Christopher's Diary: Echoes of Dollanganger by V. C. Andrews
“Give her a chance,” I said, but in my heart, I bore the same skepticism. Momma was good at making promises and then finding explanations for why they were broken. But that was something I thought I would never tell Cathy.
Fortunately, this time, I didn’t have to consider it. Momma showed up looking more beautiful than ever. She looked like a princess, a movie star, in her formal gown, which showed more cleavage than I expected, especially in this house with our grandmother. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Even when I was younger, but not too young to appreciate a naked woman, I wasn’t as moved, even when she had paraded nude in front of us. Maybe it was because it was so long since I had seen her so bright, the crests of her breasts so crimson with excitement, her eyes as dazzling as her diamond and emerald earrings, that I found myself so taken. It was easy for me to imagine how my father had been so smitten with her beauty and impervious to any suspicions of incest. I could feel my own sexuality stirring, and I was admittedly ashamed. How could I have these thoughts and feelings about my own mother?
Kane paused and looked at me with a strange expression of guilt on his face. In fact, he seemed to cringe in the chair.
“What?” I asked. “Why did you stop reading?”
I expected him to go into his theory of the Oedipus complex again, but he surprised me. “I remember when I first had a similar feeling.”
“What similar feeling?”
“Feelings about my mother. I’ve never told anyone. I’ve read about it, of course. I don’t have an Oedipus complex,” he added firmly. “The jury’s still out on whether that even exists.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at him.
“I was just a little more than twelve. For the previous year or so, my mother had become very careful about undressing in front of me or appearing undressed where I could see. She always closed her door, but one time, she didn’t, and . . .”
“You saw her naked?”
“Worse. She and my father were on the verge.”
“Oh.”
“I couldn’t help becoming aroused. Sometimes you just can’t help it,” he quickly added. “It just happens, especially for boys. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“It never happened again,” he said. He looked angry now.
“I’m sure it’s quite normal, especially at that age, when you were just . . .”
“Breaking out,” he said. Then he smiled, which gave me an instant sense of relief. “And not just with pimples.” His expression changed again, returned to a cross between anger and guilt. He looked around the attic and nodded to himself.
“What?” I asked. What was he thinking now?
“This is our special place now, Kristin, our attic of secrets, right?”
“Of course. We both took blood oaths.”
“I’m serious.”
“I am, too. I was the first to demand that, Kane. And I would never repeat anything we say to each other up here, especially because of the diary.”
He nodded, looking satisfied. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I’ve never been so honest with anyone else, even my parents or my sister.”
“Then I’m flattered,” I said, and his smile returned.
“You’re very special, Kristin. I mean it. I’m happy you trusted me with this. I know what that means to you.” He looked down at the diary in his hands.
“Go on,” I said. “It’s all right. You haven’t done or said anything that would change my mind.”
I told him that, but I wasn’t as confident about it as I made it sound.
Nevertheless, he nodded, smiled, and began again.
Momma smiled at me as if she knew how intoxicatingly beautiful I thought she was. Why should I be surprised? She was always good at reading my thoughts.
She warned us not to stay out for more than an hour, as the twins might waken, and then she took us to a place she said used to be her own hiding place from which to spy on adults, a massive oblong table with cabinet doors underneath. There was barely enough room for Cathy and me to crawl under, but through the fine mesh screen, we could see the grand ballroom below, all lit with candles. The elegantly dressed men and women, the women with glittering jewels, the huge Christmas tree with what looked like hundreds of lights and ornaments, the dozens of servants serving champagne, the display of foods being served by chefs, and the music made it the greatest display of wealth we had ever seen. Momma hadn’t lied about this. They were rich, very rich! She hadn’t exaggerated about that.
I looked at Cathy. Her face was so full of wonder it brought tears to my eyes. All these months of boredom and depression, sickness and cold, and reams and reams of cruel words spewed at us, all of it paled at this moment. A curtain had been lifted and showed us what could one day be ours, too! Oh, how worth it our struggle has been, I thought.
I looked at my sister and smiled at the way she was dazzled before my eyes. She could easily grow into one of those beautiful women below, as beautiful as Momma, I thought. We watched Momma, who was talking to a man about my father’s height. Suddenly, he took her hand and kissed it. I felt like an arrow of ice had just been shot into my chest. Cathy nudged me.
“Did you see that, what she let that man do?”
Of course I had, but instead of talking about it, I talked about what our parties would be like when we were finally accepted and living in this grand mansion.
I thought we had seen all we would that would shock and amaze us, but suddenly, our grandmother from hell appeared, only now she looked as elegantly dressed as any of the other women. Cathy was astonished, too, but could only remark about her size. Somehow, among other women, she looked even taller than when she loomed as she stood above us.
And then the most astonishing thing of all happened. Our grandfather was brought in, in his wheelchair.
“It’s him!” Cathy muttered.
He paused and slowly raised his head and looked up in our direction. I was positive he was smiling. Instinctively, I pulled back, but Cathy remained staring down at him.
“He looks like Daddy, only older,” she said.
“Why wouldn’t he? He’s Daddy’s half brother.”
“But—”
“Shh,” I said. There were two people nearby talking, a man and a woman. They talked about our mother. The woman was uncomplimentary, but the man, whom she called Albert Donne, raved about Momma and wished she was his instead of belonging to someone named Bartholomew Winslow. They confirmed that Momma was once adored by her father and would inherit the fortune, but neither was happy for her. They drifted off.
“Who’s Bartholomew Winslow?”
“Let’s go,” I said, instead of trying to come up with an answer. I knew it had to be the man who had kissed her hand and was paying so much attention to her at the party. “The twins might have woken up.”
Cathy wanted to stay longer, but I made her leave and return to our little bedroom. The twins were still fast asleep. Both of us stood there looking at them, stunned and dazzled by all we had seen and heard.
“Is Momma going to marry this Bartholomew Winslow? Is that what those people meant?”
“How do I know?” I snapped back at her. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. The woman I had seen below at that grand party was different from the woman who had brought us to Foxworth Hall, and I was afraid of what that difference might mean.
Suddenly, I felt defiant and excited about a new idea. Why not take advantage of this opportunity to explore the house and really understand where we were? Momma was occupied, I told Cathy, and the door was unlocked. We wouldn’t get a better opportunity. She was worried that our grandmother would find out and whip us, but I thought I would go up to the attic, find some clothes to use for a disguise, and then go out. I found an old dark suit that fit well. Cathy stared in amazement as I paraded boldly before her, pretending to be some old gent.
“I’ll never be recognized,” I declared. She still looked quite terrified but told me to go explore. She made m
Kane paused, looked at me, and then jumped up and came over to kiss me.
“Why did you do that?” I asked, smiling.
“Christopher kissed his sister. You said we had to do what they do when they do it.”
“I didn’t mean literally,” I said.
“Maybe you did and you didn’t realize it.” He returned to his chair. “You hear anything that surprised you?”
“Don’t try to be a teacher, Kane. Remember, this is supposed to be different from a school assignment.”
He laughed. “Sorry. Okay. You heard how the old man looked up at them and smiled?”
“Christopher said he thought it looked like that. He wasn’t sure.”
“The old man knew they were there,” Kane said, nodding. “Your uncle’s contact was right, I bet.”
“Okay, I’ll play along. What do you think it all means?”
He sat back, looking like a junior Sherlock Holmes, full of self-confidence. “I’m thinking the old lady told him right from the start, and he approved of keeping them under lock and key. They both believed the children were the devil’s children or something, didn’t they? Maybe they thought they’d grow horns and tails and confirm their nutty ideas.”
“But what about Corrine? I admit that what she’s doing, what she’s permitting, most mothers wouldn’t, but I really believe she thinks she can pull it off, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Maybe they played her, too.”
“Played her?”
“You know, conned her into believing the plan had a chance. Granny told her she was keeping the kids a secret from the old coot until he kicked the bucket. She forced Corrine to do the things she did, convincing her that was the case. All the while, she kept the old man in the loop.”
“But why would he do it?”
“He gets his slow revenge for her running off with Christopher Sr. He puts her through all this hell first.”
“It doesn’t sound like she’s going through hell now.”
“Yeah, not now. Now she’s back to being Daddy’s little girl. She’s been whipped and made to do what they want her to do with the children. He’s letting out the leash little by little, her own car, money, clothes, and jewelry. He keeps her obedient, and that keeps the children locked up. She’s all he’s got left, with the brothers dead. He sounds to me like someone who wants his legacy. He’s probably got too much of an ego to see the end of the Foxworths. Her return, molding her into the woman he wants her to be, is satisfying, maybe even keeping him alive at this point,” he continued, obviously thinking it through as he spoke.
“Maybe,” I said. What he was saying did make some sense, at least with what we knew now. “But I still think we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions.”
He smiled. “That’s okay. Keep your options open. One of us should always be challenging what the other thinks, anyway. Cathy’s really challenging Christopher’s theories most of the time, isn’t she? You challenge mine.”
“Yes, but—”
“So let’s keep going. I want to see what he discovers. It’s still early.”
I checked the time. “Okay.”
Pleased, he returned to the diary. As he began, I thought again about what I had considered might happen, how by reading the diary and putting ourselves as best we could in Christopher’s and Cathy’s place, we might expose things about ourselves that we’d told no one. He had already done it. Soon it would be my turn, I was sure. Would this all make us closer, or, in the end, would it drive us apart?
As quietly as I could, I opened the door and slipped into the room, but when I turned to look for Cathy, there was Momma. I had never seen such rage in her face. Her whole body looked swollen with it. Before I could speak, she slapped me hard on the left cheek, and when I recuperated, she slapped me even harder on my right. Stunned, I stood there, my face stinging.
“Where were you? Where did you go? If you ever do anything like this again”—she practically spit at me—“I’ll whip you. I’ll whip you both the way I was whipped. Do you hear? Do you?”
I couldn’t speak.
Was this the mother who had so often embraced me, petted me, and covered my face with kisses, telling me how much she needed and depended on me and how like my father I was to her in almost every way?
Was this the mother who looked to me to help her get through this crisis, because she believed I was more an adult than a child and I could understand her and what she needed more perhaps than someone her age?
Who was this woman now standing before me with such fury in her eyes?
For a long moment, it was so quiet we could hear the walls and floors creak. Then my mother’s expression changed so quickly it took my breath away. It was as if she had been possessed by some demon and, realizing what had happened, driven him out.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” she cried. “Forgive me, please. Forgive me!”
She reached forward with soft hands now and cupped my face as she stepped toward me, muttering how I shouldn’t be so frightened or afraid of her, how her threat to whip us as she had been whipped was, of course, ridiculous. She flooded my stinging face with quick kisses, apologizing, embracing me, and bringing my face, my lips, down to the warmth of her breasts, my lips pressing to them, drawing out the warmth and love I always thought she kept safely there for me.
She released me, and I stepped back, but then she kissed me again, but this time, she kissed me on the lips the way I had seen her kiss my father so many times. It wasn’t simply a smack on the lips; it was a kiss that cried for forgiveness. When she pulled away, she stroked my hair and smiled that soft, loving smile I had known so well all my life.
“Will you forgive me? Will you?”
“Yes, Momma,” I said. “I forgive you.”
She burst into a wide, ecstatic smile and reached for Cathy’s hand. I could see that Cathy was trembling with fear. She had never seen our mother like she was moments ago, either. She looked at me, her face slowly hardening now more into anger than surprise or fear. I gave her a look of reassurance, but she wasn’t ready to accept any. Momma could see that, too.
Momma told us she had overreacted because everything was finally going our way. That perked up Cathy.
“How?” Cathy asked. “Tell us how it’s going our way.”
“I can’t right now,” Momma said. “I’ve got to get back. Perhaps I’ll have time to tell you everything tomorrow. Forgive me, Christopher,” she said, and kissed me again before going to the door. And then, before she walked out, she said something that sounded out of place, even stupid. “Merry Christmas.”
She closed and locked the door.
Cathy turned to me. “For a while there, I thought our grandmother from hell had gotten into her body,” she said, and then, slowly, she gazed at all the presents. Suddenly, everything looked out of place for both of us—these gifts, being locked away, us being our little sister and brother’s parents, and a grandmother threatening us with a rainstorm of hell if we broke any of her ridiculous rules. “Merry Christmas,” Cathy said bitterly.
“She didn’t mean it, Cathy. She got frightened when I wasn’t here. She thought I had been discovered and it was all over,” I told her.
She moved quietly, silently, looking like her tongue had hardened into stone in her mouth, and then she got back into bed with Carrie.
I got undressed quickly and
To my surprise, Kane lowered the diary and looked at me. He had been reading so well and was so into it that I truly felt as if I was there alongside Christopher. I hated for him to stop. We still had plenty of time.
“What?”
“That sofa you’re on.”
“What about it?”
“It’s a pull-out.”
“So?”
He rose. “Let’s do it,” he said. I sat looking up at him. “Re-create the scene,” he added, and held out his hand. I took it, and he helped me up and then removed the cushions and lifted out the sofa bed. There was a cloud of dust. We waved our hands in front of our faces. “We should clean up this place a bit. They cleaned up their attic,” he said.
“Just what I need, more housework.”
“I’ll help.” He looked around and went to one of the trunks, opened it, and took out an old comforter. “This will work for now,” he said, and spread it on the sofa bed. Then he put the pillows back on the bed. “Ta-daaaa.”
“What are we doing?”
“We’re Christopher and Cathy lying on that mattress.” He picked up the diary. “Come on,” he said, and lay down on the sofa bed.
I remember thinking that maybe we were going too far with this, but it also intrigued me. I did what he asked. He sat up, pulled off his shirt, and lay back again, patting his chest. I knew what he wanted and laid my head against him. He held up the diary to begin reading again, his right arm slipping comfortably around my shoulders.
“Wait,” he said.
“What?”
“You’ve got to get more into it, get closer to the way Cathy was at this point.”
“I don’t exactly have a nightgown up here, Kane.”
He looked at my mother’s wardrobe. “Maybe there’s something in there.”
I hesitated.
“I’m overdressed, too,” he said, and sat up to take off his pants.
My heart began to race. I could feel a warm sensation of excitement building in the pit of my stomach and spreading like tepid water just beneath my skin, into my thighs. I rose quickly and went to the wardrobe. Two nightgowns were hung on the right. I plucked one out and began to undress. He was in his underwear, lying back, watching me and waiting. With my back to him, I went down to my panties and slipped the nightgown over my head. Smoothing it down, I returned to the sofa bed and lay beside him, placing my head on his chest. He ran his fingers through my hair and then began to read.