Delia's Crossing

by V. C. Andrews

  “I found out my mother had sent you off to live with Mr. Baker for a few weeks in one of our rented houses,” he began. “I was very upset to learn this, and she and I had a bad argument. I told her I was upset with her for not telling me and my sister the truth about you, too. She claimed she was preparing to do that but first wanted to make you presentable.

  “I told her it was a terrible way to treat you, and she shouldn’t have sent you off with Mr. Baker. I know Mr. Baker. It was a very bad idea.”

  He paused and in English said, “I’m not surprised to see you running away.” He saw I wasn’t sure what he meant, so he pointed to me and said, “You.” He made his fingers look like someone running and nodded. “Bueno,” he said.

  “Señor Baker no es bueno,” he added, and I nodded. He pointed to the road in front of us. “A mi casa,” he said, put the paper down, and drove on.

  He was taking me back. What would my aunt say? What would she do? She would be furious. Would she stop helping my grandmother?

  “Don’t worry,” he said. He pointed to himself. “I inglés to you, and you espanõl to me. Comprende?”

  “Sí,” I said. “Yes. You make me speak English, and me make you speak Spanish.”

  “Right, right. Perfect. Perfecto.”

  Soon after we drove onto a busy highway, he pulled into a shopping center and told me to wait in the car while he went into the big drugstore. Minutes later, he returned with a bottle of disinfectant and some Band-Aids. He had tissues in his car. He poured the disinfectant on the tissues and started on the scrapes on my knees. Through gesture and facial expressions, he warned me it would hurt, sting, but he made such an exaggerated grimace I laughed, even though it did hurt. He carefully put on the bandages, too, and then he cleaned off my palms and put bandages on those scrapes as well.

  “Okay?”

  “Gracias,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “De nada.”

  “Right, de nada. See? We are good teachers. Bueno teachers.”

  “Profesores,” I told him.

  “Great. I’m a professor already.”

  He laughed and drove on. He tried to get me to relax and feel better, but all I could think of was what would happen now, what terrible new fate awaited at my aunt’s home. He surprised me again by pulling into a restaurant parking lot and telling me to wait in the car. I started to explain that I wasn’t hungry, but he waved me off and went into the restaurant. A good five minutes later, he came out with a young girl at his side. She was in a waitress uniform.

  “This is Elena Jimenez,” he told me. “You talk with her. Habla with Elena, okay?”

  The girl got into the car on his side, and he got into the rear. She had short black hair and was very pretty. She must be his girlfriend, I thought.

  “Hola,” she said.

  “Hola.”

  She explained that she was a good friend of Edward’s from school, and he had asked her to speak with me and learn exactly what had just happened to me. She said Edward had gone to look for me when he found out where I was.

  “When he got to the house, he found you were gone. When he saw Señor Baker, he was very, very worried about you and went looking for you. He knows something terrible happened.” She looked back at him. “He won’t tell me why he thinks that, but he thinks it. What happened?”

  I looked back at him, too, and he nodded, pointing to Elena.

  “Tell her.”

  “He doesn’t understand Spanish that well,” she continued. “So you don’t have to worry if there is something you would rather a boy not hear.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  She leaned over and looked at my hands and my knees all bandaged.

  “Damn, girl,” she said. “You’ve been through a little hell, I see.”

  I nodded.

  “Did Mr. Baker do this to you?”

  “No. I fell, running.”

  “Why were you running? Tell me what happened,” she said. I was still hesitant. It was embarrassing to tell it.

  “Edward’s a great guy. I like him as a friend. I’m not his girlfriend,” she continued. “I know a lot of girls who would like to be his girlfriend, but he doesn’t have one. He likes you or cares about you. That’s pretty obvious, although he hasn’t told me why yet,” she said, and looked back at him again. She said something to him quickly, and he laughed.

  “He has to know exactly what happened to you, otherwise he won’t be able to help you, Delia. So,” she said, “as I understand it, you went off to study speaking English with Mr. Baker. You were in some house with him? Just with him?”

  I nodded.

  “And you were supposed to live with him?”

  “Sí.”

  “I’d have run away, too,” she said. “I know something about him. He’s not a regular teacher anymore. He had to resign two years ago under a cloud of suspicion. I’m surprised Edward’s mother hired him to tutor Edward’s sister, in fact.”

  I asked her what she meant by a cloud of suspicion.

  “Nube de la sospecha? Some young girls said he had done things, touched them in places he shouldn’t. The school didn’t make a big deal of it. They tried to keep it quiet. He supposedly resigned for health reasons, but most people knew the truth.”

  She turned around and said something to Edward, who leaned forward to say, “Baker no bueno. He’s a sicko.”

  “So?” Elena asked again. “What just happened to you? It’s better that you tell everything.”

  I looked back at Edward, and then I began. When I told her he was calling me Señora Baker as soon as we entered the rental house, her eyes widened.

  “He said we would be newlyweds.”

  “He said that?”

  “He made me watch a bad movie.”

  She wanted to know what I meant, and I told her about some of it.

  Edward kept asking her what I was saying, now impatient with waiting.

  “Wait,” she told him. “And then what?” she asked, I quickly got to how Señor Baker had spanked me for making mistakes in English.

  “On your bare ass?”

  “Sí, yes.”

  “What?” Edward cried. “C’mon, Elena, what is she saying?”

  “Go on,” she said, ignoring him and looking even more interested.

  It really embarrassed me to continue, but I did. I told her about his nudity and about his drinking and then fastening me to him with his belt. As I spoke in Spanish, she translated for Edward in English, and he kept mumbling, “The son of a bitch. The bastard.”

  “So, he fell asleep before he could do anything more to you?” Elena asked pointedly. “If he did anything more, you should tell us, Delia.”

  “He fell asleep, yes. That was when I ran away.”

  “And then Edward went there to get you, discovered him, and went looking for you.”

  She repeated more to Edward, and he spoke.

  “He said he found you running in the road, and he’s sorry he caused you to fall.”

  “I thought it was Señor Baker coming after me.”

  “I don’t blame you for being terrified. Jeez, Edward, are you going to take her to the police?” she asked him. “You should go to the police,” she told me.

  I couldn’t help but be afraid of that. What if Señor Baker told them lies about me? What if they didn’t believe me? Would they put me in jail? And what would happen to my grandmother if she learned such a terrible thing? Would everyone in my village find out and believe bad things about me?

  “No, I can’t do that,” Edward told her. “They’d come to the house and create real noise. They’d want to know why my mother sent her off, everything. No police,” Edward said, looking at me.

  “Big deal, Edward. So they ask your mother questions? They should. I don’t understand why your mother hired an illegal Mexican immigrant girl who can’t speak English well and then decided to pay for private tutoring. Who tutors their help around here, especially i
llegal help?”

  “I didn’t say she was illegal, exactly.”

  “Well, is she or isn’t she?”

  “It’s complicated,” he said.

  I was able to pick up only a few words of this, but I could tell he wasn’t telling Elena everything, and she knew it and wasn’t happy about it.

  “Well, what are you going to do with her?” she asked, pointing to me.

  “I’ll figure it out,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll get my mother to do the right thing now, or else. Mi madre will be bueno with you. Don’t worry,” he told me.

  “I don’t know, Edward. He’s such a creep.” She looked at me. “Señor Baker es una serpiente en la hierba.”

  “Sí, yes,” I said, “a snake in the grass.”

  She smiled. “She can learn English pretty fast, Edward. Besides, she can be put in that transition class at the public school, the ESL class, can’t she?” She turned to me to explain what she had said.

  If there was such a class at the school, why didn’t my aunt just send me to it?

  “Damn right,” he said. “I forgot about that. Thanks, Elena. You’ve been a great help. I owe you one.”

  “You owe me more than one,” she said, smiling at him. “Buena suerte, Delia,” she said, wishing me luck, and got out of the car.

  Edward and she spoke for a few moments before he got into the car again.

  “She’s nice. Elena bueno.”

  “Yes, very nice,” I said.

  He drove out of the restaurant parking lot and headed for my aunt’s estate. The tension and the questions reeling in my head exhausted me. I was looking forward even to my stark, nothing room and ugly bed. All I wanted to do now was sleep and forget, but I couldn’t help trembling as we drove onto the estate and up to the house.

  “C’mon,” he said, getting out of the car.

  I followed slowly, my legs still wobbly.

  The house was very quiet when we entered. I had been holding my breath, expecting to see my aunt standing there fuming, imagining that Señor Baker had called her and told her all sorts of lies about me by now, but there was no one, not even Señora Rosario.

  “What you need now is a good night’s sleep,” Edward said, and pressed his hands together, tilting his head on them.

  “Sí, sueño,” I said.

  “C’mon.”

  However, instead of leading me through the house to the entrance at the rear and out to the other building, he directed me to the stairway. I stood there confused.

  “It’s all right. Bueno,” he said, urging me to follow him up the stairs.

  I did, and he led me down the hallway, past Sophia’s room. He paused at a door.

  “Mi room…mi…”

  “Dormitorio.”

  “Sí, dormitorio.”

  I thought he meant for me to go into his room, but he continued walking to another door and opened it to show me another bedroom.

  “Guest dormitorio,” he said. He struggled to explain. “Visitor…extra…”

  I nodded.

  “Para una huésped.”

  “Right, whatever,” he said, smiling, and stepped back for me to enter.

  It wasn’t quite as big as Sophia’s bedroom, but it was very big, and it had a king-size bed with a beautiful dark cherry-wood headboard and four posts. The comforter was burgundy, and there were pillows as big as the ones Sophia had. At the moment, nothing looked more inviting to me than this bed.

  In such a bed, there can be only good dreams, I thought, recalling something my grandmother once told me.

  Edward showed me the bathroom. There was a brand-new toothbrush and other toiletries for guests in the cabinet. The bathroom was tiled and had a very big tub and shower stall. I reminded myself that this was the room I had dreamed would be mine. I had followed a twisted, painful path to get to it, but here I was. But how long would I be here? As I looked around at the comfort and luxury, I thought about my aunt finding me here and exploding into another rage. Edward saw the concern in my face.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s all okay. I’ll make sure,” he said, pointing to himself. “You sueño.” Then he thought for a moment and raised his hand. “Wait. I’ll be back,” he said, and hurried out of the room.

  I didn’t move. Less than a minute later, he returned and handed me a pair of what I was sure were his pajamas.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, gracias.”

  He started away again. I stood there, still timid and afraid, expecting to see my aunt appear at any moment and begin yelling at us both. Surely, Señor Baker had called her by now, I told myself.

  “Sueño, sueño,” Edward said standing in the doorway. “Buenas noches.”

  “Buenas noches. Gracias,” I called to him as he started to close the door.

  He smiled at me and closed the door. I remained standing there, still expecting something terrible to happen. Surely, this was too good to be true. I had gone from a nightmare to a beautiful dream. The silence convinced me I was all right for now. I went into the bathroom, cleaned myself as best I could with my painful scrapes, and then got undressed and put on his pajamas. They were too big, of course. When I looked in the full-length mirror, I had to laugh at the sight of myself.

  I got into the big bed. The comforter, the mattress, and the fluffy big pillows all felt so wonderful. This had to be what it would be like if I could sleep on a cloud, I thought. However, despite all Edward had said and done for me, I still felt quite anxious and listened hard for any sound of footsteps or shouting, but the house remained quiet.

  My head was spinning because of all that had happened so quickly. I had never been on a real roller coaster, but I couldn’t imagine it being any more dramatic and frightening than the roller coaster of emotions I had just ridden.

  I turned off the lights with the switch beside me and in moments sensed myself sinking into sleep. It felt as if I were sinking deeper and deeper into the large, soft mattress, but I didn’t care if I disappeared. I never welcomed sleep as much as I did at this moment, and disappearing didn’t seem all that terrible to me at the moment.

  In the morning, I woke to the sound of loud arguing in the hallway. Although I didn’t understand what they were saying, I clearly heard my aunt and Edward. Edward said something that caused my aunt to be quiet. Then I heard Sophia. Edward was shouting at her as well.

  Moments later, there was a knock on the door. I was so frightened I almost couldn’t find my voice, but I managed, “Sí?” and then quickly said, “Yes?”

  Edward stepped into the room. He was dressed for school. I glanced at the clock and saw how late I had slept.

  “Todo bien,” he said. “You stay aquí,” he added gesturing at the bedroom. “Aquí. Comprende?”

  “Yes. I am here.”

  “Exactly,” he said, smiling. “Now you are here. You will go to school. School, comprende?”

  “Escuela.”

  “Right, escuela. You will go. Mi madre will…how do you say it…make it happen…do it…”

  I nodded.

  “I’ve got to go. Don’t worry,” he said. “Todo bien. Damn, I have to learn more Spanish quickly. You teach me español every day.”

  “Okay,” I said, smiling. “And you teach me English, yes?”

  “Yes, but you’ll learn it quickly in the classroom. Gracias. Hasta la vista,” he said, and backed out, closing the door.

  It was quiet again, but then I suddenly heard a lot of talking and coming and going just outside the bedroom door. Shortly afterward, it was opened again, and Señora Rosario came marching in, her arms full of clothing. She looked upset and just dropped the clothes on the bed.

  “Sophia is giving you these clothes. She doesn’t wear any of it anymore. Don’t ask me any questions. I do not know why she’s giving you these clothes. I know she’s not your size, so I brought you this needle and thread and these safety pins, too,” she said, dropping them next to the clothes. “When you’ve found something you c
an wear and you’re dressed, go down to have some breakfast. That’s all I’ve been told. I don’t know why you’re in here now or what else is going on. This is a crazy house,” she added, and marched back out, closing the door sharply.

  I rose slowly and started to look over the clothes. She was right, of course, most of it was either too small or way too big for me, but I found a skirt I could wear and a blouse that didn’t swim around me as much as the others with a little creative pinning. I would have to ask that someone go get my own clothes, I thought.

  Just as I stepped out of the bathroom to go downstairs, the door opened again, and my aunt stepped into the room. She closed the door behind her and glared at me. Then she smiled.

  “Señor Baker called and told me what happened, how you tried to seduce him so he would tell me nice things about you. It doesn’t surprise me that you won over Edward so quickly, Delia,” she said in perfect Spanish. “Like most men, he is easily impressed. What’s that stupid proverb, dichos your grandmother, your father’s mother, would quote at me all the time? It’s not the fault of the mouse but the one who offers him the cheese? Of course, her precious son could do no wrong. It was girls like me who were offering the cheese.

  “If anyone knows how untrue that is, it’s your mother. Or I should say, it was your mother. She’s been dead to me so long I forget she just died.”

  “Why was she dead to you?” I dared ask. It wasn’t that I had suddenly become brave; it was my raging curiosity. How could anyone turn against her own family so much?

  She smiled at me again and moved across the room to the window. With her back to me, she asked, “Your mother has never told you why?”

  “No, Tía Isabela.”

  She spun around.

  “Tía Isabela,” she wailed, her grimace deepening. “You should be calling me Madre, not Tía.”

  The look on my face made her laugh.

  “Don’t worry. You’re not really my daughter, Delia. But,” she said, returning to that burning face of anger, “you should be.”

  I shook my head. None of this made any sense.

  “Why should I be?”

  “Your father should have been with me, not your mother,” she replied. “I found him first. He was my boyfriend first, don’t you know?”