Midnight Whispers

by V. C. Andrews

  "You're a one-year-old-baby," she decided. "You can't feed yourself. Go `ga, ga.' Go on."

  "Ga, ga," he said and tried to look like an infant: his eyes shifted toward the ceiling, his arms at his side and his mouth agape.

  "Hungry, little Morty?" Aunt Fern sang. He nodded quickly. She raised a forkful of mashed potatoes to his lips and when he opened his mouth wide, she pulled the fork away. "No, no, little Morty. Not so fast. Not before you do something nice for Mommy. Here," she said, holding out her other hand. "Lick Mommy's hand. Go on or Mommy won't feed you."

  We all watched him do it. Charlotte was fascinated; Luther was disgusted. Jefferson thought it was all very funny and started to act like a baby, too, until I squeezed his arm. Gavin shook his head and closed his eyes to block it out, but it couldn't be ignored. They were there.

  "I'm going to put a little of this mashed potato on the tip of Morty's little nose and he's going to try to lick it off." She did it. "Go on, Morty, try. Try for Mommy."

  We watched him stick his tongue out and curl it, squinting at the same time to bring his nose closer. He couldn't do it and began to wail like an infant until Fern wiped it off.

  "Morty's a good boy; he tried. Okay, Morty, be older and eat by yourself," she commanded. He smiled and dug into his food quickly before she changed her mind.

  "What are you gawking at, princess? Don't you and my brother play little games with each other?" she asked.

  "Not as stupid as that," Gavin said quickly.

  "Oh, don't be an old prude like your brother was," she replied and then turned to me. "You did a good job on this food, princess. You're getting better and better at everything. Who knows? By the time we leave, you might qualify as a household servant. How would you like that, Jefferson?" she asked, leaning over the table toward him. "How would you like your sister to be a household servant?"

  Jefferson shrugged.

  "Can we stay here if she is?" he asked.

  "Of course you can." She fixed her eyes on me. "As long as she's a good servant, you can hide out forever for all I care." She sighed deeply. "But Christie is not really just a household servant. She's very talented. Everyone knows that. We've all been told enough times. Morty's very anxious to hear you play, aren't you, Morty?"

  "What?" He looked up quickly from his plate. "Oh yes. Can you do some Chopin?"

  "Of course, she can," Aunt Fern replied for me. "She can do anything on the piano. Can't you?"

  "I know some Chopin. I did some sonatas for lessons in piano technique."

  "Oh, well excuse us. Piano technique. Great," she said, smirking.

  "I took some piano lessons when I was younger," Morton volunteered.

  "Well isn't that peachy-keen. Everyone's had lessons in this or that but me," Aunt Fern said.

  "I know that Daddy wanted you to learn an instrument," I said. "I remember you refusing."

  "Well, I wasn't going to do it just because he wanted me to. Anyway, it was probably something Dawn told him to do. We're happy just listening to you, princess," she added, forcing a smile. She wiped her face and dropped her napkin. "Come on, Morty. Let's, adjourn to the living room for an after-dinner drink. When you're finished cleaning up, come in and entertain us," she commanded.

  "Just a minute," Gavin began. He started to rise in his seat. I grabbed his arm.

  "It's all right, Gavin. I don't mind playing the piano, even for Aunt Fern," I said. That brought a smile to both his and Morton's lips.

  Aunt Fern pivoted quickly and marched out of the room, Morton following obediently at her heels like a puppy.

  While Charlotte and I cleaned off the table and did the dishes, Gavin occupied Jefferson with the deck of playing cards he had bought him during our trip to Lynchburg. Luther, unable to contain himself any longer in front of Aunt Fern and Morton, disappeared to finish up some mysterious work in the barn; and Homer knew enough to stay away, although when I finally did finish the kitchen chores and went into the living room to play the piano, I caught sight of him peering in through a window. Every time Aunt Fern turned in his direction, however, he would disappear.

  I played more than a few Chopin preludes. My music was my escape. It resembled a magic carpet, sweeping me off and out of this world of meanness and cruelty. I closed my eyes and visualized Mommy sitting quietly and attentively in our living room back in Cutler's Cove, her smile full of pride. When I played, it was as if all of the terrible things that had happened never happened. The music washed away the sadness and tragedy, making it all seem to be nothing more than a series of bad dreams. We were all alive and well and together.

  I really lost myself in the music, for when I stopped and opened my eyes, everyone, even Aunt Fern, was gazing at me with eyes wide and full of amazement. Aunt Charlotte clapped her hands excitedly. Jefferson had fallen asleep with his head resting against Gavin's shoulder.

  "That was nothing short of fantastic," Morton said. His expression of appreciation immediately wiped the look of awe off Aunt Fern's face. "You're a very talented young lady," he said, nodding. He was so impressed, I actually blushed with embarrassment.

  "She's good, I suppose," Aunt Fern admitted reluctantly. "I told you she had the best piano teachers. No money was spared when it came to the princess."

  "It takes more than money to play like that," Morton said.

  "Well, I could have done something with my talent too," Aunt Fern whined, "if I had people care about me, really care instead of pretend." She whipped her arms up and folded them under her breasts. Then she sat back, glaring at me in a jealous sulk like a child.

  "I'd better take Jefferson upstairs and put him to sleep," I said, going to him. "Come on, Jefferson." His eyes fluttered open for a moment.

  "I'll carry him," Gavin said. He lifted him into his arms. Jefferson's head settled comfortably against Gavin's chest.

  "I'm going to sleep, too," Aunt Charlotte announced.

  "Good for you," Aunt Fern said. Then she turned to Gavin and me. "Come right back down," she ordered. "We want to play a game."

  "Game? What game?" I asked suspiciously.

  "You'll see when you return," she replied and smiled at Morton, who smiled back. "Get me another drink, Morty, and make a couple for Romeo and Juliet."

  "We don't want any of your drinks," Gavin snapped.

  "There you go, being like your prudish brother again," she told him. Gavin ignored her and we left to put Jefferson to bed.

  As I undressed him, I came upon an ugly gash on his right thigh. The fresh scab was surrounded by an inflamed mound of flesh, apple-red.

  "How did you do this, Jefferson?" I demanded. His eyes fluttered open and closed. "Jefferson?" I turned to Gavin. "Look at this, Gavin."

  He studied the wound for a moment.

  "I don't know," he said. "He never complained about anything to me. Jefferson, wake up," he said, shaking him. This time Jefferson's eyes remained open.

  "How did you do this to yourself'?" I asked, pointing to the wound again.

  "I got stuck on a nail," he said.

  "When? Where?" I asked quickly.

  "When we first came here and I was painting the room with Aunt Charlotte," he replied.

  "I never saw it," Gavin said.

  "Why didn't you tell me, Jefferson?" I asked. He shrugged. "Did Aunt Charlotte wash it? Did you wash it?"

  "Uh huh," he said and closed his eyes. I didn't know whether to believe him or not.

  "I'll go ask Charlotte and get something to put on it," I said and went to her door. I knocked and when she didn't answer, I peered in and saw her on her knees by her bed saying her prayers like a little girl.

  "I pray the Lord my soul to keep . . ."

  She saw me and stopped.

  "I'm sorry to bother you, Aunt Charlotte, but Jefferson has a nasty cut on his leg. He said he got it when he was painting the room with you a few days ago. Do you remember that?" She shook her head. "Do you have anything for cuts and bruises?"

  "Oh yes," she said, gettin
g up and shuffling quickly to her bathroom. She came out with a box of Band-Aids and some antiseptic.

  "Good," I said. "You don't remember washing the cut on Jefferson's leg that day?" I asked. She tilted her head and thought a moment.

  "Maybe I did," she said. "I get mixed up with the times Luther cut himself. He's always cutting him-self on something."

  I nodded.

  "Thank you, Aunt Charlotte."

  By the time I returned, Gavin had Jefferson in bed. I got a washcloth, cleaned the wound and treated it with the antiseptic. Then I covered it with the Band-Aids. He didn't open his eyes the whole time.

  "We'll have to watch this," I told Gavin, "and make sure the infection goes away. I don't think Charlotte washed it when it happened, and he was so excited about painting the room, he didn't tell us he had been cut."

  Gavin nodded.

  "What should we do now?" he asked.

  "We'd better go down and see what stupid game she wants to play," I replied, standing. "If we don't, she'll only come up here screaming and wake Jefferson and Aunt Charlotte."

  He nodded.

  When we returned to the living room, we found Aunt Fern and Morton sitting on the floor by the center table. On the table was the pack of playing cards and their gin and tonics. At her insistence, Morton had made two drinks for us.

  "Come on," Aunt Fern said, beckoning for us to sit on the floor around the table, too. Her eyelids looked half-closed and what I could see of her eyes looked bloodshot. "You're holding up progress. Here are your drinks."

  "I told you we don't want any of that," Gavin said.

  "What kind of a teenager are you?" she asked him angrily. "You act more like an old man." Then she smiled. "You're certainly not a chip off the old block; that's for sure. Daddy Longchamp," she told Morton, "was a famous drunk." She gulped some of her own drink.

  "He was not!" Gavin fumed.

  "I know what he was, honey," she said, putting her glass down and fixing her gaze on him. "There's no sense pretending he didn't drink and he didn't go to prison."

  "Well . . . he doesn't . . . doesn't drink now," Gavin stuttered. She had nearly brought him to tears.

  "Not in front of you, maybe, but I bet he sneaks it," she said, enjoying Gavin's discomfort. "Once a drunk, always a drunk."

  "He doesn't drink like that anymore," Gavin insisted.

  "All right, he doesn't. He's pure as the driven snow, perfect, a reformed drunk and kidnapper."

  "You don't know what you're talking about," Gavin said. "You shouldn't say those things about Daddy."

  "All right, all right," she said, satisfied she had tormented him enough. "Let's have some fun for a change. Sit down."

  "I'm not drinking," Gavin insisted.

  "Don't drink. Be a minister for all I care," she said irritably. We sat down. "But you gotta play by the rules," Aunt Fern added. I looked at Morton who broke into a wide smile again.

  "What rules? What sort of a game is this?" I asked.

  "We're playing strip poker," she said. "Cut the cards, Morty."

  "What?" Gavin said.

  "Don't tell me you two never played strip poker. Do you believe this, Morty?" she asked him. He shrugged and started dealing the cards.

  "We're not playing any such thing," Gavin said. He looked down at the cards as if our touching them would contaminate us.

  "Oh, you only play with each other, is that it?" Aunt Fern taunted.

  "We've never played this," he said.

  "So? There's a first time for everything. Right, princess?" she said, turning to me. "You can talk about first times, can't you."

  "Stop it, Aunt Fern."

  "Then pick up your cards," she ordered hotly. "You know how to play poker."

  "Don't do it, Christie," Gavin said. Fern picked up her cards and smiled.

  "I bid three pieces of clothing," she said. "Morty?"

  "I'll see you and raise you three pieces," he replied.

  "Gavin?"

  "We're not playing this stupid game, Fern," he said firmly. She lowered her hand.

  "I don't like my fun being ruined," she said steely-eyed. "It makes me want to call people, people like Philip."

  "Stop threatening us," Gavin snapped.

  "And people like Daddy." She turned to me. "And people in authority who come and get old ladies who still play with dolls."

  "You dirty . . ."

  "Forget it, Gavin," I said quickly. "We'll play her silly game if that makes her happy."

  "Fine. Morty has bid six pieces of clothes. Christie?"

  I looked at my cards. They were terrible, not even two of a kind.

  "I'll pass," I said.

  "If you do, you've got to take off six pieces of clothing," she said.

  "But that's not the way poker is played," I protested.

  "It's our special rules," she said. "Right, Morty?"

  "Absolutely," he said.

  "This is dumb," Gavin said.

  "Everything that's fun is dumb to you," Aunt Fern told him. "Well?" she asked me.

  "I might as well stay in if that's your rule," I replied. "Although it doesn't make any sense."

  "Good. Gavin?"

  He just ignored her.

  "I'll take two cards, please," she told Morton. He dealt them and turned to me.

  "Four," I said.

  "Why are you doing this?" Gavin asked me.

  "She wants to have some fun. Loosen up, Mr. Prude," Aunt Fern teased. Reluctantly, he picked up his hand and looked at it.

  "Two cards," he muttered at Morton.

  I had no better hand than the one with which I had started.

  "One for me," Morton said, dealing himself a card. He wore a big smile.

  "I raise you two more articles of clothing," Fern said.

  "See you and go one more," he replied.

  "That's nine if you're in, six if you're out," Aunt Fern explained.

  Gavin threw down his hand. I did the same. "Two pairs, threes and fives," Aunt Fern said, showing her hand.

  "A straight, two to six," Morton said, showing his cards. He sat back.

  "Lucky you," Fern said. She smiled. "You two take off any six pieces you want. I gotta take off nine. Oh," she said, laughing as she kicked off her shoes, "that will leave me stark naked." She lifted her blouse over her head and then stopped.

  "What are your six pieces, princess?" she asked.

  I took off my shoes and socks.

  "That's two," she said.

  "Two? I've taken off two shoes and two socks," I protested.

  "Pairs are counted as one," she said. "Our rules, right, Morty?"

  "Right," he parroted.

  "Keep going," she ordered.

  "Don't do it," Gavin told me.

  "You don't welsh on a game," Aunt Fern snapped. "It's like breaking a promise to keep a secret," she added, smiling at me.

  I unbuttoned my blouse. Morton's smile widened and he licked his lips. Aunt Fern unfastened her bra and without hesitation slipped it down her arms as if she were alone in her bedroom. Her breasts shook as she started on her skirt.

  "Fern! You're drunk and you're disgusting!" Gavin screamed, standing. "I can't believe you're my sister."

  Aunt Fern threw back her head and laughed. With his face red and swollen, Gavin turned and rushed out of the room. That only made her laugh harder.

  "GAVIN!" I cried standing. I heard him run down the corridor and out the front door of the plantation house so I started after him.

  "Hold it," Fern said, her laughter stopped short. "You haven't taken off your six pieces."

  I looked at her and then Morton, who sat back with a licentious smile, gaping at me hungrily.

  "The game's over, Aunt Fern," I said, looking down.

  "You don't walk out without paying what you owe," she insisted. "Those are the rules."

  "Please, Aunt Fern. Can't we stop now?"

  "Not until you pay up what you owe," she insisted. "Pay."

  I took of my blouse.

>   "That's three," she said. "Go on."

  I unfastened the skirt and it fell to my ankles. "Four."

  All I had left were my bra and panties.

  "Do you want help?" she asked. I shook my head.

  "Aunt Fern . . ."

  "It wouldn't be fair," she said. "I didn't hesitate to pay what I owed."

  I gazed at Morton. He was staring at me so hard, I felt he could already see through my remaining garments. I reached behind my back and undid my bra, but I hesitated to slide it of my bosom.

  "Come on, princess, you did it for your uncle Philip, you can do it for us," she coaxed.

  "Aunt Fern! That's horrible, a horrible thing to say," I cried. "I didn't do it for Uncle Philip. I didn't."

  I scooped up my shoes and socks and my skirt and holding my bra against my breasts, I shot out of the living room.

  "You bitch!" she screamed after me. "You can't welsh on a game of strip poker. You'll be sorry . . . YOU'LL BE SORRY!"

  I ran down the corridor and stopped in a room to dress myself. Then I went outside to look for Gavin. He was nowhere in sight, so I went around the house toward the barn. Halfway there, I heard him whisper.

  "Christie."

  He was standing off in the shadows. I went to him quickly.

  "Gavin, you were right. I shouldn't have tried to please her. She's horrid and she'll never stop tormenting us, especially me. I don't care about her threats anymore. I'm not going to do anything else for her."

  "Good. Now maybe you'll listen to me and leave."

  "Yes, Gavin, I will. I think once we're gone and no longer here to provide her any amusement, she'll leave too. I'll explain it all to Luther and he'll keep Charlotte and Homer away from them until they go," I said. "We'll leave in the morning."

  "Good. We'll get up early and ask Luther to drive us into Upland Station."

  "But what will we do then, Gavin?" I asked, my excitement waning when I let reality seep into our plans. Gavin thought a moment.

  "I guess we're just going to have to call my daddy," he said. "He's not going to be happy we've gone so far away, but he'll help us, especially when he learns what happened to you. And he is Jefferson's grandfather, Christie. Don't forget that."

  "I know. I just can't help being scared about it all. But you're right. We should call him," I said.