April Shadows by V. C. Andrews

slept in it as a younger girl. If it seemed like a big

  adventure then, it was certainly one now. The trip and

  the tension had taken a bigger toll on me than I had

  realized. With that and the slight shaking and

  movement of the motor home. I fell asleep quickly. Some time before morning. I woke with a jolt.

  It was as if someone had shaken me. I blinked and

  wiped my eyes, the realization of where I was slowly

  returning. The motor home was dark, but the glow

  from some pole light outside flowed through,

  outlining everything clearly. I saw Uncle Palaver

  slumped on the sofa, a bottle of whiskey before him. I

  watched him for a while, and then I thought I surely

  heard someone calling, `

  Destiny needs him for something, I decided.

  "Uncle Palaver,'" I whispered, but he didn't move. Again. I thought I heard something and this

  time decided to crawl down and see what was

  happening. I stood listening in the shadows. There

  was definitely the sound of someone talking, and it

  was coming from the bedroom.

  "Uncle Palaver?" I stepped up to him and

  touched his shoulder gently. "Uncle Palaver?" He moaned, but he didn't open his eyes. I

  looked at the battle and saw it was nearly empty. I

  shook him again, a little harder.

  "Uncle Palaver?"

  He slumped to his right without opening his

  eyes. I shook even harder. He groaned and moaned

  but didn't open his eves. He started to mumble

  something, and then he sank even lower on the sofa. The sound of someone talking continued, but

  low. Was Destiny calling for him and too weak to

  raise her voice? I walked to the rear of the motor

  home and listened. It was definitely the sound of a

  woman talking, but she didn't seem to be calling for

  help. She was just whispering loudly. Maybe she was

  in a delirium or something. I thought, and knocked

  gently.

  "Destiny? Are you all right? It's April, Uncle

  Palaver's niece. He's in a deep sleep. Do you need

  something?'"

  I looked back at Uncle Palaver. He wasn't

  moving. Slowly. I turned the doorknob and then

  inched the door open, calling softly.

  "Destiny? Are you all right?"

  When the door was fully opened. I gazed in and

  saw her lying in the bed. I could hear the whispering

  clearly now. She was talking about something she and

  Uncle Palaver had done together, some wonderful

  time they had near the Grand Canyon. When I heard

  his laugh. I felt chills in my spine. I looked back. He

  was still unmoving on the sofa. How could I hear his

  laugh?

  "Destiny?"

  I walked in. The light from the poles outside the

  motor home was not as bright as it was in the living

  room and kitchenette, but it was enough to clearly

  outline Destiny's head and body in the bed. I stepped

  closer and looked down at her.

  My heart leaped in my chest.

  It was the life-size doll. I looked about the

  small bedroom, but there was no real person in the

  room.

  And the voices?

  They were coming from a tape recorder beside

  the doll.

  18 Follow the Wheel

  . I made no attempt to wake Uncle Palaver. I didn't think I could if I tried, anyway. He reeked of bourbon and was snoring away now. I simply closed the door on the bedroom and returned to my bunk. Sleep for me was almost impossible, even though I was so tired. The muffled sound of the voices on the tape recorder leaking out of the bedroom kept me tossing and turning. Toward morning. I finally passed out. and I didn't awaken until I heard the engine start. I listened hard for the voices, but I didn't hear them. I lay there with my eyes opened, staring at the motor home ceiling and wondering if what I had heard and seen the night before was really just a terrible nightmare.

  Gazing into the motor home. I didn't see Uncle Palaver. The bottle of bourbon was gone. Suddenly, the vehicle jerked and moved forward,

  "Uncle Palaver?"

  "Hey," he called back. "I'm just moving us along here a little ways. I parked in a supermarket parking lot last night, and usually their security comes around and raps on the door if they see I'm there too long. It's just another ten miles to a turnoff, and we'll stop and make some breakfast," he said.

  He sounded clear-headed and okay. I climbed down from the bunk and looked toward the bedroom door, which was still closed.

  He glanced at me. "Sleep okay?" he asked as he drove.

  I held my breath and didn't speak, wondering if I should ask him about the tape recorder. Should I tell him I had gone into the bedroom? Should I ask him about the doll in the bed? Ask him about Destiny?

  Something told me it was better to wait to have him tell me everything,

  "Yes." I said. "Fine."

  "Great. We'll have some breakfast in a few minutes," he said.

  I went to the bathroom, washed, and quickly put on my jeans and sweatshirt. I felt him pull us off the highway and park the motor home. When I came out, he was already in the little kitchenette, pouring me a glass of orange juice.

  "When I park for a longer period. I expand the walls, but we'll be here only to have breakfast," he explained. "What would you like? I went out and bought some eggs early this morning at that supermarket, and some rolls and a few Danish."

  "I don't eat that much anymore, Uncle Palaver."

  "Oh. Well, it's here if you want it. What do you want?"

  "I'll just have a soft-boiled egg," I said. "I can make it." I added quickly. "Go on and sit. I'll wait on you."

  "Oh. I don't sit," he said. "I have to prepare something for Destiny. She likes a little hot oatmeal." he added, nodding at the range. He did have a pot on it and oatmeal cooking.

  I stared at it and then looked at him, my heart skipping beats. Why was he doing this, pretending she was really back there? Was he doing it for my sake, hiding tragic news? Fie rattled on about her, stunning me so with the way he spoke about her that for a few moments. I couldn't move.

  "She's upset that I'm doing all this. that I just don't put her in some facility and forget her. She thinks she's a terrible burden on me. It's been this way for some time, but if you really care for someone, you don't dispose of them just because they're in trouble.

  "Your father didn't understand that. He thought he was doing you all a big favor by inventing that fantasy about his deserting you so you wouldn't suffer with him, but he broke your mother's heart. Loving someone means taking them on for better or for worse, just as it says in the marriage vow. People break their contracts with each other so easily these days. In every way," he added, turning to me. Apparently, he didn't notice my amazed look or read anything more in it than my surprise at his domestic abilities.

  "They're quick to breach agreed business arrangements. People today say the contract's not worth more than the paper it's written on, and for good reason. No one lives up to his word, to his promises, anymore.

  "Well. I'm not built like that. I make a commitment: I live up to it or break my neck trying, and I expect other people to treat me the same way. Of course, they don't. I can't tell you how many scheduled performances were canceled on me at the last minute .

  "Destiny and I had an act that worked on the road. She was an integral part of it. When she got sick," he said, stirring the pot of oatmeal. "I came up with this idea to keep us going as an act. I had always used a little ventriloquism in my act, you know.

  You knew that. right?"

  I shook my head.

  "Yes, I did. And when we were in Atlanta, I got
friendly with this puppet maker. I told him my idea, and he thought it was terrific, a challenge, so he worked hard on it. He actually visited us and took pictures of Destiny. The likeness is remarkable, just remarkable, don't you think?"

  I nodded, still dumbfounded. What should I have said? I never met her, so how would I know?

  "Anyway, we're still a hit on the road."

  "How do you do it?" I asked finally.

  "Do what?' He turned and held the spoon up. "Make oatmeal?"

  "No," I said. smiling. "How do you get the doll to turn its head and move like that?"

  "Oh. that. Okay. I'll tell you that because it's not so much a magic trick as it is a technical thing. I have this transmitter in my pocket, and the doll has little receivers in it. The puppet maker came up with that idea. Audiences just love the end of the act. Sometimes. I really overdo it. I run off the stage into the audience and out of the theater, or apparently out of the theater. I sneak around to get to the transmitter's range,"

  "But the voice, too?"

  "It's on a tape recorder. and I trigger that as well so it plays over the sound system in the theater. Now you know the secret." He thought a moment. "You know, I just had an idea. Something for you to do. We'll have to practice until I'm satisfied, of course,

  "What?" I asked. excited.

  "I'll show you how to manipulate the transmitter. You can do it from the audience. That way, the audience will be even more impressed. because I'll make my exit very obvious and

  convincing. I'll go out a side door or something. What do you think?"

  "Sure," I said. "I'll do anything to be an the road with you,"

  He nodded and then shook his head, "I'm just dreaming. You can't be on the road with me. April. You should be in school."

  It's all right. I'll do what's known as high school equivalency. You can be my legal guardian, Uncle Palaver. I'm sure Brenda won't min d or even care," I said.

  "I don't know." He looked toward the bedroom. "With Destiny and all..."

  "I'll help you with her. too," I blurted. "I mean, I'll do anything you need done."

  What was I saving? I knew what I was saving to him, but what was I saying to myself? Simple. I thought. I was willing to go along with anything as long as I could stay with him and not be forced to return to Brenda and that life. What harm would it do. anyway? If he was happy like this. I wouldn't do anything to hurt him.

  He considered. "Maybe." he said. "Maybe,"

  He poured the oatmeal into a bawl and put it on a tray.

  "Fix your breakfast. April. I want to get started in about a half hour or so. We still have a distance to drive, and there's preparation before the show at the theater itself."

  I watched him walk to the bedroom, carrying the tray. He opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. I heard his voice, muffled but sounding sweet and concerned. I heard my name mentioned. too.

  Uncle Palaver's world is a world of illusion, I told myself. To him, this all probably seems acceptable. Of course. I wondered what really happened to Destiny and how long he had been carrying on the illusion, but I thought in time he would tell me all. He would sit and explain everything when he got to know me better, perhaps, or when he trusted me. I wouldn't betray him. Never. I knew what pain that brought.

  I made my breakfast, and afterward, when he came out and told me she was asleep, I washed the empty bowl and other dishes and silverware while he went out to check the hitch and the car. Minutes later, we were on our way. I sat beside him and listened to him talk about his plans for the next show he would perform. He described some of the tricks and illusions and rambled on and on about some of the audiences recently and funny things that had occurred. Whenever he described an event or a place, he always mentioned Destiny and what she had thought or done. She was obviously woven so tightly into his memory and life now that it would take serious psychiatric surgery to get her out, and for what reason? He wasn't harming anyone, and it all made it easier for him to go on.

  It reminded me of the play Harvey about the invisible rabbit. In the end. Dowd's sister realized he was better off believing and seeing the rabbit. All the psychiatrist could do was make him unhappy.

  When we were young, we needed to believe in Santa Claus or some other wonderful illusion. When we were older, we fixated on movie stars or singers and built them up into people much -renter than they were. We were always looking toward someone or something to give us some hope and excitement, to fill and complete our lives. So Uncle Palaver believed in his Destiny, so what?

  I had nothing to believe in, and look how empty, how hollow and lost. I felt. Who was I to criticize and destroy his illusions?

  No. I thought. If he wanted me to bring her the oatmeal tomorrow. I would, and I would pretend just as he did that she was there to receive it.

  I would do anything to keep moving, because in my mind, I was moving away from all the sadness and disappointment that trailed behind. I longed to be able to forget the past and think only of what lay ahead.

  When we arrived at Uncle Palaver's next venue, however, there was a message from Brenda waiting for him. Somehow, she had realized I would be going to see him. Perhaps she had noticed the missing schedule sheet. It surprised me that she could remember it, or else she somehow had located another. As it turned out, she had known how to contact Uncle Palaver's booking agent.

  "Your sister is looking for you," he told me, "She left a message telling me you've ran away and wondered if I knew anything. I've got to call her back,"

  "Don't," I said.

  "We can't do that. April. You have to speak with her. Things could only become worse for you and even for me if you don't," he insisted. "Either you call her. or I will, What will it be?"

  Reluctantly, I went to a pay phone near the theater and called Brenda.

  "Just what do you think you're doing?" she asked the moment she heard my voice.

  "What I want to do. what I need to do," I replied. "What did you tell Uncle Palaver?"

  "The truth."

  She was quiet a moment. Then I heard her sigh deeply. "Celia left," she revealed.

  "For good?"

  "Probably. Look, April, you should come home and finish your school year. Over the summer..."

  "It's not my home. Brenda. I hate it. I don't have a home, and maybe I never will. It's better to be like Uncle Palaver, be on the road, not attached to anyone or anyplace ever."

  "Daddy used to call him a wandering gypsy, a hobo on wheels."

  "Uncle Palaver's happy, and when I compare him to us or to the way we were. I'd say he was the lucky one."

  "April, this is so crazy. You're not eighteen yet. Does Uncle Palaver realize he has to become your legal guardian?"

  "Yes, he does. I'm going to help him in his act. and I'm going to go for my high school equivalency. I know what I'm doing."

  "What are you doing in his act?"

  I didn't want to talk about Destiny. It was better she knew nothing of that. I thought.

  "It has to do with his illusions and such. It's too hard to explain. and besides. Uncle Palaver never talks about his tricks, and I can't. either."

  "Yeah, right." she said. "Well. I'm not coming after you. April. You're going to be on your own. Let me know where to send you money, and do that. All the paperwork has been set up for your trust, and the house was sold." she continued.

  I didn't want to hear any of it. I felt like slapping my hands over my ears. Our house, our home. Mama. Daddy, all of it was gone.

  "Good," I said. "I don't care about it anymore."

  "I'm sorry about what happened with Celia. I know it wasn't your fault. April," Brenda said in a most un-characteristically soft and tender way.

  "It wasn't. I was... surprised, too."

  "That boy called here," she also revealed. "Peter Smoke?"

  "Yes. He sounded very disappointed that you weren't here. I had to tell him I didn't know where you were or when you'd be back. He left you a message."

&
nbsp; "What was it?"

  "I'm sorry,'" he said. 'Tell her I'm sorry."

  "He did? Was that all he said?"

  "No. He also said something peculiar. He said I should tell you to follow the wheel, whatever that means."

  "I know what it means. If he ever calls again, you can tell him I am."

  "Was he the one who told you to run away?"

  "No. Mr. Panda did." I said.

  She was quiet. Neither of us spoke for a long moment.

  "I have an offer to join an international team this summer. I'm considering doing it. I was going to suggest you visit with Uncle Palaver then, anyway." she revealed.

  "Then no harm's been done." I said. "I'm just doing it a little sooner. I'm happy for you. Brenda. Go do what you are meant to do. Follow the wheel,"

  "What the heck does that mean?" She actually laughed.

  "Look it up. It's called the medicine wheel. It's an Indian thing." "Okay, okay. Take care of yourself, April. I'm sorry we've never been closer than we are. Maybe most of this is my fault."

  "It's no one's fault. It just is," I said.

  "Will you call me once in a while and tell me how you are?"

  "Yes." I promised.

  "And don't forget to get an address from Uncle Palaver for where I can send you money."

  "Okay," I said. I could feel the line between us beginning to thin out and drift off. It felt as if we had un-clasped each other's hand.

  "Good-bye. April," she said. "'Bye," I replied.

  She hung up first. I stood there with the dead receiver in my hand. I felt cold and numb, and for a moment. I couldn't breathe. I was like an astronaut who had stepped out of his space vehicle and was just hanging in space. Despite it all, she was still my sister. She was the last tie to what once had been a wonderful family life.

  "Good-bye," I said again, even though I knew she was gone. Then I hung up the phone and returned to the motor home, where Uncle Palaver was preparing himself and his Destiny for the evening's performance. He was already dressed in his fancy tuxedo and top hat with his white gloves.

  "What happened?" he asked. and I told him. He gave me an address for Brenda to use and didn't talk about my returning, which pleased me until he added. "Destiny is concerned about you but for now agrees it's all right."

  He showed me his transmitter for the doll and explained how he used it.