Dawn

by V. C. Andrews

"You just lay back and rest, Momma," I said. "I almost have the dinner all made anyway."

  "Dinner. What do we have to eat? I was going to try to pick up something tonight, see if we could charge any more on our grocery bill, but with this pregnancy and all, I clean forgot about eating."

  "We'll make do, Momma," I said. "Daddy gets paid today, so tomorrow we'll eat better."

  "I'm sorry, Dawn," she said, her face wrinkling up in preparation for her sobs again. She shook her head. "Jimmy's so mad. I can see it in his eyes. He's got Ormand's temper."

  "He's just surprised, Momma. I'll see about dinner," I repeated and went out and closed the door softly behind me, my fingers trembling on the knob.

  A baby, a little brother or sister! Where would a baby sleep? How could Momma take care of a baby? If she couldn't work, we would have even less money. Didn't grown-ups plan these things? How could they let it happen?

  I went outside to look for Jimmy and found him throwing a rubber ball against the wall in the alley. It was mid-April, so the chill was out of the air, even in the early evening. I could just make out some stars starting their entrance onto the sky. The neon lights above the doorway of Frankie's Bar and Grill at the corner had been turned on. Sometimes, on his way home on a hot day, Daddy would stop in there for a cold beer. When the door was opened and closed, the laughter and the music from the jukebox spilled out and then died quickly on the sidewalk, a sidewalk always dirtied with papers and candy wrappers and other refuse that the wind lifted out of overflowing garbage cans. I could hear two cats in heat threaten each other in an alleyway. A man was shouting curses up at another man, who leaned out a two-story window about a block south of us. The man in the window just laughed down at him.

  I turned to Jimmy. He was as tight as a fist again, and he was heaving all his anger with each and every throw of the ball.

  "Jimmy?"

  He didn't answer me.

  "Jimmy, you don't want to make Momma feel any worse than she already does, do you?" I asked him softly. He seized the ball in the air and turned on me.

  "What's the use of pretending, Dawn? One thing we definitely don't need right now is another child in the house. Look at what we're eating for dinner tonight!"

  I swallowed hard. His words were like cold rain falling on a warm campfire.

  "We don't even have hand-me-downs to give to a new baby," he continued. "We're gonna have to buy baby clothes and diapers and a crib. And babies need all sorts of lotions and creams, don't they?"

  "They do, but—"

  "Well, why didn't Daddy think of that, huh? He's off whistlin' and jawin' with those friends of his who hang around the garage, just as if he's on top of the world, and now here's this," he said, gesturing toward our building.

  Why hadn't Daddy thought of that? I wondered. I had heard of girls going all the way and becoming pregnant, but that was because they were just girls and didn't know better.

  "It just happened, I guess," I said, fishing for Jimmy to give his opinion.

  "It doesn't just happen, Dawn. A woman doesn't wake up one morning and find out she's pregnant."

  "Don't the parents plan to have it?"

  He looked at me and shook his head.

  "Daddy probably came home drunk one night and . . ."

  "And what?"

  "Oh, Dawn . . . they made the baby, that's all."

  "And didn't know they had?"

  "Well, they don't always make a baby each time they . . ." He shook his head. "You'll have to ask Momma about it. I don't know all the details," he said quickly, but I knew he did.

  "It's going to be hell to pay when Daddy gets home, Dawn," he said, shaking his head as we walked back inside. He spoke in a voice just above a whisper and gave me a fearful chill. My heart pounded in anticipation.

  Most of the time when trouble came raining down over us, Daddy would decide we had to pack up and run, but we couldn't run from this. Because I always cooked dinner, I knew better than anyone that we didn't have anything to spare for a baby. Not a cent, not a crumb.

  When Daddy arrived home from work that night, he looked a lot more tired than usual and his hands and arms were all greasy.

  "I had to pull out a car transmission and rebuild it in one day," he explained, thinking the way he looked was why Jimmy and I were staring at him so strangely. "Somethin' wrong?"

  "Ormand," Momma called. Daddy hurried into the bedroom. I busied myself with the dinner, but my heart started to pound so hard I could barely breathe. Jimmy went to the window that looked out on the north side of the street and stood staring as still as a statue. We heard Momma crying again. After a while it grew quiet and then Daddy emerged. Jimmy pivoted expectantly.

  "Well, now, you two already know, I reckon." He shook his head and looked back at the closed door behind him.

  "How we gonna manage?" Jimmy asked quickly.

  "I don't know," Daddy said, his eyes darkening. His face began to take on that mad look, his lips curling in at the corners, some whiteness of his teeth flashing through. He ran his fingers through his hair and sucked in some breath.

  Jimmy flopped down in a kitchen chair. "Other people plan kids," he muttered.

  Daddy's face flared. I couldn't believe he had said it. He knew Daddy's temper, but I recalled what Momma said: Jimmy had the same temper. Sometimes they were like two bulls with a red flag between them.

  "Don't get smart," Daddy said and headed for the door.

  "Where're you going, Daddy?" I called.

  "I need to think," he said. "Eat without me."

  Jimmy and I listened to Daddy's feet pound the hallway floor, his steps announcing the anger and turmoil in his body.

  "Eat without him, he says," Jimmy quipped. "Grits and black-eyed peas."

  "He's going to Frankie's," I predicted. Jimmy nodded in agreement and sat back, staring glumly at his plate.

  "Where's Ormand?" Momma asked, stepping out of her bedroom.

  "He went off to think, Momma," Jimmy said. "He's probably just trying to come up with a plan and needs to be alone," he added, hoping to ease her burden.

  "I don't like him going off like that," Momma complained. "It never comes to no good. You should go look for him, Jimmy."

  "Go look for him? I don't think so, Momma. He don't like it when I do that. Let's just eat and wait for him to come back." Mommy wasn't happy about it, but she sat down and I served the grits and black-eyed peas. I had added some salt and a little bit of bacon grease I had saved.

  "I'm sorry I didn't try to get us something else," Mommy said, apologizing again. "But Dawn, honey, you did real fine with this. It tastes good. Don't it, Jimmy?"

  He looked up from his bowl. I saw he hadn't been listening. Jimmy could get lost in his own thoughts for hours and hours if no one pestered him, especially when he was unhappy.

  "Huh? Oh. Yeah, this is good."

  After supper Momma sat up for a while listening to the radio and reading one of the used magazines she had brought back from the motel she worked in. The hours ticked by. Every time we heard a door slam or the sound of footsteps, we anticipated Daddy coming through the door, but it grew later and later and he didn't reappear.

  Whenever I gazed at Momma, I saw that sadness draped her face like a wet flag, heavy and hard to shake off. Finally she stood up and announced she had to go to bed. She took a deep breath, holding her hands against her chest, and headed for her bedroom.

  "I'm tired too," Jimmy said. He got up and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. I started to pull out the sofa bed, but then stopped, thinking about Momma lying in her bed, worried and frightened. In a moment I made up my mind―I opened the door quietly and left to look for Daddy.

  I hesitated outside the door of Frankie's Bar and Grill. I had never been in a bar. My hand trembled as I reached out for the doorknob, but before I could pull it, the door swung open and a pale-skinned woman with too much lipstick and rouge on her face stepped out. She had cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. She paused
when she saw me and smile. I saw she had teeth missing toward the back of her mouth.

  "Why, what you doing coming in here, honey? This ain't no place for someone as young as you."

  "I'm looking for Ormand Longchamp," I replied.

  "Never heard of him," she said. "You don't stay in there long, honey. It ain't a place for kids," she added and walked past me, the stale odor of cigarettes and beer floating in her wake. I watched her for a moment and then entered Frankie's.

  I had seen into it once in a while whenever someone opened the door, and I knew there was a long bar on the right with mirrors and shelves covered with liquor bottles. I saw the fans in the ceiling aid the sawdust on the dirty brown wood slab floor. I had never seen the tables to the left.

  A couple of men at the end of the bar turned my way when I stepped in. One smiled, the other just stared. The bartender, a short stout bald-headed man, was leaning against the wall. He had his arms folded across his chest.

  "What do you want?" he asked, coming down the bar.

  "I'm looking for Ormand Longchamp," I said. "I thought he might be in here." A glance down the bar didn't produce him.

  "He joined the army," someone quipped.

  "Shut up," the bartender snapped. Then he turned back to me. "He's over there," he said and gestured with his head toward the tables on the left. I looked and saw Daddy slumped over a table, but I was afraid to walk farther into the bar and grill. "You can wake him up and take him home," the bartender advised.

  Some of the men at the bar spun around to watch me as if it were the evening's entertainment.

  "Let her be," the bartender commanded.

  I walked between the tables until I reached Daddy. He had his head on his arms. There were five empty bottles of beer on the table and another nearly emptied. A glass with just a little beer in it was in front of the bottle.

  "Daddy," I said softly. He didn't budge. I looked back at the bar and saw that even the men who had continued to watch me had lost interest. "Daddy," I repeated a little louder. He stirred, but didn't lift his head. I poked him gently on the arm. "Daddy." He grunted and then slowly lifted his head.

  "What?"

  "Daddy, please come home now," I said. He wiped his eyes and gazed at me.

  "What . . . What are you doing here, Dawn?" he asked quickly.

  "Momma went to bed a while ago, but I know she's just lying there awake waiting for you, Daddy."

  "You shouldn't come in a place like this," he said sharply, making me jump.

  "I didn't want to come, Daddy, but—"

  "All right, all right," he said. "I guess I can't do nothing right these days," he added, shaking his head.

  "Just come home, Daddy. Everything will be all right."

  "Yeah, yeah," he said. He gazed at his beer a moment and then pushed back from the table. "Let's get you outta here. You shouldn't be here," he repeated. He started to stand and then sat down hard.

  He looked down at the bottles of beer again and then put his hand in his pocket and took out his billfold. He counted it quickly and shook his head.

  "Lost track of what I spent," he said, more to himself than to me, but when he said it, it sent a cold chill down my back.

  "How much did you spend, Daddy?"

  "Too much," he moaned. "Afraid we won't be eating all that well this week, either," he concluded. He pushed himself away from the table again and stood up. "Come on," he said. Daddy didn’t walk straight until we reached the door.

  "Sleep tight!" one of the men at the bar called. Daddy didn't acknowledge him. He opened the door and we stepped out. I was never so happy to confront fresh air again. The musty smell of the bar had turned my stomach. Why would Daddy even want to walk in there, much less spend time there? I wondered. Daddy appreciated the fresh air, too, and took some deep breaths.

  "I don't like you going in a place like that," he said, walking. He stopped suddenly and looked at me, shaking his head. "You're smarter and better than the rest of us, Dawn. You deserve better."

  "I'm not better than anybody else, Daddy," I protested, but he had said all he was going to, and we continued to our apartment. When we opened the door, we found Jimmy already in the pullout bed, the covers drawn so high, they nearly covered his face. He didn't turn our way. Daddy went right to his bedroom, and I crawled under the covers with Jimmy, who stirred.

  "You went to Frankie's and got him?" he asked in a whisper.

  "Yes."

  "If I had been the one, he'd be furious," he said. "No, he wouldn't, Jimmy, he'd . . ."

  I stopped because we heard Momma moan. Then we heard what sounded like Daddy laughing. A moment later there was the distinct sound of the bedsprings. Jimmy and I knew what that meant. In our close quarters we had grown used to the sounds people often make whenever they make love. Of course, when we were younger, we didn't know what it meant, but when we learned, we pretended that we didn't hear it.

  Jimmy drew the blanket up toward his ears again, but I was confused and a bit fascinated.

  "Jimmy," I whispered.

  "Go to sleep, Dawn," he pleaded.

  "But, Jimmy, how can they—"

  "Just go to sleep, will you?"

  "I mean, Momma's pregnant. Can they still . . . ?" Jimmy didn't respond. "Isn't it dangerous?"

  Jimmy turned toward me abruptly.

  "Will you stop asking those kind of questions?"

  "But I thought you might know. Boys usually know more than girls," I said.

  "Well, I don't know," he replied. "Okay? So shut up." He turned his back to me again.

  It quieted down in Momma and Daddy's room, but I couldn't stop wondering. I wished I had an older sister who wouldn't be embarrassed with my questions. I was too embarrassed to ask Momma about these things because I didn't want her to think Jimmy and I were eavesdropping.

  My leg grazed Jimmy's, and he pulled away as if I had burned him. Then he slid over to his end of the bed until he was nearly off. I shifted as far over to mine as I could, too. Then I closed my eyes and tried to think of other things.

  As I was falling asleep, I thought of that woman who had come to the bar door just as I was about to open it to enter. She was smiling down at me, her lips twisted and rubbery, her teeth yellow and the cigarette smoke twirling up and over her bloodshot eyes.

  I was so glad I had managed to get Daddy home.

  2

  FERN

  One afternoon during the first week of Momma's ninth month while I was preparing dinner and Jimmy was struggling over some homework on the kitchen table, we heard Momma scream. We rushed into the bedroom and found her clutching her stomach.

  "What is it, Momma?" I asked, my heart pounding. "Momma!" Momma reached out and seized my hand.

  "Call for an ambulance," she said through her clenched teeth. We didn't have a telephone in the apartment and had to use the pay phone on the corner. Jimmy shot out the door.

  "Is this supposed to happen, Momma?" I asked her. She simply shook her head and moaned again, her fingernails pressing so hard and so sharply into my skin, they nearly caused me to bleed. She bit down on her lower lip. The pain came again and again. Her face turned a pale, sickly yellow.

  "The hospital is sending an ambulance," Jimmy announced after charging back in.

  "Did you call your daddy?" Momma asked Jimmy through her clenched teeth. The pain wouldn't let go.

  "No," he replied. "I'll go do it, Momma."

  "Tell him to go directly to the hospital," she ordered.

  It seemed to take forever and ever for the ambulance to come. They put Momma on a stretcher and carried her out. I tried to squeeze her hand before they closed the door, but the attendant forced me back. Jimmy stood beside me, his hands on his hips, his shoulders heaving with his deep, excited breaths.

  The sky was ominously dark and it had begun to rain a colder, harder rain than we had been having. There was even some lightning across the bruised, charcoal-gray clouds. The gloom dropped a chill over me, and I shuddered and embr
aced myself as the ambulance attendants got in and started away.

  "Come on," Jimmy said. "We'll catch the bus on Main Street."

  He grabbed my hand and we ran. When we got off the bus at the hospital, we went directly to the emergency room and found Daddy speaking with a tall doctor with dark brown hair and cold, stern green eyes. Just as we reached them, we heard the doctor say, "The baby's turned wrong and we need to operate on your wife. We can't wait much longer. Just follow me to sign some papers and we'll get right to it, sir."

  Jimmy and I watched Daddy walk off with the doctor, and then we sat on a bench in the hall.

  "It's stupid," Jimmy suddenly muttered, "stupid to have a baby now:"

  "Don't say that, Jimmy," I chided. His words made my own fears crash in upon me like waves.

  "Well, I don't want a baby who threatens Momma's life, and I don't want a baby who'll make our lives more miserable," he snapped, but he didn't say anything more about it when Daddy returned. I don't know how long we had been sitting there waiting before the doctor finally appeared again, but Jimmy had fallen asleep against me. As soon as we set eyes on the doctor, we sat up. Jimmy's eyelids fluttered open, and he searched the doctor's expression as frantically as I did.

  "Congratulations, Mr. Longchamp," the doctor said, "you've got a seven pound, fourteen ounce baby girl." He extended his hand and Daddy shook it. "Well, I'll be darned. And my wife?"

  "She's in the recovery room. She had a hard time, Mr. Longchamp. Her blood count was a little lower than we like, so she's going to need to be built up."

  "Thank you, Doctor. Thank you," Daddy said, still pumping his hand. The doctor's lips moved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

  After we went up to maternity, all three of us gazed down at the tiny pink face wrapped in a white blanket. Baby Longchamp had her fingers curled. They looked no bigger than the fingers on my first doll. She had a patch of black hair, the same color and richness as Jimmy's and Momma's hair and not a sign of a freckle. That was a disappointment.

  It took Momma longer than we expected to get back on her feet after she came home. Her weakened condition made her susceptible to a bad cold and a deep bronchial cough, and she couldn't breast-feed like she had planned, so we had another expense—formula.