Heartsong

  "Upstairs with Dad," he replied. His eyes

  searched my face. "You all right?" I started to nod and then stopped and said, "No." Cary glanced at May and then back at me.

  "Want to go for a walk?" he asked. "We can get some ice cream in town or--"

  "I'd rather just walk on the beach, Cary, and then go to bed early tonight," I replied.

  He nodded and signed to May to ask her to run up and tell Aunt Sara we were all going for a walk. She jumped to her feet and hurried upstairs. Cary took my hand and we went outside to wait for May. The sky had become overcast, not a star in sight. There was a strong breeze coming from the northeast. I laughed to myself, thinking that the people I knew back in West Virginia would be so impressed with my knowledge of weather systems, they would start calling me The Weather Girl of Sewell.

  "Why are you smiling?" Cary asked.

  "I was just thinking about people back home and how different I would seem to them now," I said.

  "I wish you thought of this as your home," Cary said softly. "It's the only place you have any real family, the only place where someone who really cares about you lives."

  I didn't reply, even though I felt his eyes on me and my heart had warmed with his soft words. Instead, I looked out over the dark blue-black ocean that seemed to flow into the sky. Terns, barely visible, looking more like ghost birds, called to each other. To me there was a note of desperation, fear in their cries. It was as if they were afraid they would lose each other forever in the darkness.

  Off in the distance, I saw the lights of a tanker just emerging on the horizon. It looked so small and far away. The sea is a place for people who don't mind being alone, I thought, for people who actually crave being away from the din and clatter of society. Out there, the sky must be overwhelming at night and make one feel either tiny and insignificant or part of something much bigger than anything one could experience on the shore.

  "I'd like to go for a real sea trip one day, Cary." "You mean like overnight, days?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay," he said. "When?"

  "Someday," I said with a smile.

  "Something very, very serious is happening, isn't it, Melody?" he asked in shaky voice.

  I nodded just as May came out to join us. I took her hand and the three of us began our familiar walk over the sand. Although it was harder to see it because of the thickening darkness, the ocean was just as loud, if not louder, than ever.

  "Looks like a storm, but it's not," Cary said. "These clouds will all be gone before morning."

  "Nevertheless, it's a bad night for astrologers," I said.

  "What?"

  "People who read the stars to tell your future." I explained.

  "Oh, you mean like your new friend Holly?"

  "Yes."

  "She read your future lately?" he asked in a timid voice.

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  "She predicted a big change involving family and she was right"

  As we continued along the beach, I told him about my discussion with Grandma Olivia and what she had suggested, or rather, what she had demanded, backing it all up with threats. Cary was astounded.

  "She wants you to live with them?"

  "I think she can make a lot of trouble for everyone if she doesn't get her way."

  "I'll go talk to her tomorrow," he said firmly. "She can't run everyone's lives."

  "No, Cary. I don't want to be the cause of any more family turmoil."

  We plodded on in silence for a while and then Cary turned back to me.

  "What's Kenneth going to say about it?"

  "I don't know. I'll tell him in the morning."

  "Then you've made up your mind?" Cary asked, stopping. I felt May's grip tighten. We had told her nothing, but she surely sensed the tension in my fingers.

  "Maybe I can do more good this way, good for Grandma Belinda, too. I think Grandma Olivia and I have reached an understanding. We're like two pit bulls who've faced each other, claimed our own territory, and backed away. Besides, she's not all wrong about men," I said with some bitterness. "Judge Childs, my grandfather, wasn't exactly thinking about how his actions would affect people he supposedly loved. I feel sorry for him now, but I don't approve of what he did. Every time I think of Kenneth's face when he described what happened with my mother, I get a little sick about it all. Kenneth blames him for my mother's bad behavior, for everything. It's terrible for a son and a father to be so estranged. I don't want anything like that to happen between you and Uncle Jacob, Cary."

  "It won't. It doesn't have to happen if you stay here, either," he said.

  "It might. And then in the end, you would only hate me for it."

  "I would never--"

  "Besides," I offered, "you and I will probably have an easier time-seeing each other this way. We would actually go on dates."

  He thought about it and I saw that pleased him. We walked on until we came to a small hill, spotted with scrub bushes. We all sat there a while, the wind making my and May's hair dance over our foreheads and faces. She laughed about it as we brushed the strands away from each other's eyes.

  "May's not going to understand your moving out," Cary said.

  "I'll explain it to her somehow so she doesn't feel terrible about it."

  "She'll miss you almost as much as I will," he warned.

  "You'll bring her to see me and she'll spend lots of time there."

  "It won't be the same for her. She's never been comfortable at Grandma Olivia's. She's always afraid of breaking something valuable or tracking in dirt."

  "I'll see to it that she's more comfortable there," I assured him.

  "You're not thinking you will change Grandma Olivia, are you, Melody?" Cary asked with a smile. "You never know," I said and he laughed.

  "I swear you have more blind faith than Laura had and that's saying a lot, too."

  May stood up and went to fetch something in the sand. While she was away, Cary leaned over and kissed me softly on the lips.

  "It's going to be hard for me not having you right across the hall, Melody," he whispered.

  "I won't be far away," I promised and he kissed me again.

  May returned with what looked like a girl's light brown shoe. The discovery excited her and she handed it to Cary and signed questions quickly. He shook his head.

  "Someone could have lost it running on the beach," he explained. Turning to me, he added, "She thinks it comes from a boat that sank, but the ocean doesn't give up its treasures that easily," he remarked. May wanted to keep it. However, Cary didn't want her to have it, calling it garbage. "In the back of her mind," he muttered, "she thinks it's a gift from Laura. She's always expecting some sign to prove her sister hasn't forgotten her."

  "It's not a bad thing to hope for, Cary," I told him, but he shook his head.

  "It's useless and painful. It's better we don't give her any encouragement," he insisted.

  Reluctantly, May left the shoe and we walked on, making a circle before returning to the house. Aunt Sara was downstairs preparing tea and some biscuits for Uncle Jacob. I told Cary I wanted to hold off telling her about my discussion with Grandma Olivia.

  "Grandma Olivia will probably tell her herself," Cary said, and sure enough, Aunt Sara revealed that Grandma Olivia had called to say she was coming to visit again tomorrow.

  "Two days in a row. Isn't that nice?" she added.

  Neither Cary nor I said anything, suspecting the real reasons for the visit. May was tired, so we went upstairs and I helped her get ready for bed. I watched her sign and mouth her prayers and then kissed her cheek and fixed her blanket. As I started away, she seized my hand and told me she had a secret. I watched as she described how she was going back tomorrow to get that shoe and put it with the other things she had found on the beach. They were all in a box in her closet and she had shown them to no one but me. I promised I wouldn't tell Cary. All of us, especially little girls, needed someone to trust, someone with whom we could share o
ur deepest secrets. She looked relieved, happy, and wished me a good night.

  I lay awake for a long time, listening to the sounds in the house. The wind died down just as Cary had predicted it would. I could hear Aunt Sara's and Uncle Jacob's muffled voices. They sounded like ghosts in the walls. After a while, they were silent and there was nothing but the creaks in the floors and ceilings. One of those creaks grew louder and then I heard my door open and close. Cary's silhouette moved quickly to the side of my bed where he knelt. My heart was pounding.

  "Cary, if your father knows you've come in here--."

  "Shh," he said, putting his fingers on my lips. "I can't sleep. I keep thinking I'm going to lose you."

  "You won't," I said. His fingers moved over my chin and down my neck. I could feel the thump, thump, thump of my heart chasing my blood through my veins. My body began to tingle in all my secret places. Cary lifted the blanket away and brought his face closer, laying his cheek on my stomach and then bringing his lips up to kiss the small valley between my breasts.

  "Cary," I whispered weakly. His left hand moved down over my shoulders and across my breasts to my stomach. He rose gently and slipped in under my blanket. The bed springs groaned and we both froze because it sounded so loud. "Cary, you better--"

  "Let me just lie beside you for a while," he pleaded. I tried to back away, but it was as if there were two voices inside me: the voice of my body that wanted his touch and the voice of my conscience that clamored for me to be good. Soon, my body's voice grew louder, drowning out the warnings and the pleading. I felt my resistance crumble. His lips found mine. We kissed and held each other tightly. His hand was on my thigh, inching toward the hem of my nightgown.

  Weakly, I urged him to stop, but it was as if I wanted to stifle my own voice; there was barely any force behind my words. It wasn't until I felt him between my legs that an electric chill of panic shot down my spine.

  "Just let me get close to you, please," he begged. My resistance collapsed like a sand castle at high tide and he was pressing forward. The bed groaned again and then we heard a door open and close in the hallway.

  Cary and I became paralyzed, both of us hardly breathing. There was a gentle knock. Cary slid quickly off the bed and to the floor. The door opened and Aunt Sara appeared.

  "Melody, dear, are you still awake?" she called in a loud whisper.

  I didn't speak, but she stood there, silhouetted in the hall light.

  "I just--felt bad about not getting to speak to you after you returned from Olivia's," she muttered, more to herself than to me. I remained silent, actually holding my breath. My heart drummed so loudly, I thought she would feel the vibrations if she didn't hear the beat.

  But after another minute, she backed out and closed the door softly.

  Neither Cary nor I moved for a long moment. Then he got back into bed with me and started to caress me again. I put my hand over his and stopped him. "You better go back to your room, Cary."

  He moaned.

  "Please. I'm too frightened."

  "All right," he said.

  "Be careful she doesn't see you leave, or your father hear you in the hallway."

  "I will," he said, his voice dripping with disappointment. He leaned over to kiss me goodnight. I love you, Melody," he said. "I really do."

  "I know," I said. It sounded almost sad. I hadn't meant it to sound that way, but it made him hesitate. "You love me, too, don't you, Melody?"

  "Yes," I said, truly believing I did. It felt more like love than anything I had ever felt for any other boy, and no one had become a part of me as quickly as Cary had.

  "I don't trust my grandmother," he said before leaving. "She probably knows how we feel about each other and she wants to do something to stop it."

  "She can't," I said. "Not even she is that powerful."

  Through the darkness I could see him smile, his face was that bright with happiness at my response.

  "Good night," he said again and quietly slipped out of my room.

  I waited, holding my breath, hoping and praying neither Uncle Jacob nor Aunt Sara caught him leaving. The silence continued and I let out my trapped breath.

  Maybe moving into Grandma Olivia's wasn't such a bad idea after all, I thought.

  Something had to put the brakes on this roller coaster Cary and I were riding. I had just proved to myself that I certainly couldn't.

  To calm my raging blood, I practiced the meditation techniques Holly had taught me and soon I found the doorway to sleep.

  Once again it was Holly instead of Kenneth who came for me in the morning. Cary was already off to work and May to school. Aunt Sara was on her way upstairs to bring Uncle Jacob a second cup of coffee and the morning paper.

  "I've got a lot to do today," she told me. "Olivia always looks at the house through a microscope and she'll be here before lunch."

  "You have your hands full with Uncle Jacob, and besides, few people take as good care of their home as you do. She has no right to pass judgment anyway. She has a housekeeper and probably never lifted a broom in her life."

  "Oh no. When she was younger, she had to do all the housework because her father wouldn't employ a maid, and Belinda--"

  She stopped and bit down on her lower lip, realizing she was about to violate her own rule: if you can't say something nice about someone, don't say anything.

  Holly beeped her horn and I knew it was she who had come for me because her horn sounded like a goose with laryngitis. This time I was more definite about my promise to be home early enough to help with dinner and then I left the house. Holly was wearing half moon silver earrings that dangled nearly to her shoulders and a shimmery tank top and a dark blue full-length skirt with sandals. Her toenails were neon pink.

  "He slept in the studio if he slept at all," she muttered as I got into the car. "I didn't realize he hadn't come to bed until I woke this morning. Either he's hypnotized himself or the sculpture has possessed him. Artists," she said raising her eyes. "When they get hooked on their own work, they're worse than those monks who take vows of silence. But," she added, turning to me, "I must admit I've never seen him so taken with anything else he's done."

  She blinked and took another look at me.

  "What's with you this morning? You look as serious as a truck driver with hemorrhoids."

  "I've got to make some very important decisions," I said.

  "Oh? Well, I told you that your day of birth indicates you possess an imaginative mind coupled with excellent powers of observation. Don't trust too much to luck. Depend more on your own intuitive vision."

  "Luck," I said with a laugh. "Whatever I bet on is sure to lose."

  "Don't be down on yourself. Remember what I said about negative energy," Holly warned. "Your personal planets are Saturn and Uranus," she continued. "Under favorable influences, it's good for seeking favors from elderly people, but use tact and diplomacy instead of force.

  "And under unfavorable influences?" I asked. She nodded.

  "Postpone change and long journeys."

  "Is it a favorable or unfavorable time?" I asked. "I'll study my charts and let you know later," she promised.

  Holly was so serious about her beliefs, I couldn't laugh. Who knew? Maybe there was some truth to it.

  Kenneth was in the studio when we arrived, but I wasn't prepared for what he looked like when I entered. He was pale and drained, his beard scraggly and his cheeks and neck unshaven. His clothes were wrinkled and looked slept in. His eyes were distant, bloodshot, the eyes of someone who was looking beyond everything that stood before him. He barely muttered a good morning when I greeted him.

  I saw he had made considerable progress on the sculpture, especially with the face. It was becoming the face in the drawings, the face of my mother, more than it was my face. There was that slight turn in the upper lip that Mommy had, especially when she was being coy.

  Kenneth's hands did have miraculous artistic power, I thought. As I gazed at the work in progress, I felt t
he movement. It was almost as if the stone girl would become flesh and blood at any moment and pull herself up and out of the base. Under his surgical fingers, the marble looked malleable, easier to form than clay. The figure's shoulders and face already showed skin-like texture, down to the way it rippled over the embossed cheekbones and breastbone. Perhaps, I thought, an artist was a person born with more life in him than other people and he puts some of that life into the work itself, diminishing himself every time he creates something as great as this, until one day, he is just an ordinary man surrounded by his creations, but comforted by the thought that he could never die as long as his work lived.

  How was I to compete with this for his attention and love? I wondered.

  "Did you have any breakfast yet, Kenneth?" I asked. For a while I thought he either hadn't heard me or didn't care to reply. Then he paused and looked at me.

  "I had some coffee and a piece of something," he said.

  "Piece of something?"

  "A doughnut, I think." He thought another moment. "Or was that yesterday?" He shrugged and looked at his sculpture.

  "Grandma Olivia sent for me last night, Kenneth, because your father told her what he had told me."

  "Oh?" He brushed off the left earlobe on the sculpture and stepped back to study the face of Neptune's Daughter. "Just a minute," he said. "I want to check something."

  I thought he was going to look at me to compare, but instead, he went to his drawings. He nodded to himself and wiped his hands on a rag.

  "What were you saying about Olivia?"

  "She sent for me because Judge Childs told her about our conversation."

  "What did she want?"

  "She wanted to be sure I told no one. She's afraid of a new scandal and she is so concerned about it that she wants--she practically ordered, I should say--me to come live with her and Grandpa Samuel. She forbade me to live with you."

  Kenneth stared at me and, just when I thought he was going to say something, turned back to his drawing.

  "The way you just raised your right eyebrow," he said, "I never saw you do that. It's interesting. It sort of indicates some mature insight. I like it, but Haille never did that," he muttered more to himself than to me.