Cutler 4 - Midnight Whispers

by V. C. Andrews

  "Don't mind him," he repeated and left.

  "Who is he, Charlotte? Why does he come here like this?" I asked, turning to her.

  She shrugged and smiled.

  "He likes us and Luther always gives him things. I leave him cupcakes and cookies. All I do is leave them on the counter on the table and some time during the day, he comes and eats them. Sometimes, he helps Luther with the chores."

  "He didn't try to hurt you, did he?" Gavin asked. "No. I think I frightened him more than he frightened me," I said.

  "He just wants to know who you are and why you're here," Charlotte said. "He's shy. Maybe because his mommy and daddy found him in a field."

  "They found him?"

  "Just outside their house. Like Moses floating in a stream. There he was one day, crying: They had no children so they considered him a gift. But everyone knows that someone left him; someone didn't want him."

  She laughed.

  "Poor Homer. He thinks he fell out of the sky. Anyway," she said clapping her hands, "Luther said I could make the chicken and we could have a party tonight. Won't that be nice?"

  "Will Homer come?" Jefferson asked, wide-eyed.

  "Maybe. Maybe he will," Charlotte said and hurried off to start preparing.

  "Okay," Gavin said nodding, "I'm sorry for not believing you last night. Homer," he added, shaking his head. "I wonder what other surprises are in store for us here. Come on, Jefferson," he said, putting his arm around his little shoulders, "let's return to our slave labor. The menfolks have to do the real work around here," he added teasingly.

  "Is that right? Well, for your information, Gavin Steven Longchamp, household chores are just as hard if not harder than farm chores, especially if the house has been neglected as long as this one has," I fired back, my hands on my hips.

  "Uh oh, little nephew. We're in the doghouse. Let's get moving while we still can."

  "Huh?" Jefferson said, confused. Gavin leaned toward me to whisper.

  "When you get mad, real mad," he said, "you look even more beautiful."

  I felt myself flush from head to toe and was speechless as he laughed and hurried off, Jefferson tagging behind.

  That evening we did have a wonderful meal. In his quiet way, Luther got into the spirit of things and brought in fresh lettuce, tomatoes and carrots from the garden, as well as one large potato for each of us. Charlotte announced that she wanted us to eat in the formal dining room.

  "Just the way we used to when Daddy had important guests," she added and Luther grunted his agreement. I dusted down and polished the long, dark mahogany table and Charlotte produced a beautiful lace tablecloth and then showed me their good china and silverware. She told me Emily used to keep all these things under lock and key in a big chest in the pantry.

  "After she died and went to hell, Luther broke the lock and we took everything out and put back where it belonged. We're still finding things where Emily hid them in the house," she added joyfully. "Even money under a rug!"

  Luther decided it would be all right to turn on the chandeliers during dinner. With the table set with the fine china and good silverware, the goblets and linen napkins, the dining room did look elegant. Luther produced two silver candelabra and set them on the table, too. Then we all went up to dress. Gavin decided he and I should dress up in the formal clothing we had discovered and Charlotte talked Luther into putting on a clean shirt and pants, as well as brushing his hair.

  After Gavin helped Jefferson dress, he knocked on the door of the bathroom, where I had been inside preparing myself. I had used the brushes and combs from the small cherrywood chest to fix my hair so I would look like the young woman in the old silver frame, the sides of my hair brushed back sternly, but the back of it tied and pinned with one of the pearl combs so it flowed down the back of my neck. Then I put on a string of pearls and pearl earrings.

  "Is madam ready to be escorted to dinner?" Gavin asked.

  "One moment," I called and adjusted my crinoline. How did women wear all this? I wondered. When I opened the door, it was as if Gavin and I had fallen back through time. In his top hat and tails he looked handsome and elegant, and what. had been silly and humorous up in the attic now looked proper and fine. I could see the look of surprise and pleasure in his eyes as he gazed at me. For a moment neither of us spoke.

  "You both look funny," Jefferson said, laughing.

  "On the contrary, little nephew," Gavin replied softly, "I have never seen a more beautiful young woman. Miss Christie," he said, offering his arm.

  "Thank you, Mr. Longchamp." Jefferson's mouth dropped open as I slipped my arm through Gavin's and we sauntered down the corridor. Jefferson went running ahead of us to warn Aunt Charlotte we were coming. She stepped out to watch us descend the stairs.

  "Oh, how beautiful you two look!" she ex-claimed, her hands pressed together just under her chin. Luther came up behind her to look, too. He finally gave us a wide smile.

  "Thank you, Aunt Charlotte," I said. Then we laughed and went into the dining room to eat our feast.

  Afterward, after Charlotte, Jefferson, Gavin and I cleaned up the dinner dishes and silverware, we did what Charlotte wanted and adjourned to the formal living room so I could play the piano for them. Charlotte brought in her homemade jelly cakes and Luther poured everyone, even Jefferson, a glass of dandelion wine. Then the four of them, Charlotte and Luther, Gavin and Jefferson, sat on the sofa and chairs to listen to me play.

  Luther had lit the candles and oil lamps, but the room still had an ethereal, mystical quality because of the dark shadows in the corners and the tired, old, heavy drapes that drooped like ghosts over the windows.

  As I played something first by Mozart and then by Liszt, I felt myself drift from this world. I was carried back by the music as if the notes wove a magic carpet. When I looked up at Gavin dressed in his old clothes and caught sight of my own reflection in the glass panes of a bookcase, I felt as if we had made it possible for the spirits of the Booth ancestors to reappear, if only for a few moments. I thought about the young girl in the portrait in the attic and imagined her smile in my smile, her dazzling eyes so full of life and hope now gazing at Gavin through my eyes. I heard a room full of laughter, glasses tinkling, more music, footsteps in the hallways and someone, a hundred years ago, calling my name from the top of the staircase.

  I closed my eyes, my fingers gliding over the keys as if they were ghost fingers. Even the music seemed unfamiliar. I played on and on as if I would never stop. Then I opened my eyes and saw a dark shadow toward the rear of the room move. I gasped. Instantly, my hands lifted from the keys.

  "What's wrong?" Charlotte asked. I nodded in the shadow's direction. Everyone turned to look. Charlotte smiled.

  "Oh, hello, Homer," she said.

  "Come over here, boy," Luther called and pointed to a seat. "Stop slinking all about the house. Sit down and behave."

  Slowly Homer emerged from the dark corner and made his way timidly across the room. He was wearing the same clothing he had been wearing when I first set eyes on him. He looked timid and shy, just as Aunt Charlotte had said.

  "Homer has to be introduced," Charlotte declared firmly. Luther grunted in agreement.

  "Homer, this is Charlotte's niece Christie, her brother Jefferson and Gavin Longchamp. They're our guests for a while, so don't go around peering at them and frightening them, hear?"

  Homer nodded, his eyes wide with curiosity.

  "Have a jelly cake, Homer," Charlotte said and offered him one. He started to gobble it quickly and then saw the way we were staring at him and slowed down.

  "Play some more music," he asked me.

  "Say please, Homer," Charlotte instructed. "Al-ways say please when you ask someone to do something for you."

  "Please," he added.

  I thought for a moment and then played "Camp Town Races." It brought a big, beaming smile to Homer's face. Luther enjoyed it too, and got up to pour everyone, except Jefferson, another glass of dandelion wine
. I played a few other light pieces and then stopped to rest. We drank some more dandelion wine. Charlotte took out some old records and put them on a wind-up victrola.

  "Madam?" Gavin said offering his hand. I got up and we danced, faking a waltz as best we could. By this time we were both feeling our wine so it didn't matter that we looked silly in our clothes pretending to know how to waltz. Charlotte thought it was wonderful and beamed a smile and clapped her hands. Whenever I looked at Homer, I saw him smiling and laughing, too. Charlotte kept the music going and Gavin spun me around and around.

  "What a mad, crazy but wonderful evening this has been," Gavin declared. "Are you happy?"

  "Yes, yes, yes," I sang, and he turned me this way and that until I protested I was dizzy and we had to stop. Jefferson had fallen asleep anyway. The full day of work and play and the one glass of dandelion wine had done it.

  "I guess we should say good night," I said and then laughed as the room took a quick spin. "Oh dear me," I said with my palm against my pounding heart. "None of us are used to working so hard," I added and laughed.

  "Good idea," Gavin said and went to pick up Jefferson to carry him upstairs, but Homer jumped up first.

  "Let me do it," he said and scooped Jefferson up as if he were made of air. Gavin's eyes widened.

  "Careful with him, Homer," Luther warned. "He ain't a bale of hay."

  "Good night, Charlotte," I said, standing in the doorway and posturing like Scarlett O'Hara. "Good night, Luther. Thank you both for a lovely evening."

  "We haven't had as much fun in years and years and years. Have we, Luther?" Charlotte asked him.

  "No," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on Homer. "Come right down after you bring him to his bed, Homer," Luther ordered.

  Homer nodded and moved rather softly and gracefully for a man his size as he carried Jefferson up the stairs to his and Gavin's room. He set him down gently in his bed.

  "Thank you, Homer," I said. "Come see us tomorrow," I added. He nodded and then quickly left. Gavin pulled Jefferson's shoes off and dressed him for bed while I went to the bathroom. Every time I looked at myself in the mirror, I started to giggle. I couldn't stop and was still giggling when I went to my room. I sat on my bed, laughing. Gavin peeked in on me.

  "Hey, what's going on?" Gavin poked his head in and asked. I responded with more laughter. He smiled and approached me. "What's so funny?"

  The sight of him in his tailcoat drove me into new hysterics. Soon my stomach began to ache and I groaned, falling back on the bed and clutching myself.

  "You're going to pee in your pants if you don't stop laughing," Gavin warned.

  I stared up at him and then, as suddenly as I had begun to giggle, I began to cry. I bawled and bawled, the tears streaming down my face, zigzagging over my cheeks, hot, frantic tears that came from the deepest well of sorrow and pain within me. Gavin was frightened by my abrupt change in moods, but quickly knelt down beside me and began stroking my hair.

  "Don't cry, don't cry. Everything's going to be all right. I promise. Please, don't cry, Christie. I can't stand it when you cry," he said and started to kiss away my tears. I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in his shoulder. He continued to stroke my hair and whisper comforting words. My sobbing slowed until I was able to stop altogether. Then, I lifted my face, but held it close to his. Our lips were practically touching.

  "Christie," he whispered. We kissed, softly at first and then harder until the tips of our tongues grazed, sending an electric thrill down my body. He kissed my neck and my naked shoulders and I moaned and lay back. I wanted his lips to go lower and lower, but he hesitated at the crest of my bosom.

  "Gavin . . ."

  "It's the wine," he whispered. "It's made you silly and sad."

  "Gavin," I continued, looking deeply into his dark eyes, "have you ever been very close to a girl?"

  "Very close?"

  "Beside her without clothes?" I asked. Perhaps without the wine in me, I would never have asked such a question. He shook his head and kissed me again.

  The horrid memory of Uncle Philip clutching at me, pulling and twisting my body so he would get his pleasure, returned; but I drove it off. That was ugly; this was different. I didn't want to be afraid to touch, to kiss, to want Gavin's body close to mine; I didn't want his lips to remind me of Uncle Philip's.

  "Gavin," I whispered, "quickly, touch me, make me forget."

  "Christie . . . you're . . . the wine . . ."

  "No, it's not the wine. Please," I said. "I don't want to think of anything but you and this moment."

  I took his wrist and brought his hand to my breast.

  "Christie! No. Not like this," he said. "I'd only feel as if I took advantage of you," he explained, lifting his hand away. I turned my head into the pillow and buried my face so he wouldn't see my embarrassment. "I want to be with you," he said, "but not when you're confused."

  I wanted to shout back that I wasn't confused. It wasn't the wine; it was the woman in me demanding to be born in a beautiful and loving way instead of being ripped and torn and dragged into maturity by a sick and twisted man. I wanted to pretend that this was my first time, that I was a girl with a normal life and not one who had been abused. My body ached to be treated tenderly, kindly, softly. I wanted our kisses to be kisses that reached into the farthest corners of my heart to stir my imagination; I wanted Gavin to touch me and set off the fire of passion in a way that made love between a man and a woman something wonderful, not something horrible to haunt me forever.

  "Christie." He touched my shoulder. I moaned. "Are you all right?"

  "No," I groaned. "I can't keep the horrid memories from bursting out like bubbles of acid burning my heart. I can't stop the nightmares." I spun around angrily. "I've run away from Cutler's Cove, Gavin, but not from the horrible things that were done to me. I feel dirty," I moaned, "and no shower or bath, no matter how hot or how many, can clean me. You think so too, don't you? That's why you won't touch me."

  "No, Christie," he protested. "That's not true. I want to touch you. It's taking every bit of strength not to."

  "Oh Gavin," I cried. "Stop being so strong. I need you close to me, very close," I said, the words coming from some part of me I didn't know existed. He stared down at me for a long moment and then he began to unbutton his jacket and shirt. I watched him undress himself down to his underwear in the light of the kerosene lamp. Then I sat up and took of my old dress. I kept my bra and panties on. I crawled under the blanket and Gavin, after checking on Jefferson, crawled under beside me. For a moment neither of us did anything. We just lay there letting our bodies touch.

  "Christie," he said, "I'm not sure . . . I mean, what do you want me to do?"

  Now that he was beside me, I realized how far we had gone and how quickly. Suddenly, it frightened me. Maybe Gavin was right; maybe it was wrong to do this now.

  "Just hold me," I whispered, "and let me fall asleep in your arms."

  "That's not as easy as you make it sound," he whispered. The hardness growing between his thighs explained why.

  "Oh Gavin, I'm so cruel to you, tormenting you, demanding one thing and then another. You should hate me," I said.

  "I could never hate you, Christie. It's not possible." His lips found mine again.

  "Gavin," I said. "I'm not drunk; I'm not."

  "I know," he said.

  "Gavin, make me forget," I pleaded. "I need to forget."

  His fingers found the clip on my bra and undid it. Then, he moved his fingers up, pushing the bra over my breasts until they were uncovered and his fingers slipped softly over my nipples, stiff and tingling. I slipped the bra off my arms.

  "Christie, Christie . . ." His fingers inched my panties down over my hips and thighs. I lifted my leg so he could slip it off completely. Naked beside him, I felt my heart pounding so hard I was sure he felt it too.

  He wiggled out of his own underwear and kissed me again as he wedged himself gently between my legs. I felt his thro
bbing manliness and closed my eyes and then opened them wide so I could look into his eyes and into his face.

  "Christie?" he said once more.

  "Make me forget, Gavin," I whispered and threw all restraint out the window, telling myself this was love, not mad animal sex. This was the ecstasy I expected. Soon the ugly memory of what had happened to me sunk deeper and deeper, driven down and away by every kiss, every moment of passion until all I saw before me was Gavin's loving face, his eyes so full of love they glowed.

  My heart was full of love, too, and hope. Perhaps the love I had for Gavin and the love he had for me could, after all, defeat all the curses befalling our families.

  I fell asleep beside him, dreaming of a brighter tomorrow.

  13

  A SERPENT IN THE GARDEN

  WHEN I AWOKE IN THE MORNING, I WAS ALONE. Sometime during the night, Gavin had returned to his own bed. It was early, just before sunrise, and almost immediately my thoughts went to Mommy. Ever since I had had my first period, she would find an excuse to come into my room to talk about intimate things. Sometimes she would sit beside me at my vanity table and brush her hair; sometimes she would come in to show me something new she had bought to wear, but inevitably, we would have one of our private talks about sex.

  I recalled asking her how does a woman know she has made love instead of simply having sex. She put down her hairbrush and gazed at herself in the vanity table mirror for a moment, a small smile forming on her lips.

  "There's a sense of fulfillment," she began, speaking in that soft, melodious voice I loved so. "Your heart and soul join in a wonderful and magical way, Christie," she said, turning to me, the light in her eyes revealing her own precious and personal memories.

  "Magical, Mommy?"

  "Yes, honey." She took my hand and grew as serious as a Sunday School teacher. "Magical because it makes you aware of things that were so obvious, but things you were blind to or deaf to or simply ignored. Women who are loose with their bodies, who pursue sexual pleasure as an end in itself are only half-alive their whole lives through.