Scattered Leaves by V. C. Andrews
"Oh, this is it. I'm sure."
The driveway itself was nowhere as pretty as Grandmother Emma's. This one was just dirt and crushed stones with ditching on both sides. Weeds grew up out of the ditching, too. Felix had to drive very slowly because there were large potholes to avoid.
"Well, this is gone to the dogs," he said.
I looked to the right and saw the uncut grass frill of tall weeds. There was another, much smaller house with a small tractor parked off to the right of that. I could see it had a flat tire and leaned so far to the right that it looked like it might topple. An oldlooking, dirty blue car was parked in front, parked on what looked like what little lawn the house had.
The grass on my left wasn't as tall but looked like it hadn't been cut for some time either. There were weeds and untrimmed bushes everywhere. A sick maple tree in front was having an early autumn and dropped its leaves like tears, crying about itself. There was a wheelbarrow turned on its side beneath it, the inside streaked with rust. It looked like it had been left there fifty years ago.
But my attention went quickly to the
farmhouse. This was a very different house from the mansion in which we had all lived with Grandmother Emma, and not just because it was much, much smaller. It was still a large house with two stories and an attic. There was a small tower on the right side with arched windows and the front had a wide porch, but it didn't look very nice and certainly not what I'd expect to be the home of Grandmother Emma's sister.
"This was once quite a house," Felix remarked. The way he emphasized "once" told me he didn't think that much of it now either. The wall cladding and roofing were composed of continuous wood shingles that had long ago faded and graved. As we drew closer. I saw that some windows had just window shades drawn down or a little ways up, but few had curtains. Some spindles in the porch railings were missing and some hung loosely and looked as if they would fall out any moment. I could see that the second step to the porch was broken.
Because of the way the porch roof shaded the front of the house now, the windows were dark, more like mirrors.
As we came around. I made out the side of what looked like a small barn behind the house, but the grass was wild and uncut around it as well.
I'm going to live here? I wondered, I suddenly remembered the tale of The Prince and the Pauper. I had left the grand castle where I had lived like a princess and now I was going to live like a poor little girl. Why did Grandmother Emma leave her one and only sister in such a place? Didn't she care that people would see how she had left and treated her only sister? How could Grandmother Emma not know how dilapidated and rundown it was? Exactly when had she been here last? Surely it must have been a long time ago, and it must have been beautiful then or she wouldn't have sent me. Maybe she knew but didn't care. And now she was sending me here. too! Wasn't I a March anymore?
Or maybe being sick had made her so unhappy that she wasn't worried whether or not I would be.
When Felix stopped the car, he just sat there staring at the house, shaking his head slowly. He couldn't believe it either. It was all a mistake. He remained seated. For a moment I wondered if he was going to get out at all, or if he was just going to start the engine, turn around, and take me back.
Finally, he opened his door and got out. He stood there for a few moments with his hands on his hips, gazing at the property. He shook his head more vigorously this time, then finally reached for my door and opened it for me.
"I'll get your things," he said. "Just wait here."
I got out slowly while he went to the trunk to fetch my suitcases. There was still no sign of anyone either at the farmhouse or the smaller house to my right. Perhaps everyone left, I thought. That could be it, Everyone left a long tune ago. No one lived here anymore and Grandmother Emma just didn't know yet. I couldn't help wishing that was so.
Felix came around and started for the front porch.
"Come along," he said. "but watch the step." he warned. I could hear the underflow of anger growling in his throat. He stepped over the broken step, glaring back at it.
Closer now. I could see that even some porch floorboards were cracked, a few broken enough to have fallen in, leaving gaping holes. The front windows were stained with dust and dirt. There were pieces of bushes and tree branches scattered over the porch floor. No one had swept it for some time. There was a flannel shirt crumpled in the corner.
Felix lowered my suitcases carefully to the porch floor, as if he thought the weight of them might cave it in. He searched for a door buzzer and found a hole with a wire. He plucked it and glanced at it, and then at me, with disgust before turning to the door and knocking hard on it-- so hard that the panel windows rattled. I thought they'd fall out and shatter. Again, he looked at me, his face dark and gray with displeasure.
I was overcome and depressed by the same disappointment. When I first had heard I was going to live with Great-aunt Frances on a farm. I immediately envisioned the farms I had seen in my storybooks and on television, farms with whitewashed picket fences, pretty, well-kept corrals and lots of fun farm animals. Surely. I kept hoping. Grandmother Emma and the March family couldn't own anything as dreary as this.
I remembered hearing how my grandfather had gotten the property in a foreclosure, but I also remembered either my grandmother or my father saying he wanted it to be their rural retreat, a vacation home. I knew they had fixed it up. It was all so confusing. If they had fixed it up, how could it look like this? Why or how Great-aunt Frances had ended up living here. I did not know, and I certainly didn't know or understand how she could be living here now.
No one came to the door, so Felix rapped on it again, this time taking care to hit only the solid section, really pounding on the jamb itself. Finally, we heard footsteps and a high-pitched, "Coming, coming. Don't bust a gut"
The door did not open easily. It caught on the jamb as if it hadn't been opened for centuries and looked like it would be torn in half with any effort to open it. Finally, it did, and my great-aunt Frances stepped out to greet us. Felix, who assuredly had seen her before, actually recoiled at the sight of her. I stood there, gaping in disbelief.
I could hear my grandmother Emma's chiding, "Don't stare at someone like that. It's impolite."
But how could I not? Great-aunt Frances's dark gray hair was in clumsily spun pigtails, strands curling off like broken guitar strings. It looked like a poor attempt to make her aged face youthful.
She was about Grandmother Emma's height, but she was heavier, both in her bosom and hips. She wore a dull blue one- piece dress that had a tear in the skirt hem. The sleeves had a frilly white trim and the bodice had a collar that fit snugly around her neck, just opened at the base. She wore a light red lipstick and had some faint rouge on her cheeks, but her eyebrows were untrimmed. I saw she had a gold teardrop earring on her right ear but none on her left. A charm bracelet dangled off her right wrist. However, it looked like a child's toy bracelet made of plastic.
"Sorry. Miss Wilkens," Felix said. "but do you know your door buzzer is broken?"
"Is it? I haven't had anyone come calling for so long, I didn't know." she said, looking at the wires Felix showed her. "Oh, how terrible. Someone could get a nasty shock."
"No. It's dead," Felix said dryly. Then he turned to me. "This is Jordan."
"Jordan?"
"Jordan March. Miss Wilkens, your grandniece. I know you were informed we'd be here today."
"Oh, dear me, is today the day? How did I forget?" She looked at me and smiled, "Oh, good," she said, clapping her hands. "You're not a baby. I didn't know how I could look after a baby."
Felix turned to me. I think we were both thinking the same thing: Look- after a baby? You don't look like you call look after yourself
"Anyway, hello. Miss Wilkens," Felix said. "How are you?"
"How am I? Oh. I'm doing just fine, thank you. Thank you for asking." She looked at him, obviously just realizing who he was. "Oh, yes. you're Felix. Emma's chauffeur
"She's about the same. Miss Wilkens." "Oh?"
She brought her hands to the base of her neck. She looked from him to me and then back to him.
"Does that mean she's not getting better?"
"Not yet. Miss Wilkens."
"Oh, dear. Emma will be very vexed about that. She will give her doctors a piece of her mind if she's not better soon." she added, nodding.
"Yes," Felix said, finally smiling. "She's already done that."
"Well," Great-aunt Frances said after taking a deep breath, "is that all you have, dear, those two suitcases?"
"That's all she has right now," Felix replied for me. I'll bring other things as time goes by and we see what she needs."
I could almost hear him add. "If she stays here, that is."
"No matter. There are so many, many things you can wear. I never threw anything out. Emma was always complaining to our parents about that. 'She hoards everything like a squirrel,' she cried. I even saved my first lost tooth. It's in a little box my mother gave me when it fell out of my mouth. Did you save your first tooth?"
"No," I said.
"Don't you believe in the tooth fairy?"
I smirked, thinking of how Ian would have reacted to such a question. How could she think a girl my age would still believe in the tooth fairy, especially a girl who looked as old as I did?
"No,"
"That's sad. There are so few nice things to believe in. We have to hold on to them. Here's another thing I won't ever throw away." she said, holding up her wrist to dangle the charm bracelet, "It's the first birthday gift I remember my father giving me."
I smiled, but I didn't know what to say. Grandmother Emma would certainly never wear anything a child would wear, even if it held some precious memory for her.
"Oh," she said, realizing where we were all standing to continue the discussion, "I'm sorry. I've been living alone for so long. I've forgotten my manners. Emma would have me locked in a closet, but manners are important only when you're with other people. You don't have to be polite to yourself. Well, it's time you came in. dear. It's time you came into your new home. How exciting it must be for you. Welcome," she added and stepped back.
Felix looked at me. I could see it in his face, the question: Would I just tarn and bolt for the car, or would I step into the house? I imagined he wouldn't blame me if I ran, even if it made Grandmother Emma angry.
I closed my eyes and held my breath for a moment.
"Show no fear," I imagined Ian telling me. "You're a March. You can be as strong as Grandmother Emma. Show them all right from the start."
Clutching the bag of his letters to me as if I thought they would somehow protect me from anything unpleasant, I stepped into the house.
It was like starting a new chapter in a book that had yet to be written, a book that I feared had a sad ending and certainly not an ending written by me.
2 At Great-aunt Frances's
. The only light inside the house came from the sunlight that poured either through the windows without shades or the windows with curtains that weren't drawn closed. The entryway was wide but short, with a dull brass chandelier that was missing bulbs. A wooden coat hanger stood almost in our way on our right. What looked like a man's black wool overcoat hung on it, with a black woolen hat hanging beside it. Below were a pair of old-fashioned galoshes and what looked like the left foot of a pair of men's black leather slippers. On the other side of the entryway was a mirror in a gilded frame that practically cried out for cleaning and polishing. I saw gobs of dust in the corners as well. A thin gray rug sat unevenly on the hardwood floor. It was so dirty and worn I could see the wood through the torn threads.
I was immediately taken with the odor of burned toast and bacon, but the scents smelled old, like the aromas of foods cooked days ago and trapped inside. The house did seem stuffy and dank. I wondered why all the windows weren't thrown open on such a nice day. Nancy, who wouldn't hesitate to open the windows in my and Ian's rooms, even on cloudy days, would say, "A room has to breathe fresh air once in a while. too." She made it sound as if the walls and furniture could suffocate.
Directly ahead of us and to the left was a stairway not half the width and height of the one in Grandmother Emma's mansion. It, too, had a worn gray carpet over its steps. The railing was much thinner than the beautiful balustrade Grandmother Emma took pride in. It wasn't as elaborately designed. I saw that the knob at the bottom was missing. Only a stem stuck up.
Along the corridor to the stairway and beyond were framed photographs of people I thought might be family. I was sure one was of Grandmother Emma when she graduated from college. Some were awkwardly tilted, and the one nearest to me tilted forward and looked like it was ready to fall. How could anyone walk by it and not fix it? I wondered,
My gaze went to the walls themselves. They were covered in a faded Wedgwood blue wallpaper with edges curled out and actual tears in some places that made it look like someone had been scratching at it. Maybe the house is going to be renovated, I thought. That was a sensible explanation for all this. Before we had to move to Grandmother Emma's mansion, my mother once took Ian and me to a house she was considering renovating. It didn't look in any better condition, but she said that was all we could afford without depending on Grandmother Emma.
Suddenly, a large gray cat with spotted gold eyes stepped out of the room on our right. It arched its back at the sight of us and then relaxed and sauntered down the hallway, bored and disinterested. Ian would say it had the March arrogance.
"That's Miss Puss." Great-aunt Frances told me. "She's twelve years old so she thinks she owns the house and will go anywhere she wants. Don't be surprised to see her under your bed or on the kitchen table. I should be more stern with her, but thanks to her, we don't have mice."
Grandmother Emma never permitted us to have a pet. She was of the belief that all animals were wild by nature and domesticating them was a futile endeavor, which Ian explained meant a waste of time. She said they brought in dirt and odor and were not kind to furniture. Once, Ian asked to have a dog, but only because he wanted to study the animal and repeat some experiments someone named Pavlov had done establishing some important scientific facts.
Grandmother Emma wouldn't hear of it.
"You're not allergic to cats, are you?" Great
aunt Frances suddenly thought to ask.
"No. I don't think so," I said. "We never had a
cat or a dog.'
"Lester Marshall has a hound dog named
Bones, but he doesn't come into the house. I think he's
afraid of Miss Puss, even though a dog would never
admit being afraid of a cat," she told me almost in a
whisper. She was so serious-looking when she said it
that anyone listening might think she really believed
dogs could talk.
She just assumed I knew who Lester Marshall
was, I guess.
I glanced at Felix, who was studying everything
in the house and shaking his head. He looked at Greataunt Frances and then at me and I thought there was
some real hesitation in his face. He was gripping my
suitcases tightly now. I could see it in the way his
hands hardened; the veins in them were embossed and
his knuckles had turned white. He knew that
Grandmother Emma wouldn't set foot in here, I
thought. She would turn around and order an army of
house cleaners to report immediately.
Great-aunt Frances moved the coat hanger
back. She saw the way I was looking at the coat. "This was my father's coat and hat and those
were his boots. I put them there to keep him close,"
she said. smiling. "If you throw away or hide
everything that belonged to the people you loved, you
make their sp
would say that's silly," she added, gazing at Felix. He
forced a smile.
I wasn't sure if I would or not. It sounded
sensible and Grandmother Emma did tell us our
ancestors were always watching and listening. "I'm sure you're getting hungry for lunch and
your little stomach is growling angrily. I'll make some
lunch for you, too, Felix."
"No, Miss Wilkens. I'm not staying for lunch. I
have to start back as soon as I see to Jordan's being
settled. I have things to do back in Bethlehem for Mrs.
March."
"Oh." She shook her head and scrunched her
nose, making ripples in her forehead. "My sister
always worked her help too much." she told me and
turned to Felix. "Let's show Jordan to her room right
away then," she declared, clapping her hands together
as if she had just thought of the idea. "Follow me up
the stairway,"
She kept her palms pressed together and
waddled toward the stairs. A hailstorm of questions
peppered my mind. When had she stopped being the
beautiful, trim-figured woman in the March family
albums? How long had she been living here? Was she
always by herself? Why hadn't she ever married? Why
didn't she have children of her own?
Felix waited for me to follow her first. I gazed
through the doorway of what was surely the living
room and saw it was a very messy room. There were
magazines strewn about the furniture and an the floor.
A blanket was crumpled at the foot of the large darkbrown pillow sofa. Glasses and dishes were on the
long, narrow, wooden coffee table, and a towel had
been tossed to or dropped on the other side of that. I
couldn't see much more because we were walking too
quickly for me to pause, but I did catch a glimpse of
stockings hanging on the fireplace, Christmas
stockings. What were they doing there now? It was