I have always wondered about my grandmother whom I was named after. Catherine Dahl Sheffield, a prima ballerina, who had married three times, had one love affair and three children. The last man she married was to her brother Christopher. Since forever, I was curious of her relationship and how she could ever fallen in love with her brother but I was never told much.
My father Jory Janus Marquet Sheffield speaks highly of his mother as does my aunt Cindy Sheffield who has become quite a famous actress over these past years, as does my mother Toni Sheffield and my uncle Bart Foxworth. Oh how I do wish to meet my grandmother. A lady, who despite going against all society's moral rules and marrying her brother, still held the respect of her children, even in death. A lady, who lived through so many hardships in her life.
My uncle Bart would often look at me with awe. Forever I was told I looked like her. "You look like your grandmother you know." Forever. Oh how I fantasized meeting her. It was just unfair. Why didn't I get to meet her?
Both Darren and Deidre, 4 years my seniors, even had fleeting memories of a kind grandmother but not me. I was born after her death. The letter she had clutched in her death grip is still in my Uncle Bart's safe. He showed me once. 'He's up there whispering in the winds…' Christopher, my grandmother's one and true love. How hard it must have been for them to love each other more than brother and sister.
I wasn't the dancer in my family. Though it had been my secret desire ever since I was young we already had a danseur in our family: Deidre. She was my father's hope. For he had lost his legs as had his father before him. She would carry the tradition and probably give birth to another line of danseurs. Since I knew I could never live up to the expectations of my older sister I kept my dancing desires inside. I made myself look clumsy and uncoordinated.
I treasured my grandmother's books. Almost every person in my family had a collection of her books. Beside her lingering presence, they were the only thing she had left in the world. They told the story of four locked up children. I didn't believe the story when I was younger, thinking she must have had an incredible imagination but now I know they are real. My Uncle Bart made me realize this. For he was ever guilty of not accepting Chris as his Father.
My family's history seemed to be filled with secrets. The past of the Foxworths' was more interesting then, than now was my opinion. Now there were no secrets, no secret relationships or locked up children. Just plain boring life.
Today I am 15 years old. The same age Grandmother Cathy was when she and her siblings escaped Foxworth Hall. Everyone was coming home to celebrate my birthday. Sometimes I think they didn't see me as a new person but as the other Cathy, Grandmother Cathy who was long dead. Perhaps because we shared the same birthday…