Flowers in the Attic Read online

  you can read the text!"

  She demonstrated with knowing, careful fingers

  all the fascinations of a dollhouse only children of the

  extremely wealthy could ever hope to own.

  Chris, of course, had to pull out a tiny book and

  hold it close to his squinting eyes, to see for himself

  print so small you needed a microscope. (There was a

  very special type of micro- scope he hoped to own

  someday. . . and I hoped to be the one to give it to

  him.)

  I couldn't help but admire the skill and patience it

  would take to make such small furniture. There was a

  grand piano in the front parlor of the Elizabethan

  house. The piano was covered with a silken paisly

  shawl, with fringes of gold. Little-bitty silk flowers were centered on the dining room table. Bitsy fruit made of wax was in a silver bowl on the buffet. Two crystal chandeliers hung down, and real candles were fitted into sockets. Servants were in the kitchen, wearing aprons while they prepared dinner. A butler wore livery white while he stood near the front door to greet the arriving guests, while in the front parlor the beautifully gowned ladies stood stiffly near poker

  faced men.

  Upstairs in the nursery were three children, and a

  baby was in the crib, arms outstretched and ready to

  be lifted up. A side building was attached, somewhat

  to the rear, and in there was such a coach! And two

  horses were in the stables! Golly day! Who would

  ever dream people could make things so small! My

  eyes jumped to the windows, drinking in the dainty

  white curtains and heavy drapes, and dishes were on

  the dining table, and silverware, and pots and pans

  were in the kitchen cupboards-- all so tiny they were

  no bigger than large green peas.

  "Cathy," said Momma, putting her arm around

  me, "look at this little rug. It is a genuine Persian,

  made of pure silk. The rug in the dining room is an

  Oriental." And on and on she extolled the virtues of

  this remarkable plaything

  "How can it look so new, yet be so old?" I asked. A dark cloud passed over Momma and shadowed

  her face. "When it belonged to my mother, it was kept

  in a huge glass box. She was allowed to look at it, but

  she could never touch it. When it was given to me, my

  father took a hammer and broke the glass box, and he

  allowed me to play with everything--on the condition

  that I would swear, with my hand on the Bible, not to

  break anything."

  "Did you swear and did you break anything'?"

  questioned Chris.

  "Yes, I swore, and yes, I did break something "

  Her head bowed low so we couldn't watch her eyes.

  "There was another doll, a very handsome young man,

  and his arm came off when I tried to take off his coat.

  I was whipped, not only for breaking the doll, but for

  wanting to see what was underneath the clothes." Chris and I sat silent, but Carrie perked up and

  showed great interest in the funny little dolls in their

  fancy, colorful costumes. She particularly favored the

  baby in the crib. Because she was so interested, Cory

  moved so he, too, could investigate the many

  treasures of the dollhouse.

  That was when Momma turned her attention on

  me. "Cathy, why were you looking so solemn when I

  came in? Didn't you like your gifts?"

  Because I couldn't answer, Chris answered for me.

  "She's unhappy because the grandmother refused the

  gift we made for her." Momma patted my shoulder

  but she avoided my eyes. Chris continued, "And thank

  you for everything--there's nothing you didn't remind

  Santa Claus to bring. Thank you most of all for the

  dollhouse. I think our twins are going to have more

  fun with that than anything else."

  I fixed my gaze on the two tricycles for the twins

  to ride in the attic and strengthen their thin, weak legs

  while they pedaled. There were roller skates for Chris

  and me to use in the attic schoolroom only. That room

  was insulated with plastered walls, and hardwood

  flooring, making it more soundproof than the rest of

  the attic.

  Momma got up from her knees, smiling

  mysteriously before she left. Just outside the door she

  said she'd be back in a second or two, and that is when

  she really gave us the best gift of all--a small,

  portable TV set! "My father gave this to me to use in

  my bedroom. And immediately I knew just who

  would enjoy it the most. Now you have a real window

  through which you can view the world."

  Just the right words to send my hopes flying high into the sky! "Momma!" I cried out. "Your father gave you an expensive gift? Does that mean he likes you now? Has he forgiven you for marrying Daddy? Can

  we go downstairs now?"

  Her blue eyes went dark and troubled again, and

  there was no joy when she told us that yes, her father

  was friendlier--he had forgiven her for committing a

  sin against God, and society. Then she said something

  that jumped my heart right up against my throat. "Next week, my father is having his lawyer write

  me into his will. He is going to leave me everything;

  even this house will be mine after my mother dies. He

  isn't planning on leaving her money, because she has

  wealth she inherited from her father and mother." Money--I didn't care anything about it. All I

  wanted was out! And suddenly I was very happy--so

  happy I flung my arms around Momma, kissed her

  cheek, and hugged her tight. Golly- lolly, this was the

  best day since we'd come to this house . . . and then I

  remembered, Momma hadn't said we could go

  downstairs yet. But, we were one step on our way to

  freedom.

  Our mother sat on the bed and smiled with her

  lips, though not her eyes. She laughed at some silly

  things Chris and I said, and it was laughter brittle and hard, not at all her kind of laugh. "Yes, Cathy, I have become the dutiful, obedient daughter your grandfather always wanted. He speaks, I obey. He orders, I jump. I have at last managed to please him." She stopped abruptly and looked toward the double windows and the pale light beyond. "As a matter of fact, I have pleased him so well he is giving me a party tonight to reintroduce me to my old friends, and the local society. It is to be a grand affair, for my parents do everything in a big way when they entertain. They don't imbibe themselves, but they don't mind serving liquor to those who don't fear hell. So, of course, it will be catered, and there will also be a small orchestra for dancing." A party! A Christmas party! With an orchestra for dancing! And catered! And Momma was being written into the new will.

  Was there ever such a happy wonderful day? "Can we watch?" Chris and I cried out almost

  simultaneously. "We'll be very quiet."

  "We'll hide so no one can see us."

  "Please, Momma, please, it's been so long since

  we saw other people, and we've never been to a

  Christmas Day party."

  We pleaded and pleaded until at last she could

  resist no longer. She drew Chris and me aside, to a far corner where the twins couldn't overhear, and she whispered, "There is one place where the two of you can hide and still be able to watch, but I cannot risk the twins. They're too young to be trusted and you know they can't s
it still for longer than two seconds, and Carrie would probably scream out in delight, and rivet everyone's attention. So, swear on your word of

  honor you will not tell them."

  We promised. No, of course we wouldn't tell

  them, even without a vow to keep our silence. We

  loved our little twins, and we wouldn't hurt their

  feelings by letting them know they were missing out. We sang Christmas carols after Momma had gone,

  and the day passed cheerfully enough, though there

  was nothing special in the picnic basket for us to eat

  ham sandwiches, which the twins didn't like, and cold

  slices of turkey that were still icy, as if they had been

  taken from the freezer. Leftovers from Thanksgiving

  Day.

  As evening came on so early, I sat for the longest

  time gazing over at the dollhouse, where Carrie and

  Cory played happily with the tiny porcelain people

  and the priceless miniatures.

  Funny how much you can learn from inanimate

  objects that a little girl had once owned, and been allowed to look at, but never touch. And then another little girl came along, and the dollhouse was given to her, and the glass box smashed just so she could touch the objects inside so she could be punished--when

  she broke something.

  A shivering thought came: I wondered just what

  Carrie or Cory would break, and what their

  punishment would be.

  I shoved a bit of chocolate into my mouth, and

  sweetened the sourness of my roving, wicked

  thoughts.

  The Christmas Party

  . True to her word, not long after the twins were sound asleep, Momma slipped into our room. She looked so beautiful my heart swelled with pride and admiration, and with some envy too. Her long formal gown had a skirt of flowing green chiffon; the bodice was of a deeper green velvet, cut low to show off a lot of cleavage. Underneath the streaming panels of lighter green chiffon were shoestring straps that glittered Diamond-and-emerald ear- rings dangled long and sparkling. Her scent reminded me of a musky, perfumed garden on a moonlit night

  somewhere in the Orient. No wonder Chris stared at her as if dazzled. Wistfully I sighed. Oh God, please let me look like that one day . . . let me have all those swelling curves that men so admire.

  And when she moved, the panels of chiffon floated as wings, leading us out of our sequestered dim place for the first time. Down all the dark and wide halls of the northern wing we followed close at Momma's silver heels. She whispered, "There's a place where I used to hide when I was a child, to watch the adult parties without my parents knowing. It's going to be cramped for the two of you, but it's the only place where you can hide and still see. Now promise again to be quiet, and if you get sleepy, slip unseen back to your room--remember how to get there." She told us not to watch longer than an hour, for the twins would be frightened to wake up and find themselves alone. Then, possibly, they'd wander out into the hall, looking for us--and God alone knew what could happen if they did.

  We were secreted inside a massive oblong dark table, with cabinet doors underneath. It was

  uncomfortable, and very stuffy, but we could see well enough through the fine, mesh-like screen on the back side.

  Silently, Momma stole away.

  Far below us was a mammoth room brilliantly lit with candles fitted in the five tiers of three gigantic crystal and gold chandeliers suspended from a ceiling so high above, we couldn't see it. I never saw so many candles burning all at once! The scent of them, the way flickering lights glowed and caught in the sparkling prisms, to scatter and refract beams of iridescence from all the jewelry the women wore, made it a scene from a dream--no, better, more like a movie, sharp, clear, a ballroom where Cinderella and Prince Charming might dance!

  Hundreds of richly dressed people milled about, laughing, talking. And over in the corner towered a Christmas tree that was beyond belief! It must have been more than twenty feet high, and it sparkled all over with thousands of golden lights to shine on the colorful ornaments and bedazzle your eyes!

  Dozens of servants in black-and-red uniforms flowed in and out of the ballroom, bearing silver trays laden with dainty party food, and they set them on long tables where a giant crystal fountain sprayed pale amber fluid into a silver receiving bowl. Many men and women came to hold stemmed goblets and catch the sparkling liquid. There were two other

  punchbowls of silver, with small matching cups-- both bowls large enough for a child to bathe in. It was beautiful, glamorous, exciting, exhilarating, . . . and so good to know that happy living was still going on outside our locked door.

  "Cathy," whispered Chris into my ear, "I'd sell my soul to the Devil to have just one single sip from that crystal-and-silver fountain!"

  My very same thought!

  Never had I felt so hungry, so thirsty, so deprived. Yet we both were charmed, enchanted, and bedazzled by all the splendor of what great wealth could buy and display. The floor where couples danced was laid out in mosaic patterns, and was waxed so it gleamed like reflecting glass. Huge gold-framed mirrors were on the walls, reflecting back the dancers so you could hardly tell the images from the reality. The frames of the many chairs and sofas lining the walls were goldcolored, and the padded seats and backs were of red velvet, or white brocade. French chairs, of course-- they just had to be Louis XIV or XV. Fancy, goodgolly day!

  Chris and I stared at the couples, who were the most beautiful and young. We commented on their clothing, their hairstyles, and speculated on what relationships they had going for them. But most of all we watched our mother, who was the center of attention. Most often she danced with a tall, handsome man with dark hair and a big moustache. He was the one who brought her stemmed goblets, and a plate of food, and they sat on a velvet couch to eat canapes and hors d'oeuvres. I thought they sat too close. Quickly I took my eyes from them, to take a look at the three chefs behind the long tables, still cooking what looked like pancakes to me, and little sausages to be stuffed with fillings. The aroma of all that drifted up to us, making our salivary glands overwork.

  Our meals were monotonous, boring things sandwiches, soups, and that everlasting fried chicken and eternal potato salad. Down there was a gourniet feast of everything delicious. Food was hot down there. Ours was seldom even warm. We kept our milk on the attic stairs so it wouldn't sour--and sometimes we found ice on the top. If we kept our picnic basket of food on the attic stairs, the mice stole down to nibble on everything

  From time to time, Momma disappeared with that man. Where did they go, and what did they do? Did they kiss? Was she falling in love? Even from my high and remote place in the cabinet, I could tell that man was fascinated by Momma. He couldn't take his eyes from her face, or keep his hands from touching her. And when they danced to music that was slow, he held her so his cheek pressed to hers. When they stopped dancing, he kept his arm around her shoulders, or her waist--and once he dared to even touch her breast!

  I thought that now she would slap his goodlooking face--for I would! But she only turned and laughed, and pushed him away, saying something that must have been a warning not to do that in public. And he smiled and took her hand and raised it to his lips while their eyes locked long and meaningfully-- or so I thought.

  "Chris, do you see Momma with that man?"

  "Sure I see them. He's just as tall as Daddy was."

  "Did you see what he just did?"

  "They're eating and drinking, and laughing and talking, and dancing, just like everybody else. Cathy, just think, when Momma inherits all that money, we can have parties like this on Christmas, and on our birthdays. Why, in the future, we might even have some of the very same guests we see now. Let's send invitations to our friends back in Gladstone. Boy, won't they be surprised to see what we inherit!"

  Just then, Momma and that man got up from the couch and left. So we fastened our c
harmed eyes on the second most attractive woman in the group below and watched her, and pitied her, for how could she compete with our mother?

  Then into the ballroom strode our grandmother looking neither left nor right, nor smiling at anyone. Her dress wasn't gray--and that alone was enough to astonish us. Her long formal gown was of ruby-red velvet, tight in the front and flowing in the back, and her hair was piled high on her head, and curled elaborately, and ruby and diamond jewelry sparkled on her neck, ears, arms and fingers. Who would ever think that impressive, regal-looking woman down there was the menacing grand- mother who visited us each day?

  Reluctantly, we had to admit in whispers back and forth: "She does look magnificent."

  "Yes, very impressive. Like an Amazon, too big."

  "A mean Amazon."

  "Yeah, a warrior Amazon, ready to do battle with the glare of her eyes alone. She doesn't really need any other weapon."

  That's when we saw him! Our unknown grandfather!

  It stole my breath away to look down and see a man so very much like our father, if he had lived long enough to become old and feeble. He sat in a shiny wheelchair, dressed in a tuxedo, and his formal shirt was white with black trim. His thinning blond hair was almost white, and it shone silver under the lights. His skin was unlined, at least viewed from our far and high and hidden place. Appalled, as well as

  fascinated, neither Chris nor I could move our eyes anywhere else once we spied him

  He was fragile looking, but still unnaturally handsome for a man of his great age of sixty-seven, and a man who was near dead. Suddenly,

  frighteningly, he raised his head and he gazed upward, directly at our hiding place! For one awful, terrifying moment, it seemed he knew we were there, hidden behind the wire screen! A small smile played on his lips. Oh, dear God, what did that smile mean?

  Still, he didn't look nearly as heartless as the grandmother. Could he truly be the cruel and arbitrary tyrant we presumed him to be? From the gentle, kindly smiles he bestowed on all those who came up to greet him, and shake his hand, and pat his shoulder, he seemed benign enough. Just an old man in a wheel chair, who really didn't look very sick. Yet, he was the one who had ordered our mother to be stripped and whipped from her neck down to her heels, and he had watched. So, how could we ever forgive him for that?