Black Cat

by V. C. Andrews

  "What will become of us. Celeste?" I asked her, half amusingly and half wondering if she could actually tell me. I was sitting on the steps of the porch.

  She paused to look at me. She had a blade of grass in her hands and was trying to make a sound with it as I had shown her how to do. It was

  something Noble could do well. He played little tunes on blades of grass.

  She hurried over to me and pressed herself against my leg as if she knew I wanted her beside me, to comfort me. Then she made the sound and laughed. I kissed her cheek. She had such light and delicate features, eyebrows that were barely visible, but long, beautiful eyelashes. If ever there was such a thing as someone with a delicious face, it was our Celeste,

  She blew on the grass again, louder this time.

  "You're getting as good at that as your uncle was," I whispered. I always felt I could tell her the truth, bring her close to that pool of revelation without endangering either of us much. She wouldn't understand and she never repeated anything I whispered. It was as if she knew what a secret was, knew it almost the moment she could hear one or see one.

  Suddenly, she turned and threw her arms around my neck. I lifted her and kissed her cheek and she laid her head on my shoulder. The two of us sat there staring out at the darkness. I heard the distinct sound of branches cracking in the woods. My body tightened as I strained to see through the shadows.

  "Deer," Baby Celeste said, and a moment later a small doe appeared.

  It stood so still as it looked our way that it could have been a statue dropped in the night.

  Baby Celeste slipped out of my arms and walked slowly toward the doe. It still didn't move. She lifted her hand and the doe lifted its head. Still, it did not flee. She took another step and another. I rose.

  "Don't go too far," I warned.

  She looked back, smiled, and walked forward. The doe's tail wove back and forth like a dog's. Baby Celeste lifted both her arms toward it, and to my surprise, the doe took a few steps in her direction. I held my breath.

  And then the headlights of Mr. Fletcher's car cut into our driveway, pushing the darkness back.

  The doe leaped to the right and then bounded into the woods. disappearing. I hurriedly scooped up Baby Celeste and watched as Mr. Fletcher drove up.

  "Hey. Noble," he said, getting out. "What's going on?"

  "Mama wanted me to take the baby out for some air," I said quickly.

  "Yeah, it's a beautiful night. Still quite warm for this time of year." He paused. "Hi, Celeste."

  She reached out for him and he took her into his arms and kissed her cheek. "What have yall been up to today?" he asked me.

  The usual. I'm getting pretty much along in the firewood." I said nothing about helping Betsy do her math homework.

  He stared at me so hard, I felt a little

  uncomfortable.

  "I've been thinking a lot about you lately. Noble. Betsy's suggestion that night at dinner wasn't all that bad, you know. Have you given it some thought?"

  "A little," I lied.

  "Well, no one has to rush into anything, fortunately, but I hope you don't think it out of line for me to give you some advice now that I've signed on to this family." He smiled.

  I shook my head.

  "You cant grow up helping your mother with an infant all the time. Noble, and doing simple farm chores. Its not a young man's life. You really do have to get out among people your own age, think about expanding your horizons, going further in your education, perhaps. Get a goal. I'd like to help you in any way I can."

  I nodded and looked down.

  He was living in a house of lies, and every time he spoke to me warmly like this, those lies danced in front of my eyes. He had accepted so much on faith, and so firmly, with such trust. that I had to wonder if he really lived under or within Mama's spell. What would happen when and if he confronted the truth? Would his heart simply burst?

  "I also know how hard it is to grow up a young man with no father in whom you can rely and from whom you can get some advice, not only about things to do, but about yourself. your own emotional needs. I know we don't know each other as long as I'd have liked, but I want you to feel confident I will always respect your trust, keep any confidence you might want to place in me.

  "After all," he said. bouncing Celeste a little in his arms, "its just you and me against all these females here."

  Oh, how my heart cried out for me to simply burst forth with the truth, No, I wanted to scream. You don't know me at all. You've never met me.

  "Don't look so troubled, buddy," he said, running his hand through my hair. "I'm not pressuring you to do anything or say anything. All I want to do is let you know Fm here for you whenever you need me to be. okay?"

  I nodded.

  "Great. So," he said, looking about, "I see my daughter has gone somewhere again. She say where?"

  I shook my head. "Something about the mall. I think."

  "Hmm." He gazed back down the driveway. "She's there so much, she should get a job in one of the shops."

  He tamed back to me. "Just remember. Noble, little kids, little problems, big kids... you can fill in the blanks just watching me and Betsy. Going in?"

  "Soon."

  "Okay. I'll take Celeste. inside. Cheer up, my man. Thins are going to be just fine. We have too much going for us right now."

  I smiled and nodded at him and watched him go into the house. "What a fool," I heard, and spun around.

  I couldn't see him in the darkness, but I was sure it was Elliot's spirit.

  "You think he's stupid or just blind when he looks at Celeste and doesn't see himself?" I studied the shadows and stepped forward slowly.

  "Maybe he knows." he continued. "Maybe he's the one hiding the truth, living the lie. Ever think of that. Noble man?"

  His laughter was carried off in the flapping wings of a spooked owl. And in the wake I heard only the pounding of my own frightened heart.

  13

  The Problem with Betsy

  .

  In the days and weeks that followed. Betsy's

  relationship to her new boyfriend grew more and more intense. Many nights she didn't return home at all and then showed up looking as if she had been up all night. She would sleep most of the day and walk about as if she hadn't yet gotten used to the miracle of being alive. She and her father would have frequent arguments about it and she would always threaten to move out. He and Mama discussed it often, and to my surprise she advised him to step back. give Betsy time to come to her own realizations and conclusions. Mama always seemed to be taking Betsy's side. If it was to get Betsy to like her more, it wasn't working.

  In fact. I could see early on that one of the reasons Betsy was so determined to have her own romance was her disgust over her father and Mama's ever-growing-closer relationship. Mr. Fletcher, who now absolutely insisted I call him Dave, never entered the house, even a room, without kissing her. No matter what he was thinking beforehand or what sort of mood he was in when he returned from work, as soon as he set eyes on Mama, his face filled with sunshine. Every night after dinner when he wasn't on a late schedule at the pharmacy, they would take long, romantic walks together. He was forever buying her surprise gifts, and from what I saw him bring home, he had bought many things at Mr. Bogart's store.

  Whenever he presented Mama with something in Betsy's presence or whenever he kissed her and Betsy was there. I watched her face. Her eyes twitched and she pulled in her lips. She looked away, and when her father asked her something, she either muttered a monosyllabic yes or HO or simply ignored him. She always looked as if she couldn't wait to get out of the house and away from us, or should I say. them.

  One night after Mama and Dave had left to go on one of their moonlit walks. Betsy, who was waiting for a phone call from her boyfriend. Roy, came into the living room where I was reading to Baby Celeste. She stood over us, her hands on her hips, and shook her head.

  "God, how can you spend so much time with a baby?"
she demanded. "I enjoy how quickly she learns things. You would, too."

  "Right. I just can't wait. Where are they?" she asked, gazing out the window. "Where the hell do they go out there anyway?" "Just up the street, I imagine. There's a place where the road turns where you can go in a ways and see the creek at one of its widest points."

  "Oh. really! Wow!" she said, turning back to me. Then she smirked. "Fm sure they're not going out there to look at the creek. They're probably necking under a tree or rolling in the grass."

  "Why would they have to go outside to do that?' I asked, sounding simply curious.

  "I'm sure they think it's more romantic or

  something. Maybe they see how the way they slobber

  over each other in front me makes me nauseous." I just stared up at her. She narrowed her eyes

  and stepped toward me, her arms folded under her

  breasts.

  "Doesn't it bother you to see your mother

  sleeping with my father, kissing him all day, holding

  hands and swooning over him like that?"

  "Why should it? They love each other, don't

  they?"

  "Please. Love." She looked away.

  Baby Celeste could pick up on a tone of voice.

  She sensed the tension in Betsy's and stared up at her,

  her face so still, her eyes so full of interest.

  "It's just embarrassing and disgusting for me to

  see, the way my father drools over your mother like

  that right in front of us. They act like.., like teenagers.

  I can tell you I don't remember him being that way

  with my mother, and after she left us, he never went

  out on a real date with any other woman."

  "So?"

  "So I told you! It makes me sick to my

  stomach! That's what's so." Betsy paused and glanced

  at Baby Celeste. "Why is that kid looking at me like

  that?"

  "She feels your anger."

  Betsy smirked and shook her head. "She feels

  my anger? What are you, a child psychologist or

  something? Look at you, sitting there on the floor,

  reading a children's book. This is your idea of a night

  of fun. You really are pathetic,"

  Her words were like bee stings. but I refused to

  let her see how much they hurt.

  "I'm going to have to help you with your

  vocabulary as well as your math." I said. "You need

  synonyms."

  "Oh, really? And what is that supposed to

  mean. Mr. Genius?"

  "It means you have to find other words to use when you try to insult me. These are getting tired,

  worn-out."

  She started to say something, then stopped and

  blew some air between her lips. "You know what I

  think." she finally managed. "I think you're gay." Just then the phone rang.

  "Finally!" she screamed, and ran to it. I looked

  back at the children's book.

  "Tell my father I'm not coming home tonight,"

  she shouted from the hallway. "Not that he'll notice.

  His eyes are too full of his new love."

  I heard the door open and slam shut. Moments

  later, she was in her car and kicking up gravel as she

  spun around and drove down the driveway. I listened

  and then looked at Baby Celeste.

  "Betsy's sick," she said.

  I laughed. "Yes. Betsy's sick. The thing is, she

  doesn't know it and maybe she never will."

  "Sick."

  "Why do you say that, Celeste?"

  She didn't reply. She looked at her book again

  and picked up the story where we had left it before

  Betsy's intrusion. Later. when Mama and Dave

  returned, he was angry when I gave him Betsy's

  message.

  "This isn't going to go on like this much

  longer," he vowed. "I don't care how old she is She

  has to show us some respect here and take on some

  responsibilities. With the light subject load she has at

  the community college, there is no reason why she

  can't get a part- time job and help support herself and

  especially that car.

  "And she doesn't even ask if you need any help

  with the house and the meals. Sarah. You're too nice

  to her, letting her yet away without doing more." "I know. Dave," Mama said. "Don't get yourself

  all worked up again."

  "I don't know whether I'm better off with her

  home or run off with some loser," he muttered, "I

  thought maybe if I provided her with a substantial

  home, a real family, a chance at some higher

  education..."

  "She'll come around, Dave. They always do." "I'm not as optimistic about it as you are.

  Sarah." He looked at me. "Sorry. Noble. I know she's

  not proving to be much of a sister to you or help with

  the baby." he added, looking at Baby Celeste. "Look

  at the smile on that kid. How can anyone refuse to

  take any interest in her? What goes on in that girl's

  empty head?"

  "You have to relax. Dave. It's not good to go to

  bed with so much tension inside," Mama told him. "Yeah, I know."

  "Let me fix you something."

  She made him a drink that she said would calm

  his nerves and help him to sleep. Like everything she

  prepared with a purpose, it worked, and soon

  afterward he was in bed. resting comfortably. After he

  was asleep. Mama came out of the bedroom and down

  the stairs. I thought she might be looking for me.

  Baby Celeste was asleep and I had gone out to sit on

  the porch. I felt that I was guarding the house. She stepped out sat in the chair beside me

  without saying anything, and stared into the darkness.

  Although she didn't look at me. I felt nervous, even a

  little afraid. Was she silent because she was any at

  something I had done or said?

  "You may wonder," she finally began. "why we

  have been alone these past weeks!'

  "Alone?"

  She turned and looked at me. "Has someone

  been speaking to you?" she asked quickly. I shook my

  head. I wouldn't tell her about Elliot, not now, maybe

  not ever.

  "If s not because we've done anything wrong or because anyone is any at us. There is evil in our

  house."

  I held my breath. Did she know about Elliot

  after all?

  "But it won't be here long," she vowed. She

  nodded. "Not much longer."

  "What evil, Mama?"

  "You know what evil. Don't start acting stupid

  again," she snapped.

  I looked away, but watched her out of the

  corner of my eye. A moment later she smiled. "Baby

  Celeste is really becoming something, isn't she.

  Noble? You see it now, too, don't you?"

  "Yes, Mama."

  "Good. Then you understand why it is so

  important we continue to protect her and nurture her

  like some precious flower."

  "Yes, Mama." I would do it anyway, I thought

  After all, she was mine. Mama rose. "Get some rest.

  We have difficult days ahead!'

  She stepped off the porch and walked slowly

  toward the old cemetery. I watched until she was

  swallowed up by the darkness, then I went inside and

  up to bed.

  The difficult days she spoke of were filled with more and more tension because of the ongoing and sharper arguments between
Betsy and her father. I could see the increasing wear and tear in his face, hear the growing strain in his voice. Whenever he set eyes on her, he would look troubled. He tried tying the money he doled out to her to work responsibilities in the house. despite Mania's advice to let that be. When he forced her to help with the kitchen and the dinners, she broke dishes or made a bigger mess in the kitchen. She couldn't set a table neatly, and whatever cleaning she did had to be done over anyway. He was always after her to clean up her room, but she never made her bed and didn't change linen until he forced her to do so. If she ate anything in the house, she left the dish wherever she had been sitting or lying. She dropped crumbs, spilled things, stained furniture. He was cleaning up after her more than someone would clean

  up after an errant puppy.

  And all the while. Mama remained calm,

  understanding, still remarkably taking Betsy's side

  with the promise that she would soon change. The

  more sympathetic she was, however, the angrier Dave

  became at Betsy.

  "Look at how nice Sarah is to you. How can

  you be so ungrateful and inconsiderate all the time?"

  he would chastise.

  Betsy's reactions to her father's rants and raves

  were simply to look away, pretend she didn't hear

  him, or turn to me to ask a question as if he weren't

  even there. Frustration reddened his face. He looked

  more and more haggard, and when anyone asked him

  why he looked so tired, he would let loose with a

  catalog of problems he was having with his daughter.

  Mama and I were often witless to his speeches in the

  pharmacy because the sight of us would bring his

  vexation to a boil.

  "That woman," he would say, nodding at

  Mama. "is an angel. She's an absolute angel. What she

  contends with would drive anyone else mad. I don't

  deserve her. and Betsy certainly doesn't. Teenagers,"

  he would spit, and people would nod in sympathy. "Shell come around," Mama would say

  charitably. It never ceased to amaze me. From what

  trunk did she dig up all this patience and

  understanding? I knew firsthand what her temper

  could be like. Why wasn't she thinking of ways to

  change Betsy? Why was she so tolerant?

  I couldn't disagree with Dave about Betsy being

  ungrateful. The nicer Mama was to