Cutler - Midnight Whipsers Part 16

"To tell Aunt Bet. She can't know about this.

It's obscene," I said.

"What's obscene mean?"

"Just go back to your room and wait for me," I said. I hurried downstairs and found Aunt Bet talking on the telephone. Uncle Philip was out meeting some contractors who were going to work on the rebuilding of the hotel. She saw me standing there and put her hand over the mouthpiece.

"Christie, what is it?" she asked. "I'm on the phone."

"I've got to tell you something immediately.

You've got to go upstairs," I said.

"Oh dear, what is it now? Just a minute. Louise, I have a minor crisis here. Yes, another one. I'll phone you back shortly. Thank you." She cradled the receiver and pressed her lips together to show her annoyance. "Yes?"

"It's Melanie and Richard, they're taking a bath."

"So?"

"Together. They're in the bathtub together.

Right now," I added for emphasis.

"So. They've always done things together; they're unique; they're twins," she said.

"But they're twelve years old, almost thirteen and . . ."

"Oh, I see. You think there's something perverted and dirty about it." She nodded as if confirming a suspicion. "Well the twins are special. They're very bright and very devoted to each other. Neither would ever do anything to hurt or embarra.s.s the other. It's just natural; they were formed together in my womb and lived side by side for nine months. Why, I even fed them together, one on each breast. I think there's something spiritual about it."

"But you said you wanted to move Richard into Jefferson's room so Melanie could have the privacy she needs," I reminded her. She looked furious that I had pointed up the contradiction.

"I meant so she could have the room she needs, as well as some privacy," she said sternly.

"But . ."

"But nothing. I don't expect they'll be doing everything together like this much longer. As they grow older, they'll grow as far apart as is necessary, but until then, there's nothing wrong with their love and devotion toward each other. Actually, they're an inspiration. Yes," she said, liking the words she had found to defend them, "an inspiration." Her smile wilted quickly and she turned witch-like: her eyes small and beady, her lips thin and her cheeks drawn in, which made her nose seem longer and more pointed.

"It doesn't surprise me that you would find their actions depraved with your unfortunate background and with Fern growing up in your house and all," she said.

"What do you mean, my unfortunate background?" I demanded.

"Please, Christie. Let's not get into nasty arguments. Thank you for coming to tell me about the twins. Don't worry about it. Actually, Richard's complained to me on a number of occasions now about your- spying on them."

"Spying? That's not true."

"Everyone deserves his or her privacy at times.

You like yours, don't you?" she added. "Just keep a closer eye on your little brother, dear. That, it seems to me, is going to be enough for you. For anyone," she added under her breath. "Now, I must call my friend Louise back. We were right in the middle of an important conversation."

She turned back to the phone, leaving me stuttering in shock. I turned and went back upstairs.

"What happened?" Jefferson asked, coming to his doorway.

"Nothing, Jefferson. Forget about it. Forget about them. They're freaks," I said loud enough for them to hear. I went back to my bedroom and continued to write what was becoming a small book instead of a letter to Gavin. He was the only other living person to whom I wanted to confide.

Gavin, living with Aunt Bet and Uncle Philip has caused me to miss my parents even more. Uncle Philip's family is a family without love. The only times Uncle Philip is with his family is at breakfast and dinner. Aunt Bet acts as if her children were created in a laboratory and as a result, they are perfect little creatures, who can't do anything wrong. But I have yet to see her kiss them good night or good morning or Uncle Philip kiss them good-bye whenever he leaves, the way Daddy and Mommy used to kiss Jefferson and me. I never saw four people who behave so formally toward each other.

But no matter what Aunt Bet says about the twins, to me they are nothing more than some two-headed monster. They're so weird. They would be content if there were no other people in the world but themselves, not even their parents. The only time they ever laugh or smile is when they whisper things to each other. I just know they're whispering about me and Jefferson. Truthfully, I think Uncle Philip finds his own children revolting and that's why he hates to spend time with them or have them around him when he's at the hotel.

I wonder why Uncle Philip married Aunt Bet.

He is a handsome man, far too handsome for someone as homely-looking as she is. Fern told me some horrible things before she left this time. She wants me to believe that Uncle Philip and Mommy were once girlfriend and boyfriend before Mommy found out he was her half-brother. But before the fire at the hotel Mommy told me that nothing significant had ever happened between them. Still, it makes me feel funny whenever I look at Uncle Philip now and whenever I catch him staring at me.

I wouldn't tell these things to anyone else but you, Gavin. Girlfriends like Pauline are interested and considerate, but I am too embarra.s.sed to tell them about these family troubles. I can't wait to see you again, and count the days until you are able to return.

Give my love to Granddaddy Longchamp and Edwina.

I debated how to sign off and finally wrote: All my love, Christie.

It was very late when I finally completed my letter. I seared it in an envelope and put it on my night table so I would remember to mail it first thing in the morning. But I didn't prepare for bed and go to sleep.

Instead, I put on my jacket, peered out the doorway to be sure all was quiet and then softly went downstairs.

As usual, a light had been left on in the entry way and one lamp was lit in the living room. I didn't hear Mrs. Boston and imagined she had already retired for the evening. Stealthily, I went to the front door and opened it as quietly as I could. Then I stepped outside and closed it softly behind me. The three-quarter moon illuminated the front of the house like a spotlight. The porch floor creaked as I went forward.

Actually, I thought, Richard and Melanie were correct when they accused me of harboring secrets. I did have one which I kept even from Jefferson. Ever since my parents were buried, I had found a way to sneak off after dark to visit their graves to cry and complain. Tonight, especially, I wanted to go there and feel near them, but I wasn't prepared for the surprise that would follow on my heels.

Secrets .

IN THE MOONLIGHT THE TALL.

MONUMENTS AND mausoleums were as white as bones, and the air was so still that the leaves looked painted on the branches. From behind me I could hear the rhythmic roar of the sea over which the moon had spread a soft yellow glow. The scent of freshly turned earth from a newly dug grave rose to greet me as I walked under the granite stone archway of the cemetery.

Ordinarily, I would have been afraid to go wandering around a graveyard at night, especially the one in which Grandmother Cutler had been buried. As a child I had been brought here on only a few occasions, but each time I was brought, I gazed fearfully at the tombstone that loomed over her grave and spelled her name and listed her birth and death. I remember once having a nightmare about that stone. In it I found myself lost in the graveyard. I made a turn in the darkness and came upon her monument, only instead of the words and the engraved cross, I found her two cold gray eyes glaring out at me, the same cold gray eyes that glared at me from her terrifying portrait in the hotel, only these nightmare eyes were luminous and terrifying.

But just knowing Mommy and Daddy were buried here now made the graveyard less of a place of fear and nightmares and more of a place of warmth and love. They would protect me just as they'd always protected me, and not even Grandmother Cutler's ghost or evil spirit could overpower their goodness.

Her stone, although bigger and thicker than most in the graveyard, was just another stone. Nevertheless, I didn't linger near it; I walked past it quickly and approached my parents' twin graves. There I knelt and shed my tears as I spoke to them.

"Mommy, I miss you and Daddy so much," I said. "And Jefferson is so heartbroken and lost. We hate living with Uncle Philip and Aunt Bet. There is no love in their family." I went on to tell them about Richard and Melanie and how weird they were and mean to us.

"But I promise to always look after Jefferson and do whatever I can to help him overcome his grief and confusion," I said. The tears flowed freely down my cheeks and dripped off my chin. I didn't try to stop them; I let them fall on my parents' graves.

"Oh Mommy, it's so hard to live in a world without you," I moaned. "Nothing's the same: no morning is as warm and bright, no night is as safe, nothing that I loved to eat tastes as good, and nothing that was pretty to wear looks pretty to me anymore. I feel empty inside. Surely my fingers will be numb on the piano keys. The melody is gone.

"I know you hate me to say these things. Everyone tells me I must recuperate from my grief and try even harder to become who you dreamt I would be, but the road seems so much longer and harder to travel now without you by my side. And no matter what everyone says, I can't help believing there is a dreadful curse on our heads."

I sighed deeply and nodded as if I had actually heard Mommy reply.

"But I know I must try and I must succeed and my responsibility has grown greater. I must live and work imagining how proud of me you would be. I will try, Mommy. I promise," I said. I stood up slowly. I was so tired, so drained. It was time to go home to sleep.

But just as I was about to leave, I heard footsteps. Someone was coming up the pathway behind me. I turned and peered through the moonlit cemetery to see Uncle Philip. He stopped at Grandmother Cutler's tomb. When he did so, I drew back into the shadows behind another large monument. I didn't want him to know I came here privately at night. I waited, expecting him to leave after he had visited his grandmother's grave, but he surprised me by continuing to my parents' graves after only a few moments. He paused before Mommy's and knelt down to put the palms of his hands on- the cold earth. Then, with his palms still flat against the ground, he raised his head and spoke in a voice that was loud enough for me to hear.

"I'm sorry, Dawn. I'm sorry. I know I never told you that enough. A thousand apologies wouldn't suffice, nor ever wipe away what I did to you. Fate had no right to take you from me so soon, especially before I truly won your complete forgiveness."

What had he done? I wondered. What could be so horrible that even a thousand apologies wouldn't be enough?

"I feel half of me has died along with you. You know how I felt about you and how I couldn't help those feelings. Nothing stopped me from loving you. I married Betty Ann, but she was a poor subst.i.tute. I dreamt and hoped for the day you and I would p.r.o.nounce our true feelings toward each other.

"Oh, I know you refused to acknowledge it, but once we loved each other purely and pa.s.sionately, and if we could do so then, I hoped we could do so once more. Perhaps I was foolish to have such a dream, but I couldn't help it.

"Now," he said, his head bowed, "every time I look at Christie, I think of you. I think of her as our child, or at least what our child would have been like."

His words fell like cold rain over me. So this was why he gazed at me so intently at times, I thought; but rather than make me happy to hear he had such strong feelings for me, it made me shudder.

A trickle of ice slid down my spine.

"Never in my wildest imagination," he continued, raising his head again and speaking in a fiery voice, "did I ever think you would die before I did.

Surely, the angels themselves were jealous of my love for you and worked to destroy it. Well, they have taken you from me, taken you from this world, but they can never take you from my heart.

"I pledge to you I will care for Christie lovingly and see to it that she is happy and secure. I will rebuild this hotel as a monument to you, bi::er and brighter and more wonderful than it ever was, and as soon as it is completed, I will have a gigantic portrait of you placed on the lobby walls.

"You sing on, my love, on and on in my heart."

He lowered his head again. "But forgive me, forgive me," he begged. Then he stood up slowly and walked away, his head down.

I watched him disappear down the cemetery path, my heart pounding. What deep, dark secret did he keep in his heart, a secret so painful he had to beg forgiveness at a grave? Was it just that he loved Mommy more intimately and pa.s.sionately than he should have loved his half-sister or was it something even more sinful? Aunt Fern's horrid words, spat at me before she left, returned: "What do you think they did on their dates, play paint-by-numbers?" It frightened me to think about it. When I felt confident he was gone, I came out of the shadows and then hurried along the same path to home.

The light above the front door was still burning.

I tiptoed over the porch, trying desperately to keep the floor from creaking, and then I opened the door and slipped inside quickly. I waited and listened. All was quiet. Perhaps Uncle Philip had gone up to bed already, I thought, and started down the corridor to the stairway. But when I reached the entrance to the living room, I saw that one small lamp was still lit and Uncle Philip was sitting in an easy chair, his head back, his eyes closed. In his hand he held a gla.s.s of whiskey.

I hurried past the entrance to the steps of the stairway, but the first step betrayed me by creaking loudly.

"Who's there?" Uncle Philip called. I stood perfectly still. "Is someone out there?" I decided not to answer, but my heart was pounding so hard, I was sure he could hear the thump, thump, thump against my chest. He didn't call again nor did he come to the doorway. I made my way up the stairs quickly and went directly to my room. I undressed, put on my nightgown, and slipped into bed. As usual I turned off all but my small night light. And then, only moments after I had turned over in bed and closed my eyes, I heard my door creak open.

My heart began to pound when I didn't hear Jefferson's cry and footsteps. I didn't move; I didn't turn to see who it was; I didn't have to. In seconds I could smell the scent of the whiskey. I held my breath. It was Uncle Philip. Was he just checking to see if I was in my bed? Why did he linger so long?

Finally, I heard the door close and I released my breath in relief, but before I could turn around, I heard his footsteps and realized he was at the side of my bed.

I kept my eyes closed and didn't move, pretending to be asleep. He stood there staring down at me for the longest time, but I didn't open my eyes or acknowledge his presence. I was too frightened. I heard him release a deep sigh and then finally, I heard him walk away. When I heard the door open and close again, I turned my head and saw he was gone. Then I sighed with relief myself.

What a strange and wondrous night this proved to be, I thought. Mysteries hung in the air around me like pockets of thick sea fog. I lay there wondering for the longest time and then finally drew sleep around me like a coc.o.o.n and curled up slowly in its warm, protective walls.

I awoke to the sounds of great commotion and, a moment later, Jefferson came charging into my bedroom. I could hear Aunt Bet in the hallway crying for Uncle Philip to send for the doctor. Even though it was quite bright outside, I gazed at the clock and saw it was not quite five-thirty in the morning. Jefferson looked very frightened.

"What is it?"

"It's Richard," he said, his eyes wide. "He's got a bad tummy ache, so bad he's crying."

"Really?" I said dryly. "Maybe he ate some of his own sour grapes."

"Melanie ate them, too," Jefferson added excitedly.

"Melanie too? What do you mean?"

"She's got a tummy ache also and Aunt Bet is angry about it. Can I sleep with you? They're making too much noise," he said.

"Get into my bed," I said, but I got up and reached for my robe. "I'll see what's going on."

Uncle Philip, still in his pajamas, was in the hallway, his hair disheveled. He looked confused and sleepy and yawned hard and loud. He scrubbed his face with his palms and went to Melanie's doorway.

"What is it? What's all the noise?" he demanded.

"She's as white as a ghost and so is Richard. Go look at him," Aunt Bet cried from inside. "They've been poisoned!" she added.

"What? That's ridiculous," Uncle Philip said.

He turned and saw me standing there. "Oh, Christie."

He smiled. "I'm sorry they woke you."

"What's happening, Uncle Philip?" I asked.

"I don't know. It's always like this," he said.

"When one of the twins gets sick, the other one inevitably does too. It's as if every germ that attacks them has a twin in waiting," he added, still smiling.

Then he went into Jefferson and Richard's room. I went to the doorway of Melanie's room and peered in.

Aunt Bet was sitting on the bed, holding a cold washcloth on Melanie's forehead. Melanie groaned beneath her and clutched her stomach.

"I've got to go again," she cried.

"Oh dear me, dear me," Aunt Bet said, standing to get out of her way. Melanie shot off the bed and, bent over and still clutching her stomach, hurried toward the doorway and the bathroom. I stepped out of her way.

"What is it?" I asked when she rushed past me and lunged into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

"What is it? They were poisoned by something rotten, I'm sure," Aunt Bet said. "That . . . that incompetent cook and maid . . ."

"Mrs. Boston? You can't believe Mrs. Boston did something wrong. Mrs. Boston is a wonderful cook."

"Humph," she said, pulling her narrow, bony shoulders back. She walked past me and went to Richard. I could hear his groans. Uncle Philip emerged, a look of disgust and fatigue on his face.

"We all ate the same things, Uncle Philip," I said. "None of the rest of us are sick. The twins must have eaten something else on their own," I added.

"I don't know. I don't know," he chanted and went to call the doctor. I returned to my bedroom and crawled in beside Jefferson, who had already fallen back to sleep. Less than an hour later, the doctor arrived. After he examined the twins, I heard him step into the hallway with Aunt Bet and prescribe some medicine and bed rest and then leave. Shortly afterward, Aunt Bet came to my bedroom door.