Samantha looked too stunned to speak ever again.
“He’s that, too,” my father said. “However, it will be a simple affair.”
“As simple as Mrs. Marlene permits,” my mother said, smiling.
My father laughed. “We have a great deal to do here, a lot to repair, but if we all work together, I think we can bring some sunshine back to Wyndemere. Any questions?”
Samantha surprised me. “What do I call her now?” she asked.
My father shrugged. “Mother, Mom, or, as Fern calls her, Mummy,” he said.
“But I have a mother,” she said, and then added, “Sometimes.”
“Now you have two,” my father said. “One who will always be here for you.”
“I’ll call you Mummy, too,” she told my mother. “It’s different.”
“Yes, it is. Often,” my mother said.
“Good,” my father said. “Now, it’s time to eat. I agree with Samantha. I’m hungry.”
My mother got up and went into the kitchen.
“So, Samantha,” our father continued, “tell me about this mediocre math average you’ve been carrying. I was pretty good in math. You should be, too.”
She looked to me for help.
“She’ll improve,” I said. “I’ll make sure of it, Daddy.”
My mother, our mother, reappeared with a bowl of salad. She began to serve it.
“After dinner tonight, what say the four of us play some eight ball? I hear you two have become quite good,” my father said.
Samantha’s eyes almost popped.
“We’ll team up. Samantha and Emma against Fern and myself.”
“We didn’t call it pool, we called it snooker, but you’re in for a challenge,” my mother told him.
Mrs. Marlene appeared, beaming. Samantha was happy, too. Mrs. Marlene was going to serve one of Samantha’s favorite meals, spaghetti and chicken. Our father, our Dr. Davenport, as we would call him often in the future, decided to give both Samantha and me some wine, too. Samantha was quite surprised and rattled on about how some of her friends bragged about having wine at dinner.
“Or elsewhere,” my mother said, her eyes dark with suspicion.
“Maybe,” Samantha confessed.
Everyone laughed.
Something happened that night. It wasn’t just the four of us for the first time ever spending time together in the game room, and it wasn’t simply our father being more relaxed than either of us had ever seen him. It wasn’t the show of affection between him and my mother during the evening, either.
It was more like the darkness in Wyndemere had recoiled, shrunk back into the deepest corners. The echoes of past tragedies and sadness weakened and were impossible to hear, even at night when we were all in our beds and the house was its quietest. Finally, we could sleep and have the dreams that came from somewhere inside us, dreams that housed our hope. Nightmares were left outside our front door. They were swept away in the wind that dropped them over the lake.
I prayed that this was also true for Ryder, who slept at the clinic, hopefully with a new smile on his face, and that it was also true for Dillon, who would always have a place in my heart. For the next two days, he and I were probably the most well-behaved students at school. He wrote his apology letters in poetry. We did our detention, and then, at his suggestion, we went to the play auditions on Friday. I saw Mr. Madeo’s face when we entered. I had the feeling he had been waiting and hoping for Dillon, at least. I gave it my best. We had practiced our lines again over the phone on Thursday evening.
Although Dillon was prohibited from driving to school, his father didn’t stop him from driving on the weekends. We dated both Friday and Saturday nights. He came over on Sunday for dinner and spent some time with Samantha and me in the game room.
On Monday morning, Ivy greeted me almost the moment I stepped into the school lobby.
“We all made it!” she said, her face burning with excitement. “You’re Lucy.”
“My Dracula will be happy,” I said. I didn’t want to tell her about the playful way he had been nibbling on my neck on our dates.
By opening night, six weeks later, my parents had been married, and the community was abuzz with the news. They didn’t go on any sort of honeymoon, because my father’s schedule was quite full. They were making plans for one, however. We were getting periodic reports on Ryder’s improvements. His return home was imminent. Both Samantha and I were excited about it. Our father talked about plans for him to continue his education, too.
Sometimes I imagined Wyndemere groaning under the strain of so much happiness. It wasn’t used to it. It did seem to me that the windows were permitting more and more sunshine to stream through. My mother went at the house more vigorously. Mr. Stark began to do more repairing, oversaw more whitewashing, until even the outside looked more welcoming. He and Mrs. Marlene and Parker were coming to our play’s opening night. I didn’t think I was ever more nervous about anything.
And then I was told something that almost took my breath away.
Samantha came backstage while I was getting my makeup put on.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said. “After the play, you can come backstage.”
“Mr. Madeo said it was all right.”
“He did? Why?”
“To tell you,” she said.
“To tell me what?”
“To tell you Ryder is here, and he’s sitting with us.”
“Don’t cry,” Dillon warned, overhearing her. “You’ll ruin your makeup.” I had the suspicion he had known.
I didn’t cry, at least until it was all over and we had stepped out to thunderous applause. Dillon was holding my hand, and Ryder was standing with my family and clapping.
We were inside a theater, and it was evening, but somehow, when I looked out at everyone, I saw sunshine.
The storm was over, I thought. We were moving calmly over the great Lake Wyndemere, calmly toward the grand house.
And very soon after, we were all home again.
About the Author
One of the most popular authors of all time, V.C. Andrews has been a bestselling phenomenon since the publication of Flowers in the Attic, first in the renowned Dollanganger family series, which includes Petals on the Wind, If There Be Thorns, Seeds of Yesterday, and Garden of Shadows. The family saga continues with Christopher’s Diary: Secrets of Foxworth, Christopher’s Diary: Echoes of Dollanganger, and Secret Brother. V.C. Andrews has written more than seventy novels, which have sold over 106 million copies worldwide and have been translated into twenty-five foreign languages.
Join the conversation about the world of V.C. Andrews at Facebook.com/OfficialVCAndrews.
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Flowers in the Attic
Petals on the Wind
If There Be Thorns
Seeds of Yesterday
Garden of Shadows
Christopher’s Diary: Secrets of Foxworth
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Secret Brother
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My Sweet Audrina
Whitefern
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Heaven
Dark Angel
Fallen Hearts
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Web of Dreams
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Dawn
Secrets of the Morning
Twilight’s Child
Midnight Whispers
Darkest Hour
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Ruby
Pearl in the Mist
All That Glitters
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Tarnished Gold
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Melody
Heart Song
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Music in the Night
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Eye of the Storm
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Into the Woods
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Broken Wings
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Black Cat
Child of Darkness
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April Shadows
Girl in the Shadows
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Scattered Leaves
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Secrets in the Shadows
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Delia’s Crossing
Delia’s Heart
Delia’s Gift
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The Heavenstone Secrets
Secret Whispers
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Family Storms
Cloudburst
The Kindred Series
Daughter of Darkness
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The Forbidden Series
The Forbidden Sister
“The Forbidden Heart”
Roxy’s Story
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Broken Glass
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Echoes in the Walls
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Bittersweet Dreams
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Following the death of Virginia Andrews, the Andrews family worked with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Virginia Andrews’s stories and to create additional novels, of which this is one, inspired by her storytelling genius.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Pocket Books paperback edition September 2018
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ISBN 978-1-5011-6253-4
ISBN 978-1-5011-6257-2 (ebook)
Echoes in the Walls Page 25
