Dollenganger 01 Flowers In the Attic

by V. C. Andrews

  "I made some slight noise that made him lift his head, and his blue eyes lit up--and oh, I can remember how they lit up--and then when we were introduced, the light went out. I was his half- niece, and forbidden, and he was disappointed, just as I was. For on that very day, with me on the staircase and him down there on the floor, a spark was lit between us, a little red glow that was to grow larger and larger until we could deny it no longer.

  "I won't embarrass you with the telling of our romance," she said uneasily when I shifted, and Chris moved to hide his face. "Let it suffice to say that it was love at first sight with us, for it happens that way sometimes. Perhaps he was ready to fall in love, as was I, or perhaps it was because we were both needing someone to give us warmth and affection. My older brothers were both dead by this time, killed by accidents; I had only a few friends, for no one was 'good enough' for the daughter of Malcolm Foxworth. I was his prize, his joy; if ever a man took me from him, it would be for a dear, dear price. So, your father and I would meet furtively in the gardens and just sit and talk for hours and hours, and sometimes he'd push me in a swing, or I'd push him, and sometimes we'd stand on the swing and work it with our legs, and just look at each other as we flew higher and higher. He told me all his secrets and I told him all of mine And soon enough it had to come out, we had to confess that we were deeply in love, and right or wrong, we had to marry. And we had to escape this house, and the rule of my parents, before they had a chance to make us into duplicates of themselves--for that was their purpose, you know, to take your father and change him, make him pay for the evil his mother had done in marrying a man so much older. They gave him everything, I will admit that. They treated him as their own son, for he was to replace the two sons they had lost. They sent him to Yale, and he was brilliant. You get your intelligence from him, Christopher. He graduated in three years--but he could never use the master's degree he earned, for it had his rightful name on it, and we had to hide who we were from the world. It was hard for us in the first years of our marriage because he had to deny his college education."

  She paused. She glanced reflectively at Chris, then at me. She hugged the twins and kissed the top of their fair heads, and a troubled frown came to worry her face and pucker her brow. "Cathy, Christopher, you are the ones I am expecting to understand. The twins are too young. You are trying to understand how it was with us?"

  Yes, yes, both Chris and I nodded.

  She was talking my language, the language of music and ballet, romance, and love, beautiful faces in lovely places. Fairy tales can come true!

  Love at first sight. Oh, that was going to happen to me, I just knew it would and he'd be as beautiful as Daddy had been, radiating beauty, touching my heart. You had to have love or you withered away and died.

  "Listen attentively, now," she said in a low voice, and this gave her words greater impact. "I am here to do what I can to make my father like me again, and forgive me for marrying his half-brother. You see, as soon as I reached my eighteenth birthday, your father and I eloped, and two weeks later we came back and told my parents. My father nearly threw a fit. He raged, he stormed, he ordered us both out of his house, and told us never to come back, never! And that is why I was disinherited, and your father too-- for I think my father did plan to leave him a little, not much, but some. The main portion was to be mine, for my mother has money in her own right. Why, to hear tell it, the money she inherited from her parents is the main reason why my father married her, though in her youth she was what is called a handsome woman, not a great beauty, but she had a regal, powerful kind of noble good looks."

  No, I thought bitterly to myself . . . that old woman was born ugly!

  "I am here to do what I can to make my father like me again, and forgive me for marrying my half-uncle. And in order to do this, I am going to have to play the role of the dutiful, humbled, thoroughly chastised daughter. And sometimes, when you begin to play a role you assume that character, so I want to say now, while I am still fully myself, all you have to hear. That's why I'm telling you all of this, and being as honest as I can. I confess, I am not strong-willed, nor am I a self-starter. I was strong only when I had your father to back me up, and now I don't have him And downstairs, on the first floor, in a small room beyond a giant library, is a man the likes of whom you have never encountered. You have met my mother, and know a little of what she is like, but you have not met my father. And I don't want you to meet him until he forgives me and accepts the fact that I have four children fathered by his much younger half-brother. This is going to be very difficult for him to take. But I don't think it is going to be too difficult for him to forgive me, since your father is dead, and it is difficult to hold grudges against the dead and buried."

  I don't know why I felt so scared.

  "In order to have my father write me into his will again, I am going to be forced to do anything he wants."

  "What could he want from you but obedience and a show of respect?" asked Chris in the most somber, adult way, as if he understood what this was all about.

  Momma gave him the longest look, full of sweet compassion as her hand lifted to caress his boyish cheek. He was a younger smaller edition of the husband she'd so recently buried. No won- der tears came into her eyes.

  "I don't know what he'll want, darling, but whatever I have to do, I will do. Somehow he must include me in his will. But let's forget all of that now. I saw your faces when I was talking I don't want you to feel what my mother said is true. What your father and I did was not immoral. We were properly married in church, just as any other young couple in love. There was nothing 'unholy' about it. And you are not the Devil's spawn, or evil--your father would call that hogwash. My mother would have you think yourselves unworthy as another way to punish me, and you. People make the rules of society, not God. In some parts of the world closer relatives marry and produce children, and it is considered perfectly all right, though I'm not going to try and justify what we did, for we do have to abide by the laws of our own society. That society believes closely related men and women should not many, for if they do, they can produce children who are mentally or physically less than perfect. But who is perfect?"

  Then she was laughing, half-crying, and hugging us all close. "Your grandfather predicted our children would be born with horns, humped backs, forked tails, hooves for feet--he was like a crazy man, trying to curse us, and make our children deformed, because he wanted us cursed! Did any of his dire predictions come true?" she cried, seemingly half-wild herself. "No!" She answered her own question. "Your father and I did worry some when I was pregnant the first time. He paced the hospital corridors all night, until nearly dawn, when a nurse came up and told him he had a son, perfect in every way. Then he had to run to the nursery to see for himself. You should have been there to see the joy on his face when he entered my room, bearing in his arms two dozen red roses, and tears were in his eyes when he kissed me. He was so proud of you, Christopher, so proud. He gave away six boxes of cigars, and went right out and bought you a plastic baseball bat, and a catcher's mitt, and a football, too. When you were teething, you'd chew on the bat, and beat on the crib and the wall to let us know you wanted out.

  "Next came Cathy, and you, darling, were just as beautiful, and just as perfect as your brother. And you know how your father loved you, his beautiful dancing Cathy, who would make the world sit up and take notice when she came on stage. Recall your first ballet performance, when you were four? You wore your first pink tutu, and made a few mistakes, and everybody in the audience laughed, and you clapped your hands like you were proud, even so. And your father sent you a dozen roses--remember? He never saw any mistakes you made. In his eyes you were perfect. And seven years after you came to bless us, our twins were born. Now we had two boys, and two girls, and had tempted fate four times--and had won! Four perfect children. So if God had wanted to punish us, he had four chances to give us deformed or mentally retarded children. Instead, he gave us the very best. So never let y
our grandmother or anyone else convince you that you are less than competent, less than worthy, or less than wholly pleasing in God's eyes. If there was a sin committed, it was the sin of your parents, not yours. You are the same four children all our friends in Gladstone envied and called the Dresden dolls. Keep remembering what you had in Gladstone--hold on to that. Keep believing in yourselves, and in me, and in your father. Even if he is dead, keep on loving and respecting him He deserves that. He tried so hard to be a good parent. I don't think there are many men who care as much as he did." She smiled brightly through glistening tears. "Now, tell me who you are."

  "The Dresden dolls!" Chris and I cried out.

  "Now, will you ever believe what your

  grandmother says about being the Devil's spawn?"

  No! Never, never!

  Yet, yet, half of what I'd heard from both women I would have to ponder over later, and ponder deeply too. I wanted to believe God was pleased with us, and in who and what we were. I had to believe, needed to believe. Nod, I told myself, say yes, just as Chris did. Don't be like the twins who only stared at Momma, not comprehending anything. Don't be so

  suspicious--don't!

  Chris chimed up in the firmest of convincing voices, "Yes, Momma, I do believe what you say, for if God had disapproved of your marriage to our father, then he would have punished you and Daddy through your children. I believe God is not narrow- minded and bigoted--not as our grandparents are. How can that old woman speak so ugly, when she does have eyes, and she can see we are not ugly, and not deformed, and certainly we are not retarded?"

  Relief, like a river dammed and released, caused tears to stream down Momma's beautiful face. She drew Chris close against her breast, kissing the top of his head. Then she cupped his face between her palms, stared deep into his eyes, ignoring the rest of us. "Thank you, my son, for understanding," she said in a husky whisper. "Thank you again for not condemning your parents for what they did."

  "I love you, Momma. No matter what you did, or do, I'll always understand."

  "Yes," she murmured, "you will, I know You will." Uneasily she glanced at me who stood back, taking all of this in, weighing it, and her. "Love doesn't always come when you want it to. Sometimes it just happens, despite your will." She bowed her head, reaching for my brother's hands, and clinging to them. "My father adored me when I was young. He wanted to keep me always for himself. He never wanted me to marry anyone. I recall when I was only twelve, he said he'd leave me his entire estate if I stayed with him until he died of old age."

  Suddenly, she jerked up her head and looked at me. Did she see something doubting, something questioning? Her eyes shadowed, grew deep, dark. "Join hands," she ordered forcefully, bracing her shoulders, releasing one of Chris's hands. "I want you to repeat after me: We are perfect children. Mentally, physically, emotionally, we are wholesome, and godly in every way possible. We have as much right to live, love, and enjoy life as any other children on this earth."

  She smiled at me, and reached for my hand to hold in her free one, and asked that Carrie and Cory join the family chain "Up here, you are going to need small rituals to get you through the days, little stepping stones. Let me lay down a few for you to use when I'm gone. Cathy, when I look at you, I see myself at your age. Love me, Cathy, trust me, please."

  Haltingly, we did as she directed, and repeated the litany that was ours to say whenever we felt in doubt. And when we had finished, she smiled at us with approval and reassurance.

  "There!" she said with a happier look. "Now don't think I have lived through this day without the four of you constantly on my mind. I have thought and I have thought of our future, and I've decided we cannot continue to live here, where all of us are ruled over by my mother and father. My mother is a cruel, heartless woman who just happened to give birth to me, but who's never given me an ounce of love--she gave all of that to her sons. It was my foolish belief, when her letter came, that she would treat you differently from the way she treated me. I thought by now she would have mellowed with age, and once she saw you, and knew you, she would be like all grandmothers and welcome you with open arms, and be charmed and delighted to have children to love again. I so hoped once she got a look at your faces . . ." She choked up, near tears again, as if no one with good sense could help but love her children. "I can understand her dislike for Christopher"--and here she hugged him tightly, and kissed his cheek--"for he looks so much like his father. And I know she can look at you, Cathy, and see me, and she never liked me--I don't know why, except, perhaps, my father liked me too much, and that made her jealous. But never did it cross my mind that she could be cruel to any of you, or my little twins. I made myself believe people change with age, and they realize their mistakes, but now I know how wrong I was." She wiped away her tears.

  "So, that is why tomorrow morning, early, I am driving away from here, and in the nearest big city, I will enroll in a business school that will teach me how to be a secretary. I'll learn to type, take shorthand, do bookkeeping and how to file--and every- thing a good secretary has to know, I'll learn. When I know how to do all of these things, I'll be able to find a good job that will pay an adequate salary. And then I'll have enough money to take you all out of this room. We'll find an apartment somewhere nearby, so I can still visit my father. Soon, we'll all be living under the same roof, our roof, and we'll be a real family again."

  "Oh, Momma!" Chris cried happily, "I knew you would find a way! I knew you wouldn't keep us locked up in this room." He leaned forward to give me a look of smug satisfaction, as if he'd known all along his beloved mother would solve all problems, no matter how complicated.

  "Trust me," said Momma, smiling and confident now. Again she had kisses for Chris.

  I wished somehow I could be like my brother Chris, and take everything she said as a sacred vow. But my treacherous thoughts were dwelling overlong on her words of not being strong-willed or a selfstarter, without Daddy nearby to give her support. Dejectedly, I put in my question. "Just how long does it take to learn how to be a good secretary?"

  Quickly--I thought too quickly--she answered. "Only a little while, Cathy. Perhaps a month. But if it takes a bit longer, you have to be patient and realize I'm not too smart about things like that. It's not really my fault," she went on hastily, as if she could see I was blaming her for being inadequate.

  "When you're born rich, and you're educated in boarding schools only for the daughters of the extremely rich and powerful, and then you're sent to a girls' finishing school, you are taught polite rules of social etiquette, academic subjects, but most of all, you're made ready for the whirl of romance, debutante parties, and how to entertain and be the perfect hostess. I wasn't taught anything practical. I didn't think I'd ever need any business skills. I thought I'd always have a husband to take care of me, and if not a husband, then my father would--and besides, all the time I was in love with your father. I knew the day I turned eighteen we'd be married."

  She was at that very minute teaching me well. Never would I become so dependent on a man I couldn't make my way in the world, no matter what cruel blow life delivered! But most of all I felt mean, mad, ashamed, guilty--feeling she was to blame for everything, and how could she have know what lay ahead?

  "I'm going now," she said as she stood to leave. The twins burst into tears.

  "Momma, don't go! Don't leave us!" They both wrapped their small arms around her legs.

  "I'll be back early tomorrow morning, before I leave for that school. Really, Cathy," she said, looking straight at me, "I promise to do the best I can. I want you out of this place just as much as you want to be out."

  At the door she said it was a good thing we'd seen her back, for now we knew how heartless her mother could be. "For God's sake, keep to her rules. Be modest in the bathroom. Realize she can be inhuman not only to me, but to those who are mine" She held out her arms to all of us, and we ran into them, forgetting her whip-lashed back. "I love all of you so much," she sobbed. "Hold on t
o that. I'll apply myself as never before, I swear. I feel as much a prisoner as you do, just as trapped by circumstances as you are, in a way. Go to bed tonight with happy thoughts, know that no matter how bad it may seem, seldom is anything that bad. I am likable, you know that, and my father did love me extremely well once. So that will make it easy for him to love me again, won't it?"

  Yes, yes, it would. To love anything once extremely well made you vulnerable to another loving attack. I knew; I'd already been in love six times.

  "And while you're in your beds, and in the dimness of this room, remember that tomorrow after I enroll in that school, I'll go shopping for new toys and games to keep your hours up here busy and happy. And it's not going to be a long time until I have my father loving me again, and forgiving me for everything "

  "Momma," I said, "do you have enough money to buy us things?"

  "Yes, yes," she said hurriedly, "I have enough, and my mother and father are proud people. They would not have me seen by their friends and neighbors looking shabby, or ill-groomed. They will provide for me and they'll provide for you, as well. You'll see. And every spare minute I have, and every spare dollar I don't use, I'll put away, and I'll plan for the day when we can all be free to live in our own home, as we used to, and be a family again."

  Those were her parting words before she blew us kisses, and then she closed and locked the door.

  Our second night behind a locked door.

  Now we knew so much more . . . maybe too much.

  After Momma had left, both Chris and I settled into bed. He grinned over at me as he curled his body against Cory's back, and already his eyes were sleepy, too. He closed his eyes and murmured, "Good night, Cathy. Don't let the bedbugs bite."