Heavenstone 01 - The Heavenstone Secrets

that.”
    She simply stared. She was wearing another one of Mother’s dresses and had once again brushed and kept her hair just like Mother had kept hers. I noticed she was wearing Mother’s jewelry, too.
    “Why do you keep wearing her things? Why don’t you wear your own things?”
    “You’re getting yourself upset,” she said. “What did I tell you about stress and pregnancy?”
    “Well, why do you do it? And don’t tell me youdon’t want to see it all go to waste or be given away. You have nice things to wear.”
    “I’m not going to stand here and talk about such nonsense.” She turned to leave.
    “It’s not nonsense!” I screamed. “I don’t want you wearing Mother’s things.”
    There, I thought, I said it.
    She turned very slowly and glared at me.“That’s a very unkind thing to say to me, Semantha. I’m doing everything to restore you in Daddy’s eyes.”
    “No, you’re not. You’re making yourself look good and me look bad. I hear things.”
    “I do what I have to do to get us through this.”
    “Through this? You caused it. I think you’ve convinced yourself that it’s all my fault.”
    “This discussion is over,” she said, and this time, she marched out. I heard her go up the stairs, and followed.
    “I won’t stay in this house another minute if you don’t take off Mother’s clothes!” I screamed.
    She paused on the stairway and looked down at me. Then she smiled.
    “Okay, Semantha. We’ll cater to your tantrums. I’ll go and change into something of my own. Satisfied?”
    “And take off her jewelry.”
    “Fine,” she said, and continued up.
    My heart was beating so hard I had to take hold of the banister to steady myself. The baby kicked and kicked. He hates when I’m upset, I thought. He can hear the shouting. I went to get myself a glass of cold water. As I stood in the kitchen drinking, I realized just how much I relished bossing Cassie. As long as Iwas pregnant and she had to be very careful with me, I could face her down. When I saw her come downstairs again in one of her own dresses and without Mother’s jewelry on, I enjoyed the sense of power, a sense I had never felt.
    “Satisfied?” she asked.
    “No. I never thought it was right that you took Mother’s locket. I should have been given a chance to wear it sometimes, too.”
    “You want it with my picture in it now?” she asked, smiling slyly.
    “Yes. I’ll put my picture in it.”
    “Fine,” she said, taking it off and handing it to me. “Here. Put your picture in it, but don’t lose my picture. It goes back in after … after you’ve had your turn. Now, are you satisfied?”
    “Yes. Don’t put any of her things on again,” I added.
    I could see the battle with herself in her face, the struggle to restrain herself and the urge to come at me as she usually would.
    “I have some paperwork to do. Go upstairs and take a nap. Calm yourself down,” she ordered, and walked off to Daddy’s office.
    I smiled and congratulated myself. My success gave me more courage and a burst of energy I had not felt for months. Drunk with my newfound power and filled with determination, I went upstairs and into Cassie’s room. I threw open her closet and began to take out each and every one of Mother’s dresses, skirts, and blouses. It was easy to tell which had been hers.
    I’ll make sure she doesn’t wear Mother’s thingsagain,
I vowed. I formed small bundles with the garments and carried them one at a time to the stairway at the end of the corridor that led up to our attic. The light switch was on the right just inside the door. There were only naked bulbs hanging from the ceiling, but they illuminated the space well enough. I would put Mother’s things in an old armoire at the far right corner. The door had a key in the lock. I remembered the piece well, because I had been up there often when I was younger, pretending it was my own little house. In fact, some of my dolls were still set where I had placed them years ago. They were the witnesses today, watching my every move. I even spoke to them, the way I used to when I was a child.
    “I’ve got to do this. I’ve got to stop it. Cassie is not our mother and never will be. It’s too painful for me to see her wearing Mother’s things.”
    It took me three trips to get all of the clothes up and into the armoire. I was tired but still quite energized, so I returned to Cassie’s room and began gathering what I knew to be Mother’s jewelry as