Free Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews Page A

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 putaway 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.
    “Nineteen: when I come into this room to bring you food and milk, you will not look at me, or speak to me, or think of me with disrespect, or of your grandfather with disrespect, for God is above and is able to read your minds. My husband is a very determined man, and seldom has any one bested him in any way. He has an army of doctors and nurses and technicians to tend to his every need, and machines to function for his organs in case they fail, so don’t think something as weakly motivated as his heart can fail a man made of steel.”
    Wow! A man of steel to make the opposite bookend to his wife. His eyes must be gray, too. Flint, hard, steel-gray eyes—for, as our very own mother and father had proved, likes do attract.
    “Twenty:”—read Christopher—“you will not jump, yell, shout, or speak in loud voices so the servants below can hearyou. And you will wear sneakers and never hard-soled shoes.
    “Twenty-One: you will not waste toilet tissue, or the soap, and you will clean up the mess if you clog up the toilet bowl so it overflows. And if you put it out of order, then it will stay that way until the day you leave, and you will use the chamberpots that you will find in the attic, and your mother can empty them for you.
    “Twenty-Two: the boys will wash their own clothes in the bathtub, as will the girls. Your mother will take care of the bed linens and the towels you use. The quilted mattress covers will be changed once a week, and if a child soils the covers, then I will order your mother to bring you rubber sheets to use, and thrash severely the child who cannot be toilet-trained.”
    I sighed and put my arm about Cory who whimpered and clung to me on hearing this. “Ssssh! Don’t be afraid. She’ll never know what you do. We’ll protect you. We’ll find a way to