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!

by Andrews, V. C.

He laughed. “You did only think it, but you were also fingering her hair, and in your eyes your thoughts shone clearly. I know how you feel about clean hair—the remedy for all depressions.”

  Kissing him first and hugging him tight, I left him with Melodie, then went to shake Jory awake. He came back from dreams, rubbing at his eyes, squinting at me. “What’s up now? More trouble?”

  “No trouble this time, darling.” I stood and grinned at him until he must have thought I’d lost my mind. He looked so perplexed as he shoved himself up on his elbows. “I have belated Christmas gifts for you, Jory, my love.” He shook his head in a bewildered way.

  “Mom, couldn’t that gift have waited until morning?”

  “No, not this one. You’re a father, Jory!” I laughed and hugged him again. “Oh, Jory, God is kind. Remember when you and Melodie planned your family, you said you wanted two children, first a boy, then a girl? Well, as a special gift, sent straight from Heaven, you have twins! A boy, a girl!”

  Tears flooded his eyes. He choked out his first concern. “How is Mel?”

  “Chris is in there now, taking care of her. You see, ever since the wee hours of yesterday, Melodie was in labor and she didn’t say a word.”

  “Why?” he bemoaned, his hands covering his face. “Why, when Dad was here all the time and he could have helped?”

  “I don’t know, son, but let’s not think about that. She’ll be fine, just fine. He says she won’t even need to go to the hospital, although he does want to drive the twins in for a checkup just to be safe. Such tiny babies need more care than full-term ones. And he also said it wouldn’t hurt if Melodie had the attention of an obstetrician. He had to cut her, an episiotomy he called it. Without the surgery she would have torn. He sewed her up nicely, but it hurts, Jory, until the stitches come out. No doubt he’ll bring them and her back the same day.”

  “God is good, Mom,” he whispered hoarsely, swiping at the tears as he tried to smile. “I can’t wait to see them. It will take me too much time to get up and go to them—will you bring them here to me?”

  First he had to sit up to be ready to receive the twins into his arms. I turned to look at him from the doorway, thinking I’d never seen a happier-looking man.

  During my absence, Chris had fashioned cribs out of two drawers pulled open and lined with soft blankets. He immediately wanted to know how Jory took my news and smiled when he heard of Jory’s delight. Tenderly he put both babies in my arms. “Walk carefully, my love,” he whispered before he kissed me. Then I was hurrying back to my eldest son with his firstborn. He received them as tender gifts to cherish forever, staring down with pride and love at the children he’d created.

  “They look so much like Cory and Carrie did,” I said softly in the warm glow of his dimly lit room. “So beautiful, even if they are very small. Have you thought about names?”

  He flushed and continued to admire the babies in his arms. “Sure, I’ve got names all ready, although Mel failed to tell me there was a chance of twins. This makes up for so much.” He looked up, his eyes shining with hope. “Mom, all the time you’ve been saying Mel would change after the baby came. I can’t wait to see her, to hold her in my arms again.”

  That’s when he paused and blushed. “Well, at least we can sleep together, if nothing more.”

  “Jory, you’ll find ways . . .”

  He went on as if he hadn’t heard. “We constructed our lives around a plan, thinking we’d dance until I was forty, and then we’d both go into teaching or choreography. We didn’t include the chance of accidents, or sudden tragedies, no more than your parents did, and on the whole, I think my wife has held up rather well.”

  He was being kind, overly generous! Melodie had been his brother’s lover, but perhaps he didn’t want to believe that.

  Or, more likely, he understood her need and had already forgiven not only Melodie but Bart as well. Reluctantly Jory allowed me to take the twins away.

  In Melodie’s room, Chris said, “I’m taking Melodie and the twins to the hospital. I’ll be back as soon as possible. I’d like another doctor to check Melodie over, and, of course, the twins need to be put in incubators until they weigh five pounds. The boy weighs three pounds thirteen ounces and the girl three pounds seven ounces . . . but nice healthy babies, even so.

  “In your heart you’ll fit the new twins and love them just as much as you did Cory and Carrie.” How did he know each time I looked at those small babies, visions of “our” twins came to haunt me?

  * * *

  Glowing, Jory was at the breakfast table seated beside Bart when I entered our sunny room saved for special mornings. The plates were bright red on a white tablecloth, and a bowl of fresh holly was the centerpiece. Poinsettias were everywhere, both red and white.

  “Good morning, Mom,” said Jory as he met my eyes. “I’m a very happy man today . . . and I saved my news to tell Bart until you and Cindy and Dad arrived.”

  Small happy smiles played about Jory’s mouth. His bright eyes pleaded with me not to hold anger, as once Cindy stumbled in, all sleepy and tousled-looking, Jory proudly announced that he was now the father of twins, both a girl and boy whom he and Melodie had decided to name Darren and Deirdre. “Once there were C-named twins. We’re following precedent a little, but traveling further through the alphabet.”

  The frown on Bart’s face was envious, scornful, too. “Twins, twice the trouble as one. Poor Melodie, no wonder she grew so huge. What a pain—as if she didn’t have enough problems.”

  Cindy let out a squeal of delight. “Twins? Really? How wonderful! Can I see them now? Can I hold them?”

  But Jory was still bristling from Bart’s cruel remark. “Don’t count me out, Bart, just because I’m down. Mel and I have no problems we can’t overcome—once we’re gone from this place.”

  Bart got up and left his breakfast uneaten.

  Jory and Melodie were going to leave and take the twins with them? My heart sank. My hands on my lap worked nervously.

  I didn’t see the hand that took mine and pressured my fingers. “Mom, don’t look so sad. We’d never cut you or Dad out of our lives. Where you go, we’ll go—only we can’t stay on here if Bart doesn’t start acting differently. When you need to see your grandchildren, all you have to do is yell—or whisper.”

  Around ten Chris drove home with Melodie, who was put immediately to bed. “She’s fine now, Jory. We would have liked to keep her in the hospital for a few days, but she made such a fuss that I brought her back. We left the twins in the nursery, put in separate incubators until they gain weight.”

  Chris leaned to kiss my cheek, then beamed brightly. “See, Cathy. I told you everything would work out fine. And I do like those names you and Melodie chose, Jory. Really fine names.”

  Soon I carried a tray up to Melodie, who was out of bed and staring out of a window to see snow. She began to speak immediately.

  “I’m thinking of when I was a child and how much I wanted to see snow,” she said dreamily, as if babies out of sight were also out of mind. “I always wanted a white Christmas away from New York. Now I have a white Christmas, and nothing has changed. No magic to give Jory back the use of his legs.”

  She went on in that strange, dreamlike way that frightened me. “How am I going to manage with two babies? How? One at time was the way I planned it. And Jory won’t be any help . . .”

  “Didn’t I say we’d help?” I said with some irritation, for it seemed Melodie was determined to feel sorry for herself no matter what. Then I understood, for Bart stood in the open doorway.

  His unsmiling face showed no expression. “Congratulations, Melodie,” he said calmly. “Cindy made me drive her to the hospital to see your twins. They’re very . . . very . . .” He hesitated and finished—“small.”

  He left.

  Melodie stared vacantly at the place where he’d stood.

  Later Chris drove Jory, Cindy, and me to the hospital to again look at the twins. Melodie was left in he
r bed, deeply asleep and looking very worn. Cindy took another look at the tiny babies in their little glassed-in cages. “Oh, aren’t they adorable? Jory, how proud you must feel. I’m going to make the best aunt, you just wait and see. I can’t wait to hold them in my arms.” She was behind his chair, leaning over to hug him. “You’ve been such a special brother . . . thank you for that.”

  Soon we were home again, and Melodie was asking weakly about her children, then falling asleep as soon as she knew they were fine. The day wore on without guests who dropped in, without the telephone ringing with friends to congratulate Jory on becoming a father. How lonely it was on this mountainside.

  Shadows Fade Away

  Miserable winter days slipped by, filled with myriad trivial details. We’d gone to a party on New Year’s Eve, taking Cindy and Jory with us. Cindy finally had her chance to meet all the young men in the area. She’d been an overwhelming hit. Bart had failed to join us, thinking he’d have a better time in an exclusive men’s club he’d joined.

  “It’s not a club for only men,” whispered Cindy, who thought she had all the answers. “He’s going to some cathouse.”

  “Don’t you ever say anything like that again!” I reprimanded. “What Bart does is his own business. Where do you hear such gossip?”

  At that New Year’s Eve party a few of the guests that Bart had invited to his party had showed up, and soon enough I was tactfully finding out if they’d received Bart’s invitation. No, everyone said, though they stared at Chris and me, then at Jory in his chair, as if they had many secret thoughts they’d never speak.

  “Mother, I don’t believe you,” said Bart coldly when I told him the guests I’d met hadn’t received his invitations. “You hate Joel, you see only Malcolm in him, and therefore you want to undermine my faith in a good and pious old man. He’s sworn to me he did mail off the invitations, and I believe him.”

  “And you don’t believe me?”

  He shrugged. “People are tricky. Maybe those you talked to only wanted to appear polite.”

  Cindy left for school the second of January, eager to escape the boredom of what she considered Hell on earth. She’d finish high school this spring and had no intentions of going on to college as Chris had tried to persuade her.

  “Even an actress needs culture.” But it hadn’t worked. Our Cindy was just as stubborn in her own way as Carrie had been in hers.

  Melodie was quiet, moody, and melancholy, and so tediously boring to be around that everyone avoided her. She resented caring for the small babies I had thought would give her pleasure and something meaningful to do. Soon we had to hire a nurse. Melodie also did very little to help with Jory, so I did for him what he couldn’t do for himself.

  * * *

  Chris had his work that kept him happy and away until Fridays around four when he’d come in the door, much as Daddy had once returned to us on Fridays. Time repeating itself. Chris was in his own busy would, we on the mountainside stayed put in ours. Chris came and went, looking fresh, breezy, confident, and overjoyed to be with us on the weekends. He brushed aside problems as if they were lint not worth noticing.

  We in Foxworth Hall stayed, never going anywhere now that Jory didn’t want to leave the security of his wonderful rooms.

  Soon it would be Jory’s thirtieth birthday. We’d have to do something special. Then it came to me. I’d invite all the members of his New York ballet company to come to his party. First, of course, I’d have to discuss this with Bart.

  He swiveled his office desk chair away from the computer. “No! I don’t want a group of dancers in my house! I’m not ever going to throw another party and waste my good money on people I don’t even want to know. Do something else for him—but don’t invite them.”

  “But, Bart, once I heard you say you’d like to have his ballet company entertain at your parties.”

  “Not now. I’ve changed. Besides, I’ve never really approved of dancers. Never have, never will. This is the Lord’s house . . . and in the spring a temple of worship will be raised to celebrate his rule over all of us.”

  “What do you mean, a temple will be raised?”

  He grinned before he turned his attention back to the computer. “A chapel so near you can’t avoid it, Mother. Won’t that be nice? Every Sunday we’ll rise early to attend services. All of us.”

  “And who will be on the podium delivering those sermons? You?”

  “No, Mother, not me. As yet I am not washed clean of my sins. My uncle will be the minister. He is a very saintly, righteous man.”

  “Chris enjoys sleeping late on Sunday mornings, and so do I,” I said despite my will to always keep him placated. “We like to eat breakfast in bed, and in the summers, the bedroom balcony is the perfect place to start off a happy day. As for Jory and Melodie, you should discuss the subject with them.”

  “I already have. They will do as I say.”

  “Bart . . . Jory’s birthday is the fourteenth. Remember, he was born on Valentine’s Day.”

  Again he looked at me. “Isn’t it weird and meaningful that babies come often to our family on holidays—or very near them? Uncle Joel says it means something—something significant.”

  “No doubt!” I flared. “Dear Joel thinks everything is significant—and offensive in the eyes of his God. It’s as if he not only owns God but controls him as well!” I whirled to confront Joel, who was never more than ten feet away from Bart. I shouted because for some reason he made me afraid. “Stop filling my son’s head with crazy notions, Joel!”

  “I don’t have to fill his head with those kind of notions, dear niece. You established his brain patterns long before he was born. Out of hatred came the child. And out of need comes the angel of salvation. Think of that before you condemn me.”

  * * *

  One morning the headlines of the local paper told of a family who’d gone bankrupt. A notable family that my mother had often mentioned. I read the details, folded the newspaper and stared thoughtfully before me. Had Bart had anything to do with that man’s fortune suddenly disappearing? He’d been one of the guests who hadn’t shown up.

  Another day the newspaper told of a father who killed his wife and two children because he’d put the main part of his savings into the commodity market, and wheat had dropped drastically in price. There went another of Bart’s enemies—once an invited guest to that unhappy Christmas ball. But if so, how was Bart manipulating the markets, the bankruptcy?

  “I know nothing about any of that!” flared Bart when I questioned. “Those people dig their own graves with their greed. Who do you think I am, God? I said a lot of things Christmas night, but I’m not quite as crazy as you think. I have no intention of putting my soul in jeopardy. Fools always manage to trip themselves.”

  * * *

  We celebrated Jory’s birthday with a family party; Cindy flew home to stay two days, happy to celebrate with Jory. Her suitcases were full of gifts meant to keep him busy. “When I meet a man like you, Jory, I’m going to grab him so quickly! I’m just waiting to see if any other man is half as wonderful. So far Lance Spalding hasn’t proved to be half the man you are.”

  “And how would you know?” joked Jory, who had not heard the details of Lance’s sudden departure. He flashed his wife a hard look as she held Darren and I held Deirdre. We were both supporting nursing bottles as we sat before the cozy log fire. The babies gave all of us reasons for feeling the future held great promise. I think even Bart was fascinated with how swiftly they grew, how sweet and cuddly they felt when on a few occasions he held them for several uncomfortable seconds. He’d looked at me with a certain pride.

  Melodie put Darren in the large cradle Chris had found in an antique shop and had refinished so it looked almost new. With one foot she rocked the baby as she glared hard at Bart before once again gazing pensively into the roaring fire. Seldom did she speak, and she showed no real interest in her children. Only negligently did she pick them up, as if for show, as she showed no int
erest in any one of us, or anything we did.

  Jory shopped by mail for gifts that were delivered almost daily to surprise her. She’d open each box, faintly smile and say a weak thank you, and sometimes she even put the package down unopened, thanking Jory without even looking his way. It pained me to see him wince, or bow his head to hide his expression. He was trying—why couldn’t she try?

  Each passing day saw Melodie withdrawing not only from her husband but, much to my amazement, also from her children. Hers was an indecisive love, without strong commitment, like the frail flutterings of moth wings beating at the candle flame of motherly love. I was the one who got up in the middle of the night to feed them. I was the one who paced the floor and tried to change two diapers at once, and it was I who raced down to the kitchen to mix their formula and held them on my shoulder for burping, I who took the time and trouble to rock them to sleep as I sang soft lullabies while their huge blue eyes stared up at me with fascination until they grew sleepy and with great reluctance closed their eyes. Often I could tell they were still listening from their small, pleased smiles. It filled me with joy to see them growing more and more like Cory and Carrie.

  If we lived isolated from society, we did not live isolated from the malicious rumors that the servants brought home with them from the local stores. Often I overheard their whispers as they chopped onions, green peppers, and made the pies and cakes and other desserts we all loved to eat. I knew our maids lingered too long in back halls and deliberately made our beds when we were still upstairs. Thinking we were alone, we’d let out many secrets for them to feed their gossip.

  Much of what they speculated on I speculated on as well. Bart was so seldom home, and sometimes I was grateful for that. With him out of the house, there was no one to create arguments; Joel stayed in his room and prayed, or so I presumed.

  It came to me one morning that maybe I should try the servants’ tricks and hang out near the kitchen . . . and when I did, our cook and maids filled my ears with knowledge gained from those in the village. Bart, according to them, was having many affairs with the prettiest and richest society ladies, both married and unmarried. Already he’d ruined one marriage that just happened to be one of the couples that had been on his Christmas guest list. Also, according to what I overheard, Bart often visited a brothel ten miles away, not within any city’s limits.