Petals on the Wind (Dollanganger 2)

. If ever a child was born into a palace of adoring worshipers, it was my Jory with his blue-black curls, his pale creamy skin, and his dark, dark blue eyes. He was Julian all over, and to him I could give the lavish affection I'd been unable to give his father.

From the very first Jory seemed to know I was his mother. He seemed to know my voice, my touch, even the sound of my footsteps. Yet he had almost as great a love for Carrie who ran home every night straight from Paul's office to gather him in her arms and play with him for hours.

"We should find our own place," said Chris, who wanted to establish himself firmly as Jory's father. In Paul's home, this wasn't possible.

I didn't know what to say to that. I loved Paul's big house, and being with him and Henny. I wanted Jory to have the garden paths where I could push him in his carriage and he'd be surrounded by beauty. And in no way could Chris and I give him as much. Chris didn't know about my sky-high debts.

Upstairs Paul had made a nursery, completely refurbished with crib, playpen, bassinet and dozens of soft plushy stuffed animals a baby could enjoy without harming himself. There were times when both Paul and Chris would rush home with the same toy. They'd look at each other, and both would force a smile to hide the embarrassment. Then I had to rush forward and exclaim, "Two men with the same idea." And one would have to be taken back . . . but never, never did I let either one know whose gift it was that I returned.

Carrie graduated from high school the June she was seventeen. She didn't want college; she was very much contented to be Paul's private secretary. Her small fingers could fly over the typewriter keyboard; she took dictation with remarkable speed and accuracy--but still she kept wishing for someone to love her, despite her small size.

To see her unhappy made me furious with my mother--again! I began to dwell on what I would do when I had my chance. Now I was free, no husband to hold me back--make her pay, as Carrie was paying!

Each day she saw Paul and Chris battling for my attention, each desiring me, each beginning to look at the other with enmity. I had to settle something that should have been settled a long time ago. If only Julian hadn't put himself in the way, I would now be Paul's wife, and Jory would be Paul's son, and yet, and yet . . . I loved Jory for who he was, and on second thought I was glad I'd had Julian for a while. I was no longer a sweet, innocent virgin--two men had taught me well. I would have the knowledge to hold my own when it came time to steal my mother's husband away from her. I'd be like she'd been with Daddy. I'd cast Bart Winslow shy glances, meaningful long, long looks. I'd reach to caress his cheek. . . . And my biggest asset of all was I looked like her, but I was years younger! How could he resist? I'd put on a few pounds to make myself curvier--like her.

Christmas came and Jory, less than a year old, sat amidst his presents, wide-eyed and bewildered, not knowing what to do, or which toy to pick up first. Snap, snap, snap went the click of three cameras. But Paul had the movie camera, not Chris, Carrie or I.

"Lullabye and good night," sang Carrie softly to my son, rocking him to sleep on Christmas night, ". . . may heaven's sweet charms hold you safe in its arms."

I couldn't help but cry to see her there, like a child herself, but so longing to have a child of her own. Chris came up behind me and put his arms around my waist as I leaned back against him. "I should run for a camera," he whispered, "they look so sweet together, but I don't want to break the spell. Carrie is so much like you, Cathy, except in size."

One little word, "except." One little word that kept Carrie from ever feeling really happy.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Quickly I jerked from Chris's arms and went in to tuck my small son into his crib. I sensed Paul in the doorway now that Chris had gone on to his room. "Cathy," whispered Carrie so Jory wouldn't awaken, "do you think I'll ever have a baby?"

"Yes, of course you will."

"I don't think I will," she said, and then ambled away, leaving me to stare after her.

Paul came into the nursery, kissed Jory good night, then turned as if to take me in his arms. "No," I said in a small voice, "not while Chris is in the house." He nodded stiffly, then said good night, and I went to lie awake until almost dawn--wondering how I could solve the dilemma I was in.

Jory seemed quite happy with his situation; he wasn't spoiled; he didn't whine and cry or make unnecessary demands, he just accepted. He could sit for minutes staring from one to the other of us, as if sizing us up, and our relationship to him. He had the patience of Chris; the quiet sweetness of Cory, and only occasionally the brashness of his father--and his mother. But nothing at all about Jory reminded me of Carrie; he smiled so much more than she.

Nevertheless, when Carrie strolled through Paul's gardens with Jory in her arms, she pointed out the differences between this tree and that. Incessantly explaining. She forced Jory to imitate speech sooner than he would have otherwise.

"Regard this oak leaf," said Carrie one day after Jory had learned to walk, and spring breezes stirred the air. "Each tree leaf has its own shape, texture and smell. All flowers open up easily for a bee to enter, except the rose. But daisies don't smell as pretty as roses, so the bees fly right on by, and head for the roses that are so stingy with their nectar, and hold their heads high on tall stems." She pointed to a rose, then glanced at me. Next she was showing Jory the daisies and the pansies.

"Now, if I were a bee, you could bet I'd go straight for the violets and pansies too, even though they don't stand as tall." She lifted her eyes to meet mine and said in a strange, tight small voice, "You are like a rose, Cathy. All the bees come to you, and they don't even see me down so low. Please don't get married again before I have my chance. Please don't be around if ever some man looks my way. . . . Don't you smile at him, please."

Oh, how fast the years go when you have a baby to fill all the hours. All of us took snapshots like crazy: Jory's first smile; his first tooth; his first crawl from me to Chris, and then over to Paul, and to Carrie.

Paul began his courtship that was to last two years; the same two years Chris interned in the Clairmont Hospital. They couldn't hurt each other when each loved and respected the other. They couldn't even speak of the barrier between them, except through me.

"It's this town," said Chris. "I think Carrie would fare better in another city. All of us together."

It was twilight in the gardens, our favorite time there. Paul was off making his rounds in three hospitals, and Carrie was entertaining Jory before she put him to bed. Henny rattled pots and pans to let us know she was still up--and still busy.

Chris had completed his two years of internship, and had started on his residency which would take another three years. When he told me he was considering another hospital, far more famous, to further his training, I felt a deep shock. He was leaving me!

"I'm sorry, Cathy, the Mayo Clinic has accepted me, and that's an honor. I'll only be there nine months, and then back here to complete my training. Why don't you and Jory come with me?" His eyes were very bright and lambent. "Carrie can stay to keep Paul company."

"Chris! You know I can't do that!"

"You are going to stay on here after I'm gone?" he asked bitterly.

"If Julian's insurance company would pay off, I could afford a house of my own, and start my own dance school. But they keep insisting his death was suicide. I know that policy has a two-year suicide clause, and we paid on it since the day we married-- so it was not in effect when he died. Yet, they won't pay."

"What you need is a good attorney."