Heartsong

by V. C. Andrews

  too. I was going to clean up for her, but I was curious

  where she was. I saw that the back door was slightly

  open, so I went to it and peered out. There she was,

  sitting alone on the small bench, her arms folded

  across her chest, gazing into the darkness.

  "Aunt Sara?"

  "Oh," she said as if she had been caught doing

  something illegal or immoral. I stepped out quickly. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to ruin your

  dinner tonight."

  She shook her head.

  "Jacob doesn't mean half of what he says," she

  insisted. I tried to keep a look of disbelief from my

  face. It was something she had to believe to live in

  peace, I thought. "He always regrets his blustering,"

  she continued. "I told him. I explained it. I was just

  taken by surprise. May is just curious. I know it's

  natural. You didn't do anything terrible. I should have

  been the one to start to explain. It's just that it's all so

  overwhelming, isn't it? You're going along, growing

  alongside boys, even playing the same games, and

  suddenly you find you're very different." Her laughter

  trickled off into the darkness.

  I smiled at the simple but true statement. Then I

  sat beside her.

  "Did you have a lot of boyfriends before Uncle

  Jacob, Aunt Sara?"

  "Me? No. I never--no," she said. "Well, there

  was someone I had a crush on," she confessed, "but

  every girl had a crush on him."

  "Who was that?"

  "Teddy Jackson. He was always so handsome,

  even when he was only twelve."

  "Oh," I said. It didn't surprise me that any

  woman would see Adam's father as a handsome

  dreamboat, it was just that my dislike of Adam was so strong, I wasn't happy to hear about it. Aunt Sara was into her own memories, however, and didn't notice my

  reaction.

  "Of course, he never gave me a second look. He

  had all the prettiest girls. I was never much to look

  at."

  "That's not true, Aunt Sara. You're a very pretty

  woman."

  "Oh, I guess when I fix my hair and put on

  something nice, I don't embarrass Jacob, but I'm no

  movie star," she said, laughing. "Laura, Laura was the

  prettiest one."

  "Yes."

  "And so are you. Your mother was always

  pretty. She had the kind of beauty that caused

  everyone to stop and take notice."

  "You better not mention her name anywhere

  near Uncle Jacob," I warned her bitterly.

  She was silent as she looked into the darkness

  again.

  "He didn't always feel that way about her," she

  said, but the way she said it sounded almost as if she

  were jealous. "He used to think the sun rose and fell

  on her smile. Just like all the young men, I guess." "You'd never know it," I said. This revelation was making my head spin. It was the first time Aunt

  Sara had really talked about the past.

  "Oh, I know it," she replied quickly. She shook

  her head. "I know it."

  "What are you saying, Aunt Sara?" I asked,

  holding my breath.

  "What? Oh." She laughed. "I'm not saying anything. Not anything important at least. Don't you think

  anything of anything Jacob bellows," she emphasized,

  patting me on the hand. "He's just uncomfortable

  around women and women talk, is all. He shouldn't

  have taken it out on you and I told him so." She

  looked away again.

  "Someday, Aunt Sara," I said taking her hand

  and forcing her to turn back to me, "everyone in this

  family is going to have to start telling the truth." "What do you mean, Melody?"

  "I don't know what I mean yet, Aunt Sara, but I

  have a feeling you do, and so does Uncle Jacob, and

  especially Grandma Olivia."

  She stared, fear in her eyes.

  "Maybe you shouldn't have gone to see

  Belinda," she said, her voice in a whisper, "maybe she

  put bad thoughts in your head."

  "Or maybe she pointed me toward the truth," I

  replied.

  Aunt Sara shook her head sadly.

  "Don't go out too far, Melody," she said in a

  voice suddenly full of wisdom and firmness, a voice

  unlike any other she had used before. "It's what

  happened to Laura."

  She turned away to stare into the darkness as if

  she half expected her lost daughter to come walking

  up the beach, in from the sea and the storm.

  I left her alone and cleaned up the dinner dishes

  before going up to bed to ponder her warning. "I guess you didn't have such a great weekend,"

  Kenneth said after glancing at me when I got into his

  jeep Monday morning. He put it in gear and drove

  away before I could respond. He glanced at me again

  as we turned down the street and headed out of town.

  I sat stroking Ulysses and gazing out at the ocean. A

  number of times during the night I had wakened from

  sleep, nudged by a troubling image or the memory of

  harsh words. I would lie there staring into the darkness, listening to the creaks in the old house as the

  wind blew in from the sea. Even on the brightest of

  days, there were too many shadows in this home, I

  thought, and the wind sounded more like whispers on

  the stairs or just outside my door.

  I wasn't the only one struggling with the past.

  There was a silent war being conducted here, a war

  with no guns, but fierce battles nevertheless, with the

  casualties being truth, happiness, and contentment. "Don't want to talk about, it?" Kenneth finally

  asked.

  "I visited Grandma Belinda," I said.

  "How did it go?"

  "She said many things, some silly, I suppose,

  but some that infuriated Grandma Olivia."

  "I bet," he said with a smile.

  "She said Grandpa Samuel liked her more and

  she said your father was one of her boyfriends and

  that made Grandma Olivia jealous," I blurted. His smile froze first and then metamorphosed

  into a hard, deep expression of pain.

  "That's why she's in a rest home," he mumbled. "She looks healthy and she's sweet, gentle,

  childlike," I continued. He drove his face sullen. "I'm sorry about what she said about your

  father."

  "It doesn't surprise me," he replied. He turned

  to me with a smirk on his face. "I've heard such talk

  about him before. Dad was always what is euphemistically referred to as a ladies' man," he said, sarcastically. "He can be very charming," I admitted. Kenneth looked at me askance.

  "You too?" He shook his head. "As long as it's

  in a skirt, he can't resist, no matter what the age." "Is that why you don't get along?" I asked

  quickly, trying not to be offended by his callous

  remark.

  "How he conducts himself is his business, not

  mine," Kenneth replied. "Let's not talk about him. It

  puts me into a bad mood," he said and then turned to

  me. "Just as you've been told, digging up the past is

  only going to revive unhappiness and we have enough

  to contend with in the present.

  "Besides,"- he added, "you're my special model

  now. I don't want you co
ming around with a long, sad

  look on your face. I want you fresh, lovely, and

  curious about yourself, not others. Concentrate on our

  concept when you're with me," he added as we drew

  closer to his house and studio.

  "You're the one who asked me about the

  weekend," I shot back.

  He thought on that and then nodded.

  "You're right." He held up his hand. "I'm guilty,

  which shows you, even I can be tempted into the wrong frame of mind. I'll make a pact with you," he said as he pulled into the driveway. "I won't ask you any questions about your private life and you won't ask me any about mine. We'll just be in the world of

  art, okay?"

  "Art isn't a world separate from the real world,"

  I said, my eyes narrow, my gaze fixed and

  determined. "Ideas, images, colors all come from your

  experiences, don't they?"

  He stared silently at me, a friendly, almost

  loving glint coming into his eyes before he smiled. "You're quite a kid," he said. He said it with

  such admiration and pride, I had to blush. "Okay,

  you're right. But we'll do our best. Deal?" He

  extended his hand. I stared at it a moment. He wanted

  me to swear to be silent, to lock up my thoughts and

  questions, to put aside my quest for truth. I shook my

  head.

  "I can't promise something I'm not sure I have

  the strength or even the willingness to do," I said. He sighed with frustration and then smiled

  again.

  "All right, but at least promise you'll try. It's

  important to my work." He waited.

  "I'll try," I offered, weakly.

  It was enough for now. He hopped out of the

  jeep and I followed, Ulysses at our heels.

  "I've been working all weekend," he said as we

  went around the house to the studio. "Even without

  my star," he added, throwing a smile back at me. When he opened the studio door, I saw what he

  meant. Near the marble block, there was a large

  papier-mache mass shaped like a wave about to crash

  on shore.

  "It's not exactly right yet, but that's something

  like the wave I've envisioned," he said. "Do you see

  the opening in the center?"

  "Yes?'

  "I want you to go behind the wave, crawl under,

  and come up through that hole."

  "Really?"

  "That's the idea. I can picture you emerging

  from a wave, as part of the wave, this way.

  Understand?"

  "Yes," I said, thinking it was a very clever idea. "Just crawl in first and then I'll tell you how I

  want you to stand and so on." He went to his drawing

  table.

  Then he nodded at me and I walked around the

  papier-mache wave. I found where he had left room for me to go under and come up through the opening.

  At first, I felt a bit silly, but I did it.

  "Okay," he said and stepped away from his

  table. "Okay." He nodded, stared, thought, walked

  about and then nodded again. "Okay, this is going to

  be a bit tricky, but don't worry. We'll get it right. Go

  back down and come up very, very slowly. I just want

  to see the top of your head at first."

  I did as he asked.

  "Stop," he said when my head was visible. Very slowly now, keep coming up, yes, slower,

  stop. Perfect. Is that very uncomfortable for you?" "Yes," I admitted.

  He thought a moment and then moved quickly

  to the settee. He gathered up the big cushions and

  brought them behind the paper wave.

  "Hold that position until I stuff these pillows

  under you," he said. "Okay, you can sit there." He ran around to the front again.

  "That'll work for a while," he said. "Come on

  out and I'll explain it to you in more detail," he said. I wriggled out of the wave and took my place

  beside him. He had already drawn a sketch of the

  wave, but had left the middle undone, waiting for me. "It's hard to think of a picture, a painting, a sculpture as having movement, but this is what I have to capture here because the movement is your development, your emergence from the sea into this beautiful young woman. Your body will first appear liquid, flowing, but it will start to emerge separate from the

  wave."

  I nodded, although I wasn't sure I really understood.

  "Now," he said, pausing and turning to me,

  "you wouldn't emerge dressed in a sweatshirt and a

  pair of jeans. Do you understand what I'm trying to

  say?"

  My pulse began to throb, my heart racing at the

  thought of what he was alluding to. The idea of

  standing naked before Kenneth, whether he was my

  father or not, made me queasy.

  "Yes," I said almost too softly to be heard. "I have to have you comfortable, at ease.

  You've got to get past yourself and me and become

  part of this work, the essence of this work. Think of

  yourself as the sculpture and not as Melody Logan

  undressed in some barn, okay?"

  I nodded, weakly.

  "My shoulders are too bony and my collarbone

  sticks out too far," I complained. "I also have a patch of freckles all over here," I said, pointing to my chest

  just below my collarbone.

  Kenneth smiled.

  "I don't think that's going to be a problem for

  us, Melody, and you're far from bony. Look," he said

  more patiently, "I know it's unfair to ask you to

  achieve a professional attitude the first time you

  model for someone, and I won't expect perfection

  right away, but in time, you'll see," he said with a

  warm smile. "As hard as it is to believe, it will

  become very ordinary after a while."

  He paused and looked at the door.

  "You didn't tell anyone about this, did you?" he

  asked quickly.

  I shook my head.

  "Good."

  The realization of what he feared made me

  laugh, especially when I considered how Uncle Jacob

  had reacted to the little I had told May about a

  woman's body. Suddenly, all the fear and nervousness

  left me, as I realized that modeling for Kenneth was

  just the thing to get Uncle Jacob's goat.

  "What's so funny?" he asked, smiling. I told him about May's revelation of her first

  kiss and then her questions, and how I had described the changes a girl experiences as she matures. I explained that I had even given her some information about making a baby. And then I told him what had happened between me and Uncle Jacob when May, brought up something I had said in front of him and

  Aunt Sara.

  "I can't wait to see Uncle Jacob's face when he

  sees Neptune's Daughter," I said, still unable to keep

  the laughter from my voice.

  "Jacob's a horse's ass," Kenneth said. "He

  always was. He never had many friends and he was

  always the object of jokes and ridicule because of this

  high-and-mighty moral attitude of his, as if he were

  some sort of Old Testament prophet. Haille teased

  him a lot, too," he added with a small laugh. "She did? Will you tell me about it?"

  He sighed.

  "All right. Here's the deal. I'll tell you about the

  old days when we break for lunch or rests, if you

  promise not to ask any questions, not to talk while I

  work. Deal?" he offered.

 
; This time I seized his hand so fast, it brought a

  real laugh to his lips. Then he grew serious. "We'll do this slowly," he said, "as slowly as I

  envision it in the work itself. Just take off that sweatshirt for now. I want to see you up to here this morning," he said indicating just above my breasts. "Your face, neck, and shoulders. Model, take your position," he ordered with a smile and wave of his

  hand.

  I went behind the papier-mache wave and

  pulled off my sweatshirt. Then I crawled through the

  opening and sat on the pillows, just my head

  emerging. He began to work, and as he did, I saw his

  face become so intense, his eyes so riveting, I couldn't

  keep mine off him.

  After a while he said, "Another pillow." I understood he meant for me to put another

  sofa pillow under myself so I would come up a bit

  more. When my head was as high as he had indicated

  he wanted he continued to work on and on.

  "This is just the shape, the outline," he

  explained. "We're going to spend a lot of time

  discussing the expression on your face, how I want

  you to look, your eyes, your mouth. The best way to

  do that is to get you to think of something in your own

  past that will fit this, some event, some moment, some

  thoughts and experiences."

  "Just as I told you: art isn't in a world by itself,"

  I quipped smugly. He paused and smiled.

  "All right. Don't be a smartass," he said and we

  both laughed.

  Maybe I would be able to do this. Maybe I

  would be able to relax and help him create his greatest

  work, I thought.

  "Break," he called after nearly another hour. He

  brought me a large bath towel to drape over my

  shoulders, and put on some water for tea. The towel

  covered my shoulders and bra. I used it to wipe the

  perspiration from my face and neck.

  "It really is work just standing still," I said. He

  nodded.

  "I'd rather be on this side of the brush," he

  admitted. "You take sugar, right?"

  "Just one teaspoon, thank you."

  "You know, what you were telling me about

  May and her questions is exactly the sort of thing I'm

  after here," he said. He sat at the small table and I sat

  on a stool beside him. "She's emerging out of

  childhood into the first stages of womanhood. Can

  you recall when this first happened to you?" "Yes, I guess so."

  "What was it like?"

  "Scary and wonderful," I said. He nodded,

  obviously encouraging me to continue. I thought about it. "There were new feelings in old places." He