Dollenganger 04 Seeds of Yesterday (23 page)

"Happy days?" she asked bitterly. "Have you forgotten all the nasty, mean things Bart did to me? Maybe I wasn't locked up, starved or beaten, but I've had my problems, and don't think I haven't. Bart makes me feel so unsure about my femininity that I have to test all the boys I meet . . . I just can't help it."
We were at that time in her bedroom, while Bart was downstairs.
I stepped forward to take Cindy into my arms. "Don't cry, darling. I do understand how you must feel. But you must try to understand how parents feel about their daughters. Your father and I want only the best for you., We don't want you to be hurt. Let this experience with Lance teach you a lesson, and hold back until you are eighteen and able to reason with . . .more maturity. Hold out longer than that if you can. When you grab at sex too soon, it has a way of biting back and giving you exactly what you don't want. It did that to me, and I've heard you say a thousand times you want a stage and film career, and husbands and babies have to wait. Many a girl has been thwarted by a baby that started because of
uncontrollable passion. Be careful before committing yourself to anyone. Don't fall in love too soon, for when you do you make yourself vulnerable to so many unforeseen events. Give romance a try without sex, Cindy, and save yourself all the pain of giving too much too soon."
Her arms were tight about me, her eyes turned soft and told me we were again mother and daughter.
Later Cindy and I stood side by side downstairs, watching everything whiten with snow, grow misty with distance, cruelly isolating us even more from the rest of the world. "Now all roads from Charlottesville will be blocked," I said tonelessly to Cindy. "What's more, Melodie is acting so strangely she makes me fear for the good health of her child. Jory's staying in his room as if he doesn't want to encounter her, or any of us. Bart saunters around like he owns all of us as well as the house. Oh, I wish Chris were here. I hate it when he's gone."
I turned to find Cindy staring at me with a kind of wonderment. She flushed when she met my eyes. When I asked why, she murmured, "I just wonder sometimes how the two of you hang on to what you have, when I fall in and out of love so often. Momma, someday you've got to tell me how to make a man really love me, and not just my body. I wish boys would look first into my eyes like Daddy looks into yours; I wish they'd look at my face at least once in a while, for it's not an ugly face, but they all stare at my boobs. I wish their eyes would follow me around like Jory's follow Melodie . . ."
Cindy put her arm around me and buried her face against my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Momma, really so sorry I caused all that trouble last night. Thank you for not scolding me more than you did. I've been thinking about what you said, and you're right. Lance has paid a heavy price, and I should have known better." Pleadingly she gazed into my eyes. "Momma, I was serious, all the girls at school started way back when they were eleven, twelve and thirteen, and I love Lance. And I held back, although all the boys chased after me more than they did the others. The girls thought I was doing it when I wasn't. I pretended to be really with it, but then one day I heard some boys comparing notes and they were all saying they hadn't scored all the way with me. They talked as if I were some kind of freak--or maybe a lesbian. That's when I decided I'd let Lance have his way this Christmas. The special gift I had for him."
I stared at her hard, wondering if she told all the truth, as she went on to tell me she was the only girl in her group to hold out until sixteen, and that was really old for a girl in today's world. "Please don't be ashamed, for if you are, then I'll be. I've wanted to do it since I was twelve but held back because of what you said. But you've got to understand that what I did with Lance wasn't casual. I love him. And for a while, before you and Bart came in . . . it felt . . . felt . . . so good."
What could I say now?
I had my own willful youth clearly tucked in a memory closet, ready to jump forward and put the vision of Paul before me . . . and the way I'd wanted him to teach me all the ways of love, especially when my first experience with sex had been so devastating, filling me with the kind of guilt that even now I could cry to look up at the moon that had seen Chris's sin, and mine.
About six Chris called to say he'd been trying to reach me all day but the lines had been down. "You'll be seeing me Christmas Eve," he said cheerfully. "I've hired a snowplow to precede me to the Hall, and I'll be right behind. How are things going?"
"Fine, just fine," I lied, telling him Lance's father had fallen down the stairs and he had to fly home immediately. Then I rattled on and on, saying we were all set for Christmas, gifts wrapped, tree up, but Melodie was, as usual, clinging to her rooms as if they offered her the only sanctuary in the world.
"Cathy," said Chris in a tight voice, "how nice it would be if you'd only level with me on occasion. Lance didn't fly home. All the planes are grounded. Lance is, at this moment, not ten feet away from this very phone booth. He came to me and confessed everything. I took care of his broken nose, his other wounds, and cursed Bart all the time. That boy is a mess."
Early the next morning, we heard on the radio that all roads to the village and the nearest city were snowed under. Travelers were warned to stay home. We kept the radio on all day, listening to the weathermen who seemed to control our lives. "Never before has there been a winter more dramatic than this one," went the singsong male voice, extolling the virtues of weather. "Records are being broken . . ."
Hour by miserable hour Cindy and I stood at the windows, with Jory often joining us to stare as we did at the snow coming down with relentless determination to isolate us.
Behind my eyes I saw the four of us, locked in that room, whispering about Santa Claus and telling the twins that surely he would find us. Chris had written him a letter. Oh, the pity of those little twins waking up on Christmas morning, not even
remembering the good times that had gone on before.
Hearing Jory cough brought me back to the present. Every few minutes Jory suffered through paroxysms of racking coughs. I glanced at him fearfully.
Soon he was heading his chair for his room, saying he could put himself back into bed. I wanted to go with him but knew he wanted to do all he could for himself.
"I'm beginning to hate this place," grumbled Cindy. "Now Jory's got a cold. That's why I brought Lance home with me, knowing it would be this. I was hoping every night we'd have a party, and being slightly drunk would take away the pall of living under the shadows of Bart and that creepy old Joel. I was expecting Lance to keep me happy while I was here. Now I've got no one but you, Momma. Jory seems so aloof and alone, and he thinks I'm too young to understand his problems. Melodie never says anything to me, or anybody. Bart stalks around like the grim reaper--and that old man sends shivers up my spine. We don't have any friends. No one ever calls unexpectedly. We're all alone, getting on each other's nerves. And it's Christmas. I'm looking forward to that ball Bart says he's throwing. At least that would give me the chance to meet some people and brush off the moss I feel creeping up my legs."
Suddenly Bart was there, yelling at Cindy. "You don't have to stay. You're just the bastard my mother had to have."
Cindy blushed deeply red. "Are you trying to hurt me again, jerk? You can't hurt me
now!
I'm through with that!"
"Don't you ever call me jerk again, bastard!"
"CREEP, JERK, CREEP, JERK!" she taunted, backing up and dodging behind chairs and tables, deliberately baiting him to give chase, and in this way, give her dull day a bit of excitement.
"Cindy!" I stormed, furious now. "How dare you talk to Bart that way? Now, say you're sorry . . . say it!"
"No, I won't say it, for I'm not sorry!" she yelled not at me but at Bart. "He's a brute, a maniac, a crazy, and he's trying to drive us all as batty as he is!"
"STOP!" I yelled, seeing Bart's face go very pale.
Then he lunged forward and caught her by her hair. She tried to run, but he had her held too securely. I rushed forward to prevent him from striking her by clinging onto his free arm. Above her he towered. "If you ever so much as speak to me again, little girl, you'll rue the day. You're very proud of your body, of your hair, of your face. One more insult and you'll hide in closets and break all the mirrors."
His deadly tone of voice said he was serious. I moved to help Cindy stand. "Bart, you don't mean that. All your life you've tormented 'Cindy. Can you blame her for wanting her revenge?"
"You take her side, after what she said to me?"
"Say you're sorry, Cindy," I pleaded, turning to her. Then I turned appealing eyes on Bart. "You say it, too, please."
Indecision flashed in Bart's fiery dark eyes as he saw how upset I was, but it vanished the moment Cindy screamed out, "NO! I'm
not
sorry! And I'm not afraid of him! You're just as creepy and senile as that old jerk who wanders around muttering to himself. Boy, do you have a thing for old men! Maybe that's your hang-up,
brother!"
"Cindy!" I whispered, very much shocked, "apologize to Bart."
"Never, never, NEVER!--not after what he did to Lance!"
The anger on Bart's face frightened me.
Just then Joel ambled into the room. He stood with his long arms crossed over his chest and met Bart's fiery eyes.
^-
"Son . . . let it go. The Lord sees and hears all and, in time, wreaks his own justice. She's a child like a bird chirping in the trees, led by instincts that know nothing of morality. She acts, speaks, moves, all without thinking. She's nothing compared to you, Bart. Nothing but a hank of hair, a bone and a rag--you are born to lead."
As if transfixed, Bart's anger simmered down. He followed Joel from the room without looking our way. To see Bart follow that old man so obediently and without question filled my head with fresh fears. How had Joel gained such control?
Cindy fell into my arms and began to cry. "Momma, what's wrong with me, with Bart? Why do I say such hateful things to hurt him
⁹
Why does he say them to me? I want to hurt Bart. I want to pay him back for every ugly thing he's done to hurt me."
In my arms she sobbed out her anxieties until she was limp.
In many ways Cindy reminded me of myself, so eager to love and be loved, to live a full, exciting life even before she was mature enough to accept the emotional responsibilities.
I sighed and held her closer. Someday, somehow, all family problems would be resolved. I held to that belief, praying that Chris would come home soon.

As it had in the past, Christmas Eve arrived with its charm and festive peace to reign over troubled spirits and gave even Foxworth Hall its own beauty. The snow still fell, but it was not so wild and wind driven. In our favorite room for getting together, Bart and Cindy, with Jory directing, were decorating the gigantic Christmas tree. Cindy was up on a ladder on one side, Bart was on the second ladder, as Jory sat in his wheelchair, fiddling with strings of lights meant for our door wreaths. Decorators were working in other rooms to make them festive enough for the hundreds of guests Bart expected to entertain at the ball. He was terribly excited. To see him happy and laughing added joy to my heart, especially when Chris came in the door loaded down with all he'd purchased at the last moment, as was his customary
procrastinating way.

I ran to greet him with hungry arms and eager kisses that Bart couldn't see from his position behind the tree. "Whatever took you so long?" I asked, and he laughed, indicating the beautifully wrapped gifts.

"Out in the car I've got more," he said with a happy smile. "I know what you're thinking, that I should do my shopping earlier, but I never seem to find the time. Then all of a sudden it's Christmas Eve, and I end up paying twice as much, but you're going to be very pleased--and if you're not, don't tell me."

Melodic was crouched down on a low stool near the fireplace in the salon just off the foyer, looking miserable. In fact, when I studied her more closely she appeared to be in pain. "Are you all right, Melodie?" I asked. She nodded to say she was fine, and I foolishly took her word for that. When Chris questioned her, she stood and denied anything was wrong. She threw Bart an imploring glance he didn't see, and then she was heading for the back stairs. In her shapeless, dull- colored garment, she seemed a drab thing that had aged ten years since July. Jory, who always kept a close eye on Melodic, turned to watch her drift away, a terrible haunted sadness in his eyes that stole his pleasure from the happy occupation at hand. The string of lights slid from his lap to entangle the wheels of his chair. He didn't notice, only sat with clenched fists, as if he'd like to smash Fate in the face for taking away the use of his marvelous body, and in so doing stealing from him the woman he loved.

On the way to the stairs, Chris stopped to clap Jory heartily on the back. "You're looking fit and healthy. And don't worry about Melodic. It's normal for a woman in the last trimester-to become irritable and moody. So would you if you were carrying around all that extra weight."

"She could at least speak to me occasionally," complained Jory, "or look at me. She doesn't even cozy up to Bart anymore."

I looked at him with alarm. Could he know that only a short while ago Bart and Melodie had been lovers? I didn't believe they were anymore, and that was the true explanation of Melodie's miserable state. I tried to read his eyes, but he lowered his lids and pretended to be interested in decorating the tree again.

Long ago Chris and I had established a tradition of opening at least one gift on Christmas Eve. When night came, Chris and I sat alone in the best of our downstairs salons, toasting one another with champagne. We lifted our glasses high. "To all our tomorrows together," he said with his warm eyes full of love and happiness. I repeated the same words before Chris handed me my "special" gift. I opened the small jewelry box to find a two-carat pear-shaped diamond suspended on a fine gold chain.

"Now, don't object and say you don't like jewelry," Chris said hastily when I just stared at the object that glittered and refracted rainbow colors. "Our mother never wore anything like this. I really wanted to buy you opera-length pearls like the ones she used to wear, because I think they are both elegant and understated. But knowing you, I forgot the pearls and settled for this beautiful diamond. It's tear-shaped, Cathy--for all the tears I would have cried inside if you had never let me love you."