Casteel 05 Web of Dreams by V. C. Andrews Page B

take that outfit to the laundry immediately to see if it can be salvaged."
"Momma, it wasn't Daddy's fault. I just wasn't careful,
"Of course it was his fault," she insisted, glaring at him. "If he hadn't taken you to where he had taken you, it wouldn't have happened."
"But I wanted to go, Momma. I wanted to see the engines and . ."
"You wanted to see the engines?" She rolled her eyes. "Look at what you are turning her into," she said, her palms out toward me as if I had changed into some sort of creature on the spot. Daddy closed and opened his eyes patiently.
"It won't hurt her to know a little about the workings of the ship and the things that can go wrong. The day will come. . ."
"The day will come when all this will end," Momma snapped and pulled me toward my suite, leaving Daddy standing behind us with his mouth open. I felt so sorry for him, but Momma was in a rage and babbled on and on about how he was ruining me, ruining my chances to become a debutante, a young and desirable young lady. She said he was "suffocating my femininity."
I tried to defend him, but she wouldn't listen. I got out of my outfit quickly and changed into something else while she went off to give the greasestreaked shorts and blouse to a maid. By the time I emerged from my suite, Daddy was already gone. I spent the remainder of the day feeling terrible because I thought it had all been my fault. Oh, why hadn't I been more careful? Why wasn't I as concerned about my clothing and my looks as Momma was? There were cracks appearing all over my fragile world, but I was trying desperately to hold it together.
I couldn't remember seeing Momma shout at Daddy that way or Daddy so embarrassed and angry. This cruise, which was supposed to make Momma happy and cheer Daddy up by helping his business, was turning out to be a disaster for all of us.
That evening things became even worse when Momma developed a bad case of seasickness. Not only didn't she come out to dinner, but she didn't come out to enjoy any of the entertainment, which included ballroom dancing, one of the few things she enjoyed doing on the ship. Every time I went down to her suite to see how she was, I found her moaning and groaning.
"Why did I agree to this? Why did I come on this ship? I wish I could just fade away," she wailed. I couldn't do anything to help her. The ship's doctor was called twice. He gave her double doses of everything, but she wasn't much better the next day, and once again, she wouldn't get out of her bed. I went down to read to her and keep her company. She was very depressed because she looked so pale and sickly that no amount of makeup could help.
"I don't even want the servants to see me," she cried. "It will take me weeks to get over this," she claimed. "Weeks!" She pulled on strands of her hair. "Just look at what's happening to me. Look!"
"But Momma, this never happened before. Why is it happening on this trip?" I asked. Her eyes cut toward me sharply and for a moment grew small. Then she fell back against her large, fluffy pillow and crossed her arms under her bosom, pouting.
"How would I know? I was just lucky before." She turned on me quickly. "You don't remember your first trip across the Atlantic, I suppose," she added in a biting tone. It was as if I had accused her of faking it and she wanted to punish me. "You were so sick the first two days, I thought we would have to turn the liner around and go back to Boston. Then, as your father would say, you got your sea legs. He was so happy about it, as if walking around looking like a bowlegged sailor is an accomplishment."
She turned to the wall to catch her breath. Her face was brightened with emotion as she encouraged her own anger. When she looked at me again, she had a very ugly but determined look on her face.
"Well, I never wanted sea legs," she said smirking. "Oh, I don't know why I didn't insist Cleave get out of this stupid business years ago. We could have had a respectable business in the city . .