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! (7 page)

We circled that enormous house, almost on tiptoes. Once at the back door, an old lady let us in. She must have been waiting, and seen us coming, for she opened that door so readily we didn’t even have to knock. Just like thieves in the night, we stole silently inside. Not a word did she speak to welcome us. Could this be one of the servants? I wondered.

Immediately we were inside the dark house, and she hustled us up a steep and narrow back staircase, not allowing us one second to pause and take a look around the grand rooms we only
glimpsed in our swift and mute passage. She led us down many halls, past many closed doors, and finally we came to an end room, where she swung open a door and gestured us inside. It was a relief to have our long night journey over, and be in a large bedroom where a single lamp was lit. Heavy, tapestried draperies covered two tall windows. The old woman in her gray dress turned to look us over as she closed the heavy door to the hall and leaned against it.

She spoke, and I was jolted. “Just as you said, Corrine. Your children are beautiful.”

There she was, paying us a compliment that should warm our hearts—but it chilled mine. Her voice was cold and uncaring, as if we were without ears to hear, and without minds to comprehend her displeasure, despite her flattery. And I was right to judge her so. Her next words proved that.

“But are you sure they are intelligent? Do they have some invisible afflictions not apparent to the eyes?”

“None!” cried our mother, taking offense, as did I. “My children are perfect, as you can plainly see, physically and mentally!” She glared at that old woman in gray before she squatted down on her heels and began to undress Carrie, who was nodding on her feet. I knelt before Cory and unbuttoned his small blue jacket, as Christopher lifted one of the suitcases up on one of the big beds. He opened it and took out two pairs of small yellow pajamas with feet.

Furtively, as I helped Cory off with his clothes and into his yellow pajamas, I studied that tall, big woman, who was, I presumed, our grandmother. As I looked her over, seeking wrinkles and heavy jowls, I found out she was not as old as I had at first presumed. Her hair was a strong, steel-blue color, drawn back from her face in a severe style which made her eyes appear somewhat long and cat-like. Why, you could even see how each strand of hair pulled her skin up in little resentful hills—and even as I watched, I saw one hair spring free from its moorings!

Her nose was an eagle’s beak, her shoulders were wide, and
her mouth was like a thin, crooked knife slash. Her dress, of gray taffeta, had a diamond brooch at the throat of a high, severe neckline. Nothing about her appeared soft or yielding; even her bosom looked like twin hills of concrete. There would be no funning with her, as we had played with our mother and father.

I didn’t like her. I wanted to go home. My lips quivered. I wanted Daddy alive again. How could such a woman as this make someone as lovely and sweet as our mother? From whom had our mother inherited her beauty, her gaiety? I shivered, and tried to forbid those tears that welled in my eyes. Momma had prepared us in advance for an unloving, uncaring, unrelenting grandfather—but the grandmother who had arranged for our coming—she came as a harsh, astonishing surprise. I blinked back my tears, fearful Christopher would see them and mock me later. But to reassure me, there was our mother smiling warmly as she lifted a pajamaed Cory into one of the big beds, and then she put Carrie in beside him. Oh, how they did look sweet, lying there, like big, rosy-cheeked dolls. Momma leaned over the twins and pressed kisses on their flushed cheeks, and her hand tenderly brushed back the curls on their foreheads, and then she tucked the covers high under their chins. “Good night, my darlings,” she whispered in the loving voice we knew so well.

The twins didn’t hear. Already they were deeply asleep.

However, standing firmly as a rooted tree, the grandmother was obviously displeased as she gazed upon the twins in one bed, then over to where Christopher and I were huddled close together. We were tired, and half-supporting each other. Strong disapproval glinted in her gray-stone eyes. She wore a fixed, piercing scowl that Momma seemed to understand, although I did not. Momma’s face flushed as the grandmother said, “Your two older children cannot sleep in one bed!”

“They’re only children,” Momma flared back with unusual fire. “Mother, you haven’t changed one bit, have you? You still have a nasty, suspicious mind! Christopher and Cathy are innocent!”

“Innocent?” she snapped back, her mean look so sharp it
could cut and draw blood. “That is exactly what your father and I always presumed about you and your half-uncle!”

I looked from one to the other, my eyes wide. I glanced at my brother. Years seemed to melt from him, and he stood there vulnerable, helpless, as a child of six or seven, no more comprehending than I.

A tempest of hot anger made our mother’s ruddy color depart. “If you think like that, then give them separate rooms, and separate beds! Lord knows this house has enough of them!”

“That is impossible,” the grandmother said in her fire ice voice. “This is the only bedroom with its own adjoining bath, and where my husband won’t hear them walking overhead, or flushing the toilet. If they are separated, and scattered about all over upstairs, he will hear their voices, or their noise, or the servants will. Now, I have given this arrangement a great deal of thought. This is the only safe room.”

Safe room? We were going to sleep, all of us, in only one room? In a grand, rich house with twenty, thirty, forty rooms, we were going to stay in one room? Even so, now that I gave it more thought, I didn’t want to be in a room alone in this mammoth house.

“Put the two girls in one bed, and the two boys in the other,” the grandmother ordered.

Momma lifted Cory and put him in the remaining double bed, thus, casually establishing the way it was to be from then on. The boys in the bed nearest the bathroom door, and Carrie and I in the bed nearest the windows.

The old woman turned her hard gaze on me, then on Christopher. “Now hear this,” she began like a drill sergeant, “it will be up to you two older children to keep the younger ones quiet, and you two will be responsible if they break even one of the rules I lay down. Keep this always in your minds: if your grandfather learns too soon you are up here, then he will throw all of you out without one red penny—
after
he has severely punished you for being alive! And you will keep this room clean,
neat, tidy, and the bathroom, too, just as if no one lived here. And you will be quiet; you will not yell, or cry, or run about to pound on the ceilings below. When your mother and I leave this room tonight, I will close and lock the door behind me. For I will not have you roaming from room to room, and into the other sections of this house. Until the day your grandfather dies, you are here, but you don’t really exist.”

Oh, God! My eyes flashed to Momma. This couldn’t be true! She was lying, wasn’t she? Saying mean things just to scare us. I drew closer to Christopher, pressing against his side, gone cold and shaky. The grandmother scowled, and quickly I stepped away. I tried to look at Momma, but she had turned her back, and her head was lowered, but her shoulders sagged and quivered as if she were crying.

Panic filled me, and I would have screamed out something if Momma hadn’t turned then and sat down on a bed, and stretched out her arms to Christopher and me. We ran to her, grateful for her arms that drew us close, and her hands that stroked our hair and backs, and smoothed down our wind-rumpled hair. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Trust me. One night only will you be in here, and my father will welcome you into his home, to use it as you would your own—all of it, every room, and the gardens, too.”

Then she glared up at her mother so tall, so stern, so forbidding. “Mother, have some pity and compassion for my children. They are of your flesh and blood too; keep that in
your
mind. They are very good children, but they are also normal children, and they need room to play and run and make noise. Do you expect them to speak in whispers? You don’t have to lock the door to this room; you can lock the door at the end of the hall. Now why can’t they have all the rooms of this north wing to use as their very own? I know you never cared for this older section very much.”

The grandmother shook her head vigorously. “Corrine, I make the decisions here—not you! Do you think I can just close and lock the door to this wing and the servants won’t wonder
why? Everything must stay just as it was. They understand why I keep this particular room locked, for the stairway to the attic is in here, and I don’t like for them to snoop around where they don’t belong. Very early in the mornings, I will bring the children food and milk—before the cook and the maids enter the kitchen. This north wing is never entered except on the last Friday of each month, when it is thoroughly cleaned. On those days, the children will hide in the attic until the maids finish. And before the maids enter, I myself will check everything over to see they leave behind no evidence of their occupancy.”

Momma voiced more objections. “That is impossible! They are bound to give themselves away, leave a clue. Mother, lock the door at the end of the hall!”

The grandmother gnashed her teeth. “Corrine, give me time; with time I can figure out some reason why the servants cannot enter this wing at all, even to clean. But I have to tread carefully, and not raise their suspicions. They don’t like me; they would run to your father with tales, hoping he would reward them. Can’t you see? The closure of this wing cannot coincide with your return, Corrine.”

Our mother nodded, giving in. She and the grandmother plotted on and on, while Christopher and I grew sleepier and sleepier. It seemed an endless day. I wanted so much to crawl into the bed beside Carrie, and nestle down so I could fall into sweet oblivion, where problems didn’t live.

Eventually, just when I thought she never would, Momma took notice of how tired Christopher and I were, and we were allowed to undress in the bathroom, and then to climb into bed—at long last.

Momma came to me, looking tired and concerned, with dark shadows in her eyes, and she pressed her warm lips on my forehead. I saw tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, and her mascara pooled the tears into black streaks. Why was she crying again?

“Go to sleep,” she said hoarsely. “Don’t worry. Pay no attention
to what you just heard. As soon as my father forgives me, and forgets what I did to displease him, he’ll open up his arms and welcome his grandchildren—the only grandchildren he’s likely to live long enough to see.”

“Momma”—I frowned, full of anguish, “why do you keep crying so much?”

With jerky movements she brushed away her tears and tried to smile. “Cathy, I’m afraid it may take more than just one day to win back my father’s affection and approval. It may take two days, or more.”

“More?”

“Maybe, maybe even a week, but not longer, possibly much less time. I just don’t know exactly . . . but it won’t be long. You can count on that.” Her soft hand smoothed back my hair. “Dear sweet Cathy, your father loved you so very much, and so do I.” She drifted over to Christopher, to kiss his forehead and stroke his hair, but what she whispered to him, I couldn’t hear.

At the door she turned to say, “Have a good night’s rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow as soon as I can. You know my plans. I have to walk back to the train depot, and catch another train to Charlottesville where my two suitcases will be waiting, and tomorrow morning, early, I’ll taxi back here, and I’ll sneak up to visit with you when I can.”

The grandmother ruthlessly shoved our mother through the open doorway, but Momma twisted around to peer back at us over her shoulder, her bleak eyes silently pleading with us even before her voice sounded again: “Please be good. Behave yourselves. Don’t make any noise. Obey your grandmother and her rules, and never give her any reason to punish you. Please, please do this; and make the twins obey, and keep them from crying and missing me too much. Make this seem a game, lots of fun. Do what you can to entertain them until I’m back with toys and games for you all to play. I’ll be back tomorrow, and every second I’m gone, I’ll be thinking of you, and praying for you, and loving you.”

We promised we’d be as good as gold, and quiet as mice, and like angels we’d obey and keep to whatever rules were laid down. We’d do the best we could for the twins and I’d do anything, say anything, to take the anxiety from her eyes.

“Good night, Momma,” said both Christopher and I as she stood falteringly in the hall with the grandmother’s large cruel hands on her shoulders. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll all be fine. We know what to do for the twins, and how to entertain ourselves. We’re not little children anymore.” All of this came from my brother.

“You’ll see me early tomorrow morning,” the grandmother said before she pushed Momma into the hall, then closed and locked the door.

Scary to be locked in, children alone. What if a fire started? Fire. Always I was to think of fire and how to escape. If we were going to be here locked in, no one would hear us if we cried out for help. Who
could
hear us in this remote, forbidden room on the second floor, where no one came but once a month, on the last Friday?

Thank God this was just a temporary arrangement—one night. And then, tomorrow Momma would win over the dying grandfather.

And we were alone. Locked in. All the lights were turned off. Around us, below us, this huge house seemed a monster, holding us in its sharp-toothed mouth. If we moved, whispered, breathed heavily, we’d be swallowed and digested.

It was sleep I wanted as I lay there, not the long, long silence that stretched interminably. For the first time in my life I didn’t fall into dreams the moment my head touched the pillow. Christopher broke the silence, and we began, in whispers, to discuss our situation.

“It won’t be so bad,” he said softly, his eyes liquid and gleaming in the dimness. “That grandmother—she can’t possibly be as mean as she seems.”

“You mean to tell me you didn’t think she was a sweet old lady?”