House of Secrets

by V. C. Andrews

“Not in his DNA.”

  “What?” He smiled.

  “He couldn’t deny his obligations, responsibilities. He’s like your father. He buries his unhappiness in his work. At least, that’s what my mother thinks.”

  “She said that?”

  “In so many words, yes.”

  “She’s certainly right about my father. I don’t know if I could smother true love with hard work. Seems to me it has to affect your abilities somehow. People can get pretty messed up, no matter how intelligent they are.”

  “Yes,” I said. “They can.”

  He paused.

  “Do you want me to row a little?” I asked.

  “No. I just want you to sit there and let me look at you,” he said.

  The boat bobbed. He rose and carefully sat at my feet. Then he pulled up the blanket and cast it out so he could drop it over both of us. I slipped down beside him. He kissed me softly on the lips and brushed back some strands of my hair.

  “Where have you been all my life?” he joked.

  “Downstairs in the dungeon section.”

  He laughed and stretched out so he could look up. I did the same. We watched a flock of sparrows maneuver with perfect precision and go west. Then he turned, leaned over, and kissed me softly.

  “Can you imagine Bea’s face if she saw us?”

  “You’re not doing it just to get back at her, are you?” I asked.

  “Hell, no. But I won’t deny that the possibility of her having enough heart palpitations to require my father to perform an immediate bypass would be quite neat.”

  “Forget about her. Forget about everyone,” I said.

  He smiled. “Easily.” He looked away and then at me again. “I can tell you this. I’m not going to continue sneaking around to see you whenever I want to see you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m going to come right in to see you whenever I want to, and you’re coming to see me as well. You’re coming to eat dinners and lunches with me and Sam, and you’re coming to my room whenever you want to, and if she doesn’t like it, too bad. My father can take away all my privileges. I know. I’ll refuse to go to school. I’ll even refuse to eat.”

  “You would do all that?”

  “Not that I would. I will. It’s a promise,” he said. “Get used to it.”

  I smiled. “I’m used to it already.”

  He kissed me again and this time reached under my tank top to caress my breast. I lifted myself enough for him to pull it up and over my head and arms. Then he kissed and licked my nipples and lowered his head to kiss down to my stomach.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No,” I said.

  I wasn’t. The heat from my heart was traveling over every nerve in my body, enveloping me in a delightful warmth and stirring me in ways unlike any fantasy I ever had. I pressed his shoulders, holding him tightly, and opened my legs for him to move between them. He unbuttoned the top button of my shorts and then brought his lips to every newly exposed inch of my body. I could hear his heavy breath. I could hear my heart pounding. When he drew down even closer, I leaned back, my hands relaxing, every iota of resistance crumbling.

  Good-bye, virgin Fern, I thought. Good-bye to wondering and dreaming, to questioning and doubting. Good-bye to childhood and innocence. Good-bye to silly little looks and giggles, dramatic shocked expressions, and terrifying possibilities making you gasp and retreat. Good riddance to those girls who were condescending and irritating with their worldly knowledge of sex and femininity, trying to keep you like a child in a pen of adolescence, warning you that you couldn’t understand, that you might never understand what they knew.

  Hello to love like I imagined it, welcoming what would be my lifelong memory, my moments to return to whenever I was alone, even when I was old and gray. I would always be here. And what made it more special for me than it was for the so-called worldly girls who had treated it as no big thing, more of an initiation into some club of arrogance that they believed put them on an equal footing with any boy, was that I was entering this maturity through a portal of love and not simply lust.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered, probably because I was so quiet.

  “Yes,” I said. Oh, yes, I thought. I’m more than okay.

  He was lowering my shorts.

  And then he stopped.

  At first, I thought the wind simply had lifted the surface of the lake and splashed us, but it didn’t stop. I opened my eyes, and we both turned. We could see the rainfall coming toward us, hard and heavy. The wind gusted and wrapped us in the cold drops, colder than the lake itself. I pulled up my shorts, and Ryder rushed back to the bench to grab the oars. He started to row hard and fast. I quickly put on my tank top and wrapped my kimono around myself.

  “Shove the blanket under the bench,” he ordered. “So it stays dry. We might need it later.”

  I did so quickly. He rowed harder. I looked back. We were well past halfway from the dock.

  “Where are you going?” I called, thinking maybe we should turn around.

  “Your favorite spot. Dead Man’s Hole. We can wait it out.”

  He turned the boat a little, and we lurched forward. The rain was like sheets of water now. It actually created small puddles on the bottom of the boat. I embraced myself. It was colder and colder. Minutes later, Ryder expertly turned and maneuvered us into the rise at the beachside and almost three-fourths of the rowboat was in shelter. I moved closer to him, and we embraced.

  He got up quickly then and pulled out the blanket. It was damp but not soaked. He wrapped it around us, and we sat there watching the rain swirl, drops still reaching us because of the wind. The far end of the boat was filling with them.

  “One of our famous summer downpours, a month or so early. I didn’t think it would get this bad. Stupid,” Ryder said.

  “It happened so fast.”

  “Usually does. Speaking of being smart and stupid, we weren’t exactly brilliantly prepared for it,” he said. “Look at how we dressed.”

  The boat rocked. He reached out to grab some wild bushes to keep the boat from slipping out from under our feeble protection. The sky grew darker as gray clouds took on the look of anger, charcoaled and burnt. We saw some lightning and heard the thunder getting closer.

  “We’ll be all right,” Ryder said. It sounded more like a prayer.

  With his right hand, he held me tighter.

  What really brought us to this place? I wondered. Was it really a desire to be loving, or was it a desire to escape from who we were?

  “Take the oar on your left, and just push it up against the top of the cave to help keep the boat from slipping out. Think you can do that?”

  “Yes.”

  I hurried to. The oar was heavier than I had thought, however, and it was not easy lifting it and holding it firmly against the dark earth above. The rocking of the boat made it even more difficult, and a few times I almost lost my balance and had to put the oar on the boat before trying again.

  “Let’s switch jobs,” Ryder said, seeing how I was struggling. “You sit over here, and just hold on to the branch. Careful, though,” he said, showing me his palm. He had been holding a rough area on the bush, and it had cut through his skin.

  “Oh, Ryder.”

  He dipped it into the water quickly and shook his palm. “I’ll be fine.”

  I handed him the oar and moved forward to take hold of the bush. It hurt, but I didn’t let go. He pushed hard on the oar. Maybe it was the humidity and the rain being swept in by the wind, but some of the earth above crumbled beneath the oar and the pressure he was exerting. It dropped into the boat, and he had to pull the oar farther back.

  “Maybe we should just try to row back, Ryder!” I shouted. The rain was echoing around us. It felt more as if we were in a tunnel than in a cave.

  He looked out and shook his head. “Coming down too hard yet. We’ll be bailing out water with our hands all the way, and I’d hate to think what would happen if we tur
ned over or something.”

  I didn’t know if I was crying out of fear or if it was the rain on my face.

  “I guess for A-plus students, we are pretty stupid,” he said, smiling. “Love blinds you.”

  I smiled. At the moment, I thought it was all worth it to hear him say that, even if he was only trying to be funny to make me feel better.

  There was no letup in the rainfall for what seemed like hours. At one point, it did lessen, and we both relaxed a bit.

  “Should we try now?” I asked.

  There was another streak of lightning and a louder boom.

  “It will take us a half hour, probably closer to an hour at this part of the lake with the wind blowing against us. I think we should wait a little longer, Fern. Maybe it will become a steady but much lighter rainfall. Not pleasant but safer,” he said. “Try to hold on.”

  I nodded. Another piece of the cave roof crumbled, and again he had to adjust the oar. The boat slipped a little farther forward. The water in it was a good inch deep. He reached down with his other hand and began scooping some out, but it was very ineffective and awkward for him. The rain that was blowing in on us had soaked our blanket, too. Now I was shivering.

  “Stupid,” he said, visibly angry at himself. “I’m simply stupid.”

  “What time is it?”

  He leaned over to read his watch. It was on the arm he was using to hold the oar against the inside of the cave. “Four twenty.”

  “My mother might be looking for me,” I said. “I told her I was going for a walk.”

  He nodded. “I’m sure Sam’s reported me gone, too.” He looked out and nodded. “Okay. I think we’d better risk it. It’s getting darker with this cloud cover. Use my shoes. I have a bigger foot,” he said, taking them off, “to scoop out water as we go. These rowboats aren’t exactly new.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t remember being more terrified, but there was no time to think about it now.

  He lowered the oar and quickly put it into the oarlock on the boat. “Ready?”

  “No, but I’ll never be,” I said.

  He laughed at that, and then he pushed gently on the oars, and we were back out on the lake, fully exposed to the rain.

  As we pulled away, the rain seemed to lighten. I began to scoop out as much water as I could, using both my hands, with one of his shoes in each. He rowed hard, so hard that the rowboat bounced on the water. Then the rain increased again. There was more lightning and thunder, and the wind grew stronger. He was right about its direction. It was blowing against us, obviously making the rowing harder and harder for Ryder. At one point, with the water rising in the boat, I thought we should stop and turn back to the little cave. Ryder shook his head and rowed. When we were about halfway across, I looked toward the dock.

  “Mr. Stark and Parker are on the dock!” I shouted.

  Ryder turned to look. They were both holding umbrellas and waving at us.

  “Good. They have umbrellas. I’d hate to get wet,” Ryder joked.

  He rowed harder, but I could see he was weakening. The strain in his neck and shoulders was showing as his strokes became slower, an oar sometimes completely missing the water. I could feel his panic.

  “I can row!” I cried. “I’ll take a turn.”

  He shook his head. “You just keep bailing out.”

  A bolt of lightning seemed to hit the lake. We both jumped on our seats. The boom was so loud, too. Ryder paused. He looked back at the dock and shook his head.

  “Why don’t they get your father’s boat going and come get us?” I asked.

  “I think something’s wrong with it. He hasn’t used it for so long. He’s neglected repairs.”

  “Parker and Mr. Stark are getting into the other rowboat!” I shouted.

  Ryder looked back. “Good. Let’s keep getting closer and make it faster for them to reach us.”

  He rowed and rowed. He was so tired. I could see the panic now in his face. When he had paused, I saw the blisters on his palms. I began to shout at Mr. Stark and Parker, urging them to get to us faster, but I didn’t think they could hear us. Ryder put another surge of energy into his oars, and then, for some reason, the one on the left came out of its oarlock. Something had broken on it. The thrust he had created with his extra effort carried him forward, and he fell on his left knee.

  “Ryder!”

  He looked at me and then stood and began to see what he could do about the oar. The boat rocked harder, and holding up the oar made him lose his balance. He fell to his left. I lunged to grab him, but he went over the side of the boat, still holding the oar. When he hit the water, it washed over him quickly. I could see he had lost his breath. I screamed and screamed when he went under. When he came up, he was choking and gasping. The oar was too far away for him to grab. Instead, he reached for the side of the boat. I was leaning over, too, holding out my hand, but he was too far, and the boat, moved by the wind, was drifting away from him.

  I looked up desperately toward Parker and Mr. Stark.

  “Help!” I screamed.

  Parker dove into the lake and began to swim toward us. Ryder bobbed and reached out. The rain was pounding, and the wind was relentless. I could barely see him. The boat rocked again, and I nearly fell over, too. Instead, I fell back hard. It knocked the breath out of me, and I scraped my back on the bench. When I struggled to my feet again, I no longer saw Ryder. The panic I felt turned my whole body to ice. I kept screaming and screaming.

  Mr. Stark finally drew close enough, but it wasn’t easy for him to get his boat close enough to ours. There was nothing else for me to do but leap into the lake. He held out an oar for me to grasp. I did, and he pulled me close enough to lift me out of the water and into his bobbing boat. I was crying so hard that my tears were competing with the rain running down my cheeks. Before I could ask anything, I saw Ryder rise at the side of the boat. His eyes were closed, and Parker had him around his waist. Mr. Stark moved quickly to hold him and pull him onto the boat. Then Parker boosted himself up and over the edge.

  They had Ryder on his back. Parker immediately began trying to resuscitate him. With both hands on Ryder’s chest, he began to push down, rest, push down. He kept doing it and then checking to see if Ryder was breathing. I was frozen on the bench. Mr. Stark had put his jacket over me. We both watched as Parker started again and again and then tilted Ryder’s head back, lifted his chin, pinched his nose closed, and covered Ryder’s mouth with his. He breathed into him and continued the chest compressions. There was a desperate and terrified look on Parker’s face.

  I think I was screaming. I’d never remember exactly.

  Suddenly, Ryder coughed. Parker turned his head a bit, and Ryder vomited water. He was gasping. Parker turned and nodded at Mr. Stark, who immediately returned to the oars and began to turn the boat. Parker sat beside Ryder, keeping his head on his lap. I went to my knees and then tipped over onto my side, unconscious. When I awoke, I was in Mr. Stark’s arms being carried toward the house like a baby.

  “Ryder?” I said.

  “There’s an ambulance on the way,” he said. “Let’s get you inside and dry. Here comes your mother.”

  I turned slightly and saw her running toward us. Then I closed my eyes, too tired to cry, too tired to speak.

  15

  AFTER MR. STARK carried me into the house, my mother got me into a hot bath as quickly as she could. I was so exhausted that I felt as helpless as a baby. She left me there to soak for a while. I heard other people talking outside the bathroom. It sounded like Mr. Stark and Mrs. Marlene, but I couldn’t make out any words. I kept my eyes closed and just lay there enjoying the feeling of warmth reaching deep into me and driving away the horrible shivers.

  When she returned, she helped me out of the tub and began to dry me, rubbing so vigorously I thought she would peel off my skin. I didn’t complain or offer any resistance. Talking seemed to require strength I had yet to regain. She was mumbling, though quite incoherently, under her breath. M
aybe she was saying a prayer, or maybe she was expressing her anger. I kept my eyes closed and waited for her to finish. I felt her turn my hands over.

  “Got to treat these bruise burns,” she said. “And this scrape on your back. Anything else hurt?”

  “No. Not hurt. Just aches.”

  “Where?”

  “My legs, everywhere, I guess.”

  “What were you thinking? What were you both thinking?”

  She opened the cabinet and took out the antiseptics, still mumbling. When she was finished, she helped me get into one of my warmer nightgowns. Then she helped me stand and guided me to my bedroom. Mr. Stark was standing in the kitchen sipping on a cup of tea.

  “How’s she doing?” he asked my mother.

  “She’s doing,” she replied.

  She helped me into my bed.

  “How’s Ryder?” I asked. She didn’t answer me. “How is he?”

  “They took him to the hospital. I don’t know any more than that,” she said.

  She went out and minutes later returned with what I knew to be Mrs. Marlene’s famous Irish hot toddy. It had tea and cinnamon, with a good dose of rum as well as some other secret ingredient Mrs. Marlene would never reveal to anyone but my mother.

  “Can we call the hospital and see how he is?”

  “We’ll call. We’ll call. Sip this, now. Go on,” my mother ordered.

  I drank as much as I could, and she took the cup and placed it on my night table. She fixed my blankets firmly around me.

  “Let me know how Ryder is,” I said.

  “I’ll let you know. I’ll let you know. Now, you get some rest,” she told me.

  “But Ryder,” I said.

  “You just rest,” she said, the concern in her voice replaced with a sternness I wasn’t used to hearing.

  She left, and probably because of the hot toddy more than anything, I fell asleep quickly. I slept for hours and hours, and when I woke, I woke with a start and cried out. I immediately felt my mother’s hand on my arm. I had no idea how long she had been sitting there watching me sleep, but it seemed like quite a while.

  “There, now,” she said. “It’s all right.”