Twisted Roots (25 page)

a
whiff of someone's perfume or some man's cologne yet lingering. Maybe it's just the aroma of shampoo or scented soap, something, and you can't help but envision that person. He or she flashes before you like a shadow that lingered, an image in a mirror that didn't follow when she walked away, a reflection in the window, footsteps on the rug, a movement of air as he or she passes you by, something, and if you miss and have loved that person as much as I miss Rosemary and
I
loved Rosemary, you close your eyes and say. 'Yes.' to all the fantasies and images and wishes. You let yourself pretend.
"It's why I understand my granddaughter so well, why I don't disturb her illusions. There are things in this room," she continued, gazing about. that haven't been touched by any other fingers than Rosemary's fingers. They are still exactly where she had left them.
"But don't be afraid to touch anything or move anything." she added quickly. "It's time we put it all to rest. Your coming is a blessed thing in more ways than you know, Maybe Someone higher up made it all happen."
"That beautiful stuffed black panther looks brand new," I said, nodding at it on the bed.
It is brand new," she confessed. She shook her head guiltily. "God forgive me. but I went out and bought one just like the one Rosemary took with her that fateful night. I knew Bess wouldn't be able to look at this bed without seeing it there."
"It's never a bad thing to prevent someone from being unhappy," I said.
She smiled at me. "You're a lovely young lady, darlin'," she said. "Do you mind if I kiss you good night?"
"Oh. no." I replied quickly. realizing I was just staring at her.
She leaned toward me and kissed me softly on my check. "Good night, darlin'," she said. "Wake up healthy and strong."
I
knew in my heart it was most probably the exact way she had said good night to Rosemary thousands of times.
"Thank you. Good night. Mrs. Stanton," I said.
She held her gentle smile and then turned and left, closing the door behind her so gently, it was as if the ghost or spirit she had sensed here had gone out.
I turned and looked at the room again.
Now that I knew what
I
did about Rosemary. I could imagine how lonely and frightened she must have been. I couldn't help visualizing her lying on that bed or sifting at the vanity table and wondering if the things her father had whispered in her ear were true.
I
knew how much she didn't want to turn against her mother.
I
knew that well.
Funnily enough, when I imagined her before me.
I
didn't see a stranger. I saw myself, vulnerable and alone. Young girls like she and myself have very thin skins covering our emotions. It takes so little to tear through and sting our trusting hearts. We want so much to believe and to trust our parents. Without that we are surely adrift in a nasty adult sea, the winds of deception tossing and spinning us around until we are too dizzy to face the day. We try to pass our time with our eyes closed, our ears covered, our footsteps so soft we attract little or no attention and make it back to our rooms, rooms like this one. sanctuaries full of dreams and memorabilia that had promised rainbows and candy cotton.
Don't look out the window, we warn ourselves. Don't look at the murky skies. Wait for the sunlight in the morning, the promise of a new day. Maybe all our disappointments will disappear like bad dreams. Maybe it isn't true; none of it is true. We are not alone after all. There is laughter and there is love waiting for us where they have always been waiting for us, and all the dark whispers and ugly faces are gone, popped like bubbles. Telling ourselves these things is the only way to lay our heads down on the pillows at night and trust the darkness enough to be unafraid of sleep.
It took a while for me to slip under the blanket on this beautiful bed. The bedding smelled fresh and clean, and I imagined that Bess tack care of this room just the way she had taken care of it when Rosemary was alive and here. But lowering myself into this bed was truly like lowering myself into someone else's dreams.
A layer of clouds broke apart in the night sky, permitting a sliver of moonlight to cut through the darkness and pour through the curtains. Macabre shapes and shadows danced on the walls, imps and elves, nymphs and ogres, a variety of creatures silhouetted to perform on a nightmarish stage.
I
wanted to shut my eyes to them. but
I
couldn't. They were too powerful, too demanding.
Was this the way Rosemary went to sleep every night? Did she listen to the sounds in the house, hear muffled voices, soft crying, and realize she was hearing herself? Did she finally turn her back on the gleeful puppets dancing on the walls and close her eyes tightly, willing herself to remember laughter and song, birthdays and parties?
Like Rosemary, I have been told in so many different ways that I am not my father's daughter. He sired me. but I have been told I shouldn't want to be his daughter, that he is so different from me, from what is good in me, Like Rosemary. I have felt disappointment and betrayal, and like Rosemary,
I
am lying here feeling alone, confused, and lost. Where should I go? Whom should I trust?
I had the strange feeling that time was standing still, that the winds had stopped and all the clouds were pasted far the moment against the inky sky. Everyone in the world was holding his or her breath. Birds were frozen in the air. The earth itself had stopped turning on its axis. Only I could move, but it was as if I was moving through a set on a movie stage. I could touch things, touch people. but I felt nothing and they felt nothing.
I
couldn't scream or shout because it would all be stopped at my mouth and come back at me, echoing down through my very bones. I couldn't even tremble.
Almost in a panic. I battled to take a breath and then, as if my breath had done it, the door of the bedroom opened, the light behind it spilling in and followed by the silhouetted Bess dressed in her nightgown, tiptoing toward me, her arms folded under her breasts. She paused at the side of the bed.
"Rosemary," she whispered. "Are you still awake?"
Should I answer? I thought, but before I could decide, my mouth and tongue, controlled by something greater than myself or by something in me that made those decisions instinctively. replied.
"Yes."
"Oh, good, I was having a hard time falling asleep myself." she said and sat on the bed. She reached out and stroked my hair.
"It was such a shock for me when you told me you were having your first period. I don't know why our bodies are in such a rush. What's the point of having a twelve-year-old girl become capable of having a baby? She's still a baby herself, her mother's baby.
"It's a nasty trick that Nature pulls on us. I've barely had time to explain things to you, to warn you about boys. They live for only one thing, you know. Just like all the animals out there. They can't help it, I suppose, but that doesn't mean we have to be victims, now, does it? No, of course not.
"And just because you get married, don't think you're safe. Rosemary. Husbands don't care how difficult they can make it for their wives. They are truly God's most selfish creatures. Oh.
I
know they tell us that they can't help it. They have needs and those needs are in them from birth, but we all have needs and that doesn't mean we should be
inconsiderate of others, does it?
"Of course it doesn't. If I'm too tired or not well. I shouldn't have to make him happy. He shouldn't blame me, and he shouldn't tell you that I'm the one who's selfish, now, should he?
"No, he shouldn't," she said. She sighed. "I wish we could all just get along. If everyone first thought about making someone else happy first, the world would be a happier place, wouldn't it?
"Of course it would." She stroked my hair again. "You just sleep and don't worry. Mommy will make sure it's all right. This getting your period isn't the end of the world. Well, maybe it's the end of one world, but it doesn't have to be a nasty thing. Just listen to me." she said and leaned closer,
"You have to think of what you have the way you would think of a safe. If you don't keep it locked, some selfish boy will take your treasure and leave you. Oh, he might promise he won't, but he will, because he won't be able to stop thinking of another treasure, and another. You're the poorer one for it. Rosemary. I know I was,
"Are you still having those cramps? Why do you think it's so unpleasant? I'll tell you why. It's because it's a warning. Every cramp is another alarm bell. Watch out Beware. Keep the safe locked,
"There. I've told you some great secrets that only a mother and a daughter can share. Someday, when it's the right time for you, you will have a daughter and you will share the same secret. I hope."
She looked back at the door.
"He's waiting for me." she said. "He's been making all sorts of new promises. He has an endless well of promises, pulling up new ones constantly. Promises are contracts signed with dew. As soon as the sun comes up, they're gone.
"But you don't have to trouble yourself about any of this Just think of sugarcane and bubbles, lollipops and magic, tinsel and crepe paper.
Tomorrow, you and I will go for a walk to the lake, and just like always, we'll look for interesting flowers and toss little rocks in the water and listen to the birds gossip about us. okay?
"Nothing has changed, not really. You're still my little Rosemary."
She leaned over and kissed my forehead and then stood up.
"If he wants to go, he'll go. But you will never leave me, would you?"
"No," I said, seeing she was waiting for a reply. "Good. Sleep tight, my sweetheart. Sleep well."
She turned and walked slowly out, moving in a dream again. and then she closed the door behind her. The clouds that had parted closed again, shutting away the sliver of moonlight. The room was completely dark. I hadn't moved a muscle.
As my eyes grew accustomed to the unlit room. I thought I saw a shadow thicken in the bathroom doorway until it took the shape of a young girl. My mind's just playing tricks on me. I told myself, but the shape lingered and was there even after
I
closed and opened my eyes.
Did
I
imagine
it
or did
I hear
a
voice
sharply whisper. "Stop it." I couldn't
swallow.
"Stop keeping me alive. She has to let me go. She has to mourn me, for even the dead need love. I'm waiting in these shadows, caught and trapped by her refusal
to
believe, to accept. You're not helping any. You have no right to be me, to put me on like a new dress and wear my feelings and my fears just to make yourself feel better.
She hasn't even been to my grave." The voice began to drift back with "to my grave, to my grave,
to
my grave."
A moment later it was gone, and
I
released my breath and turned over in the bed, squeezing my eyes closed and willing myself
to stop these
imaginings.
I
tried
to talk
myself
to
sleep and finally did.
I
began by fretting in and out of nightmares that mixed Bess and Mrs. Stanton in with Mommy and Miguel and even Daddy. The dreams woke me. and
I
found
I
was crying. My tears had wet the pillow.
Thinking about Bess, I couldn't help wondering if Mommy was wandering to and from my room tonight as well. My heart was so heavy,
it
took me most of the night to find another hour or so of sleep, and even that was restless and troubled. It was no wonder Heyden had to come up to see if I was all right. He had already been up and had gone
with
Chubs
to
the
car cemetery
to
get
the parts they needed
to
repair the motor
home.
I
heard the knock on my door, but not until he had struck
it
harder. For a moment I was very confused.
I
couldn't remember where
I
was. Then it came rushing back over me.
"Yes?" I called.
"It's me. Heyden. Can
I
come in?"
"Yes," I said, grinding as much of the sleep
out
of my eyes as
I
could, and sat up.
"Hey." he said, poking his head in first. "sleepyhead.
I
expected you to be downstairs with Mrs. Stanton and Uncle Linden having breakfast."
"What time is it?" I looked about the room far a clock and
then
reached for my watch where I had left it on the nightstand. "Ten!"
"Right," Heyden said, still laughing as he came into the room, "Mrs. Stanton said she had been up to check on you, poked her head in and saw you were still sleeping, so she left you alone."
"What about Bess?" I asked quickly.
"Apparently she gets up even earlier than Chubs and goes for early morning walks when it's not raining."
"I'm surprised she didn't stop here first," I said, shaking my head.
"Mrs. Stanton isn't. She said she's not surprised Bess seems to have forgotten about us. It's part of her condition or something."
"She did tell me that might happen."
She and your uncle are having a conversation about such things. Like any patient, he speaks like an expert about the things he's suffered and knows how they are treated. I guess. I don't think Mrs. Stanton has caught on yet. but
I
don't doubt she will soon. He's bound to say something that will reveal everything. I think the best thing for me to do is help Chubs and get us out of here as quickly as we can. "Why did you sleep so long?" he asked. "Were you really that tired?"
"Oh. Heyden. I had such a terrible night. First. Bess came in here last night after
I
had gone to bed, and she talked to me as if
I
was Rosemary when Rosemary was only twelve years old.
She said so many things that led me to understand how hard life might have been for Rosemary..."
"I bet," Heyden said, "although this is a very nice room." He gazed about and looked at the television, the computer on the desk, and the clothes in the closet, "It all looks so new."
"Some of it is new. There are new garments in the closet with the tags still on them!"
"Well, it's not our problem. Get dressed, have some breakfast, and we'll get going as soon as we are able. It will take most of the day. I'm afraid."