Author: V.C. Andrews
Category: Horror
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/47286_10
"I MUST WARN YOU," SAID TONY THE FOLLOWING morning at breakfast, while Jillian was still upstairs sleeping. "The maze is more dangerous than it looks. If I were you, I'd leave exploring to those who've had more experience with that sort of thing."
It was just a little after six, and dawn was terribly similar to twilight, but for the hot blueberry muffins and the luscious spread of food on the buffet. The butler was in his place, close to the array of food in silver dishes, ready to spring into action to serve the two of us, who sat at a table that could have seated eight. Unreality had me in a daze. This was the way I'd dreamed it would be. The naive country girl I used to be hovered near my shoulder, shivering with delight, enjoying everything ten times more than did the girl I actually was now--suspicious, nervous, scared I'd do something so gross neither Jillian nor Tony would want to see me again. As for Troy, I planned never to go near him. He was too dangerous.
Tentatively, I tasted each delicious dish Curtis put before me, truly the most wonderful breakfast I'd ever had in my life, and certainly the most satisfying one. Why, with this kind of food inside of me, living energy, I could have run all the way to school. Then came the sarcastic thought that maybe the food was so good only because I'd had nothing to do with the preparation. And I'd have nothing to do with the cleaning-up in the kitchen.
"Curtis, we won't be needing you anymore," said Tony suddenly. I'd convinced myself he was the most helpless man in the world, unable to do one thing to wait on himself. He seemed to take a curious delight in keeping Curtis always on edge, waiting for his slight signals to do this or that. With the departure of the butler, Tony leaned forward. "How do you like your breakfast?"
"It's delicious," I answered with enthusiasm. "I never knew eggs could taste so good."
"My dear, you have just partaken of one of the delicacies of this world, truffles."
But I'd not seen anything resembling a truffle-- whatever that was.
"Never mind," he said, when I stared down at what remained of my el s, smothered in sauce and served over thin, golden pancakes. "Now it's time for you to tell me about yourself. Yesterday on our way here, it seemed to me I saw something in your eyes that looked like anger. Why did you look so indignant every time your father was mentioned?"
"I didn't know that I did," I murmured, flushing and wanting to shout out the truth, and at the same time afraid to say too much. His brother was on my mind more than Pa; it was Troy I wanted to talk about. And yet I had to think of my plans, my dreams, and of Keith and Our Jane's welfare, too. I knew the first step toward their salvation was not to risk my own.
And, carefully at first, I began to construct a new childhood for myself, built on half-truths; the only lies I told were those of omission. "So you see, the woman who died from cancer was not my real mother, but a foster mother named Kitty Dennison, who took care of me when Pa was ill and I had no one else."
He still sat as if in shock from the news that my mother had died on the day I was born. His eyes turned dull, sad. And then came anger, hard, cold, and bitter. "What are you saying, that your father lied? How could a girl as young, strong, and healthy as your mother die in childbirth if not from neglect? Was she in a hospital? Good God almighty, women don't die giving birth in this day and age!"
"She was very young," I whispered, "perhaps too young to undergo the ordeal. We lived in a fairly decent house, but Pa's carpentry work was never steady. Sometimes our meals were not too nourishing. I can't tell you if she went to a doctor for checkups, for hill people don't believe much in doctors--they believe in taking care of their own ailments. To be honest, old ladies like my granny were more respected than those who had an office in town with an M.D. beside the door."
Was he going to turn against me, too, and for the same reason Pa had? "I wish you wouldn't blame me for her death, like Pa does . . ."
His blue eyes swung to fix on the windows that soared up to the ceiling, framed by deep, rose velvet swags lined with gold. "Why did you sit there yesterday and confirm your father's lies by keeping silent?"
"I was terrified that you would reject me if you knew I came from such a pitifully poor background."
His quick, cold anger surprised me, and told me instantly this man was not another Cal Dennison, easy to fool.
I hurried on, careless now of what kind of impression I was making. "How do you think I felt when I heard that you and Jillian expected me just for a visit? Pa had told me my grandparents were thrilled to have me live with them. And then I learn it is only to be a visit! I have no place to go now. There is nobody who wants me, nobody! I tried to figure out why Pa lied like he did, thinking, perhaps, that you'd be more concerned for my welfare if you thought me still in grief for my own mother. And in a way I am still in grief for her. I've always missed not knowing her. I wanted to do and say nothing that would change your willingness to keep me, even for a short while. Please, Tony, don't send me back! Let me stay! I don't have a home other than this one. My father is very ill with some terrible nerve disorder that will kill him soon, and he wanted to place me with my own mother's family before this world sees the last of hinl."
His sharp, penetrating gaze rested on me with deep consideration. I cringed inside, so afraid my face would reveal my lies. My towering pride was on its knees, ready to plead and cry and thoroughly humble itself. I began to tremble all over.
"This nerve disease your father has, what did his doctors call it?"
What did I know about nerve diseases? Nothing! My panicky thoughts raced, until I brought to memory something I'd seen on TV once, back in Candlewick. A sad movie. "A famous baseball player died of it once. I find the name of his particular nerve disorder hard to pronounce." I tried not to sound too vague. "It's kind of like paralysis, and it ends in death . . ."
He had his blue eyes narrowed now,
suspiciously. "He didn't sound a bit sick. In fact his voice was very strong."
"All mountain people have strong voices. You have to make yourself heard when nobody minds interrupting."
"Who is taking care of him now that your granny is dead, and I believe you said your grandpa is senile?"
"Grandpa's not really senile!" I flared: "It's just that he wants Granny to be alive so much he pretends she's still with him. That's not crazy, just necessary for someone like him."
"I would call pretending the dead are alive and talking to them, real senility," he said, flatly and without emotion. "And I've already noticed sometimes you call your father Daddy, other times Pa, why is that?"
"Daddy when I like him," I whispered. "Pa when I don't."
"Ahh." He looked me over with more interest.
My voice sounded plaintive, as if I had Fanny's way of acting out a role: "My father has always blamed me for my mother's death, and as a result, I have never felt comfortable with him, nor he with me. Still, he would like to see me taken care of for my mother's sake. And Pa can always find some adoring woman to devote herself to his needs until the day he departs this world."
The longest silence came as he considered my information, seeming to turn it this way and that. "A man who can command a woman's devotion even when he is dying cannot be all bad, can he, Heaven? I don't know as there is anyone who would do the same for me."