Black and Blue Ivy

Betrayal

Before I could even respond to his outburst, Bentley stormed off, leaving me alone in the barn staring at Goldenrod's impassive face. How I wish I could have changed places with her, with any animal, plant even. I'd have done anything to not have had to feel the complete coldness that washed over me when Bentley left. I knew he wasn't happy about my pregnancy. I was scared too, but I wasn't expecting that response? I never felt so lonely in my life than when I wandered out from the barn in a complete daze.

The sun was high and bright in a cloudless sky; a cool breeze rustled the freshly-cut blades of grass, but my spirit felt crushed, as if it had fallen to the bottom of a cold, damp well. What was I supposed to do now? Providence House reared before me like a fortress of doom. Could I really believe that this was my home? Bitterness settled in my already upset stomach and for a moment my footsteps halted as I though I might vomit. But luckily it was a false alarm. Somehow my feet moved one in front of the other. I knew what I had to do; I had no choice but to leave this horrid place. Leave Bentley. Why should I stick around someone who obviously wants nothing to do with me. I swallowed the last of my pride. I didn't think about where I'd go or what I'd do except to leave—get out now!

I entered through the kitchen door. Luckily, no one was there. I mounted the backstairs where each landing appeared darker, colder than the last.

Hysterical tears were pressing against my unstable wall of self-respect. I nearly collapse in a heaving, heaping mess of emotion, but somehow the old neighborhood toughness edified me just get to my room.

Pack your stuff, and just walk out of here. It doesn't matter where you go. Just—

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Gardenia standing in the hall bathed in a shaft of golden light spilling in one of the windows looking out on the garden. She wore a green dress, bright as the color of the grass outside.

She knows!

Instinctually, I turned to run, but suddenly Mrs. Roche blocked my egress from the opposite end of the hall.

Try as I might I could not get my feet to move nor to rustle the strength to push past them. It was later I realized I was frozen—with fear.

"Ivy..."

When was the last time Gardenia spoke my name?

"Let's talk in your room, where it's private?"

Mrs. Roche was closing in on me now.

"I-I want to leave," I whispered.

Gardenia reached two slim arms toward me. "We understand that you're scared and we just want to help you."

Her mouth was a tight straight line, her eyes like empty holes. For all her make-up, she looked like a skull, like death!

"No!"

I turned to run, but Mrs. Roche grabbed me by one arm. With surprising strength, she twisted it behind my back. I screeched from the pain. Her hand clamped over my mouth. The scent of Lysol and bleach nearly gagged me.

Suddenly, I had lost all control. I was kicking and scratching when Gardenia grabbed my legs.

"Hurry!" she grunted as she and Mrs. Roche lifted me off the floor and half carried, half dragged me up the attic steps. They shoved me hard on to the bed.

"My dress is torn!" I heard Gardenia complain.

I bounced off the bed to make a run for the door, but Mrs. Roche stopped me in my tracks with a hard, backhand across the face. I sank back to the bed and everything turned black for a moment. When I regained consciousness, I was alone in my room. The sky had changed from blue to gray and shadows were deepening in the corners of the room. I leaped off the bed and ran down the stairs. The door was locked, but still I pounded, kicked, and screamed.

"You can't keep me locked up like a prisoner!" I shouted through the seam in the door. I heard my words echo down the empty hallway. I screamed and shouted some more, and pounded my fists into the wood until they ached. I cursed the family, saving my choicest insults for Gardenia, hoping against hope that someone, Mr. Robinson or Aileen or the tutor, would hear me and come to my rescue. At last, I screamed for Bentley. He may be upset about my being pregnant, but would he be okay with me being locked up? Surely, he wouldn't sanctioned this kind of behavior from these two crazy harpies. After all, didn't he just days ago tell me he loved me?

The absurdity of it all broke something in me. None of it made any sense and after I'd finally worn myself out attacking the door, I had nothing left in me but tears. Pathetically, I used my remaining strength to walk, no crawl, up the stairs. But when I returned to my room, I saw Bentley was standing on the roof outside the window. Here was my prince ready to rescue me from my tower prison. I ran to the window, but when I tried to lift the sash I found I couldn't.

Bentley's face appeared distorted through the glass. It was a face I didn't recognize.

"Open the window!" I cried, nearly clawing at it.

Bentley shook his head grimly and said, "I'm sorry, Ivy."

"Sorry for what?"

He bent down and lifted a board, then placing it over the window he began to nail it to the outside frame.

"No! No!" I shouted. "What are you doing?"

The sound of the hammer striking the nail felt like it was driven straight into my heart. I was pleading now, sobbing, my words turning to babyish babble. Suddenly, I understood everything. I recalled the other boarded up room belonging to Marjorie. Marjorie, the girl who disappeared right before Gardenia's new infant appeared on the scene. What had they done to her after Bentley, the stud, knocked her up? Their sick, twisted game was clear to me now. They'd all set a trap to get Marjorie pregnant so Gardenia could have another baby, another doll to fill her emptiness. And now that trap was set for me, and I walked right into it.

Bentley pounded a second board in place over top of the first.

I slammed my palms against the glass panes.

"Why?" I screamed.

Bentley removed a nail from between his teeth and hammered it into the board. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead from the effort. He raked his hand through his hair like I'd seen him do a hundred times.

We locked eyes through the glass and for a moment I saw a flash of remorse.

"It's not personal, Ivy," he said after taking a breath. "I'm sorry this happened to you. Really, I am. But now it's happened and there's nothing any of us can do about it. You'll have to stay here until the baby is born, and then—"

"Are you fucking crazy!" This time I struck the glass so hard it shattered, but before I could even feel the pain or the warm blood streaming down my wrists, Mrs. Roche grabbed me from behind and once again threw me on the bed, but this time she came armed with a hypodermic needle which she promptly jammed into my thigh. After that, I remember nothing.