Petals on the Wind Read online

  Madame Marisha held out her arms to me when the graveside ceremony was over. She held me in her thin arms, as she might have once held Julian, and in a sort of hypnotic trance we rocked back and forth, both of us crying. "Be good to my son, Catherine," she sobbed and sniffled "Have patience with him when he acts wild. His has not been an easy life, for much of what he says is true. Always he felt himself in competition with his father, and never could he surpass his father's abilities. Now I will tell you something. My Julian has a love for you that is almost holy. He thinks you are the best thing that has ever happened in his life, and to him you are without flaw. If you have flaws, hide them. He won't understand. A hundred times he's been in then out of love, all within the space of a few months. For years you frustrated him So now that he's your husband, give to him generously all the love that's been denied, for I am not a demonstrative woman I have always wanted to be, but somehow I could never humble myself to touch first. Touch him often, Catherine. Take his hand when he would pull from you and go off and sulk alone. Understand why he's moody, and love him three times as much. That way you will bring out the best in him, for he does have admirable qualities. He has to, for he is Georges's son."

  She kissed me, and said good-bye for a while, and made me swear to come with Julian often on visits. "Fit me in the corners of your life," she said with sadness making her face long and hollow eyed. But when I promised, and turned to look, Julian was glaring hard at the both of us.

  Chris came home for his Easter vacation, and less than eagerly he greeted Julian. I noticed Julian glaring at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

  No sooner were Chris and I alone when he bellowed, "You married him? Why couldn't you wait? How could you be so intuitive when we were locked away and so damned dumb now that we're out! I was wrong not wanting you to marry Paul only because he is so much older. And I admit it, I was jealous, and didn't want you to marry anyone. I had a dream of you and me . . . someday. Well . . . you know what I dreamed. But if it had to be a choice between Paul and Julian, then it should have been Paul! He's the one who took us in, and fed and clothed us, and gave us the best of everything. I don't like Julian. He'll destroy you."

  He hesitated, turning his back so I couldn't see his face. He was twenty-one and beginning to take on the virile strength of a man. In him I could see so much of our father--and our mother. And when I wanted to, I could take things and twist them to suit my purpose, and so I thought he was more like Momma in some ways than like Daddy. I started to say this, and then I too floundered, for I couldn't. He wasn't anything at all like our mother!

  Chris was strong . . . she was weak. He was noble, she was without any honor at all. "Chris . . . don't make it harder for me. Let's be friends again. Julian is hot-headed and arrogant and a lot of things that irritate on the surface, but underneath he's a little boy."

  "But you don't love him," he said without meeting my eyes.

  In a few hours Julian and I would be leaving. I asked Carrie if she would like to come and live in New York with us, but I had lost her trust; I had betrayed her too many times already and she let me know it. "You go on back to New York, Cathy, where it snows all the time, and muggers get you in the park, and killers get you in the subway--but you leave me here! I used to want to be with you, now I don't care! You went and married that ole Julian with the black eyes when you could have been Dr. Paul's wife, and my real mother. I'll marry him! You think he won't want me 'cause I'm too little--but he will. You think he's too old for me, but I won't be able to get anybody else, so he'll feel sorry and marry me, and we'll have six children--you just wait and see!"

  "Carrie--"

  "Shut up! I don't like you now! Go away! Stay away! Dance until you die! Chris and me don't want you! Nobody here wants you!"

  Those screamed words hurt! My Carrie, yelling at me to go away, when I'd been like a mother to her most of her life. Then I looked over to where Chris was standing before the pink sweetheart roses, his shoulders sagging, and in his eyes, oh, those blue, blue eyes . . . that look would always follow me. Never, never was his love going to set me free to love anyone without reservations as long as he kept loving me.

  Just an hour before we had to leave for the airport Paul's car turned into the drive. He smiled at me as he always smiled, as if nothing between us had changed. He had some tale to tell Julian of a medical convention that had kept him away, and he was terribly sad and sorry to hear his father had died. He shook hands with Chris, then slapped him heartily on the back, the way men so commonly showed affection to one another. He greeted Henny, kissed Carrie and gave her a little box of candy, and only then did he look at me.

  "Hello, Cathy."

  That told me so much. I was no longer Catherine, a woman he could love as an equal, I had been moved back to only a daughter. "And, Cathy, you can't take Carrie with you to New York. She belongs with me and Henny so she can see her brother from time to time, and I'd hate for her to change schools too."

  "I wouldn't leave you for nothing," said Carrie staunchly. Julian went upstairs to finish packing his things, and I dared to follow Paul out into the garden, despite the forbidding look Chris gave me. He was down on his knees, still wearing a good suit, pulling up a few weeds someone had overlooked. He got up quickly when he heard my steps and brushed the grass from his trousers, then he stared off into space as if the last thing he wanted to do was to look at me.

  "Paul . . this would have been our wedding day."

  "Would it? I'd forgotten."

  "You haven't forgotten," I said, drawing closer, "'The first day of spring, a fresh start' you said. I'm so sorry I spoiled everything. I was a fool to have believed Amanda. I was a double fool not to have waited to talk to you first before I married Julian."

  "Let's not talk about it anymore," he said with a heavy sigh. "It's all over now, and finished." Voluntarily he stepped close enough to draw me into his arms. "Cathy, I went away to be alone. I needed that time to think. When you lost faith in me, you turned impulsively, but truthfully, to the man who has loved you for a number of years. Any fool with eyes could see that. And if you can be honest with yourself, you have been in love with Julian almost as long as he's loved you. I believe you put your love for him on a shelf because you thought you owed me. . . ."

  "Stop saying that! I love you, not him I'll always love you!"

  "You're all mixed up, Cathy. . . . You want me, you want him, you want security, you want adventure. You think you can have everything, and you can't. I told you a long time ago April wasn't meant for September. We did and said a lot of things to convince ourselves that the years between us didn't matter, but they do matter. And it isn't only the years, it's the space that would separate us. You'd be somewhere dancing and I'd be here, rooted and tied down but for a few weeks a year. I'm a doctor first and a husband second--sooner or later you'd find that out and you'd turn to Julian eventually anyway." He smiled, and tenderly kissed away the tears I always had to shed, and he told me fate always dealt out the right cards. "And we'll still see each other--it isn't as if we're forever lost to one another--and I have my memories of how wonderfully sweet and exciting it was between us."

  "You don't love me!" I cried accusingly. "You never loved me, or you wouldn't be taking this so agreeably!"

  Softly he chuckled and cuddled me close again, as a father would. "Dear Catherine, my hot-blooded, feisty dancer, what man wouldn't love you? How did you learn so much about loving locked away in a cold, dim, northern room?"

  "From books," I said, but the lessons taught were not all from books.

  His hands were in my hair and his lips were near mine "I'll never forget the best birthday gift I ever had." His breath was warm on my cheeks. "Now here's the way it's going to be from now on," he said firmly. "You and Julian will go back to New York, and you will make him the best wife you are capable of being. The two of you will do your damndest to set the world on fire with your dancing, and you've got to determine never to look back with regrets, and forg
et about me."

  "And you--what about you?"

  He lifted his hand and fingered his mustache. "You'd be surprised what this mustache has done for my sex appeal. I might never shave it off."

  We both laughed, real laugher, not faked. I took then the two-carat diamond ring he'd given me and tried to return it to him "No! I want you to keep that ring. Save it to hock, when or if you ever need a bit of extra cash."

  Julian and I flew back to New York and hunted for weeks before we found just the right cozy apartment. He wanted something much more elegant, but between us we didn't earn enough for the penthouse apartment he thought was our due. "Sooner or later though, I'll see we live in that kind of place, near Central Park, in rooms filled with real flowers."

  "We don't have time to baby along real plants and flowers," I said, having experienced all the time and trouble it took to keep flowers and plants alive and healthy. "And when we go to visit Carrie, we can always enjoy Paul's gardens."

  "I don't like that doctor of yours."

  "He's not my doctor!" I felt fluttery inside, afraid for no reason at all. "Why don't you like Paul? Everybody else likes him well enough."

  "Yeah, I know," he answered shortly, pausing with his fork held midway between his plate and his mouth. He gave me a heavy, solemn look. "That's the trouble, my darling wife, I think you like him too much, even now. And what's more, I'm not crazy about your brother, either. Your sister is okay. You can ask her up for visits once in a while--but don't you ever forget, not for one second, that I come first in your life now. Not Chris, not Carrie, and, most of all, not that doctor you were engaged to. I'm not blind or stupid, Cathy. I've seen him look at you, and though I don't know how far you went with him before you'd better let it be dead now!"

  My head bowed with the panic I felt. My brother and sister were like extensions of myself! I needed them in my life, not just on the fringes. What had I done? I had the blinding precognition that he was going to be my loving keeper, my jailor, and I'd be as imprisoned with him as I'd been in the locked room in Foxworth Hall! Only this time I'd be as free to come and go as far as his invisible chain would allow. "I love you like crazy," he said, polishing off the last of his meal. "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I want you at my side all the time, never out of sight. I need you to keep me straight. I drink too much sometimes, and then I get mean, real mean, Cathy. I want you to make me over into what you think I am on stage; I don't want to hurt you."

  He touched me then, for I knew he'd been terribly hurt, as I'd been hurt, and he'd been so disappointed in his father, as my mother had

  disappointed me. And he needed me. Maybe Paul was right. Fate had used Amanda to deal out the right cards so Julian and I would be winners, not losers. Youth did call to its own age, and he was young, handsome, a talented dancer--and charming when he wanted to be. He had a cruel, dark side, I knew that. I'd experienced some of that . . . but I could tame him. I wouldn't let him be my ruler and my judge, my superior or my master. We'd make it fifty-fifty, share and be equals, and eventually, one bright and sunny morning, I'd wake up and see his darkly stubbled face and know I loved him. Know I loved him better than anyone I'd loved before--anyone.

  PART THREE Dreams Come True

  . While Julian and I worked slavishly to reach the top of the ballet world, Chris whizzed his way through college, and in his fourth year he entered an accelerated program for medical students, completing his fourth year of college while simultaneously beginning his first year of medical school.

  He flew to New York and explained it to me while we strolled hand in hand in Central Park. It was spring and the birds were chirping and merrily collecting the trash they needed to build nests.

  "Chris, Julian doesn't know you're here, and I'd rather he didn't find out. He's terribly jealous of you, and Paul too. Would you feel insulted if I didn't ask you over for dinner9"

  "Yes," he said stubbornly. "I came up to visit my sister, and visit my sister I will. Not furtively either. You can tell him I came to visit Yolanda. Besides, I only intend to stay for the weekend."

  Julian was obsessively possessive of me. He was like an only child who needed constant

  pampering, and I didn't mind, except when he tried to keep me from my family. "Okay. He's rehearsing now, and he thinks I'm home doing housework before I join him this afternoon. But stay away from Yolanda, Chris. She's nothing but trouble. Whatever she does with any man is news for the class the next day."

  He gave me a strange look. "Cathy, I don't give a damn about Yolanda. She was just my excuse to see you; I know your husband hates me."

  "I wouldn't call it hate . . . not exactly." "All right, call it jealousy, but whatever it is, he's not keeping me from you." His tone and his look grew serious. "Cathy, always you and Julian seem just on the verge of making it big, and then something happens, and you never become the stars you should be. What is it?"

  I shrugged. I didn't know what it was. I thought Julian and I were as dedicated to the dance as any others, and even more so, and still Chris was right. . . we'd put on a spectacular performance and draw rave reviews, and then we'd slide backwards. Perhaps Madame Zolta didn't want us to become superstars, lest we leave her company and join another.

  "How is Paul?" I asked as we sat on a bench dappled with sunlight and shade.

  Chris had my hand in his and tightly he held it. "Paul's Paul . . . he never changes. Carrie adores him; he adores her. He treats me like a younger brother he's very proud of. And really, Cathy, I don't think I would have made it as well without all the tutoring he gave me."

  "He hasn't found anyone else to love?" I asked in a tight voice. I didn't fully believe Paul's letters that said there weren't any women he cared for.

  "Cathy," said Chris, putting his fingers tenderly under my chin to tilt my face upward to his, "how can Paul find anyone to equal you?" I could have cried from the expression in his eyes. Would the past never set me free?

  .

  No sooner did Julian see Chris than the two of them were at it. "I don't want you sleeping under my roof!" stormed Julian. "I don't like you and I never have and never will--so get the hell out and forget you've got a sister!" Chris left to stay at a hotel, and on the sly we met once or twice before he went back to his school. Dully I went back to attend class with Julian, then the afternoon rehearsal and the evening performance. Sometimes we had the lead roles, sometimes only minor ones, and sometimes, as punishment for some sarcastic remark Julian would make to Madame Zolta, we both had to dance in the corps. Chris didn't visit New York again for three years.

  .

  When Carrie was fifteen she came to spend her first summer with us in New York. Hesitating and frightened-looking from the long flight she'd made all alone, she ambled slowly through the bustling, noisy crowds at the airport terminal. Julian spotted her first and he cried out, then bounded forward to sweep her up in his arms. "Hi there, gorgeous sister-in-law!" he greeted, planting a hearty kiss on her cheek. "My, how much you grow to look like Cathy--first thing you know I won't even know the difference--so watch out! Are you positively sure the dancing life isn't for you?"

  She was made happy and secure by his pleasure to see her again, and quickly she responded by throwing her arms about his neck. In the three years Julian and I had been married, she'd learned to love him for what he appeared to be. "Don't you dare call me Tinker- belle!" she said, laughing. It was our standing joke, for Julian thought Carrie just the right size to play a fairy--and kept telling her it still wasn't too late for her to become a dancer. If someone else had even suggested such a thing, she would have been deeply insulted, but for Julian, someone she deeply admired, she would be a fairy only by flitting around and fluttering her arms. She knew he meant "fairy" as a compliment, and not a criticism of her small size.

  Then it was my turn to have Carrie in my arms. I loved her so much I was overwhelmed by the force that swept over me and made me feel I was holding a child born of my own flesh. Though there wa
s never a time I could look at Carrie and not long for Cory who should be at her side. I wondered too, if he had lived, would he too stand only four feet six inches tall? Carrie and I laughed and cried, exchanged news and then she whispered so Julian wouldn't overhear. "I don't wear a training bra anymore. I've got on a real one."

  "I know," I whispered back. "The first thing I noticed was your bosom."

  "Really?" She appeared delighted. "You can see them? I didn't think they showed that much."

  "Well of course they show," said Julian, who shouldn't have sneaked so close to eavesdrop on this sisterly confidence. "That's the first thing my eyes go for once they get past a fabulous face. Carrie, do you realize you have a fabulous face? I just might kick out my wife and marry you."

  It was a remark that didn't sit well with me. Many an argument we'd have because he cared too much for very young girls. However I was determined to let nothing spoil Carrie's vacation in New York, the first time she'd come alone, and Julian and I had mapped out a schedule so we could show her everything. At least there was one member of my family Julian would accept.

  .

  The months flew swiftly by, and then the spring we'd waited for so long was upon us.

  Julian and I were in Barcelona, enjoying our first real vacation since we'd married. Five years and three months of married life, and still there were times when Julian seemed a stranger. Madame Zolta had suggested the vacation, thinking it a good idea if we visited Spain so we could study the Flamenco style of dancing. In a hired car we drove from one town to another, loving the beautiful countryside. We liked the late evening meals, the sleepy siesta afternoons lying on the rocky shores of the Cote d'Azur--but, most of all, we loved Spanish music and dancing.

  Madame Z. had mapped our tour throughout Spain, listing all the villas that charged nominal rates. She was thrifty and taught all her dancers her tricks. If one occupied one of the small cottages near a hotel, and cooked their own meals, the fee was even less. So this was where Julian and I were on the day Chris's graduation invitation arrived. It had followed us all over Spain, to catch up with us here.