DeBeers 03 Twisted Roots

by V. C. Andrews

  When someone is so forthcoming with you as Chubs had been with us, it made it doubly difficult to fabricate and deceive. I looked at Heyden and saw in his eyes that he didn't want to lie to this man anymore. either.

  "My mother and father are divorced. Chubs, but the man who is with us is my uncle, not my father."

  "That so?"

  "We thought it would be easier if people thought he was my father. I'm sorry we didn't tell you the truth."

  'Easier? Why easier?"

  "Well, we're two young people in a motor home," I began. Chubs looked from me to Heyden and then back to me.

  "Y' all runnin' away or somethin'?"

  "Just taking a vacation," Heyden replied with a wide smile.

  Chubs nodded. "Like I said. I don't poke round other people's business. I just do what I got to do to help Mrs. Lilliann get by."

  "Isn't there anyone else in the family who could have helped them?"

  "There's same distant cousins, some on Mr. Stanton's side, some on hers, but they have little or nothin' to do with her. Mr. Stanton left her enough of a legacy to maintain what's here now, but not much more. We make do." He smiled, "We're both at the age when you don't complain for fear the Almighty will hear and decide to take you home. Neither of us is ready for that yet."

  "You're a good man. Mr. Dawson." I said.

  He shrugged. "I am what I am, for good or for worse. I'll be up early to get the parts we need to get you back on the road," he told Heyden.

  "Whatever time, I'll go with you. You just let me know."

  "Rooster will let us know." Chubs said. "It'll be before breakfast. I'll be in the truck," he said and stretched his big arms. "Time for bed. I have my own place behind the barn, Mr Stanton Senior fixed it up for me long time ago. Got my own television and everythin' in there. See you in the mornin'," he added and walked off.

  Heyden and I watched him.

  "He's got a big heart to fit that big body of his." I said.

  Heyden nodded and looked at the house. "What's Uncle Linden doing all this time?"

  "I left him with Mrs. Stanton, talking, She seems to be enjoying his company, and he was very comfortable. He's doing a good job of reassuring her. You would be as surprised as I am at how strong he sounds. I guess when you see other people's troubles, you forget your own."

  "I don't." Heyden said sharply. It sounded hard and selfish, but he did have so much more weight to carry than I had. I thought,

  We walked back to the house and did find Mrs. Stanton and Uncle Linden still together, but in the dining room now, the chandelier lit.

  "Your father told me you people didn't get to have any dinner tonight. I just told him how angry I am that no one said anything." Mrs. Stanton said. scowling. "No one's ever gone hungry in Lilliann Stanton's home. Just sit yourselves down here. I have some chicken and dumplings and green beans warming up."

  "Let me help at least," I offered.

  "Well, fallow me into the kitchen, then. Go on, young man." she told Heyden. "Wash up if you like and then sit yourself at the table."

  "You don't argue with Lilliann Stanton," Uncle Linden told us as if he had known her all his life, "She's fed pigs, milked cows, nurtured a garden, and harvested peaches from the day after her honeymoon until now."

  I followed her into the kitchen.

  "Your daddy's a very nice man," she said. "And an artist, too. I'd love to see one of his paintings."

  "He started one. It's in the motor home. Maybe he'll show it to you," I said.

  "That would be nice."

  She stopped what she was doing and turned to me. "I want to thank you again for helping out back there. That took some sensitivity and consideration. You're a fine young lady."

  "I'm sorry for all the trouble in your and Bess's life." "Nothing you can do about stopping trouble when it comes riding in on the back of a tornado. You make do and try to meet the test the Lord has set upon you. That's all," she said stoically and turned back to preparing the food.

  I watched her move efficiently about her kitchen, this elderly lady who maintained her elegance and equilibrium even in the shadow of all her personal tragedy. What was it that gave some people spines of steel? Was it her faith, her pride, or just a heavy stream of determination, a refusal to permit Fate to defeat her that helped her maintain herself and carry so much weight on her small shoulders? How little it took for so many people years and years younger than she was to be reduced to whining and self-pity.

  I suddenly thought more about myself and my miming off like this. Did I take the easier route? Was I weak and selfish? Would Lilliann Stanton have ever run away from disappointment, conflict, and tension?

  "After dinner." she said. "I'll get you what you need. You'll sleep in Rosemary's room, of course. Your father and your cousin can sleep in the downstairs guest room.

  "Oh, I couldn't do that," I said. "That room is..." I wanted to say "kept like a shrine." It was almost sacrilegious to even consider it.

  "Nonsense. It's a beautiful room. You'll be very comfortable in it, and why not use it? To tell you the truth," she said, turning back to me. "it would do my heart good to see it being used again."

  "But--"

  "Don't worry about Bess. She'll be asleep by the time you go up to bed." she assured me. "In the morning she might not even remember you. Charles will surely get you people on your way. He's a wonderful worker. My husband used to say he had a natural instinct for mechanical things. There wasn't anything on this farm he couldn't repair. The truth is I wouldn't know what to do without him. He's the closest friend I have." she added.

  ''Oh," she continued, swiping the air as if there was an annoying fly circling her, "we don't talk corn and mush to each other like that, but he knows how I feel and I know how he feels, how loyal and dedicated he is to us, has always been. I warned him not to die before me. or I would never forgive him," she said. and I smiled.

  "Let's stop yapping like this and get those hung men something to eat," she declared.

  Uncle Linden never stopped raving about her dumplings. "I haven't had a meal like this since... I don't remember when," he said.

  "Oh, go on with you. MT. Montgomery, This is nothing much.'

  "Maybe not to you." he insisted. "but certainly to me."

  "You live alone, do you?" she asked him. and Heyden and I paused and looked at each other and then Uncle Linden, He was very capable of forgetting our story. We were both afraid of how Mrs. Stanton would take the truth,

  "I have for a long time," he replied and then looked at us. "but that's over. My mother was a very good cook." he continued, changing the subject, which let us relax. He went on to talk about Grandmother Grace and his growing up in Palm Beach. "Everyone else had personal cooks, but not us."

  "I always enjoyed going to the ocean," Mrs. Stanton said. "We saw some wonderful sea resorts in Europe when we traveled. Since my husband died. I haven't been off this farm for more than a few hours to shop."

  "Well, I'm sorry to hear that." Uncle Linden said. "Maybe when we get settled down, you'll come visit with us."

  "Oh, my visiting days are long gone. This is enough of the world for me now," she said.

  She insisted we have pieces of her peach cobbler, her specialty. It was delicious, Afterward, Heyden helped me and Mrs. Stanton clean up. Then she showed them to the guest rooms, settled them in, and returned to take me up to Rosemary's room. I was still full of trepidation about it, but she reassured me and repeated how pleased it would make her to have the room used by a nice young lady again. I wasn't about to be responsible for any more disappointment for her.

  Inside the room, she paused beside me and closed her eyes for a moment.

  "I know it sounds foolish, but sometimes I come in here and feel something so familiar, it's like Rosemary has just been in the room. You know how sometimes you can walk into a room and just know someone has been there moments before you. Maybe their bodies leave the air warmer or there's a whiff of someone's perfume or some man's col
ogne yet lingering. Maybe it's just the aroma of shampoo or scented soap, something, and you can't help but envision that person. He or she flashes before you like a shadow that lingered, an image in a mirror that didn't follow when she walked away, a reflection in the window, footsteps on the rug, a movement of air as he or she passes you by, something, and if you miss and have loved that person as much as I miss Rosemary and I loved Rosemary, you close your eyes and say. 'Yes.' to all the fantasies and images and wishes. You let yourself pretend.

  "It's why I understand my granddaughter so well, why I don't disturb her illusions. There are things in this room," she continued, gazing about. that haven't been touched by any other fingers than Rosemary's fingers. They are still exactly where she had left them.

  "But don't be afraid to touch anything or move anything." she added quickly. "It's time we put it all to rest. Your coming is a blessed thing in more ways than you know, Maybe Someone higher up made it all happen."

  "That beautiful stuffed black panther looks brand new," I said, nodding at it on the bed.

  It is brand new," she confessed. She shook her head guiltily. "God forgive me. but I went out and bought one just like the one Rosemary took with her that fateful night. I knew Bess wouldn't be able to look at this bed without seeing it there."

  "It's never a bad thing to prevent someone from being unhappy," I said.

  She smiled at me. "You're a lovely young lady, darlin'," she said. "Do you mind if I kiss you good night?"

  "Oh. no." I replied quickly. realizing I was just staring at her.

  She leaned toward me and kissed me softly on my check. "Good night, darlin'," she said. "Wake up healthy and strong."

  I knew in my heart it was most probably the exact way she had said good night to Rosemary thousands of times.

  "Thank you. Good night. Mrs. Stanton," I said.

  She held her gentle smile and then turned and left, closing the door behind her so gently, it was as if the ghost or spirit she had sensed here had gone out.

  I turned and looked at the room again.

  Now that I knew what I did about Rosemary. I could imagine how lonely and frightened she must have been. I couldn't help visualizing her lying on that bed or sifting at the vanity table and wondering if the things her father had whispered in her ear were true. I knew how much she didn't want to turn against her mother. I knew that well.

  Funnily enough, when I imagined her before me. I didn't see a stranger. I saw myself, vulnerable and alone. Young girls like she and myself have very thin skins covering our emotions. It takes so little to tear through and sting our trusting hearts. We want so much to believe and to trust our parents. Without that we are surely adrift in a nasty adult sea, the winds of deception tossing and spinning us around until we are too dizzy to face the day. We try to pass our time with our eyes closed, our ears covered, our footsteps so soft we attract little or no attention and make it back to our rooms, rooms like this one. sanctuaries full of dreams and memorabilia that had promised rainbows and candy cotton.

  Don't look out the window, we warn ourselves. Don't look at the murky skies. Wait for the sunlight in the morning, the promise of a new day. Maybe all our disappointments will disappear like bad dreams. Maybe it isn't true; none of it is true. We are not alone after all. There is laughter and there is love waiting for us where they have always been waiting for us, and all the dark whispers and ugly faces are gone, popped like bubbles. Telling ourselves these things is the only way to lay our heads down on the pillows at night and trust the darkness enough to be unafraid of sleep.

  It took a while for me to slip under the blanket on this beautiful bed. The bedding smelled fresh and clean, and I imagined that Bess tack care of this room just the way she had taken care of it when Rosemary was alive and here. But lowering myself into this bed was truly like lowering myself into someone else's dreams.

  A layer of clouds broke apart in the night sky, permitting a sliver of moonlight to cut through the darkness and pour through the curtains. Macabre shapes and shadows danced on the walls, imps and elves, nymphs and ogres, a variety of creatures silhouetted to perform on a nightmarish stage. I wanted to shut my eyes to them. but I couldn't. They were too powerful, too demanding.

  Was this the way Rosemary went to sleep every night? Did she listen to the sounds in the house, hear muffled voices, soft crying, and realize she was hearing herself? Did she finally turn her back on the gleeful puppets dancing on the walls and close her eyes tightly, willing herself to remember laughter and song, birthdays and parties?

  Like Rosemary, I have been told in so many different ways that I am not my father's daughter. He sired me. but I have been told I shouldn't want to be his daughter, that he is so different from me, from what is good in me, Like Rosemary. I have felt disappointment and betrayal, and like Rosemary, I am lying here feeling alone, confused, and lost. Where should I go? Whom should I trust?

  I had the strange feeling that time was standing still, that the winds had stopped and all the clouds were pasted far the moment against the inky sky. Everyone in the world was holding his or her breath. Birds were frozen in the air. The earth itself had stopped turning on its axis. Only I could move, but it was as if I was moving through a set on a movie stage. I could touch things, touch people. but I felt nothing and they felt nothing. I couldn't scream or shout because it would all be stopped at my mouth and come back at me, echoing down through my very bones. I couldn't even tremble.

  Almost in a panic. I battled to take a breath and then, as if my breath had done it, the door of the bedroom opened, the light behind it spilling in and followed by the silhouetted Bess dressed in her nightgown, tiptoing toward me, her arms folded under her breasts. She paused at the side of the bed.

  "Rosemary," she whispered. "Are you still awake?"

  Should I answer? I thought, but before I could decide, my mouth and tongue, controlled by something greater than myself or by something in me that made those decisions instinctively. replied.

  "Yes."

  "Oh, good, I was having a hard time falling asleep myself." she said and sat on the bed. She reached out and stroked my hair.

  "It was such a shock for me when you told me you were having your first period. I don't know why our bodies are in such a rush. What's the point of having a twelve-year-old girl become capable of having a baby? She's still a baby herself, her mother's baby.

  "It's a nasty trick that Nature pulls on us. I've barely had time to explain things to you, to warn you about boys. They live for only one thing, you know. Just like all the animals out there. They can't help it, I suppose, but that doesn't mean we have to be victims, now, does it? No, of course not.

  "And just because you get married, don't think you're safe. Rosemary. Husbands don't care how difficult they can make it for their wives. They are truly God's most selfish creatures. Oh. I know they tell us that they can't help it. They have needs and those needs are in them from birth, but we all have needs and that doesn't mean we should be

  inconsiderate of others, does it?

  "Of course it doesn't. If I'm too tired or not well. I shouldn't have to make him happy. He shouldn't blame me, and he shouldn't tell you that I'm the one who's selfish, now, should he?

  "No, he shouldn't," she said. She sighed. "I wish we could all just get along. If everyone first thought about making someone else happy first, the world would be a happier place, wouldn't it?

  "Of course it would." She stroked my hair again. "You just sleep and don't worry. Mommy will make sure it's all right. This getting your period isn't the end of the world. Well, maybe it's the end of one world, but it doesn't have to be a nasty thing. Just listen to me." she said and leaned closer,

  "You have to think of what you have the way you would think of a safe. If you don't keep it locked, some selfish boy will take your treasure and leave you. Oh, he might promise he won't, but he will, because he won't be able to stop thinking of another treasure, and another. You're the poorer one for it. Rosemary. I know I
was,

  "Are you still having those cramps? Why do you think it's so unpleasant? I'll tell you why. It's because it's a warning. Every cramp is another alarm bell. Watch out Beware. Keep the safe locked,

  "There. I've told you some great secrets that only a mother and a daughter can share. Someday, when it's the right time for you, you will have a daughter and you will share the same secret. I hope."

  She looked back at the door.

  "He's waiting for me." she said. "He's been making all sorts of new promises. He has an endless well of promises, pulling up new ones constantly. Promises are contracts signed with dew. As soon as the sun comes up, they're gone.

  "But you don't have to trouble yourself about any of this Just think of sugarcane and bubbles, lollipops and magic, tinsel and crepe paper.

  Tomorrow, you and I will go for a walk to the lake, and just like always, we'll look for interesting flowers and toss little rocks in the water and listen to the birds gossip about us. okay?

  "Nothing has changed, not really. You're still my little Rosemary."

  She leaned over and kissed my forehead and then stood up.

  "If he wants to go, he'll go. But you will never leave me, would you?"

  "No," I said, seeing she was waiting for a reply. "Good. Sleep tight, my sweetheart. Sleep well."

  She turned and walked slowly out, moving in a dream again. and then she closed the door behind her. The clouds that had parted closed again, shutting away the sliver of moonlight. The room was completely dark. I hadn't moved a muscle.

  As my eyes grew accustomed to the unlit room. I thought I saw a shadow thicken in the bathroom doorway until it took the shape of a young girl. My mind's just playing tricks on me. I told myself, but the shape lingered and was there even after I closed and opened my eyes.

  Did I imagine it or did I hear a voice sharply whisper. "Stop it." I couldn't swallow.

  "Stop keeping me alive. She has to let me go. She has to mourn me, for even the dead need love. I'm waiting in these shadows, caught and trapped by her refusal to believe, to accept. You're not helping any. You have no right to be me, to put me on like a new dress and wear my feelings and my fears just to make yourself feel better.