Cutler 4 - Midnight Whispers

by V. C. Andrews

  "That thing's so old, it's an antique," Luther said and winked. He leaned forward to whisper. "I gave it to him when he was barely older than Jefferson."

  "Thank you, Homer," I said. "I'll see that he gets it."

  "What about my sister?" Gavin asked.

  "Oh," Luther said. "Once she heard about Jefferson, she and that beanpole she's with high-tailed it."

  "You mean they left?" Gavin asked, astounded. "Just left without finding out how Jefferson is?"

  "They couldn't have run out of the house faster if it was on fire," Luther said. "I guess we won't miss 'em none," he added.

  "I can't believe it," Gavin muttered.

  We made our next visit in the intensive care unit. This time the nurses let us stay nearly twenty minutes and they permitted Homer to join us. He stood next to us, his hands crossed at his waist and never took his eyes off Jefferson's face.

  When it came time to go, Homer stepped up to the tent.

  "You get better, Jefferson. Get better real fast 'cause we still got a barn to paint and lots of other things to do," he said.

  I took Homer's hand in mine and the three of us left, our heads bowed, each saying his own private prayer in his own way. When we stepped outside the intensive care unit, however, my heart sank. I should have anticipated it; I should have been prepared and thought what I would do, but my concern for Jefferson overrode every other thought, especially thoughts about myself.

  There, standing beside the doctor, was Uncle Philip, a grim expression on his face. My eyes shifted from him to the doctor, who looked very angry, too.

  "Everyone's been pretty sick with worry about you, Christie," he said. He turned to Gavin. "And your parents are beside themselves, too."

  I lowered my eyes. I couldn't look at him.

  "Luther and Charlotte shouldn't have permitted you to stay there," he continued. I lifted my eyes quickly and fixed them with a steel gaze on his.

  "Don't you blame them for anything," I said sharply.

  "Oh I don't," he said quickly. "I'm sure they didn't understand what was happening, but the point is . . ."

  "What is the point?" Gavin snapped.

  "The point for you, young man, is your parents are quite upset. They don't have the means to pay for your gallivanting all over the country. I have made arrangements for your instant return home," he said, pulling an airplane ticket out of his breast pocket. "I told them I would take care of this. There's a taxicab waiting outside the front entrance of the hospital to take you to the airport. You've got ten minutes to get down there," Uncle Philip said firmly.

  "I'm not leaving Christie," Gavin said, stepping back to stand beside me.

  "Christie's leaving too," Uncle Philip said, smiling. "She's going home."

  I shook my head.

  "Don't you want to be near your brother?" he asked. I looked at the doctor. "The doctor agrees that in a day or so, Jefferson will be able to be moved by ambulance and plane. We're taking him to Virginia Beach where I have already made arrangements for him to have private care at the hospital. You want your brother to have the best medical attention, don't you?"

  "She's not going home with you," Gavin said. Uncle Philip glared at him a moment and then, softening his face, turned to me.

  "Christie?"

  "I've got to go home with him, Gavin," I said. "No, you can't. We'll go to the police; we'll tell them everything that's happened. We'll . . ."

  “Not now, not with Jefferson so sick," I said.

  "Don't worry. I'll be all right."

  "Of course you will," Uncle Philip said. He looked at the doctor. "There's been some misunderstandings at home. Life has been hard for Christie since her parents' unfortunate deaths, but . . ."

  "Misunderstandings!" Gavin cried. "You call what you did to her a misunderstanding!"

  "Calm down, young man," the doctor said. "You're not in the street."

  "But you don't understand . . ."

  "It's not his problem to understand family matters," Uncle Philip said quickly. "You should be worrying about your parents. Your mother is sick because of this and your father . . ."

  "Gavin, please," I said, squeezing his arm. "Not now. It's no use now. He's right. Go home first and see your parents. I've caused enough pain and trouble for enough people."

  "But Christie, I can't let you go back with him. I can't."

  "I'll be all right. I'll call you right away. All I want to do is be with Jefferson. He needs me now, Gavin. Please."

  "But . . ."

  "The taxi's waiting," Uncle Philip said, thrusting the airplane ticket at Gavin. "You're going to miss your flight and then you'll have to sit in an airport all night."

  "Go on, Gavin," I pleaded. "Please." He stood there, his face full of frustration. I mouthed, "I love you."

  He nodded and then turned to Uncle Philip and took the ticket.

  "If you do one thing to her . . . one thing," he warned. Uncle Philip's face turned crimson.

  "Don't you threaten me, young man," he said. He turned to the doctor. "Kids these days."

  The doctor nodded.

  With his head bowed, Gavin started down the corridor toward the exit.

  "GAVIN!" I cried and ran to him. We embraced each other.

  "Just call me," he said, "and I'll find a way to come to you. I swear."

  He kissed me quickly and hurried away. My eyes went to Luther and Homer who had witnessed the confrontation silently. They were of one face--sad, sympathetic.

  "Thank-you, Luther. And please, tell Aunt Charlotte thank you for everything, too. Jefferson will write to you, Homer. As soon as he's better, I promise. And someday soon, we'll come back to see you."

  He smiled. Slowly, I turned back to Uncle Philip. His face had broken into a grin from ear to ear.

  "Christie," he said. "We'll fix everything again. Aunt Bet is anxious to see you and so are the twins. Everything's going to be all right. It'll be just as it was.

  "I promise," he said, his eyes twinkling. "It will be just as it was, just like you never left."

  17

  THE PAST EMBRACES ME

  AFTER UNCLE PHILIP COMPLETED ALL THE ARRANGEMENTS for Jefferson's transfer to the hospital in Virginia Beach, we left to return to Cutler's Cove. It was one of the longest trips of my life even though we went by airplane because I was very uncomfortable sitting beside him. Despite his good looks and his immaculate and well-groomed appearance, he would always look ugly and dirty to me. For most of the journey, he behaved as though nothing unpleasant had occurred between us. He rattled on and on about the Cutler's Cove Hotel and how well the restoration was going. Then he talked about the twins, telling me he had convinced them both to take piano lessons.

  "I hired your piano teacher," he said. "Now that you're back, maybe you can encourage them and give them some pointers every once in a while. I don't expect either of them to ever be as good as you are, but at least they're doing something worthwhile with their time during the summer."

  I sat next to the window in the plane, with my back to him, gazing into the darkness. Occasionally, when we came to a break in the clouds, I could see a star, but it seemed as if it was falling farther and farther away, or I was sinking. I saw another airplane, much higher, going in the opposite direction and wished I was on it.

  "I know the twins will be happy to see you," he continued. Both Melanie and Richard were very sad when they learned you had left in the middle of the night with Jefferson."

  "I doubt that," I muttered. I don't know if he heard me or not. At this point I thought he was just babbling to keep the silence from penetrating the shield of lies he had forged.

  "Of course, your aunt Bet was beside herself with worry. She couldn't eat for days and she's so thin as it is. Both of us feel very responsible for you and Jefferson, as responsible as we feel for our own children. Now that you're back, I can promise you things will be different," he continued.

  I gazed at him quickly. He was sitting stiffly in his seat and looking ahead
as if I were sitting across from him instead of beside him. But his eyes were glassy and still. He looked like a man asleep, talking in a dream.

  "Yes, things will be different. We've learned how to get along with each other. It takes time, takes getting used to, just like anything that important would," he said, nodding. "We've all made mistakes. Fate has thrown us together quickly, abruptly, harshly, but we'll contend with it. It's in our blood to be strong."

  He blinked rapidly and then looked at me and smiled.

  "We have another new maid, you know. We've replaced Mrs. Stoddard. She didn't work out . . . too much of a personality clash with Betty Ann.

  You know how hard it is to get good help these days. Everyone thinks he or she is a manager and a boss instead of an employee. But I leave the running of the house up to Betty Ann. She's more adept at that. I just don't have the patience, not with all I have to do with the hotel now."

  Finally, he stopped talking and stared blankly ahead. I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes, but a little while later, I felt his hand cover mine on the arm rest. I opened my eyes and found him staring at me, his face inches from mine.

  "Christie, oh Christie, why did you run off like that? I never meant to hurt you or frighten you, and certainly never meant to chase you away," he whispered.

  "What did you expect I would do, Uncle Philip?" I asked, shaking my head in disgust.

  "We made promises to each other. I thought you would keep them," he said.

  "Promises? What promises?"

  "Don't you remember? I do," he said, sitting back again, his eyes closed, a smile on his face. "We made a pact. We promised to trust and depend on each other forever and ever, to tell each other things we wouldn't tell anyone else.

  "I told you," he continued, turning back to me and putting his hand over mine again, "that whatever made you sad would make me sad, and whatever would make you happy would make me happy. Don't you remember? We sealed it with a kiss," he said, "a wonderful, warm kiss."

  I did remember that time in my room, but it had been all his idea. I had said nothing; I was too amazed and confused by his expression of deep affection then.

  "If something was bothering you, you should have come to me," he said, nodding. "You should have knocked on my door and told me and I would have done everything I could to fix the problem."

  "Fix the problem?" Is that all it was to him—a small problem?

  "Yes," he said. "I told you many times—I'm here for you. And for Jefferson, of course. Why, as soon as that doctor called and I had heard what had happened to Jefferson, I rushed out of the house without so much as telling Betty Ann where I was going. I didn't have time for that; I left that for Julius to do. You and Jefferson needed me," he said. "I made all the arrangements quickly and flew out to get you.

  "And now we're together again," he concluded, smiling. "You're safe. You'll always be safe with me."

  I stared at him. Was he just pretending or had he really forgotten what he had done to me? I was tempted to bring it up, to shout it at him, but instead I turned away, closing my eyes and imagining I was like a clam with its shell shut tight. If I squeezed myself firmly enough and dreamt of other things, I could lock him out of my life, I thought. I would look at him when he spoke and I would nod, but I wouldn't hear him, nor would I really see him. In time he would be as invisible as a ghost. I would even get to the point where if he touched me, I wouldn't feel it.

  Julius was waiting for us at the airport, happy to see me.

  "How's Jefferson doing?" he asked immediately.

  "He's going to be all right," Uncle Philip told him. "With the special and proper care I'm arranging, that is."

  "No luggage?" Julius asked surprised.

  "No," I said quickly. I didn't want to get into what had happened after I had run away.

  "Let's just get home," Uncle Philip said, taking my arm and leading me out of the airport. "Wait until you see the progress with the restoration of the hotel," he said, getting into the rear of the limousine with me. "Even in the short time you've been away, there has been quite a change, right, Julius?"

  "Yes sir."

  Been away? I thought. He acts as if I had taken a short holiday, gone to visit friends or been to school somewhere. How could he go on pretending like this? How could I? I wondered. Uncle Philip obviously had hopes that this little episode (as he liked to think of it) would simply go away, burst like a soap bubble. However, those hopes were dashed the moment we drove up to the house and opened the front door. Aunt Bet saw to that. She had obviously been waiting by the window in the sitting room and had seen us drive up. Her face was full of fury and anger. Her eyes were so hot I thought they could singe with a glance.

  "Well, are you happy now?" she snapped the moment I set foot in the entryway. She stepped forward, her bony hands on her thin hips so firmly that her elbows stuck out sharply. I thought they would cut right through her skin and in moments I would see the ghostly white bone. Her neck muscles strained, causing ripples to appear along the sides of her neck, and her lips stretched thin and taut, revealing her clenched gray teeth beneath.

  "Are you happy you caused all this turmoil? Are you happy you had us all frantic and worried and crazy with concern? Are you?" she demanded, her voice as shrill as the screams of frightened terns.

  "Betty Ann," Philip began, "let's . . ." She pivoted and threw him a look of rage that made his mouth snap shut.

  "Don't you start telling me to calm down, Philip Cutler," she said, wagging her small fist in his face. "Don't you try to defend her. I'm the one sitting here waiting, not knowing everything that's happening. I'm the one left in the dark. I've got to hear it from help, from servants sent to give me messages as if I were some sort of second-class citizen."

  "Now Betty Ann, no one meant to leave you out. It was just that I had to act fast with Jefferson very sick and all . . ."

  "Look at what you've done!" she screamed at me. "Your brother nearly died!"

  My lips began to tremble. I folded my arms under my breasts and stared at the floor while she ranted and raved.

  "We have all this grief, all this tragedy, one thing after another. Everyone's trying to deal with it, to make the best of things, to restore a bit of normalcy to our shattered lives and you . . . you rotten and spoiled . . ."

  "I am not rotten and spoiled!" I shot back, my spine straightening into a steel rod. "And whose life was shattered? Certainly not yours!"

  "Uh huh," she said, shaking her head. "Uh huh." She smiled coldly. It was a sickly, small smile around her lips. "I didn't think I would find you remorseful. I didn't think the pain you put us through would make any difference to you. You think only of yourself." The smile faded quickly. "Well, you're under our supervision. We're responsible for you and for how you behave. You've done a very bad thing and you must be punished."

  She straightened up to face me, her eyes fixed on mine.

  "You are confined to your room until further notice. You may come down only for meals and then you march right back up there, you hear me.

  You will receive no phone calls nor make any, nor will you be permitted any visitors. And let me warn you, young lady," she said, stepping closer and sticking her long, bony forefinger at me, "don't even think of violating any of my rules anymore.

  "Go on upstairs. Go on!" she ordered, pointing to the stairway. I looked at Uncle Philip, who seemed subdued by her outburst. Then I charged away from both of them and pounded my way up the stairs. As I hurried to my room, I saw the door to what was Jefferson's and now Richard's room, too, open. He peered out at me, his face full of self-satisfaction.

  "What are you looking at?" I snapped.

  He kept his smile, but he closed the door.

  I burst into my room and stood fuming for a few moments. How dare she talk to me like that? I thought. I should have told her the truth. I should have told her why I ran away. It would have left her so flabbergasted, she wouldn't be able to speak for days. And when she did speak, she would st
utter. I felt good knowing I could smash her with the truth any time I saw fit. But once my fury subsided, I realized that announcing what Uncle Philip had done to me was not the easiest thing to do. It would hurt me as well. It was a double-edged sword, just like most tools of revenge.

  No, it was better to ignore her, too, I thought, to pretend she didn't exist, to pretend none of them existed. I would tolerate them until Jefferson was well and then, I would think of something else to do. I had no other choice.

  In many ways it was good to be home, to be in my own room again and to see the stuffed animals Mommy and Daddy had given me. It was wonderful to smell my own linen and use my brush while sitting at my vanity table. My room was filled with good memories, too, and they were all memories that reminded me of times with Mommy and with Daddy.

  I was exhausted. Now that I had stopped moving, now that I was settled in my room again, the events of the past twenty-four hours plowed over me. All the emotions, the tensions, the horror and the hardship came rushing back at me, drowning me in a sea of weariness, draining me of whatever iota of energy remained in my body.

  I began to undress for bed, but when I went to my closet to hang up my clothes, I was greeted with another welcome-home surprise. My wonderful Sweet Sixteen dress had been sliced in two. It lay on the floor like a fatally wounded sea gull, the shoulders of the bodice spread like two wings. It had been cut right at the bottom of the neckline and the billowing skirt torn and shredded. It looked like it had been attacked and hacked by a madman.

  "Oh no," I cried, kneeling down and embracing the ravaged garment to me. "Oh no!" I screamed. "No!" The door of my room was thrust open.

  "What is it? Why are you screaming? Don't you realize how late it is?" Aunt Bet demanded.

  "Look," I said, holding my dress out toward her. "Look at what one or both of your precious special twins did."