The Carpetbaggers (32 page)

Geraldine laughed. "Now up to bed with you, young lady. You still need your rest."

"O.K., Mother." Rina bent over her and quickly kissed her cheek. "Good night."

She crossed the room and kissed her father's cheek. "Good night, Father."

She ran out of the room and they could hear her feet running up the stairs. Harrison Marlowe lowered his paper. "She seems quite happy."

"Why shouldn't she be?" Geraldine said. "Her first date. Every girl is excited after her first date."

He put down the paper. "What do you say we go out on the porch for a bit of air?"

They came out into the night. "Laddie?" she called.

"Over here, Mother."

She turned and saw him rising from the chaise. "Did you have a good time?"

"All right," he said shortly.

"Rina wasn't any bother, was she?"

"No."

"You don't sound happy about having to take her with you."

"It was O.K., Mother," he said tensely.

"Sometimes, son," his father said, "we have to do things even if we don't like it. One of them is looking after your sister. That's a brother's job."

"I said it was all right, Father," he snapped.

"Laddie!" his mother exclaimed in surprise.

Laddie looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry, Father," he said in a low voice.

She moved over and looked into his face. "Are you feeling all right, Laddie?" she asked with concern. "You look flushed and warm to me and your face is all perspired. Here, let me wipe it for you." Her hand sought his breast-pocket handkerchief. "Why, Laddie, what happened to your handkerchief? I saw it in your pocket when you left."

For a moment there was something in his eyes that reminded her of a stricken animal, then it was gone. "I— I guess I lost it," he stammered.

She touched his forehead. "Are you sure you haven't a fever?"

"I think you'd better go up to bed, son," his father said.

"Yes, Father." He turned to his mother and kissed her. "Good night," he said and went quickly into the house.

"I wonder what's the matter with him?"

Harrison Marlowe snorted. "I know what's the matter with him."

"You do?"

He nodded. "He's spoiled, that's what. He's so used to having everything the way he wants it, he sulks when he has to do a little thing like chaperon his sister. He's angry because he couldn't sit over in the Randall's yard and spoon with Tommy's cousin Joan."

"Harry, you're being horrid!"

"No I’m not," he said. "Take it from me. I know boys. What he needs is a little discipline." He began to pack his pipe. "And you're doing the same with Rina. Giving her everything she wants. She'll be spoiled soon, too."

"I know what's bothering you," she said. "You just don't like the idea of them growing up. You'd like to keep them children forever."

"No. But you have to admit they are spoiled."

"Maybe they are a little," she admitted.

He smiled. "Well, anyway, it's a good thing they'll be going back to school next month. Barrington's good for Laddie."

"Yes," she agreed. "And I'm glad Rina's been accepted at Jane Vincent's school. They'll make a little lady out of her."

* * *

For Laddie, it was a summer of pain and torture, of wild physical sensation and excruciating, conscience-stricken agonies. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat, he was afraid to look at her in the mornings and then, when he saw her, he couldn't bear to let her out of his sight. Jealous tortures flamed inside him when he saw her smiling or talking to other boys. Visions born of his knowledge of her would fill his mind and he could see them with her the way he had been. An uneasy, frightened contentment would steal through him when they were together.

And lurking all the while in the deep recesses of his mind was the fear — the fear of discovery, the fear of seeing the hurt and shock and loathing come to the faces of his parents once they knew.

But when she looked at him, smiled at him, touched him, all that was suddenly gone and he would do anything in the world to please her. He abased himself, groveled before her, wept with the agony of his self-flagellation. Then the fear would return. Because there was no escaping the fact. She was his sister. It was wrong.

It was with a feeling of relief that he saw the crazy summer come to an end. It was over, he thought. Away from her, he would be able to find himself again, to control the fevers that she set raging in his blood. When they would come again to the beach next summer, it would be different. He would be different, she would be different.

No more, he would say to her. No more. It's wrong.

That was what he believed when he returned to school at the end of that summer.

"I’M PREGNANT," SHE SAID. "I’M GOING TO HAVE a baby."

Laddie felt a dull ache spread over him. Somehow, this was the way he'd always known it would turn out. Ever since that first summer two years ago. He looked up at her, squinting his eyes against the sun. "How do you know?"

She spoke quietly, as if she were just talking about the weather. "I’m late," she said simply. "I've never been late before."

He looked down at his hands. They were sun-darkened against the white sand. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," she answered. Her white-blond hair glittered in the sunlight as she turned and looked out at the ocean. "If nothing happens by tomorrow, I guess I'll have to tell Mother."

"Will you— will you tell her about us?"

"No," she said swiftly, in a low voice. She picked the next question from his lips. "I'll tell her it was Tommy, or Bill, or Joe," she answered, still not looking at him.

Despite himself, he felt a twinge of jealousy. "Did you— with all of them?" he asked hesitantly.

Her dark eyes fixed on his own now. "No," she said emphatically. "Of course not. Only with you."

"What if she talks to them? Then she'll know you're lying."

"She won't," Rina said positively. "Especially when I tell her I don't know which one it was."

He stared at her. In so many ways, she was older than he. "What do you think she'll do?"

Rina shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. There's not very much she can do, I guess."

He watched her walk down the beach to meet some friends, then rolled over in the sand and placed his head on his arms. He groaned aloud. It had happened. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had always known it would. He remembered the night just a few short weeks ago.

They had come down to the beach that summer as they did every year. But this time, it was going to be different. He had sworn it to himself. And he had told her, too.

"No more," he said. "It's stupid, it's kid stuff. You stick to your friends and I’ll stick to mine. We'll only get in trouble if we keep it up."

She had agreed. Even promised. And he had to admit she had kept her word. It was he who had broken his vow. And all because of that damned bottle of orange pop.

It had been a rainy afternoon and they were alone in the cottage. It was hot and humid and the air clung heavily to his body, sheathing it in an invisible choking blanket. His shirt and trousers were wringing with perspiration when he went into the kitchen. He opened the icebox but the usual bottle of orange pop he kept there was gone. He closed the icebox door angrily.

He went upstairs and past her open door before his mind absorbed what his eyes had seen. He walked back and stood in the open doorway. She was naked on the bed, half reclining, the bottle of orange pop in her hand. She was staring at it intently.

He felt the pulse begin to hammer in his head, the perspiration break out anew beneath his clothing. "What are you doing with my orange pop?" he asked. He knew he sounded stupid, even as he spoke.

She moved her head slightly on the pillow and looked at him. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and hazy. "Drinking it," she answered huskily, putting it to her mouth. "What do you think?"

The soda overflowed her mouth and ran in orange driblets down her cheeks, across her breasts to the convex of her belly and onto the white sheet. She smiled at him and held out the bottle. "Want some?"

As if he were someone else, he saw himself cross the room and lift the bottle to his lips. It was warm from her touch. He felt the sweetness of the liquid spill into his mouth. He looked down at her.

She was smiling up at him. 'You're excited," she said softly. "And you said you wouldn't be any more. But you are."

Some of the orange soda spilled down across his shirt as he suddenly realized he had betrayed himself. He turned to go but her hand caught him around the thigh. He almost screamed with the sudden inflaming agony of her touch.

"Just this once more," she whispered. "And then never again."

He stood frozen, afraid to move, afraid he would stumble and fall because of the trembling within him. "No," he said hoarsely.

"Please," she whispered, her fingers opening, searching.

He stood there as if paralyzed. An anguished moan came from deep within him. There would be no more of this, no more humiliation, no more groveling before her. This time she would learn to leave him alone.

With one hand, he seized her wrists and bent her back to the bed. Her eyes were still confident, still unafraid as they watched him. Suddenly, he pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth was warm and moist and still tasted of the orange soda. Then he moved his head and his lips were traveling down her body, across her throat, over her breasts.

It was then she began to fight him. "No!" she whispered, writhing away from him. "No! Don't touch me!"

But he didn't even hear her. He could feel the red rage pumping in his temples; there was a congestion in his chest. He felt her hand pull loose and rake his chest, leaving a clean, hot path of pain in its wake. Bewildered, he looked down at himself and saw the bloody traces of her fingernails on his flesh. A terrible anger rose up in him.

"You cock-teaser!" he yelled, swinging his free hand. The blow caught her on the side of her face. knocking her back against the bed. She stared up at him with frightened eyes.

"You bitch!" he said, tearing his belt from his trousers. He raised her arms over her head and lashed her wrists to the iron bedpost. He picked up the half-empty bottle from the bed where it had fallen. "Still thirsty?"

She shook her head.

He tilted the bottle and began to laugh as the orange soda ran down over her. "Drink!" he said. "Drink all you can!"

The bottle flew from his hands as she kicked it away. He caught at her legs and pinned them against the bed with his knees. He laughed wildly. "Now, my darling little sister, there'll be no more games."

"No more games," she gasped, staring up into his eyes. His face came down and his mouth covered hers. She felt herself begin to relax.

Then the fierce, sharp pain penetrated her body. She screamed. His hand came down heavily over her mouth, as again and again the pain ripped through her.

And all that was left was the sound of her voice, screaming silently in the confines of her throat, and the ugliness and horror of his body on her own.

* * *

Laddie rolled over on the sand. It was all over now. Tomorrow his mother would know. And it would be his fault. They would blame him and they would be right. No matter what, he shouldn't have let it happen. A shadow fell across him and he looked up.

Rina was standing there. She dropped to the sand beside him. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," he said dully.

She reached a hand out to his. "I shouldn't have let you do it," she whispered.

"You couldn't have stopped me," he said. "I must have been crazy." He looked at her. "If we were anybody else, we could run away and get married."

"I know."

His voice turned bitter. "It isn't as if we were really brother and sister. If only they hadn't adopted— "

"But they did," Rina said quickly, and with a sure knowledge. "Besides, we can't blame it on them. It wasn't their fault." She felt the tears come into her eyes. She sat there silently as they rolled down her cheeks.

"Don't cry."

"I— I can't help it," she whispered. "I'm scared."

"I am, too," he said. "But crying won't help."

The tears kept rolling silently down her cheeks. After a moment, she heard his voice. She looked at him. His lips moved awkwardly. "Even if you are my sister, you know that I love you?"

She didn't answer.

"I've always loved you, I guess. I couldn't help it. Somehow, the other girls were nothing when I compared them with you."

"I guess the reason I was so bad was because I was jealous of the girls you went with," she confessed. "I didn't want them to have you. That's why I did what I did. I couldn't let any other boy touch me. I couldn't stand them."

His hand tightened on her fingers. "Maybe it'll turn out all right yet," he said, trying for reassurance.

"Maybe," she said, a dull hopelessness in her voice.

Then they ran out of language and they turned and watched the surf run away with their childhood.

* * *

Laddie sat at the helm of his small sailboat and watched his mother in the bow. He felt a gust of wind take the sail and automatically he compensated for the drift while scanning the sky. There were squall clouds coming up ahead. Time to head for the dock. Slowly he began to come about.

"Turning back?" he heard his mother call.

"Yes, Mother," he replied. It seemed strange to have her aboard. But she had wanted to come. It was almost as if she had sensed there was something troubling him.

"You've been pretty quiet this morning," she said.

He didn't meet her gaze. "I have to concentrate on the boat, Mother."

"I don't know what's the matter with you children," she said. "You're both so moody lately."

He didn't answer. He kept his eyes on the squall clouds up ahead. He thought about Rina. Then himself. Then his parents. A sorrow began to well up inside him. He felt his eyes begin to burn and smart.

His mother's voice was shocked. "Why, Laddie, you're crying!"

Then the dam broke and the sobs racked his chest. He felt his mother's hand draw his head down to her breast as she had done so often when he was a baby. "What's the matter, Laddie? What's wrong?" she asked softly.