Rain

by V. C. Andrews

  The maid continued toward the stairway and then paused to say, "I don't have all day."

  I hurried along, gazing at the paintings on the walls, glimpsing the richly furnished sitting room to my left and the large dining room down on my right. I just managed to catch sight of the table that looked like it went on into the next state.

  The maid started up the thickly carpeted steps. Along them ran the dark gray marble balustrade and above us was a huge crystal chandelier. I was taking in everything so quickly and with such big visual gulps that I stumbled on a step and nearly fell flat on my face.

  "Watch your step," the maid said in a mechanical voice. She sounded as if she was programmed to say it. There wasn't the slightest sense of real concern for my welfare. I straightened up quickly and hurried to catch up, but she didn't wait for me when she reached the landing of the second floor. She acted like she wanted to get all this over with as quickly as possible.

  The hallway was wide and also furnished with antique chairs and tables, beautiful vases, a bronze statue of a cherub, and oil paintings on every available wall space. Most of the pictures were of colonial scenes, some simply of men and women who had that aristocratic, superior glare as if they were looking down upon the artist who painted them. I felt as if I was walking through a museum.

  The maid stopped in a doorway.

  "This is your room," she declared and stepped back. I turned and gazed in at a room the size of our apartment back in D.C. There were two windows facing the east and two facing the south. The bed was a large canopy with thick carved posts and a pink and white spread bordered in lace. Everything in the room looked brand new, from the light pink, marshmallow carpet to the vanity table and mirror, the curtains on the windows and the desk on the right. I saw there was a walk-in closet on the left and just past that a bathroom.

  My own bathroom!

  The look on my face finally brought a reaction from the maid. She nearly smiled, gazed at the room herself and then turned to me.

  "This used to be Miss Megan's room," she said. "Mrs. Hudson told me. So take good care, y'hear?"

  My mother's room. How appropriate, I thought. The driver came up behind us.

  "Where is Mrs. Hudson?" I asked.

  "She's not up to meeting anyone yet," the maid said. "She told me to get you settled in your room and get you some lunch. I got some chicken salad prepared. If you want anything else, you'll have to wait."

  "Chicken salad is fine," I said. "Thank you. Is she sick?" I asked.

  She stared at me for a moment.

  "I don't talk about people. I just do my job," she remarked with a twist in her lips. "You got everything you need in the bathroom," she added. "When you're ready, come down to the dining room and I'll serve lunch."

  "Excuse me," I said as she started away.

  She turned, her eyelids fluttering with confusion.

  "Yes?"

  "What's your name?"

  "I'm Merilyn," she said.

  "You're the cook and the maid?" I followed.

  She did smile this time, but it wasn't a warm grimace. It was more like I had asked a stupid question.

  "There's only me and Mrs. Hudson," she said, "and now you. I don't think we need anyone else unless you're going to be a lot of trouble," she added dryly as she turned away.

  If you're an unhappy person yourself, I thought, you can't help but make everyone around you feel unhappy, too. If I had any room left in my suitcase of sympathy, I'd pack some pity in it for her as well as myself, I thought, but right now, I couldn't fit in another tear.

  The driver placed my luggage on the floor and left to get the rest of my things. I watched him and Merilyn descend the stairs and then I entered my room, took a deep breath, and swallowed down my anxieties like a child forced to eat something horrible, but told it would do her a world of good.

  After all my things had been brought up, I unpacked my clothing and put everything away in the dresser and in the walk-in. Even with all my mother had bought for me, my wardrobe looked pathetic, barely taking up a tenth of the space available. It would take a fortune to stock this place, I thought.

  The mattress of my bed was firm, but my pillows were gigantic and as fluffy as clouds. I ran my palms over the soft comforter. Everything smelled new and fresh. Had it all just been bought for me or had it been here forever and ever?

  I looked in the bathroom and found the hair dryer, the make-up mirror, the large pink tub and stall shower, everything scrubbed spotlessly. The towels even looked brand new. I realized I had an electric toothbrush and when I opened the cabinet, I saw it had been stocked with everything from Band-Aids to shampoo and conditioner.

  It was the same at the vanity table. There were new brushes and combs, scissors and tweezers, creams and perfume. When I smelled an open bottle, I recognized the scent as the one my mother had been wearing. It couldn't have been left here from when she lived here. Either she or my grandmother had bought it, but how did either of them know whether or not I would like it? Perfume is so personal, I thought.

  I went to the window and gazed out at the grounds. Not far off I saw a large pond. It looked like it had a dock and two rowboats tied there. From this height and distance, the water resembled a sheet of clear thin ice, so still, glittering in the sun. What a beautiful place this is, I thought. How I wished Mama could see it. Maybe someday she would.

  I suddenly realized I was very hungry and hurried out, pausing before I started down the stairs. I had the strange feeling I was being watched, but when I turned and looked at the doors to the other rooms, I saw they were all shut tight. I listened for a moment and then bounced down the steps. Merilyn must have been waiting for me because the moment I rounded the stairway, I heard her say, "Finally."

  I saw her disappear through a door. I felt funny and awkward just sauntering in and sitting down at the long, polished wood table by myself. A setting had been placed for me on the other end. I walked to it slowly, gazing at the large mural on the wall. It depicted a country setting with a brook and hills, animals and small cottages. There was something about it that made it seem like a faraway place. I continued to stare at it after I sat.

  Merilyn came through the doorway from the kitchen carrying a silver tray upon which she had a platter of chicken salad, crackers, and small dinner rolls. She placed the tray on a server and then brought the dishes to the table.

  "What would you like to drink?"

  "Just water is fine," I said nodding at the pitcher already set before me.

  After she set the food down, she poured a glass of water for me. Then she took a step back and waited as if she wanted to see whether or not I liked the chicken salad. I glanced at her and tasted it.

  "This is very good," I said.

  She didn't smile. She just turned and started back to the kitchen.

  "Excuse me," I said before she left the dining room. She turned.

  "Yes?"

  "What is this picture?" I asked nodding at the mural.

  "It's a place in England where Mr. Hudson's family lived is what I was told. Don't ask me where. I wasn't told exactly, and I wouldn't know anyway. I've never been to England:' she said and left before I could ask anything else.

  After I ate, I walked through the house. There was a very formal living room with furniture that looked like it had rarely been used. All the tables were polished to the point where I could see my face reflected in the wood. There were paintings

  everywhere, all the same style and period and all rather dark, I thought. Whenever the sun was blocked by a cloud, the rooms took on a melancholy gloom since there were no lamps lit and the furniture was all dark wood. Everything looked impersonal to me.

  Finally, when I gazed around the office, I saw some evidence of family. There were pictures on the large oak desk. I recognized my mother and imagined that the other young woman was her infamous sister Victoria. There didn't seem to be much resemblance between them. Victoria's hair was light brown and in all the pictures cut very s
hort. Her facial features were harsh, her-nose wide, her mouth masculine. She looked to be at least four inches taller than my mother. There were only a half dozen pictures of the two of them, but in all of them, Victoria's figure was lean, almost boyish, and in all of them she barely smiled. Her eyes were deep, her expressions firm and far more serious than my mother's.

  In many of the pictures there was a handsome gentleman I imagined to be my real grandfather. His jaw was nearly square and his eyes were set deeply under his wide forehead. In the pictures that included him, I could see the way he hinged the right corner of his mouth in a sort of flirtatious smile. There was only one picture of the woman who had to be my grandmother. It must have been taken when she was in her late twenties or thirties. I saw the remarkable resemblances to my mother, only she looked stronger, her eyes so focused and firm, I imagined her to be a woman with steel in her bones. In the picture her hair was in a tight chignon and she wore a beautiful diamond necklace. This was a woman who could advertise for the concept of style and elegance, I thought. What would she think of me?

  The shelves of the office were filled with the classics, many bound in leather. In the far right corner there was a table with what looked like a model of a housing development, including the landscaping and streets, as well as the streetlights. It even had tiny cars and human figures placed in driveways and

  walkways. At the base of the model was a metal tag with the words HUDSON ACRES carved across it. Each of the houses was different in style and architecture.

  "Don't touch that!" I heard Merilyn warn from the doorway. "Mrs. Hudson don't want nobody even in here. I should have told you. She barely lets me in here to clean it. You can go anyplace else," she said.

  "Oh. I didn't touch it. What is it?"

  "It was Mr. Hudson's dream is all I know. Better come out of here," she added, looking terrified herself. "She'll be angry if she finds out I didn't tell you not to go in here."

  "Okay," I said and left the office.

  "How long have you worked for Mrs. Hudson?" I asked her.

  "Just three weeks. I'd like to try to keep the job," she added, "so I'm trying not to make any mistakes or let anyone get me in trouble."

  "I'm sorry," I said seeing how serious she was. "I didn't mean to get you into trouble."

  She tucked in her lips.

  "Why don't you go outside," she said, "it's nice outside and you'll be out of my way."

  "Is Mrs. Hudson coming out at all?" I asked sharply.

  "She will probably come down for dinner. She thought you could find enough to amuse yourself until then," Merilyn added, sounding like she was parroting my grandmother.

  "I'll try," I said petulantly and walked out of the house. She knows I'm her real granddaughter, I thought, but she's not breaking her neck to meet me. I guess I know where I stand in her eyes, I concluded, and stood fuming for a few moments on the front steps.

  The sound of a car trunk being closed hard drew my attention to the garage where I saw a tall, lean, balding man wiping his long hands with a rag. He wore a dark blue shirt and dark blue pants and smiled at me.

  "Hello there," he said. He folded the rag as neatly as he would an expensive towel.

  I walked down the stone steps toward him. The sun was behind him, making it seem as if he had a halo around his head. Actually, the bald spot glittered. When I drew closer, I saw his eyebrows made up for his loss of hair. They were bushy and thick over his dark brown eyes. He had a narrow face with a slightly cleft chin and a nose that was just a little too long and too thin, but his smile was warm, friendly. He looked amused as I approached.

  "Hi," I said.

  "You're the new roommate, huh?" he said with a laugh in his voice.

  "Excuse me?"

  He laughed.

  "I heard from Mrs. Hudson that a young lady was coming to live with her. I'm Jake Marvin," he said extending his right hand. It felt silly putting my tiny hand into his because it disappeared and looked like he was shaking my wrist. "I take care of her car and drive her places whenever she wants to go anywhere, which isn't often these days."

  He leaned toward me and winked.

  "It's an easy job. Actually," he said

  straightening, "I'm only part-time. What's your name?"

  "Rain Arnold," I said. He nodded with that same small smile as if he had expected it.

  "You meet her yet?" he asked nodding toward the house.

  He laughed.

  "She doesn't do anything until she's ready and willing," he said. "Don't take offense. She's not treating you any differently from the way she treats every other human being."

  "You don't sound like you like her much," I said.

  "Oh, on the contrary. I like her a great deal. She's an extraordinary woman. Few left like her. She was liberated before women's lib was a gleam in what's her name's eye," he said.

  "Gloria Steinern?"

  "Something like that. So, you make yourself at home?" I nodded.

  "It's so big," I said.

  "That it is." He turned to look out at the property. "My father owned all this once."

  "Your father? But--"

  "Oh, he lost it all in the market crash and Mr. Hudson came along and bought it up. That was years and years ago. Here I am, back again," he said.

  "Were you always Mrs. Hudson's driver?"

  "Oh no. I was in the navy for nearly twenty-two years. I've seen the world," he declared, "made a full circle. I worked in radio and advertising for a while and then drove for one of the big hotels. That's when Mrs. Hudson came along and asked why don't I come by and drive her around and take care of her car. Her husband was gone and she hated even the thought of driving. I was ready to become semiretired, so I took her up on it and here I am. Full circle," he said and gazed toward the pond.

  He was silent for a moment and then smiled at me.

  "You'll like it here. It takes you over, romances you. Wait until you see the sun go down over those trees in the west and the ducks come back and camp out on the pond. You're a city girl, I hear?"

  "Yes, from Washington, D.C."

  He nodded.

  "Well, the nights are considerably quieter here. You made a wise choice," he added. He opened the car door. I wanted to say I didn't make a choice; it was made for me, but I let the words crumble on my tongue. He got into the Rolls and drove it into the garage. Then he pulled down the door.

  "My Rolls is just over here," he said indicating the side of the garage. I followed him as he walked around to a late model Ford.

  "You don't live here, too?" I asked.

  "Oh no. I come when she needs me to. I live in Jessup's Gap, hardly much of a town about ten miles southwest. Mrs. Brown's rooming house. Been there about seven years now," he said squeezing his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He smiled at me and got into his vehicle. I watched him start the engine and roll down the window. "She tells me I'll be driving you over to the Dogwood School for girls and back," he said, "so we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other, unless you're the type who doesn't like to talk early in the morning.

  "Me?" he said shifting into drive, "I never shut up, morning, noon or night. At least, that's what she's always saying," he added nodding toward the house again. "Welcome." He saluted and started away.

  I watched him coast down the driveway. He was funny, I thought, and made me feel a little welcome at least.

  I walked on with my head down toward the pond. The birds seemed to get louder around me and flit along as if I was of great curiosity to them. In the distance clouds thickened and rolled toward the west, chasing the sun. Two large black crows came off the lake toward me and then veered sharply to my left and into the trees. The breeze picked up. I felt my hair dancing over my forehead. The air did seem cleaner, fresher here and the songbirds replaced the sounds of traffic, horns and squealing brakes. I could smell the perfume of wildflowers and plucked a blade of tall grass to hold between my teeth.

  Jake was right, I thought. The land romance
s you, but would I be comfortable here? Could I be so alone and be happy? Beni would hate it here, I thought with a smile.

  She'd complain about the distance to hip-hop joints and how boring it was to just walk and look at nature. She'd hate the quiet and moan about the absence of boys.

  But Roy would probably like it here. He hated the city and he was alone so much of the time that the solitude wouldn't make his nerve ends twitch the way it would make Beni's.

  I stood on the dock and looked out over the water. The strong breeze made it lap against the shore. The rowboats knocked gently against the side of the dock. One had a little water in it, but the other was bone dry. There were no oars. I wondered if my grandmother would ever let me go in one. Beni might like this, I thought. Roy would love it.

  "Hey!" I heard and turned to see Merilyn standing on the lawn gesturing.

  "You have a phone call," she cried. She gestured emphatically.

  "A phone call?" I hurried back toward the house. Who was calling me? Mama? Roy?

  I broke into a trot. Merilyn went into the house but was in the hallway when I entered.

  "The phone's in there," she said pointing to the less formal living room.

  I hurried in and picked up the receiver. "Mama?"

  "No, it's only me," my real mother said. "How are you doing? Has my mother said anything nasty yet?"

  "Oh. No. I haven't met her yet. She's in her room, I think."

  "Figures she'd pull one of those. All right, listen, don't argue with her. Don't talk back. Don't challenge anything she says or tells you to do. You don't have to fall in love with her. Just live there, follow her rules and you'll be fine."

  "When am I going to see you?" I asked.

  "I can't come there for a few days yet. Just...make the best of things, okay? I have to go. I just wanted to be sure you arrived all right."

  "I've arrived all right," I said dryly.

  "That's half the battle," she replied. "I'll call you soon."

  She hung up without saying good-bye. I plopped on the leather chair beside the phone and sat staring at the brass figurine of an eagle. It looked like it was glaring back at me angrily.

  "Don't ask," I muttered. "I don't know why I'm here either."