The Flowers in the Attic Series: The Dollangangers: Flowers in the Attic, Petals on the Wind, If There Be Thorns, Seeds of Yesterday, and a New Excerpt! (187 page)

No one! No one! his passionate kisses assured.

The weekends were so short, so dreadfully short.

I was spilling out all that troubled me, about Joel and his weird ways of roaming about the house, scowling his disapproval at everything I did. I told him about Melodie and Bart, and Jory, who was depressed and yearning for Melodie, hating her indifference, loving her even so, while I was trying constantly to remind Melodie of her responsibilities, which hurt him even more grievously than the loss of the use of his legs.

Chris lay beside me and listened to my long tirade with quiet impatience before he said sleepily and bit out of patience, “Catherine, sometimes you make me dread coming home.” He rolled on his side away from me. “You spoil everything wonderful and sweet we have between us with your incessant, unpleasant, suspicious tales. And most of all that troubles you is in your imagination. Haven’t you always had too much of it? Grow up, Catherine. You are contaminating Jory with your suspicions as well. Once you learn to expect only good from people, then perhaps that’s all you’ll get.”

“I’ve heard your philosophy before,
Christopher
,” I said with a flash of bitterness that shot through my brain like a laser beam, bringing to mind his faith in our mother, and the
good he’d expected from her by his devotion.
Chris, Chris, don’t YOU even learn?
But I didn’t say it, didn’t dare to say it.

There he was, middle-aged, even if he didn’t look it, presenting me with his same old rosy-glow boyish optimism. Though I could ridicule him verbally for this, inside I longed for his kind of redeeming faith . . . for it gave him peace, while I lived day in and day out, juggling from one foot to another on a hot frying pan.

*  *  *

Bart sat before the roaring fire, trying to concentrate on
The Wall
Street Journal
as Jory and I wrapped Christmas gifts on a long table we’d cleared of all accessories. All of a sudden it occurred to me as I tied fancy bows and cut foil paper to size, that since Cindy had arrived, she’d drifted dreamlike throughout the house, lost in her own world, so that she seemed almost not there. Because of the peace this brought, I had more or less forgotten her needs as I attended to Jory’s. I hadn’t been surprised when she wanted to go with Chris into Charlottesville to finish up her shopping and see a movie before she came back with him on Friday. Chris had a one-bedroom apartment and planned to sleep Cindy on his sofa bed.

“Really, Momma, my special Christmas surprise will please you.” Only when she was gone did I wonder what put that secret smile of pleasure on her pretty face.

As Jory and I topped off all his presents with huge satin bows and name tags, I heard the banging of car doors, the stomping feet on the portico, and then the sound of Chris calling out. It was only about two in the afternoon as he strolled into our favorite salon with Cindy at his side—and, to my amazement, a strikingly handsome boy about eighteen was with them. I already knew Cindy considered any boy less than two years older too young for her. The older and more experienced the better was the way she liked to tease me.

“Mom,” said Cindy happily, her face radiant, “here is the surprise you said I could bring home.”

Startled, I still managed a smile. Cindy had not once said her “secret” surprise was a guest she’d invited without asking anyone’s permission. I stood so Chris could introduce the boyfriend Cindy had met in South Carolina as Lance Spalding. The young man had considerable poise as he shook hands with me, with Jory, with Bart, who glowered.

Chris kissed my cheek and briefly embraced Jory before he hurried toward the door. “Cathy, forgive me for leaving so soon, but I’ll be back tomorrow early. Cindy couldn’t wait until tomorrow to bring her houseguest home. I’ve got a few things to wrap up at the university. And I haven’t finished my shopping.” He flashed me a brilliant smile full of charm. “Darling, I’ve got two weeks off for the holidays. So take it easy and keep your imagination under lock and key.” He turned to Lance. “Enjoy your holiday, Lance.”

Cindy, very full of herself, pulled her boyfriend closer to the very one who was least likely to be hospitable to her guest. “Bart, I knew you wouldn’t mind if I invited Lance. His father is president of the chain of Chemical Banks of Virginia.”

Magic words. I smiled at Cindy’s cleverness. Instantly Bart’s hostile attitude changed into interest. It was embarrassing to see the way he tried to milk every bit of information he could from the young man, who was obviously very much infatuated with Cindy.

Cindy was lovelier than ever, glowing like a winter rose in her tight white sweater banded with stripes of rose to match her tight knit pants. She had a wonderful figure she was determined to display.

Laughing and full of joy, she caught hold of Lance’s hand and tugged him away from Bart. “Lance, you just wait until you see all of this house. We have authentic suits of armor—two of them—and they would be too small for me to wear. Momma, maybe, but not me. And just think, knights were
supposed to be big, powerful men, and they weren’t big. The music room is larger than this room, and my room is the prettiest room of all. The suite my parents share is incredible. I’ve not been invited to view Bart’s rooms, but I’m sure they must be fabulous.” Here she half turned to toss Bart a wicked, teasing smile. His scowl deepened.

“Stay out of my rooms!” he ordered harshly. “Don’t go near my office. And Lance, while you are here, you will remember you are under my roof and I expect you to treat Cindy with honor.”

The boy’s face turned red before he meekly said, “Of course. I understand.”

The second the two of them were out of sight, though we could still hear Cindy singing the praises of Foxworth Hall, Bart hurled at me his opinion of Cindy’s boyfriend. “I don’t like them. He’s too old for her and too slick. She or you should have told me. You know I don’t want unexpected guests just dropping in.”

“Bart, I agree with you entirely. Cindy should have warned us, but perhaps she was fearful that if she did, you would say no. And he seems a very nice young man to me. Remember how sweet Cindy has been since Thanksgiving. She hasn’t given you one second of trouble. She’s growing up.”

“Let’s hope she continues to behave herself,” he grumbled before he smiled faintly. “Did you see him looking at her? She’s got that poor kid snowed under.”

Relieved, I settled back to smile at Bart, then at Jory, who was fiddling with the Christmas lights before he began to quietly arrange his gifts beneath the tree.

“The Fox-worths had a tradition for always throwing a Christmas ball on Christmas night,” said Bart in a pleasant tone, “and Uncle Joel himself drove to mail my invitations two weeks ago. I’m expecting at least two hundred if the weather remains fairly decent. Even if a blizzard blows in, I still think half will manage to get here. After all, they can’t
afford to slight me when I give them so much business. Bankers, attorneys, brokers, doctors, businessmen and their wives and girlfriends, as well as the best of the local society. And a few of my fraternity brothers will be showing up. So for once, Mother, you shouldn’t complain that our lives are lonely in this isolated area.”

Jory went back to reading his book, seemingly determined not to let anything Bart said or did upset him. In the firelight his profile was classically perfect. His dark hair curled softly around his face, turning up at the collar of his knit sports shirt. Bart lounged in a business suit, as if at any moment he’d be up and away to attend a corporation meeting. That’s when Melodie drifted in wearing a shapeless gray garment that hung from her shoulders and bulged out as if she had a watermelon beneath. Her eyes went immediately to Bart, who jumped up, turned his eyes away, and hastily left the room, leaving behind him an uncomfortable silence.

“I met Cindy upstairs,” said Melodie huskily, her forlorn eyes avoiding contact with Jory’s. She sat down near the fire and stretched forth her hands to warm them. “Her boyfriend seems very pleasant and well bred, and also very handsome.” She kept her eyes on the fire while Jory diligently tried to force her to look at him. His heart was in his eyes as he wistfully gave up and turned back to his book. “It seems Cindy likes dark-haired men who look like her brothers,” she went on in a vague, distant way, as if nothing mattered and she was only making an effort, for a change.

Angrily Jory jerked his eyes up. “Mel, can’t you even say hello to me?” he asked hoarsely. “I’m here, I’m alive. I’m doing my best to survive. Can’t you say or do something to tell me you remember that I’m your husband?”

Reluctantly turning her head his way, Melodie gave him a vague smile of recognition. Something in her eyes said she didn’t see him anymore as the husband she’d so passionately loved and admired. She saw only a crippled man
in a wheelchair and as he was now, he made her uneasy and embarrassed.

“Hello, Jory,” she said dutifully.

Why didn’t she get up and kiss him? Why didn’t she see the pleading in his eyes? Why couldn’t she make an effort, even if she didn’t love him anymore? Slowly Jory’s wan face reddened before he bowed his head and stared down at all the gifts he’d so beautifully wrapped.

I was about to say something cruel to Melodie when Cindy and Lance came strolling back, both with starry eyes and flushed faces. Bart wasn’t long in following them in. He raked the room with his eyes, saw that Melodie was still there, and turned to leave again. Instantly Melodie rose and quickly disappeared. Bart must have seen her leave, for shortly he returned and sat down and crossed his legs, looking relieved now that Melodie was gone.

The boyfriend spoke up, looking at Bart and smiling widely. “I hear all this belongs to you, Mr. Foxworth.”

“Call him Bart,” ordered Cindy.

Bart frowned.

“Bart . . . ,” began Lance hesitatingly, “truly this is a remarkable house. Thank you for inviting me.” I glanced at Cindy, who stood her ground as Bart threw her an angry look, even as Lance went on innocently, “Cindy didn’t show me your suite of rooms, or your office, but I hope you will do that. Someday I hope to own something like this . . . and I have a passion for electronic gadgets, as Cindy tells me you have.”

Instantly Bart was on his feet, seemingly proud to show off his electronic equipment. “Sure, if you want to see my rooms, and my office, I’ll be delighted to show you. But I’d rather Cindy didn’t accompany us.”

After a sumptuous dinner, which Trevor served, we conversed in the music room with Jory and Bart. Melodie was upstairs, already in bed. Soon Bart said he had to rise early and
he
was going to bed. Instantly the conversation dwindled
to nothing as we all stood and headed for the stairs. I showed Lance into a lovely room with its own connecting bath. It was in the eastern wing, not so far from Bart’s own rooms, while Cindy’s was near my own. Cindy smiled sweetly and kissed the cheek of Lance Spalding. “Good night, sweet prince,” she whispered. “Parting is such sweet-sweet sorrow.”

His arms folded over his chest, as Joel folded his, Bart stood back and watched this tender scene with scorn. “Let it be a true parting,” he said meaningfully, looking directly at Lance, then at Cindy, before he stalked off toward his rooms.

First I saw Cindy to her room and we exchanged a few words and our regular good night kisses. Then I paused outside Melodie’s door, wondering if I should rap and go in and try to reason with her. I sighed, knowing it wouldn’t do any good, not when I’d tried so many times before. Next I was crossing over to Jory’s room.

He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His dark blue eyes rolled my way, shiny with unshed tears. “It’s been so long since Melodie came in to kiss me good night. You and Cindy always find the time to do that, but my wife ignores me as if I don’t exist for her. There’s no real reason now why I couldn’t sleep in a larger bed, and she could sleep beside me, but she wouldn’t even if I asked. Now I’ve finished the clipper ship, and I don’t know what to begin next to occupy my time. I really don’t want to start another ship for our child. I feel so unfulfilled, so at odds with life, with myself, and most of all, with my wife. I want to turn to my wife, but she turns from me. Mom . . . without you, Dad and Cindy, I wouldn’t know how to live through the days.”

I held him in my arms, ran my fingers through his hair as I had when he was a little boy. I said all the things that should have come from Melodie. I pitied her, disliked her for being weak, hated her for not loving enough, for not knowing how to give even when it hurt.

“Good night,
my
sweet prince,” I said from Jory’s doorway. “Hold tight to your dreams, don’t abandon them now, for life offers many chances at happiness, Jory. It’s not all over for you.”

He smiled, said good night, and I headed for the southern-wing suite I shared with Chris.

All of a sudden Joel was in front of me, blocking my passage. He wore a shabby old bathrobe of some faded color that seemed more gray than anything else. His thin, pale hair stood up in small peaks like horns, while the long end of his corded sash trailed behind him like a limp tail.

“Catherine,” he said sharply, “do you realize what that girl is doing this very minute?”

“
That
girl? What girl?” I answered just as sharply.

“You know who I mean, that daughter of yours. Right now, at this moment, she is entertaining that young man she brought home with her.”

“Entertaining? What do you mean?”

His smile came crooked and mean. “Why, if anyone should know, it should be you. She’s got that boy in her bed.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Then go and see for yourself!” he answered quickly, with some delight. “You never believe anything I say. I was in the back hall and just happened to see this boy stealing down the halls, and I followed. Before he reached Cindy’s door, she had it open and was welcoming him inside.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said again, more weakly this time.

“Are you afraid to check and find out I might be telling the truth? Would that convince you then that I am not the enemy you presume me to be?”