Bet said when we got back into the limousine. "Wipe your feet before you go into the house."

  I looked up at her sharply and wondered if the nightmares had really only just begun.

  5

  COMPROMISING

  WITH UNCLE PHILIP SO DISTRAUGHT, AUNT BET HAD taken over the management of the reception at our house after the funeral. Just about everyone at the hotel was eager to do anything Aunt Bet wanted. Mr. Nussbaum and Leon cooked and baked what she thought was appropriate. They worked in the house under her supervision. She asked Buster Morris and other grounds people to bring over tables and benches and set them up on the front lawn. We knew there would be mobs of people coming to pay their last respects and console the family. Neither Jefferson nor I were in any mood to greet people, even people who sincerely wanted to show their love and sympathy; but I knew it was something we had to do, and anyway, Aunt Bet made sure to assign us our roles and position in the house.

  "You and Jefferson will sit there, dear," she said, pointing to the sofa in the living room. "Melanie and Richard will sit beside you, of course, and bring people to meet you."

  "I don't want to meet people," Jefferson said, a little plaintively.

  "Of course you don't, dear," Aunt Bet said, smiling, "but you have to do it for your mother and father."

  "Why?"

  "He's always driving people crazy with questions," Richard commented, twisting up the corner of his mouth. His lips were as thin as rubber bands and sometimes, when he did that so severely, I thought they would snap.

  "He has every right to ask questions, Richard," I said sharply.

  "Of course, he does," Aunt Bet said in an annoying sing-song voice. She reached out to stroke Jefferson's hair, but he tried to move his head out of her reach. "You ask anything you want, dear."

  Jefferson tightened his mouth and made his eyes small and hateful, but Aunt Bet just patted his head again and left us. Before we could argue about anything else, the people began arr
iving. Even Jefferson was impressed and overwhelmed. It seemed everyone who lived anywhere near Cutler's Cove appeared, and even some of our most faithful hotel guests had made the journey once they heard of the tragedy.

  Aunt Bet flitted around like a canary, the boundaries of her cage being the living room and entry way. She greeted people and pointed them in our direction. It became exhausting rather quickly, but I couldn't help noticing that the people who embraced and kissed Jefferson and me were truly sorrowful. I'd never fully appreciated how many people Mommy and Daddy had touched.

  Aunt Trisha looked after us as best she could, seeing that Jefferson and I had something to eat and drink. She remained as long as she was able to and then pulled us aside to say good-bye.

  "I have to make this flight to New York," she said. "It breaks my heart to leave you two."

  "I understand, Aunt Trisha," I said, recalling the way Daddy used to tease her. "After all, you're in the theater," I added, mimicking him. She smiled briefly.

  "I'm going to miss them so much." She looked at Jefferson. He shook his head in bewildered fashion, the tears flowing. "Oh, pumpkin," she said, squeezing him tightly to her. "Be a good boy and listen to your aunt and uncle, okay?" Jefferson nodded reluctantly. "I'll call you soon, Christie, and maybe in a few weeks or so, you will be able to visit me in the city and come to the show every night. Would you like that?"

  "Very much, Aunt Trisha."

  She stood up, biting down on her lower lip and nodding. Then she spun around as if chased by ghosts and fled from us. Only minutes later, Gavin came to tell me Granddaddy Longchamp was anxious to go, too.

  "It's tearing him apart to sit here and see all these people in mourning parade by," Gavin explained. "He's even willing to sit in the airport lobby and wait."

  "I understand," I said even though my heart dropped with the news Gavin would be going.

  "He said I could come back soon to visit," Gavin said.

  "Oh Gavin, you were going to work here this summer. We were going to have so much fun together," I reminded him. His eyes told me I didn't have to.