Dollenganger 01 Flowers In the Attic (5 page)

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 any- thing, 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?"
He sort of chuckled. "Yeah, you bet, sweet-- sweet as a boa constrictor."
"She's awful big. How tall do you think she is?"
"Gosh, that's hard to guess. Maybe six feet, and two hundred pounds."
"Seven feet! Five hundred pounds!"
"Cathy, one thing you've got to learn--stop exaggerating! Stop making so much out of small things. Now, take a real look at our situation, and realize this is only a room in a big house, nothing at all frightening. We have one night to spend here before Momma comes back."
"Christopher, did you hear what the grandmother said about a half-uncle? Did you understand what she meant?"
"No, but I suppose Momma will explain everything Now go to sleep, and say a prayer. Isn't that about all we can do?"
I got right out of the bed, fell down on my knees, and folded my hands beneath my chin. I closed my eyes tightly and prayed, prayed for God to help Momma be her most charming, disarming, and winning self. "And God, please don't let the grandfather be as hateful and mean as his wife."
Then, fatigued and drowning in many emotions, I hopped back into bed, hugged Carrie close against my chest, and fell, as I wanted, into dreams.

The day dawned dim behind the heavy, drawn draperies that we had been forbidden to open. Christopher sat up first, yawning, stretching, grinning over at me. "Hi, tousle-head," he greeted. His hair was as tousled as mine, much more so. I don't know why God chose to give him and Cory such curly hair, when he gave Carrie and me only waves. And all boy that he was, he tried with mighty effort to brush out those curls, as I sat and hoped they would jump from his head over to mine.

I sat up and looked around this room that was, perhaps, sixteen-by-sixteen. Large, but with two double beds, a massive highboy, a large dresser, two overstuffed chairs, a dressing table between the two front windows, with its own small chair, plus a mahogany table with four chairs, it seemed a small room. Cluttered. Between the two big beds was another table with a lamp. Altogether there were four lamps in the room. Beneath all the ponderous dark furniture was a faded Oriental red rug with gold fringe. At one time it must have been a beautiful thing, but now it was old and worn. The walls were papered in cream with white flocking. The bedspreads were gold-colored and made of some heavy fabric like quilted satin. There were three paintings on the walls. Golly-lolly, they did steal your breath away! Grotesque demons chased naked people in
underground caverns colored mostly red. Unearthly monsters devoured other pitiful souls. Even as their legs still kicked, they dangled from slobbering mouths filled with long, shiny, sharp teeth.

"You are now gazing on hell, as some might see it," my know-it-all brother informed me. "Ten to one, our angel grandmother hung those reproductions herself just to let us know what we're in for if we dare
^,
to disobey. Look like Goya's work to me," he said.

My brother did know everything. Next to being a doctor, he wanted to be an artist. He was
exceptionally good at drawing, using watercolors, oil paints, and so on. He was good at most everything except picking up after himself, and waiting on himself.

Just as I made a move to get up and go into the bath, Christopher jumped from his bed and beat me to it. Why did Carrie and I have to be so far from the bath? Impatiently I sat on the edge of the bed, swinging my legs, and waited for him to come out.

With many little restless movements, Carrie and Cory fluttered awake simultaneously. They sat up and yawned, as if mirrored reflections, rubbed at their eyes, and looked sleepily around. Then Carrie pronounced in definite tones, "I don't like it here!"

That was not at all surprising. Carrie was born opinionated. Even before she could talk, and she talked at nine months, she knew what she liked and what she hated. There was never a middle road for Carrie--it was down low, or up sky-high. She had the cutest little voice when she was pleased, sounding very much like a sweet little bird chirping happily in the mornings. Trouble was, she chirped all day long, unless she was asleep. Carrie talked to dolls, teacups, Teddy bears and other stuffed animals. Anything that sat and didn't answer back was worthy of her conversation. After a while, I got so I didn't even hear her incessant chatter; I just turned it off and let her rattle on and on.

Cory was entirely different. While Carrie chattered on and on, he'd sit and listen attentively. I recall Mrs. Simpson saying Cory was "a still water that ran deep." I still don't know what she meant by that, except quiet people did exude some illusion of mystery that kept you wondering just what they really were beneath the surface.

"Cathy," twittered my baby-faced small sister, "did you hear me say I don't like it here?"
Hearing this, Cory scrambled from his bed and ran to jump into ours, and there he reached for his twin and held her tight, his eyes wide and scared. In his solemn way, he asked, "How did we get here?"
"Last night, on a train. Don't you remember?"
"No, I don't remember."
"And we walked through the woods in the moonlight. It was very pretty."
"Where is the sun? Is it still night?"
Behind the draperies the sun hid. But if I dared to tell Cory that, then he was for sure going to want to open those draperies and look outside. And once he saw outside, he was going to want to go outside. I didn't know what to say.
Someone in the hall fumbled with the door lock, saving me from giving any answer at all. Our grandmother carried into the room a large tray laden with food, covered with a large white towel. In a very brisk, businesslike way she explained that she couldn't be running up and down the stairs all day carrying heavy trays. Once a day only. If she came too often, the servants might notice.
"I think from now on I'll use a picnic basket," she said as she set the tray down on the little table. She turned to look at me, as if I were in charge of the meals. "You are to make this food last throughout the day. Divide it into three meals. The bacon, eggs, toast and cereal are for breakfast. The sandwiches and the hot soup in the small thermos are for your lunch. The fried chicken, potato salad and string beans are for your dinner. You can eat the fruit for dessert. And if at the end of the day, you are silent and good, I may bring you ice cream and cookies, or cake. No candy, ever. We can't have you getting tooth cavities. There won't be any trips to a dentist until your grandfather dies."
Christopher had come from the bathroom, fully dressed, and he, too, stood and stared at the grandmother who could so easily talk of the death of her husband, showing no distress. It was as if she were speaking of some goldfish in China that would soon die in a fishbowl. "And clean your teeth after every meal," she went on, "and keep your hair brushed neatly, and your bodies clean and fully clothed. I do despise children with dirty faces and hands and runny noses."
Even as she said this, Cory's nose was running. Surreptitiously, I used a tissue to wipe it for him. Poor Cory, he had hay fever most of the time, and she hated children with runny noses.
"And be modest in the bathroom," she said, looking particularly hard at me and then Christopher who was now lounging insolently against the doorframe of the bath. "Girls and boys are never to use the bathroom together."
I felt a hot blush stain my cheeks! What kind of kids did she think we were?
Next we heard something for the first time, which we were to hear over and over again like a needle stuck in a scratched record: "And remember, children, God sees everything! God will see what evil you do behind my back! And God will be the one to punish when I don't!"
From her dress pocket, she pulled a sheet of paper. "Now, on this paper, I have listed the rules you are to follow while you are in my home." She laid the list down on the table and told us we should read and memorize them. Then she spun around to leave . . . but no, she headed toward the closet that we hadn't yet investigated. "Children, beyond this door, and in the far end of the closet, is a small door concealing the steps to the attic. Up in the attic there is ample space for you to run and play and make a reasonable amount of noise. But you are never to go up there until after ten o'clock. Before ten, the maids will be on the second floor doing their morning chores, and they could hear you running about. Therefore, always be conscious you can be heard below if you are too noisy. After ten, the servants are forbidden to use the second floor. One of them has started stealing. Until that thief is caught red-handed, I'm always present when they straighten up the bedrooms. In this house, we make our own rules, and execute the deserved punishment. As I said last night, on the last Friday of each month, you will go into the attic very early, and sit quietly without talking, or scuffling your feet--do you understand me?" She stared at each of us in turn, impounding her words with mean, hard eyes. Christopher and I nodded. The twins only gazed at her in a strange kind of fascination, close to awe. Further explanations informed us that she would check our room and bath to see we left no hint of ourselves on that Friday.
Everything said, she left. Once more she locked us in. Now we could breathe.
Grimly, with determination, I set out to make a game of this. "Christopher Doll, I appoint you the father."
He laughed, then said with sarcasm, "What else? As the man, and the head of this family, let it be known hitherto that I am to be waited on hand and foot--the same as a king. Wife, as my inferior, and my slave, set the table, dish out the food, make ready for your lord and master."
"Repeat again what you said,
brother"
"From now on, I am not your brother, but your lord and master; you are to do my bidding, whatever I say."
"And if I don't do as you say--what will you do next, lord and master?"
"I don't like the tone of your voice. Speak respectfully when you speak to me."
"La-dee-da, and ho-ho-ho! The day I speak respectfully to you, Christopher, will be the day you
earn
my respect--and that will be the day you stand twelve feet high, and the moon is at noon, and a blizzard blows in a unicorn ridden by a gallant knight wearing pure white shining armor, with a green dragon's head perched on the point of his lance!" And so said, and so satisfied with his disgruntled expression, I caught hold of Carrie's small hand and led her haughtily into the bathroom where we could take our time to wash, dress and brush, and ignore poor Cory, who kept calling out that he had to go.
"Please, Cathy. Let me come in! I won't look!"
Eventually a bathroom grows boring, and we came out, and, believe it or not, Christopher had Cory fully dressed! And what was even more shocking-- now Cory didn't need to use the bathroom!
"Why?" I asked. "Now don't you dare tell me you got back into bed and did it there!"
Silently, Cory pointed to a large blue vase without flowers.
Christopher lounged against the highboy, his arms folded across his chest, pleased with himself. "That should teach you to ignore a male in need. We men are not like you sit-down females. Any little thing will do in an emergency."
Before I would allow anyone to begin breakfast, I had to empty the blue vase, and rinse it out well. Really, it wouldn't be such 'a bad idea to keep the vase near Cory's side of the bed, just in case.
Near the windows we sat down to the little table meant for card-playing. The twins sat on doubled-over pillows so they could see what they were eating. All four lamps were turned on. Still it was depressing, having to eat breakfast in what looked like twilight.
"Cheer up, sober face," said my unpredictable older brother. "I was only kidding. You don't have to be my slave. I just love the gems you spurt forth when provoked. I admit, in verbosity you females are blessed, just as we males are gifted with the perfect instrument for picnic bathrooming " And to prove he wasn't going to be an overbearing brute, he helped me pour the milk, finding out, as I had, that hefting a gallon-sized thermos and pouring without spilling was no mean feat.
Carrie gave those fried eggs and bacon just one glance and she was wailing.
"We-ee
don't like bacon and eggs!
Cold
CEREAL is what we-ee like! We-ee don't want no hot, lumpy, bumpy food that's greasy.
Cold
CEREAL IS WHAT WE LIKE!" she shrieked.
"Cold
CEREAL WITH RAISINS!"
"Now you listen to me," said their new, smalleredition father, "you will eat what is put before you, and you will make no complaints, and you will not yell, or cry, or scream! Hear that? And it is not hot food, it is cold food. You can scrape off the grease. It is solid, anyway."
In a wink Christopher gobbled down his cold, greasy food, plus his cold toast without butter. Those twins, for some odd reason I'll never understand, ate their breakfast without another word of complaint I had the uneasy queasy feeling our luck with the twins just couldn't hold out. They might be impressed now by a forceful older brother, but watch out later!
The meal finished, I neatly stacked the dishes back on the tray. And only then did I remember we'd forgotten to say grace. Hastily we gathered together at the table and sat down to bow our heads, and clasp our palms together.
"Lord, forgive us for eating without asking your permission. Please don't let the grandmother know. We vow to do it right next time. Amen." Finished, I handed Christopher the list of do's and don'ts that were carefully typed in capital letters as if we were so stupid we couldn't understand longhand.
And just so the twins, who'd been too sleepy last night to understand our situation, fully realized what they were in for, my brother began at the top of the list of rules not to be broken--or else!
First he pursed his mouth up in a good imitation of the grand- mother's hateful lips, and you'd never believe such a finely shaped mouth as his could be made to look so grim, but some- how he managed to mimic her austerity.
"One:"--he read in a cold, flat voice--"you are
always
to be fully dressed." And, boy, did he make
"always"
sound impossible.
"Two: you will never take the Lord's name in vain, and will
always
say grace before each meal. And if I am not in the room to see that you do this, you may be sure that He above will be listening, and watching.
"Three: you are
never
to open the draperies, not even to peek out.
"Four: you will
never
speak to me unless I speak to you first.
"Five: you will keep this room neat and orderly,
always
with the beds made.
"Six: you are
never
to be idle. You will devote five hours each day to studying, and use the remainder of your time to develop your abilities in some meaningful way.
If
you have any skills, abilities or talents, you will seek to improve upon them, and if you have no abilities, or talents, or skills, you will read the Bible; and if you cannot read, then you will sit and stare at the Bible, and try to absorb through the purity of your thoughts the meaning of the Lord and his ways.
"Seven: you will clean your teeth after breakfast each day, and before retiring each night.
"Eight: if I ever catch boys and girls using the bathroom at the same time, I will quite relentlessly, and without mercy, peel the skins from your backs."
My heart seemed to flip over. Good-golly day, what kind of grandmother did we have?
"Nine: you will, all four, be modest and discreet at
all
times--in deportment, in speech, and in thought.
"Ten: you
will not
handle or play with the private parts of your bodies; nor will you look at them in the mirrors; nor will you think about them, even when you are cleansing those parts of your bodies."
Unabashed, with a funny little gleam in his eyes, Christopher read on, mimicking the grandmother with some skill
"Eleven: you
will not
allow wicked, sinful, or lusting thoughts to dwell in your minds. You will keep your thoughts clean, pure, and away from wicked subjects that will corrupt you morally.
"Twelve: you will refrain from looking at members of the opposite sex unless it is absolutely necessary.
"Thirteen: those of you who can read, and I hope at least two of you can, will each, alternately, take turns reading aloud from the Bible at least one page per day, so the two younger children will benefit from the Lord's teachings.
"Fourteen: you will each bathe daily, and clean the ring from the tub, and keep the bathroom as spotless as it was when you found it.
"Fifteen: you will each learn, including the twins, at least one quote from the Bible per day. And if I so request, you will repeat to me such quotes as I demand, as I keep track of what passages you have read.
"Sixteen: you will eat all of the food I bring to you, and not waste one single bit, or throw it away, or hide it away. It is sinful to waste good food when so many in this world are starving.
"Seventeen: you will not stride about in the bedroom wearing only your nightclothes, even if you are only going from bed to bath, or bath to bed. You will, at
all
times wear a robe of some kind over your nightclothes, and over your undergarments if at some time you feel the need to suddenly leave the bathroom without fully dressing yourself, so that another child may enter in an emergency. I demand that everyone who lives under this roof be modest and discreet--in all things, and in all ways.
"Eighteen: you will stand at attention when I enter your room, with your arms straight down at your sides; you will not clench your hands into fists to show silent defiance; nor will you allow your eyes to meet with mine; nor will you seek to show signs of affection toward me, nor hope to gain my friendship, nor my pity, nor my love, nor my compassion. All of that is impossible. Neither your grandfather nor myself can allow ourselves to feel anything for what is not wholesome."
Ohhh! Those were words to really sting! Even Christopher paused, and a flicker of despair fleeted over his face, quickly put away by a grin as his eyes met with mine He reached out and tickled Carrie to make her giggle, and then he tweaked Cory's nose, so he, too, giggled.
"Christopher," I cried, alarm in my voice. "From the way she puts it, our mother can never hope to win over her father again! Much less will he want his eyes to rest upon us! Why? What have we done? We weren't here the day our mother fell from grace by doing something so terrible her father disinherited her! We weren't even born then! Why do they hate us?"
"Keep your cool," said Chris, his eyes scanning down the long list. "Don't take any of this seriously. She's a nut, a loony- bird. Nobody as smart as our grandfather can have the idiot ideas his wife does--or else how could he make millions of dollars?"
"Maybe he didn't make the money, but inherited it."
"Yes, Momma told us he inherited some, but he has increased that a hundred times over, so he must have a
little
brains in his head. But he somehow picked the Queen Bee nut from the balmy tree for his wife." He grinned and then went on with the rule reading.