Heaven by V.C. Andrews Page B

herself knocked up; we thought he’d want t’screw around on t’side, an he paid us no mind at all. I decided I’d get him one way or nother. He couldn’t have her then, so he took me three times, an what I prayed fer happened. He put in me a baby. He didn’t love me, I knew that. Maybe he didn’t even like me. He seemed bothered every time he were with me, an even called me angel once when he was ridin me. When I tole him I had his kid comin, he started turnin money ova t’me fer t’baby I had in my womb. An jus when I thought I’d have t’up an marry some otha man, that city girl obliged me by dyin …”
    Oh, oh! How awful for Sarah to be glad my mother died!
    Sarah talked on in her flat, emotionless way, and I could hear the faint squeak of Granny’s rocker going back and forth, back and forth.
    “When he came t’me t’ask me t’marry him so his baby could have its father, I thought in a month or so he’d ferget all bout her—but he didn’t. He ain’t yet. I tried t’make him love me, Annie, truly I did. Was good t’his baby named Heaven. Gave him Tom, then Fanny, Keith, an Our Jane. Ain’t had no otha man since I married up. Would neva have nother if only he’d love me like he loved her—but he won’t do it—an I kin’t talk t’him no more. He won’t listen. He’s got his mind set on doin somethin crazy, an won’t let me say nothin t’keep him from tryin. Gonna go an leave us all, that’s what he’s plannin t’do someday soon. Leave me here to wash, cook, clean, suffa … an take kerr of anotha baby. I’d stay foreva if only he’d love me. But when he turns on me an shouts out ugly words, they eat on my soul, tellin me I’m sendin him t’his ruin, makin of him a mean, ugly animal that hits out at his own kids—wishin they were hers, not mine. I know. I see it in his eyes.He won’t eva love me, not even like me. Ain’t nothin I got that he admires. Cept my good health, an he’s ruinin that. By God, he’s ruinin that!”
    “Why ya keep sayin that, Sarah? Ya seem healthy nough.”
    “Neva thought that dead wife would take his heart in t’grave with her, neva did think that,” Sarah whispered brokenly, as if she hadn’t heard Granny’s question. “Don’t kerr no more bout him, Annie. Don’t kerr no more bout nothin. Not even my own kids. I’m jus here, puttin in time …”
    What did she mean? Panic hit me hard. I almost tipped over the washtub and the scrubbing board I was leaning so hard against the rim.
    The next day Sarah paced the floor again, mumbling to herself and anyone who chose to listen. “Gotta escape, gotta get away from this kind of hell. Ain’t nothin but work, eat, sleep, wait an wait fer him t’come home—an when he does, ain’t no joy, no happiness, no satisfaction.”
    She’d said all that a thousand times, and she was still here. It had been building so long I thought it could never happen, though I’d had ugly dreams of seeing Sarah murdered and bloody. I dreamed of Pa in his coffin, shot through the heart. Many times I wakened suddenly, thinking I’d heard a gunshot. I’d glance at the walls, see the three long rifles, and shudder again. Death and killings and secret burials were all part of mountain living, which was always close to mountain dying.
    Then the day came … what we’d all been nervously anticipating. It started early on a Sunday September morning when I was up and putting on water so we’d have some hot water for quick washups before going to church. Out of the bedroom came howls of distress, loud, sharp, full of pain. “Annie, it’s comin! Annie, it’s Luke’s dark-haired son acomin!”
    Granny scuttled around lamely, but her legs hurt and her breath came in short gasps, making my help more than necessary. And right from pain one she seemed to know this birthing was going to be different, and more complicated than the others. Tom ran to hunt up Pa and bring him home as Grandpa reluctantly got up from his porch rocker