Logan 03 Unfinished Symphony Read online

  When I arrived in Boston, I made my way to the bus stop and bought a ticket to Provincetown. It was late morning by the time the bus headed out on the highway. I didn't leave enough time to get breakfast, but I had little appetite anyway. I felt numb, beaten, drained of any resistance and energy. The monsters in the shadows were too big and too powerful and there were far too many. It was better to retreat and to accept and be what fate seemed determined to have me be.

  With that darkness well entrenched in my heart, I thought it was best to take a taxi to Grandma Olivia's and Grandpa Samuel's as soon as I arrived in Provincetown. Grandma Olivia was the true monarch of this family. She seemed to be the only one capable of determining destiny. She was the one who had decided how my grandmother Belinda would live and where she would live. She was the one who ruled Uncle Jacob and Aunt Sara's family. She even dominated Judge Childs. Certainly, she was the one who ruled her own house, and despite what my mother believed, Grandma Olivia was the one who had banished Mommy to a poorer, harder life in the coal mining town of West Virginia.

  It was time to recognize that power and bend to it. I had no more defiance in me. I felt like a flag at half mast.

  When the taxi pulled up the driveway of Grandma Olivia's house, my sense of defeat

  thickened. I moved lethargically, exhausted, my head down, up the walkway to the front of the house and pressed the buzzer, resembling someone who had come to offer her surrender.

  Above me, the late afternoon sky had turned a deep, dark blue. The air smelled fresh, crisp, but I was much too nervous to enjoy the beautiful day. Grandma Olivia's maid, Loretta, opened the door and stood looking at me, her face wearing a mask of

  indifference. I imagined working for Grandma Olivia had toughened her. She moved through her day like some cog in a machine, reliable, consistent, but uncaring. She revealed no reaction to my appearance. I could have been a traveling salesman, for all she cared.

  "Will you please tell my grandmother that I am here, Loretta," I said in a tired voice and stepped into the house. She lifted her eyebrows and gazed at my suitcases.

  "She doesn't have to tell me," I heard and turned to see Grandma Olivia at the top of the stairway, gazing down at us with her regal posture. She wore clothes of mourning, a 'Mack blouse and a black ankle-length skirt, which somehow made her look taller than she was. Her white hair was brushed arid pinned back as usual, and there wasn't the trace of any makeup on her pallid face.

  "That will be all, Loretta," she continued as she took a step down. "You can return to your dinner preparations."

  "Yes, ma'am," Loretta said with a slight curtsey. She hurried away. "So you've returned, as I knew you would. Giving you that traveling money was a waste, but it's your waste, not mine," she added. "I will keep the document you signed and deduct it from your trust fund."

  She continued her descent, sliding her hand along the mahogany balustrade as she walked, her head high, her shoulders and back perfectly straight.

  "I don't have to ask you what happened. I can see it on your face: disappointment, disillusionment. Or should I say a final awakening? At last you see her for what she is?" she asked, not hiding her pleasure.

  "It's because of the man she's with --" I began. "Oh, don't blame it on someone else," she interrupted with a wave of her hand. "It was always that way with Haille. Someone was eternally making excuses for her, finding someone or somewhere else to place the blame and the responsibility for her selfish, cruel acts." She paused and smirked. "I assume she faked her death in order to end even a semblance of responsibility for you," she said smugly. Her eyes were unflinching. She had the confidence of a predator who knew she had her prey trapped.

  "Yes," I murmured, my own eyes down. Even now, even after all I had been through, I still couldn't help being ashamed of Mommy.

  "Humph," Grandma Olivia said. I looked up at her, tears burning under my eyelids, but kept trapped there, the last vestige of my pride. She shifted her eyes away from me, but when her gaze returned to my face, I thought I detected a hint of sympathy. "Well," she continued, "I suppose it was something you had to do, something you had to see for yourself. You can provide the details at some later time, if you like. I certainly have no burning desire to hear them.

  "But," she continued with that characteristic strength I hated, respected, and envied all at the same time, "that part of your life is over and we must go on. This family must continue to strive to maintain its position of respect in the community. It would be best, obviously, if no one hears of this scandal. As far as I'm concerned, we buried your mother. I'm not going to go and dig up some unfortunate soul. Haille's as much dead to me anyhow, and from the looks of you, you feel the same. Who have you told about all this?"

  "Just Cary," I said. "Kenneth Childs will know, too." She thought a moment.

  "Kenneth will keep it to himself. I'll have a word with Cary to ensure he does the same," she said with a curt little nod of her head.

  "You don't have to worry. Cary doesn't gossip, especially about our family," I said and she smiled, but a cold, hard smile that turned her stone eyes into glittering glass.

  "Our family, is it? That's good. That's what I want to hear." She nodded, her smile softening just a bit. "You did right coming here," she said. "You have good sense. As we discussed before you went on this futile journey, you will live here from now on." She paused, her face hardening again. "You know, I am sure, about my son's passing while you were away?"

  "Yes," I said. "I'm sorry."

  "So am I, but we bury the dead so the living can continue to strive. Jacob was a good man, but he was a sufferer. He took things too much to heart and his heart was so weighed down, it collapsed. There's a lesson to learn," she said widening her eyes at me. "You have to build a casing around your heart to protect it. You don't give away you-affections, your sympathies, your feelings cheaply, because every time you do, it costs you.

  "There are many lessons you will learn here," she said, continuing to fix her gaze on me so intently, I dared not look away.

  "As I told you before you left, you have, I have noted, demonstrated some qualities of character that, although in the rawest form now, can be cultivated so that you will grow into a stronger person, a capable person. But this will happen only if you listen and obey. I don't intend to relive the painful past I endured with your mother," she warned. "You will behave while you are under this roof and you will do nothing that will bring discredit to this family."

  "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," I suggested. "Maybe I should go back to live with Aunt Sara."

  "And learn what? Self-pity? Ha. Besides, she has enough to do caring for her handicapped child."

  "I can help her. I can--"

  "Waste your life," she concluded. Her cold eyes softened a bit. "Everyone expects I will look after you, now that your mother is supposedly dead anyway. How do you think it will look if I permit Sara to endure another burden immediately after losing Jacob?"

  "So you're worried about your own reputation," I said and she stiffened so quickly it was as if an electric shock had passed through her.

  "I was hoping you would see that what I. am offering you is an opportunity other girls your age would die to have. Yes, I have selfish motives, but they're not motives for myself. They're for this family. Family name, honor, reputation, these are the really important things, Melody. You will learn that and understand it after a while.

  "People without family pride are weak, and their weakness and lack of control affects their entire family. Look at that woman you insist on calling Mother. Does she have any pride in herself? Well, does she?" she demanded.

  "No," I admitted hesitantly.

  "Do you want to be like her?" she pursued. I raised my eyes and she smiled after one glance at the fire in them. Then she nodded. "There's more of my family blood in you than you care to recognize," she said. "Very well. You'll take the room that once belonged to Haille. I've had it prepared for you, anticipating this day. Even though you have
come to live here, you are to look after yourself and your own things. Loretta is my maid and will not have time to wait on you hand and foot. Besides, that's how we went wrong with Haille: we gave her too much, spoiled her. Actually, Samuel was the one who indulged her, and you know the thanks he got for that.

  "I expect you to continue to do well in school. I also expect, no demand, that you conduct your social and personal affairs only on the highest levels. Never do I want to hear even a hint that you've been doing some of the terrible things young people your age do these days. No drinking, no drugs, no promiscuity and you are not to parade around in any of those silly, risque clothes young people today think are fashionable.

  "I will arrange for your preparatory schooling after high school graduation so that there will be a smooth transition after you complete this last year," she said in a calmer tone. "However, as I said, there are things you will learn from me just by living here and observing, things you can't learn in any school. You can go up and rest now. You look tired. If you want some supper, come down in two hours."

  "Where's Grandpa Samuel?" I asked.

  "He's asleep on a lounge in the back. That's how he spends most of his time these days . . ." Her voice was so low it was as if she forgot I was in the room. Then suddenly she noticed me staring at her. "Well? Is something wrong?"

  "I'm not sure which room was my mother's," I said quickly, gazing up the stairway.

  "First door on the left," she said. "It's been cleaned and so has the bathroom. Make sure it all remains that way. You'll dad some clothes in the closet and the dresser drawers to wear. I had them bought for you the day after you left, anticipating this day," she added triumphantly.

  "I wish I had the same crystal ball," I replied dryly.

  "You will," she said with confidence. Then she looked at me as if she was deciding whether or not to say, "Welcome home." She remained silent, nodded, and then turned to go down the hallway to her parlor.

  Feeling like someone who had been given the key to a motel room and told to find her way herself, I started up the stairs. When I reached the first door on the left I paused, took a deep breath, and opened it. My new home, I thought as I gazed inside the room.

  If there had been any trace of femininity in this room before, Grandma Olivia had erased it. It looked almost as Spartan as a room in a nunnery. The walls were papered dark brown with no pattern and there were plain white curtains on the windows. The bed was a simple one without a headboard and was covered with a beige blanket and pillow case. There was a small desk in the corner, and it was equipped with a few pads, pens, pencils and a sharpener. The only other furniture was a plain dark pine wood dresser with six drawers and a nightstand of matching dark pine next to the bed.

  There was no vanity table and no mirror other than the mirror above the sink in the bathroom. Of course, there was no phone in the room and no television set or radio. When I opened the closet, I found a half dozen simple dresses, two ankle-length skirts and some color-coordinated blouses. In the dresser drawers I discovered underthings, socks, and a few wool sweaters, for which I would be grateful when the weather turned colder.

  I opened my suitcase and took out the two expensive outfits Holly's sister had bought me and I hung them in the closet. They almost looked comical next to such simple, inexpensive and practical clothing. I put the matching shoes on the closet floor and completed my unpacking, finding a place on the nightstand for the Chinese fan Billy Maxwell had bought me. I promised myself I wouldn't let too much time go by before calling him and Holly and thanking them both again for all they had done.

  My unpacking completed, I sat on the bed for a moment and stared through the opening in the curtains at the ocean in the distance. The blue sea looked inviting, peaceful, soothing. At least I had that view whenever I felt trouble, which I imagined would be often in this house.

  Gazing around, I wondered what this room had been like when my mother lived here. Grandma Olivia must have gone through it with the fury of a hurricane and torn away anything that suggested my mother had lived here. It was a good-size room. I could make out where some shelves had once been hung on the far wall. On them my mother probably had her dolls and stuffed animals. From the little Cary had told me, I understood that Grandpa Samuel had spoiled her and bought her whatever her little heart desired. I wondered if it had all been consigned to the basement along with those pictures Cary had once showed me, or if it all had been given away, even burned. Grandma Olivia was not incapable of doing

  something like that.

  I lay back on the bed. The trip had been exhausting even though I slept on the plane and on the bus. I realized what I was feeling was a deep emotional fatigue. The kind of weariness that gripped my very bones. Just dozing on a plane or bus wasn't enough to quench it. I was hungry, though. I thought I would just close my eyes and take a short rest, and then, as Grandma Olivia said, go down to dinner.

  But when I opened my eyes again, it was so dark I couldn't see the door. The sky had become overcast, shutting out the stars. I blinked, sat up, and listened. The house was quiet, barely creaking. I fumbled for the light switch on the small lamp by the bed and squinted when it came on. Then I looked at the clock. It read two A.M. I had not only-slept through dinner; I had slept right into the night!

  A feeling of panic like a little trickle of ice water ran down my spine. I had intended to phone Cary right before or after dinner and let him know I was back. He would be upset that he wasn't the first one I had called or seen. Now it would be hours before I would be able to tell him I was back. And I wanted to get over to see Kenneth as soon as possible, too. There was so much to do and here I was sleeping the valuable time away.

  After waking to such alarm, of course I couldn't fall back to sleep. That famous jet lag everyone warned me about was taking its toll. My body didn't know what time it was and my stomach, angry at being forgotten, growled and churned. I rose, went to the door and peered out. I could see a faint light in the hallway and over the stairway. The door creaked as I opened it farther. Then I practically tiptoed out and down the stairs, each step on the staircase betraying me with a groan as I descended. I didn't want to disturb anyone, but I needed to eat something, some milk, a piece of bread, anything.

  On my way down the hallway toward the kitchen, I saw there was light coming from the parlor. When I reached the doorway, I paused and gazed in to see Grandpa Samuel slouched in an easy chair, his hands on his stomach, his mouth open as he slept. On the table beside him was a decanter of brandy and a partly filled goblet. I continued on to the kitchen where I made myself a turkey sandwich, which I ate quickly, feeling like a thief.

  Suddenly, I heard a gasp and looked to the kitchen doorway to see Grandpa Samuel standing there looking as if all the blood had drained from his face.

  "My God," he said, stumbling forward and stopping, his eyes wide. "Haille?"

  "No, Grandpa. It's Melody," I said. "I'm sorry I woke you but--"

  "Melody?" He scrubbed his face hard with his palms and then looked at me again, a dazed look in his eyes. "Melody?"

  "Yes, Grandpa. I was hungry. I fell asleep and missed dinner and--"

  "Oh. Oh, yes, Olivia told me. She had Loretta look in on you." He shook his head. "For a moment there .. . your mother used to come home late like this and go to the kitchen to gobble something. Lots of times she'd had too much to drink," he added in a whisper, "but I wouldn't tell Olivia. I'd make sure she got some food in her and then I'd send her up to bed.

  "Well now," he continued, still sounding a bit confused, "well, I guess it's late. I should go up. Olivia's probably given up on me again." He looked at me askance. It was as if he still didn't trust me, trust reality. "I didn't hear you come in, Haille," he said after a long moment. He shook his head. "I'd better go to sleep. I'll lock the front door again. Olivia locked it when you didn't come home on time and said to let you sleep in the streets, but as usual, I unlocked it when she went upstairs."

  "What? Grandpa . . .
it's me, Melody," I said softly, puzzled by his behavior. Maybe he was sleepwalking. And talking.

  He smiled.

  "Let it be another one of our little secrets, okay? Now don't you oversleep tomorrow morning," he warned, waving his right forefinger at me. Then he smiled. "Good night."

  He turned, and slowly made his way toward the stairs, looking more like an old man than ever, as he shuffled away. I cleaned my dishes and wiped up the table, careful to erase all traces of my midnight snack. When I got to the stairway, however, Grandpa Samuel was just pulling himself up the final steps and groaning as he made his way to his and Grandma Olivia's bedroom.

  I went up to my room quickly and closed the door. Then I got undressed, put on one of the new nightgowns that were in the dresser drawer and crawled into bed. Finally my stomach was settled, but now my mind raced as I tried to figure out Grandpa Samuel's strange behavior. I didn't look that much like my mother, did I? I wondered. And after I had told him who I was and he seemed to remember, why did he forget again and talk to me as if I were Haille, as if he was living twenty years in the past?

  "There, you see. It's Melody, our

  granddaughter. Melody, not Haille," Grandma Olivia insisted when I entered the dinning room to have breakfast the next morning. I was still lounging in bed when I heard the two of them walk by my room earlier that morning, and I scrambled to shower and dress as quickly as I could. Grandpa Samuel gazed up from his bowl of oatmeal and nodded, smiling at me as I took my seat at the table.

  He was dressed in a sports jacket and wore a tie, but he had done a poor job shaving his face. There were patches of gray stubble on his chin and along his jaw.

  "He was raving last night," Grandma Olivia continued, "talking stupidity again, telling me Haille was back."

  "Good morning, Grandpa Samuel," I said, concerned that he'd give away my early morning wandering. His eyes looked glassy, distant, however. I gazed questioningly at Grandma Olivia.

  "He's slipping away," she muttered, "into his dotage."