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! (50 page)

“But it was easy enough to get to the library: a long, dark, really immense room, and it was quiet as a graveyard. The ceiling must have been twenty feet high. The shelves went all the way up, and there was a little stairway of iron that curved to a second level, and a balcony where you could reach books on that level. And on the lower level were two wooden ladders that slid along railings put there for that very purpose. Never have I seen so many books in a private home. No wonder the books Momma brought us had never been missed—though when I looked carefully, I could see the gaping spaces, like teeth, missing in the long rows of leather-bound, gold-tooled, hubbedspined expensive books. A desk was there, dark and massive, must have weighed a ton, and a tall leather swivel chair was behind it, and I could just picture our grandfather sitting there, issuing orders right and left, and using the phones on his desk—there were six telephones, Cathy—six! Though when I checked, thinking I might have use for them, they were all disconnected. To the left of the desk was a row of tall narrow windows that looked out on a private garden—a really spectacular view, even
at night. There was a dark mahogany filing system made to look like fine furniture. Two very long, soft, tan-colored sofas were set out from the walls about three feet, giving you plenty of room to move behind them. Chairs were placed near the fireplace, and, of course, there was a batch of tables and chairs and things to stumble against, and an awful lot of bric-a-brac.”

I sighed, for he was telling me so much of what I’d longed to hear, and yet, I kept waiting for that terrible thing that kept me on edge, waiting for the knife to plunge.

“I thought that money could be hidden in that desk. I used my flashlight and set about pulling open each drawer. They were all unlocked. And it was no wonder, because they were all empty—completely empty! This sort of threw me—for why have a desk if you don’t keep it full of junk? Important papers you lock away in a bank vault, or your own private vault; you don’t leave them in locked desk drawers that a clever thief could force open. All those empty drawers without rubber bands, paper clips, pencils, pens, notepads, and other sorts of odds and ends—why have a desk if not for this? You just don’t know the suspicions that jumped into my thoughts. And that’s when I made up my mind. I could look across the long library and see the door to our grandfather’s room. Slowly, I headed that way. I was going to see him at last . . . face to face with the detested grandfather, who was also our half-uncle.

“I pictured our encounter. He’d be on the bed, sick, but hard and still mean and cold as ice. I’d kick open the door, switch on the light, and he’d see me. He’d gasp! He’d recognize me . . . he’d have to know who I was, just one look and he’d know. And I’d say, ‘Here I am, Grandfather—the grandson you never wanted to be born. Upstairs in a locked bedroom of the northern wing, I have two sisters. And once I had a younger brother, but he’s dead now—and you helped kill him!’ All that was in my mind, though I doubt I would really have said any of it. Although you no doubt would have screamed it out—just as Carrie would have if she had the words to express herself—which you do. Still maybe I would
have said them, just for the joy of watching him wince, or maybe he would have shown sorrow, or grief, or pity . . . or, more likely, fierce indignation that we were living at all! I know this, I couldn’t stand another minute of being kept a prisoner, and having Carrie pass away like Cory did.”

I held my breath. Oh, the nerve of him, to face up to the detested grandfather, even if he was still lying on his deathbed, and that solid copper coffin was still waiting for him to fill it. I was waiting breathlessly for what came next.

“I turned the knob very cautiously, planning on taking him by surprise, and then I felt ashamed to be so timid, and I thought I would act boldly—and I lifted my foot and kicked open that door! It was so dark in there I couldn’t see a damned thing. And I didn’t want to use the flashlight. I reached inside the door and felt around for a wall switch, but I couldn’t find one. I beamed the flashlight straight ahead and saw a hospital bed painted white. I stared and stared, for I was seeing something I hadn’t expected to see—the blue-and-white-striped ticking of the mattress that was doubled over on itself. Empty bed, empty room. No dying grandfather there, gasping out his last breaths, and connected up to all kinds of machines to keep him alive—it was like a punch in the stomach, Cathy, not to see him there, when I’d prepared myself to meet him.

“In a corner not too far from the bed, was a walking cane, and not so far from the cane was that shiny wheelchair we’d seen him in. It still looked new—he must not have used it often. There was only one piece of furniture besides two chairs, and that was a single dresser . . . and not one item was on the top. No brush, comb, nothing. The room was as neat as the suite of rooms Momma had left, only this was a simple, plain room with paneled walls. And the grandfather’s sickroom had the feel of not being used for a long, long time. The air was stale, musty. Dust was on the dresser top. I ran about, looking for something of value we could hock later on. Nothing—again nothing! I was so full of angry frustration that I dashed back into the library and
sought out that special landscape painting Momma told us covered a wall safe.

“Now you know how many times we’ve watched thieves on TV open wall safes, and it seemed to me perfectly simple when you knew how. All you had to do was put your ear to the combination lock, and turn it slowly, slowly, and listen carefully for the betraying clicks . . . and count them . . . I thought. Then you would know the numbers, and dial them correctly—and next, violà! The safe would open.”

I interrupted: “The grandfather—why wasn’t he on the bed?”

He went on as if I hadn’t spoken: “There I was, listening, hearing the clicks. I thought, if I lucked out, and the steel safe did open—it too would be empty. And you know what happened, Cathy? I heard the betraying clicks that told me the combination—hah-hah! I couldn’t count fast enough! Nevertheless, I took the chance of turning the top wheel of the lock, thinking I just might by happenstance come up with the right choice of numbers, in the right sequence. The safe door didn’t open. I heard the clicks, and I didn’t understand. Encyclopedias don’t give you good lessons on how to become a thief—that must come naturally. Then I looked about for something slim and strong to insert into the lock, hoping maybe I could trip a spring that would open the door. Cathy, that was when I heard footsteps!”

“Oh, hell and damnation!” I swore, frustrated for him.

“Right! I quickly ducked behind one of the sofas and fell flat on my stomach—and that’s when I remembered I’d left my flashlight in the grandfather’s small room.”

“Oh, dear God!”

“Right! My goose was cooked, so I thought, but I lay perfectly still and quiet, and into the library strolled a man and a woman. She spoke first and had a sweet-girlish voice.

“ ‘John,’ she said, ‘I swear I’m not just hearin’ things! I did hear noises comin’ from this room.’

“ ‘You’re always hearin’ somethin’,’ complained a heavy, guttural voice. It was John, the butler with the bald head.

“And the bickering pair made a half-hearted search of the library, then the small bedroom beyond, and I held my breath, waiting for them to discover my flashlight, but for some reason they didn’t. I suspect it was because John didn’t want to look at anything but that woman. Just as I was about to get up and make my move to leave the library, they came back, and so help me God, they fell down on the very sofa I was hiding behind! I put my head down on my folded arms and prepared for a nap, guessing you’d be on edge up here, wondering why I didn’t come back. But since you were locked in, I didn’t fear you’d come looking for me. It’s a good thing I didn’t go to sleep.”

“Why?”

“Let me tell it in my own way, Cathy, please. ‘See,’ said John, as they came back to the library and sat on the sofa, ‘didn’t I tell yuh nobody’d be in there or in here?’ He sounded smug, pleased with himself. ‘Really, Livvy,’ he went on, ‘you’re so damned nervous all the time, it takes the pleasure out of this.’

“ ‘But, John,’ she said, ‘I
did
hear something.’

“ ‘Like I said before,’ John answered, ‘yuh hear too much of what ain’t there. Hell’s bells, jus’ this mornin’ you were speakin’ of mice in the attic again, and how noisy they are.’ John chuckled then, a soft and low chuckle, and he must have done something to that pretty girl to send her into peals of silly giggles, and if she was protesting, she didn’t do a good job of it.

“Then that John, he murmured, ‘That old bitch is killin’ all the little mice in the attic. She carries up to them food in a picnic basket . . . enough food to kill a whole German army of mice.’ ”

You know, I heard Chris say that, and I didn’t think anything unusual, that’s how dumb I was, how innocent and still trusting.

Chris cleared his throat before he continued. “I got a queer feeling in my stomach, and my heart began to make so much noise, I thought that couple on the sofa would surely hear.

“ ‘Yeah,’ said Livvy, ‘she’s a mean, hard old woman, and t’ tell you the truth, I always took to the old man better—at least he knew how to smile. But her—she don’t know how. Time and
time ag’in, I come in this room to clean up, and I find her in
his
room . . . she’s just standing there staring at his empty bed, and she’s got this queer, little tight smile that I take for gloating because he’s dead, and she’s outlived him, and now she’s free, and don’t have nobody ridin’ her back and tellin’ her not to do this, and don’t do that, and jump when I speak. God, sometimes I wonder how she stood him, and he stood her. But now that he’s dead, she’s got his money.’

“ ‘Yeah, sure, she’s got some,’ said John. ‘She’s got her own money that her family left her. But her daughter, she got all the millions old Malcolm Neal Foxworth left.’

“ ‘Well,’ said Livvy, ‘that old witch, she don’t need no more. Don’t blame the old man for leavin’ his entire estate to his daughter. She put up with a lot of mess from him, makin’ her wait on him hand and foot when he had nurses to hand him things. Still he treated her like some slave. But now she’s free, too, and married to that handsome young husband, and she’s still young and beautiful, and with loads of money. Wonder what it would feel like to be her? Some people, they get all the luck. Me . . . I never had any.’

“ ‘What about me, Livvy, honey? You got me—at least until the next pretty face comes along.’

“And there I was, behind the sofa, hearing all of this, and feeling numb with shock. I felt ready to throw up, but I lay very quiet and listened to that couple on the sofa talk on and on. I wanted to get up and run fast to you and Carrie, and take you out of this place before it was too late.

“But there I was, caught. If I moved they’d see me. And that John, he’s related to our grandmother . . . third cousin, so Momma said . . . not that I think a third cousin matters one way or another, but apparently that John has our grandmother’s confidence, or else she wouldn’t allow him so much freedom to use her cars. You’ve seen him, Cathy, the bald-headed man who wears livery.”

Sure, I knew who he meant, but I could only lie there, feeling my own sort of numb shock that made me speechless.

“So,” Chris went on in that deadly monotone that didn’t show that he was concerned, frightened, surprised, “while I hid behind the sofa, and put my head down on my arms and closed my eyes and tried to make my heart stop beating so damned loud, John and the maid began to get really serious with each other. I heard their little movements as he began to take off her clothes, and she began to work on his clothes.”

“They undressed each other?” I asked. “She actually helped him off with his clothes?”

“It sounded to me that way,” he said flatly.

“She didn’t scream or protest?”

“Heck, no. She was all for it! And by golly, it took them so everlastingly long! Oh, the noises they made, Cathy—you wouldn’t believe it. She moaned and screamed and gasped and panted, and he grunted like a stuck pig, but I guess he must have been pretty good at it, for she shrieked at the end like someone gone crazy. Then, when it was over, they had to lie and smoke cigarettes and gossip about what goes on in this house—and believe me, there’s little they don’t know. And then they made love a second time.”

“Twice in the same night?”

“It’s possible to do.”

“Chris, why do you sound so funny?”

He hesitated, pulled away a bit, and studied my face. “Cathy, weren’t you listening? I went to a great deal of pains to tell you everything just as it happened. Didn’t you hear?”

Hear? Sure, I’d heard, everything.

He’d waited too long to rob Momma of her hoard of hard won jewelry. He should have been taking a little all along, like I’d begged him to do.

So, Momma and her husband were off on another vacation. What kind of news was that? They were always coming and going. They’d do anything to escape this house, and I can’t say I blamed them. Weren’t we prepared to do the same thing?

I screwed up my brows and gave Chris a long questioning
look. Obviously he knew something he wasn’t telling me. He was still protecting her; he still loved her.

“Cathy,” he began, his voice jagged and torn.

“It’s all right, Chris. I’m not blaming you. So our dear, sweet, kind, loving mother and her handsome young husband have gone off on another vacation and taken all the jewelry with them. We’ll still get by.” Say good-bye to security in the outside world. But we were still going! We’d work, we’d find a way to support ourselves, and pay doctors to make Carrie well again. Never mind about jewelry; never mind about the callousness of our mother’s act, to leave us without explaining where she was going, and when she was coming back. By now we were accustomed to ugly, harsh, thoughtless indifference.
Why so many tears, Chris—why so many?

“Cathy!” he raged, turning his tear-streaked face to lock his eyes with mine. “Why aren’t you listening and reacting? Where are your ears? Did you hear what I said? Our grandfather is dead! He’s been dead for almost a year!”